I followed her through the dining room to a narrow door, which she opened, revealing a long and narrow staircase. We walked up the uneven stairs and entered a hallway with alcoves jutting out on either side. There weren’t many rooms, just a handful. Mine was at the end, on the corner, next to a door with a large window that opened out onto a shared deck.
As we made our way down the hall, I shivered, just a little.
LuAnn opened my door to reveal a spacious room with light-yellow walls and big double-hung windows on two sides, each with sheer white curtains billowing in the breeze. The age of this room radiated out into my bones. A century of souls inhabiting a place will leave an imprint that lingers long after they’re gone, and it lingered here. Not in a bad way. It felt well lived in.
A queen bed with a white down comforter and an antique wooden headboard sat on one wall. The dresser, complete with a curved mirror and a seat, looked to be from the same era. I caught a glimpse of myself in that mirror and wondered how many women, from how many time periods, had done the same. A rocking chair with a wide leather seat was perched near one of the windows, and a couple of comfy armchairs sat on either side of an end table that held an antique lamp with a rose-colored etched-glass shade.
A small fridge stood outside the bathroom next to a darling antique hutch, where a French press coffee maker was waiting for the morning along with two cups. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall, propelling the room into the present.
“Now, you’re not going to want to be eating all of your meals out,” LuAnn chattered on. “That gets spendy. There’s a grocery store just a block up the hill. What most residents do is stock up on things like yogurt, cheese, fruit. Feel free to grab dishes, silverware, glasses, whatever you need, from the kitchen, and just return them when you’re finished. You’ll see the tubs where we put the restaurant’s dirty dishes before they get loaded into the dishwasher. Gary or Aaron will take care of the washing up.”
“Good to know.”
I peeked into the bathroom. Just a toilet and a sink.
“Two showers and one bathtub are down here,” she said, leading me through the hallway and opening one door, then another to reveal two tiled single shower rooms. A third held a deep claw-foot tub.
“You’re sharing these with just one other summer lodger. There are six rooms total, and the suite—occupied all summer long by a couple—has a full bath, so they don’t use these showers or the tub. That leaves two rooms for renters, who come and go.”
I nodded.
“You’ll find people are pretty courteous,” LuAnn continued. “Nobody’s taking long showers. You get in, you get out. Shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash are in containers on the wall in each shower. Baths are another story. People like to soak, and so be it. I find the tub isn’t used too often, so if you like baths, bring a glass of wine and a good book, and don’t worry about a backlog.”
“Got it,” I said, knowing I’d do exactly that.
“We’ve got towels, too, but there’s no guarantee you’ll find one when you’ll need one, so Mickey’s down the block has everything you need—towels, comfy robes, flip-flops, puffs. If you want your own shampoo and bodywash and other bath accessories, you can find them there, too. Most are locally made.”
We walked past another stairway going up to a third level of the house. “You can go up there if you like,” she said, waving an arm in an upward direction. “That’s our bunk room. Had been a ballroom back in the day. Sometimes the staff stays after closing time and has a few drinks. Sometimes more than a few. I’ve got five bunks up there for people to crash in, so they don’t drink and drive. Safety first, with no judgment from me.”
All of a sudden, something didn’t make sense. “Wait,” I said, doing the math. “You said I’m sharing the showers with one summer lodger and the other has an en suite bath. That’s three rooms. Two for renters, that’s five. I thought there were six?”
LuAnn’s face grew serious. “That’s right. I’ve got one of the rooms shut up for now.”
I was going to ask her why but didn’t get the chance. Someone called for her from the restaurant, and she excused herself to attend to whatever it was.
I figured this would be a good time to unpack, so I traipsed back out to the car, hauled my suitcases upstairs, and set about organizing my things.
With that handled . . . What next? I wondered. I sank into one of the armchairs and gazed out the window. It had been so long since I’d had nothing to do, nobody to care for, no errands to run, no calls to make, no one depending on me for anything, that I wasn’t sure what to do.
A vague sense of guilt pricked at my skin as I looked up and down the street. Was I forgetting something? Some important job that needed doing? My mind raced for a moment, but then I realized. No. It was truly over. I wished with all my soul it wasn’t, but it was.
I plucked a tissue from the box on the bedside table, dabbed at my eyes, and pushed myself out of the chair. I scooped up my purse, remembering to grab the old skeleton key that LuAnn had set on the dresser, and locked the door on my way out.
CHAPTER TWO
I didn’t get far. As I walked down the hallway, I noticed the door at the opposite end from my room was open. Inside, at a scrubbed wooden table facing the door, sat a handsome man who I assumed was in his late sixties. I caught his eye.
His face broke into a devilish grin, and he ran his hand through his thick white hair. “Hi!” he said. I couldn’t help smiling back. That grin was infectious.
“I’m Brynn Wilder,” I said. “Are you the other summer lodger?”
“One of them.” He hopped to his feet and came out to greet me, extending his hand. “Jason Lord,” he said, a positive energy radiating around him. “My husband, Gil, and I have been coming here every summer for . . . oh, let’s see”—he looked off for a moment—“at least five years. Maybe six.”
“I’m in the last room by the deck.” I nodded down the hallway.
“Ah, the Yellow Lady.” He smiled. “It’s a lovely room. LuAnn told us you were arriving today. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
I peeked around him. “Wow,” I said. “This is a suite?”
He gestured into the room. “Come in! Have a look around.”
The two-level suite was enormous compared to my single room, and the vibe was totally different. It was like my room and this suite existed in two different moments in time. It had the same feel as the dining room in a way—plucked from elsewhere in time and set into the four walls of this seemingly timeless boardinghouse.
My room was vintage Victorian, but this suite was more like a Northwoods lodge. Warm wooden paneling lined the walls. The ceiling was open to the second-story hallway, which had a black wrought-iron railing. A stone fireplace reached all the way to the roof. A flat-screen TV sat on the hearth, which looked to be an entire tree trunk halved and polished so the wood shone. It faced a leather couch and love seat in the middle of the room. A small kitchen with a fridge, stove, sink, and some cherrywood cabinets was tucked into a corner, a marble-topped center island between it and the living room. On the far end of the room, french doors opened onto a private deck.