Page 69 of The Spotted Cottage By the Sea
He continued. “Is that what this is about? You’re bitter because the child support ran dry?”
Sheila’s chest heaved with each breath and she had to force herself to respond calmly. “No. This is about your mother needing a little help.”
“You know what? I’m happy to help her. Of course I will.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “You will?”
“Yeah. I’ll help her sell that place at a profit and move somewhere more appropriate for her age.”
Oh, she couldscream.
“I’ve got to go. Have a nice day, Sheila,” he said.
The line went dead, and she was left there feeling like a boat untied from its dock.
Thirty-one
After the grand opening, Patty was busy – wonderfully, steadily busy – and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
It was a lot, surely, but the steady flow of customers was manageable with Eliza’s help. Patty started her day at five, just as she liked, baking old favorites and crafting new creations. They opened the tea shop at eight and Reggie was the first in the door. Their regulars followed soon after for a cup of tea, a biscuit, and a chat.
It filled her heart with joy to hear the little bells ringing on the tables. More bells meant more tea, which meant more talking about tea, and whale sightings, and the ever-changing weather.
Against all odds, the tea shop was alive again. It was more than a coat of paint and an overdue cleaning – it was filled withlove,and no matter how tired she felt, the warmth of this place kept her going.
Nothing could be better. Or at least, so she thought. Two weeks after the grand opening, Patty was busy, rushing around, her heart so full that she could hardly understand the sound she heard coming from inside the cottage.
She normally didn’t return to the cottage mid-morning, but she’d spilled a vat of cream on herself and needed to change.
It was quiet, but sharp and erratic, carrying down the hallway.
It sounded like crying.
But who could be crying when life was so wonderful?
She paused in the hallway and listened, touching a hand to her hearing aid. Perhaps it was malfunctioning, or perhaps the neighbor’s cat had gotten into the house again.
Patty leaned into Sheila’s closed door and heard the distinct sound of a nose blowing almost comically loud.
“Is there a clown with a cold in there?” Patty called out.
Silence, and then, “Hi, sorry, I’ll be down in a minute.”
Patty frowned. Sheila really had been crying. She wasn’t a crier – not since the divorce. Back then, Patty had heard her cry almost every day, though she never let on that she knew.
Of course, Patty always knew.
“I’m coming in!” she announced.
“No!” Sheila said. “I’m not decent.”
“Not decent,” Patty grumbled, opening the door. “I watched you bring four lives into this world. I don’t think you’re going to shock me now.”
But what she saw when she opened the door did shock her. There was a pile of tissues spilling from the bed onto the floor. Sheila sat on the bed with papers scattered around her. Her shoulders were slumped downward, her eyes red and small. Mascara streaked down her face in splattered black stripes, as though she’d put on makeup only to immediately cry it off.
“My darling! Whatever is the matter?” Patty said, rushing to her side.
Sheila was quiet for a moment. “Oh, you know. Everything.”
