A Picture Perfect Romance

A Picture Perfect Romance

Lynne Sella

WingSpan Press

Copyright © 2015 by Lynne Sella

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, settings and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, settings or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in reviews.

Published in the United States and the United Kingdom

by WingSpan Press, Livermore, CA

The WingSpan name, logo and colophon are the trademarks of WingSpan Publishing.

ISBN 978-1-59594-564-8 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-1-59594-950-9 (ebook)

First edition 2015

Printed in the United States of America

www.wingspanpress.com

Library of Congress Control Number 2015946687

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

This book is dedicated to Candace Toft. A fellow writer and one of my mentors, her input was invaluable during my final edit and helped make this book a better read.

I will miss our discussions about books and writing immensely.

Acknowledgements

This novel is a result of my participation in the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference several years ago. The original idea for this story came to me like a flash of lightning as I stood on the headlands in Mendocino during that conference, waiting for one of the evening programs to begin. Over the years, it has morphed into the novel you hold in your hands today. I would like to thank my original readers, Cindy Nellums and Mary Blackard, who suffered through the first draft and kept me working on it as well as fellow writers Michelle Noonberg and Candace Toft who supported me during the painstaking rewrite. I would also like to thank Sal Glynn, a freelance writer and editor I met at the conference, for reading one of my earlier manuscripts and offering suggestions on how to make it better. Special thanks to local resident, Gladys Hansen, who shared her craft of photo greeting cards with me and to Rachel Miller, former Business Manager of the Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens, who provided me with information on the gardens and events held there. Thanks also to Debra De Graw from the Mendocino Coast Chamber of Commerce and Mike Kelly, District Superintendent MCCSD, for providing me with information on the water situation in Mendocino as well as Anne Paulson from Opolo Vineyards who provided me with statistics on their wine shipping crates.

A Picture Perfect Romance

Chapter 1

Bet h Braddock stood in front of the house with her coat wrapped tightly around her, watching men she did not know cart the last of her belongings into a moving van. She was leaving it all behind. The house, the dreams, the memories meant nothing without Craig, and the only person who understood that was his brother, Tony. After the accident, he’d taken care of everything — the mortuary, the realtor, the auctioneer, and the movers. The only decision she had to make was what to do with the rest of her life.

She unfolded the picture she held in her hand and studied the small white house on Mendocino’s Main Street. I think we’ll like our new home, Annie. She reached down and stroked the dog’s head. It’s right next to the headland trail, and there’s a yard big enough for you to run around in. The chocolate lab stood and wagged her tail. All we have to do is get there.

Beth, they’re almost ready, Tony called as he stepped out the front door and strolled up the sidewalk. Are you sure you want to go through with this? You can always come north and live with us. Although his hair was lighter, Tony’s resemblance to his brother was uncanny.

I know, but I’m afraid being around you would be like having a picture of Craig in every room. Living some place where I can be anonymous will give me time to sort things out. I’ll be fine.

Well, the offer’s there if you change your mind. Now, let’s get Annie loaded.

Beth grabbed the dog’s collar, and they led her to the back of the enormous moving van. Tony wrapped his arms around her and heaved her into the portable dog kennel that had been placed just inside the door. Here you go, girl. Now lay down. He stepped backed and let the two men secure the doors.

Are you ready to go, ma’am? the taller one asked.

Just about. She turned to Tony and hugged him. Thanks for everything. I’ll call you when we get there. Then Beth followed the men to the front of the truck.

I still say this is a bad idea, the other man said as he settled in next to her.

Beth smiled. She knew the owner of the moving company had refused to take her and Annie at first, but Tony can be very persuasive. That and a large bonus had finally convinced the man to agree.

Sir, that man is on the phone again.

Paul Hayden stepped back from the large, double pane window in his office. Far below him, the intersecting maze of concrete pathways led from one glass tower to the next. Small patches of perfectly manicured lawn and an occasional decorative bush were the only visual stimulation. In the distance, wedges of the coastal mountain range peeked between the buildings.

What man would that be, Gladys? he asked, directing his question to the small electronic device on his desk.

Mr. LaMarr. He says it’s urgent.

What line?

Two.

Paul slumped into his black leather chair. He hoped this was good news and things could be finalized. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he picked up the phone. Davis, have any luck?

Mr. Hayden I’m so sorry to trouble you again, but I’m having some difficulty finding the casket you requested. The only oak caskets my suppliers can get are the traditional, rectangular shaped ones with the domed lid and satin interior.

Mr. LaMarr, my mother led a simple life and insisted on a simple burial. How hard can it be to find a plain wooden casket?

Was your mother Jewish?

What does that have to do with anything?

