He’d been right all along, of course. His mother had invited half the town. Everyone from his graduating class who still lived in or around St. Dennis, and everyone he’d known while growing up. At least when there were that many people to greet, there wasn’t time to get into any real discussion with any one person, so every conversation was pretty much superficial. He’d spent most of the night saying things like “It’s good to see you again, too” and “Yes, my mom is still going strong. Yeah, she looks great for her age” and “Yes, peacekeeping is a tough business, that’s for sure.”
So all in all, he did okay. The evening passed by pretty quickly, and the only time he felt the need to duck out was when Ed what’s-his-name started asking him where in Africa he’d been and had he been close to any of those villages that they were always talking about on TV—“You know, the ones where they took all the little boys to make them into soldiers and then raped and killed everyone else.”
Ford had made some lame response and excused himself, making his way through the lobby for the side door and some fresh air. It was on his way back that he’d seen the petite woman standing near the desk, her body at a near forty-five degree angle to the floor. His curiosity had drawn him to her, but when she’d turned around and looked up at him, he’d felt as if he’d been sucker punched. She was pretty—very pretty—and he’d liked the way her blond hair fell around her face. But there was something else about her that had pulled him closer—something he couldn’t put his finger on. Whatever the attraction, she held much more appeal than going back to the party, so he’d been happy to fetch and hold the painting she’d been trying to study from ten feet away. He’d convinced her to take a look at the front of the building, and had been thinking how nice it might be to share the history of the inn with her. Maybe they’d grab another glass of wine on their way out and they could spend some time having a conversation that wasn’t about him and his life. But two things had happened on their way toward the front door. The first was when some of his old buddies spied him passing the room where the party was being held and had made a big deal of how he needed to go back inside.
The second was when he’d touched her arm, and a jolt of something had traveled from his fingertip straight up his arm. Static electricity, he’d told himself at the time, even though he knew that made no sense at all under the circumstances. Whatever it had been, it had startled him and caused him to back off. He’d dropped her like a hot potato, and had immediately regretted it. He’d watched as she continued toward the front door as if she’d taken no notice that he was no longer with her—and that she couldn’t have cared less.
He knew that last part didn’t feel right.
He should have gone outside, but the party had already started to break up, and by the time he was able to get free of the crowd again, she was gone. The thought that she might be a guest at the inn was the only thing that had brought him to the dining room for breakfast. He’d been there for twenty minutes before his mother showed up, and the blonde was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe she plays tennis, he thought. Maybe she was down there at the tennis courts right at that moment.
But wait, that would mean she had a partner …
“Ford.” His mother was waving a hand in front of his face.
“What?”
“Have you heard anything I said?”
“Sure.” He dug into his omelet to avoid making eye contact.
“What did I say?”
“You said … ah, something about … ah … the party, and, ah …”
Grace laughed. “You never were good at fudging things. If you’re going to drift away when someone is speaking to you, at least nod your head from time to time or toss out an occasional ‘uh-huh.’ ”
“Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?”
“I was just bringing you up-to-date on what we’re doing with the newspaper.”
“Ah, the St. Dennis Gazette. I can’t believe you’re still—”
“Stop right there, mister.” Grace put down her fork and slapped his arm. “I do not want to hear one disparaging word about my newspaper.” She shook her head. “Don’t even get me started on what that paper means to this community. And to me.”
“I’m sorry. I was only going to say that I was surprised to hear you were still running it.”
“Why? Because I’m old?” Grace did not look pleased.
“Ma, you’re not that old. What I meant was …” He cleared his throat, not certain what he’d meant. “I guess because the inn is doing so well, it just hadn’t occurred to me that you’d still need the income from the paper.”
There. That was good, wasn’t it?
She gave him a withering look.
“It has nothing to do with money, Ford. The Gazette is as much a family business as the inn. Only difference is that the Gazette was my family’s and the inn was your father’s. St. Dennis wouldn’t be the same without either of them.”
“Okay, I get that. But I’d think you’d have wanted to retire by now, have some time to yourself.”
“And do what with all that time?” No, she clearly wasn’t pleased.
“Mom, people do retire, you know. It’s not so terrible to take things easy for a while. Enjoy life. Do something for yourself.”
“I enjoy every day of my life. The paper is what I do for myself. Do you not understand that?”
“Apparently not.” He’d never had a conversation like this with his mother, but he knew this was one of those times when he’d learn something really important if he asked the right questions and listened—really listened—to the answers. “Why do you keep it going?”
“At first, it was for my father after he passed away. I’d taken over for him when he fell ill, temporarily, I thought, but then he died, and I felt obligated to honor his memory by keeping the paper alive. He’d loved it, as his father had loved it, and his grandfather, who’d founded it, had loved it. There was no one else to carry on with it.”
“What about Uncle Pete?” Ford asked.
“My brother had been the heir apparent all along, but as it turned out, he had neither interest nor aptitude for it. He’d have run it into the ground. I felt my father—and my family name—deserved better than that, so I kept it afloat. And, might I say, I’ve done a damn good job of it.”
“No question about that, Mom. But you know, you could have sold it. You had your hands full when the three of us kids were younger.” He remembered having to sit in the office of the newspaper waiting until his mother finished that week’s edition on days when Lucy and Dan had after-school activities and no one was around to watch him.
“I’d thought about that from time to time,” she surprised him by admitting. “But then Daniel—your father—died so suddenly, and it shook me to the core. Shattered my world completely.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes but did not fall. “Your brother was already out of college, so he stepped into your dad’s shoes, and to give him credit, over the years he’s made the inn more than anyone ever dreamed it could be. I held on to the paper then for my own sake. It gave me something to do, gave meaning to the hours, hours I couldn’t bear to spend at the inn. Watching your brother do all those things your father used to do …” Her gaze was far away, her jaw set squarely, as she remembered painful times. Ford took his mother’s hand and squeezed it, and was surprised by its delicacy. He didn’t recall that his mother’s fingers were so tiny.