Page 50 of The Wexley Inn
“Speaking of your father,” she said, “he’s on his way back from Savannah with the reclaimed flooring. Apparently, it’s even better quality than he had hoped to find.”
“Oh, I’m sure that made his day,” Emma said, smiling. “He gets so excited about materials in a way most people would reserve for sports victories or lottery wins.”
Isabella laughed. “I’ve noticed. The day he found those original doorknobs in the attic, you would have thought he’d discovered buried treasure.”
“Oh, in his mind, he had,” Emma said. “That’s what makes him so good at what he does. He sees the value in things that others might discard or overlook.”
They shifted their conversation back to marketing materials, but Isabella kept thinking about Emma’s words. Thomas had a gift for recognizing the value beneath surface imperfections. It was one of the qualities she had always admired about him.
As they wrapped up their meeting, Emma picked up her sketches. “Well, I should head back to Dad’s place. I promised I would make dinner tonight since he cooked yesterday.”
“It was wonderful seeing your ideas,” Isabella said. “I’d be delighted to work with you on the inn’s marketing strategy, whether through your current agency or other arrangements.”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “I would love that. The inn is exactly the kind of project I want to focus on. Something with authentic history and soul, not just commercial appeal.”
They walked together to the inn’s entrance, where they found Luella seated on the porch, watching the late afternoon light filter through the oak trees.
“Emma Langley,” Luella greeted her with obvious affection. “Twice in one weekend. Your daddy must be pleased to have you home so often these days.”
“Hey, Miss Luella,” Emma said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Dad’s always happy to have me visit, although I think he appreciates his peace and quiet when I leave, too.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Luella hummed. “That man’s had enough peace and quiet to last three lifetimes. He needs a little commotion now and then to keep his blood flowing.”
She looked at Emma and Isabella. “You two been plotting something? Got that look about you.”
“Just discussing marketing for the inn,” Isabella said, amused.
“Marketing, is it?” Luella raised an eyebrow. “Fancy word for telling stories about a place so folks want to visit. This inn’s got stories enough for three hundred marketing campaigns if you know where to look for them.”
“That’s exactly what makes it so special,” Emma said, “and why I’m so excited to help develop its brand identity.”
Luella nodded. “Well, good to see young people appreciating history instead of just tearing it down to build something shiny and new. Your daddy raised you right.”
After Emma left, Isabella settled into the rocking chair beside Luella, content to share a few moments of quiet observation as the day transitioned into evening. Deer had emerged from behind the inn, grazing peacefully on the overgrown lawn that would eventually become a formal garden.
“Heard you had quite a time at the ladies’ club luncheon today,” Luella said after a while. “Vivian Pierce making trouble as usual.”
Isabella sighed. “News gets around really quickly here.”
“Like a wildfire in August,” Luella said. “But don’t let it bother you. Island gossip is like the tide. Comes in, goes out, regular as clockwork. What seems important today will be forgotten by next week when somebody else does something worth talking about.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Isabella said. “I didn’t come here looking for personal complications or drama. I want to restore the inn and create something meaningful. I want to enjoy my life.”
Luella studied her thoughtfully. "Life's funny that way, sugar. You come lookin' for one thing, and it hands you somethin' else entirely. Question is whether you're smart enough to recognize what you need when it shows up, even if it ain't what you were expectin’.”
The cryptic observation hung in the air between them as the deer continued grazing, untroubled by any human concerns.
“Luella,” Isabella began hesitantly. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask,” the older woman said. “Might even answer, depending on what it is.”
“Are you sure you don’t know why Thomas ended our relationship in college? I’m talking about the real reason, not the one he told me at the time. I've spent thirty years telling myself it doesn't matter anymore, that I've moved on. But being here with him, working together, feeling..." She stopped, unsure how to finish. "I need to know if what he told me was the truth, or if there's something more."
Luella’s expression, as always, remained impassive, but something flickered in her eyes.
“What did he tell you back then?”
“Well, not much, really. Just left a note that he had to go home. I tried calling him for weeks, but he never responded. I took that as an answer.” Isabella found the words still had a little bit of their original sting, even though decades had passed. “It came out of nowhere, you know, just as I was returning from my summer internship. We had plans, like a future we had mapped out together, and suddenly it was over.”