Well, I can get a wooden casket made of pine with a Star of David carved into it.

Paul closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose again. No, that won’t work. What about a cremation casket? Dead silence. Are you there?

Uh, yes sir. I don’t think that one of those would be appropriate. You see, Mr. Hayden... Another pause. They’re made of cardboard.

Paul had to agree. While his environmentally correct mother may have thought it ideal, he wasn’t burying her in a cardboard box like some unfortunate pet. Let me do some checking and I’ll get back to you. He disconnected and buzzed his secretary.

Yes, Mr. Hayden?

See if you can find a simple oak casket. Nothing fancy, no carving.

Something like the ones people were using to make wine racks in the ‘80s?

Exactly. One of those would be perfect.

Right away, sir.

And Gladys?

Yes, Mr. Hayden?

For the last time, call me Paul.

Yes sir — Paul. I’ll try.

The software designer looked around his office. Most of his bookshelves were empty, his belongings packed into moving crates and stacked by the door. Between the last minute meetings to bring the other executives at Microsoft up to speed on his current projects and finalizing the arrangements for his mother’s funeral, it had taken most of the week to empty out his office. All that’s left to do is to endure the surprise farewell party, pack up the condo, and go home to Mendocino.

As Paul leaned back in his chair, doubts plagued his mind. What would it be like? Designing software had been the only world he’d known since college, not that he regretted it. His job allowed him to support his mother and keep her beloved bed & breakfast going. But now that she was gone and the place turned a decent profit, he no longer had to work. He could go back to the things he enjoyed. Of most concern to him was whether or not he stilled belonged to the cozy, coastal community. Mendocino can be such a lonely place.

A few moments later the intercom buzzed again. I believe I’ve located what you’re looking for. I’m emailing the page to you now.

Thanks, Gladys. You’re a peach. He swiveled around to his computer and clicked on the most recent message. A picture of an old, stone building popped up on the screen. The salutation identified the place as St. Benedict Monastery in Iowa. Below that was a button labeled classic caskets. A second click revealed another page displaying a limited assortment of plain wooden caskets, each one hand-crafted by the devout residents. Just what Paul was looking for. Now all he had to do was purchase the one he wanted and get it shipped to the mortuary in Fort Bragg.

He chuckled at the technological savvy of the monks as he added his selection to the shopping cart. Then he provided the necessary information, getting the address off the card Davis LaMarr had given Margaret Hayden several months ago when she began preparing for the end predicted by her doctors. Express delivery would have the casket arriving in two business days. Before leaving the website, Paul clicked on the catalogue request button and had that sent to the mortuary as well. Receiving a thank-you from Brother Timothy via email, he realized just how many people had been affected by his life’s work. Time to go home.

Beth Braddock wandered out onto the Mendocino Headland and stood at the edge of the sheer cliff. Far below her, waves embossed with foam swirled around the jagged rocks — so hypnotizing, so enthralling. Almost every day she found herself standing in the same spot, the same thought forcing its way into her head. How simple it would be to take just one step — one step to end the pain of loneliness that would not loosen its grip. But each time she felt she was ready, ready to plunge to the rocks below, something stopped her.

Chilled to the bone, she pulled the oversized buffalo-plaid jacket more tightly around her. Come on, Annie, she called to the dog that had become her constant companion as she headed back to the small white house on Main Street; the house she now called home.

Chapter 2

Amy Thompson checked the timer. A few more minutes and the salmon would be done. She did a mental check of the menu. What have I forgotten? The salad and dill-cucumber sauce were chilling in the refrigerator, and the sautéed veggies were in a skillet on the stove.

Wine glasses! She hadn’t gotten the wine glasses out of the cupboard even though she knew Tom would be bringing some. He carried around bottles of wine like most people carried bottled water.

The timer dinged just as Amy set the glasses on the countertop of the large kitchen island. Although the house had been one of the first built on the headland, the current owner had modernized it just before Amy rented it. Not only did the island almost double the counter space, the Superior built-in stove made cooking a pure joy. She switched off the oven and removed the salmon. The piquant aroma of the lemon and seafood seasonings filled her nostrils as she tore the foil packet open. The pale pink flesh of the fish looked delicious, and after sliding the salmon onto a platter, she arranged the veggies around it. A true gourmet meal, thanks to two semesters of cooking class. She had just returned it to the oven when the doorbell rang. Before she had a chance to move, it rang again.

For Pete’s sake, I’m coming, Amy called as she started for the front door. She could see Tom through the stained-glass window, clutching something to his chest and shifting from one foot to the other.

Thank goodness, he said as she opened the door. He pushed past her and bustled into the kitchen. He plopped the grocery bag and wine bottle tote he’d been holding onto the island countertop, practically knocking over the glasses in the process. Thought I was going to drop the wine before you let me in. He took off his brown leather jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. The sleeves of his dress shirt, which he worn open at the neck, were folded under to just below his elbows, revealing a heavy gold watch on one wrist and a gold chain bracelet on the other. When you said you were fixing salmon, I remembered I had the perfect wine, he said, pulling a pale green bottle of wine out of the neoprene tote.

I’ll bet it’s a Chardonnay. I’ve heard that goes well with fish.

There’s a difference between a wine that goes well with a food and one that enhances it. Tom began opening drawers and rummaging through them. Leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, Amy let her guest continue his impromptu lecture while he searched.

I think you’ll find the flavors of pears, peaches, and citrus of this Pinot Grigio add a tangy contrast to the buttery taste of the salmon. Retrieving a chrome corkscrew from the drawer, he shook his head. I keep forgetting to pick up a decent wine opener for you. He balanced the kitchen tool atop the bottle and began cranking the handle. These are almost more trouble than they’re worth.

As Tom wrestled with the cork, Amy poked through the grocery bag. What’s this? she asked pulling out a loaf of bread.

I picked it up at the deli in Fort Bragg this afternoon. It’s loaded with kalamata olives.

Mmm, sounds yummy. What were you doing in Bragg anyway?

The cork popped out of the bottle. Been reading about ice wines, he said as he freed the other bottle from the tote, and I wanted to try one. The liquor store on Main Street happened to have this one from the Yakima Valley in Washington. It needs to chill while we eat, so it’ll be ready in time for dessert.

Amy tucked the bottle into the bottom shelf of the freezer door, opened the refrigerator, and retrieved the salad and dill-cucumber sauce. By the time she had everything ready to serve, including the salmon from the oven, Tom had the wine poured and the bread sliced.

You’ve done it again, Amy. This all looks delicious, and I’m starving. My new order of books came in today, so I didn’t have time for lunch. What do you say we eat out on the porch? No fog means a beautiful sunset.

Good idea. She smiled as she dished her plate. Although Tom never seemed to have time for anything other than wine or books, he did have a way of making any occasion, even the smallest event, more memorable. With plates full of food and glasses full of wine, they pushed through the French doors and out onto the porch. As they settled into their chairs, the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon, its reflection rippling on the surface of the ocean as the waves moved toward the shore.

It doesn’t get any better than this, Tom said. Great food, terrific company, and the best view of a sunset in Mendocino.

Amy had to agree. The huge porch ran along the west and south sides of the first floor with one set of French doors allowing access from the kitchen and another opening out from the living room. Every room had enormous windows, which took advantage of the view in every direction. Upstairs, the master bedroom opened out onto a large balcony that looked down on the bay. Her father had disagreed with her decision to rent rather than buy, but she didn’t care. She’d fallen in love with the pale yellow house with its white gingerbread trim the first time she saw it.

As the sun sank lower, the scattered clouds in the blue sky changed from a light copper hue to a deep red, while seagulls flitted across the water. Do you know who that is? Tom nodded toward a woman coming off the headland trail. I’ve seen her around town a few times.

I believe her name is Beth, but she’s only been in the gift shop once. Most of the time, I just see her walking with her dog.

Is she visiting someone or does she live here?

She moved here a couple months ago. Bought the Hanson place at the end of Main Street.

Why do you suppose she’s here? Tom asked.

Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is, she doesn’t work and seems to live alone.

And how do you know so much about her?

Amy looked at him over her wine glass and then set it down on the table. Jane. She was delivering the mail the day that woman came into the store, so after she left, Jane filled me in. Apparently, the only mail she sends or receives are her monthly bills.

What about when she moved in? Tom asked. Who showed up to help her?

Nobody. A Bekins moving van pulled up, and she and the two movers got out. They opened the back of the van and let the dog out of a carrier. In a couple of hours the van was empty, and she was all moved in. I haven’t seen anyone else come around.

Hmmm. Tom was quiet for a minute or two then he lifted his wine glass. Here’s to the value of good friendship.

I’ll drink to that, Amy said, clinking her glass against his.

After more than two months of sorting and rearranging, Paul Hayden had finally settled himself into his childhood home, and the surplus items lined the small driveway of the bed & breakfast. Several people had come to his yard sale, but not many had purchased anything. Doesn’t quite fit with the rest of my décor, was what most of them said, and he had to agree. The chrome and black leather furniture, which had looked great in his Walnut Creek condo, clashed with the more rustic pieces his mother had packed into the family bed & breakfast. It probably would have been easier to unload the stuff before he moved, but everything happened so quickly there really wasn’t time. The only