“Ready for lunch?” she asked, eager for a distraction.
“Not just yet. I had a late breakfast. What are you working on in here?”
She heaved a sigh. “The inn’s listing.”
“It’s not going well? What have you written so far?”
Molly peered down at the document. “Historic inn, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, for sale.” She gave him an exaggerated pouty look.
“All right . . . That’s a nice start. Nestled is a great verb.” He came behind her and rubbed her shoulders.
She moaned as his fingers dug into her tight muscles. She hadn’t realized how tense she was. “How do you do it? How do you turn your thoughts and feelings into just the right words on paper? Everything I write . . . just doesn’t do the inn justice.”
“You’re pretty close to the subject matter. Sometimes that makes it more difficult. Want a little help?”
“Yes.”
“Want me to just do it for you?”
She peeked up at him. “Would you?”
He laughed as he leaned down, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered in her ear, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Mrs. Bradford.”
Chapter Eight
Later that night Grace took the bike and helmet back from the middle-aged woman. After a bit of small talk she said good-bye, then her eyes caught on the curb where the Lumina had pulled up the night before.
She stared at the empty parking space, a shiver of apprehension skittering down her spine at the memory. She wiped her sweaty palms down her shorts.
Ridiculous. The vehicle was nowhere to be seen at the moment, and she hadn’t seen it since. Besides, it belonged to a harmless elderly woman. A sweet old grandma.
What was wrong with her? Sure, there’d been times when that childhood memory returned. Even freaked her out a little. But yesterday she’d had some kind of panic attack, and she could still feel the panic simmering beneath the surface.
And just below that was the other feeling she’d come to accept as her status quo. That she didn’t quite deserve the good things in her life. That she maybe hadn’t even deserved to live.
She knew she was dealing with survivor’s guilt. But knowing it and making it go away didn’t equate. She may have gotten away with her life that day, but she sure hadn’t gotten off scot-free.
She put the bike away, locked up the equipment shed, and went inside the inn, the depressing thoughts on her heels like a murky shadow.
When she reached the lobby she spotted Levi at the front desk, clacking away on the keyboard.
He looked up at her arrival. “Hey. How was the retail space you looked at earlier?”
She shrugged on her way to the stairs, not in the mood for conversation. “It was fine, I guess.”
“Is it a possibility? Think you could make it work?”
“I don’t know, Levi. It needs a lot of help.”
“Wait. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired. I’m turning in early.”
“At nine o’clock? What kind of work does it need? We aren’t exactly rookies when it comes to renovation.”
“It’s more the money than the work.”
“You’ll be getting a nice check when we sell the inn.”
“Which I’ll use to expand my business. I don’t have an extra fifty thousand to throw into a building.”
“What about a grant? I was reading a while back about state grants for new business starts. You should apply.”
“I don’t know. I’ll check it out.” She headed for the stairs.
“Sure you’re okay? You seem down or something.” He started to say something else, then closed his mouth.
“I’m fine. Just tired, like I said. Good night.”
“Good night.”
She was grateful that for once he hadn’t pried. Molly was the nosy one, but Levi had his own special way of interfering. When their parents died he’d appointed himself guardian and lord over his sisters. He’d gotten better the past couple of years—after a sisterly intervention—but there was still room for improvement.
Once in her bedroom Grace showered and got into her pajama bottoms and a top that read Due to unfortunate circumstances I am awake. She had the room all to herself now that Molly was married. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but sometimes she missed her sister’s idle rambling and the bookwormy way she stayed up late reading whatever novel she couldn’t put down. She didn’t miss the messiness or the lamp shining late into the night, however.
If Grace were lonely for noise, her wish was soon granted. The family staying in the room next to hers returned, and their toddler began crying—screeching really.
Grace grabbed her laptop and started some tunes flowing through her earbuds. Now was as good a time as any to figure out how to fix her problem.
She began researching survivor’s guilt. She got caught up in story after story of people who were living with the same problem she was experiencing. Trauma brought on by war events, mass shootings. Stories much worse than hers, which somehow only added to her guilt. At least she wasn’t having nightmares, mood swings, and depression.
She turned her search toward overcoming the problem. What did she have to do? She immediately discounted counseling. Been there, done that. Most of the advice was about changing the way you think. Okay, she could work on that. But it seemed so passive. She wanted to do something. She wanted these feelings gone, and she sure didn’t want another panic attack in front of a handsome guest.
Finally, she stumbled upon an extensive article from a psychology site that recommended turning guilt into helping others. Guilt made a person feel helpless—this she knew—while action, specifically helping others, made a person feel useful and purposeful.
Okay. Here was a plan she could get behind. Maybe it was self-serving, helping others to help herself, but hey, two birds, one stone. She would try to be more outwardly focused, on the lookout for how she could help others. That was really just the Christian way of life anyway, wasn’t it? Love God, love others, and all that.
Having a plan made her feel better. She set her laptop aside, suddenly weary, and turned off her lamp.
Her thoughts immediately turned toward the conversation she’d had with Wyatt as they walked into town this morning. She enjoyed talking to him, bantering with him. Grace had never been talkative like Molly, but she’d always been quick on her feet with conversation. With Wyatt she’d met her match. He didn’t say much, but what he said counted. He’d kind of flirted with her. And maybe she flirted back a little.
She hoped to see him the next day. And a few minutes later she drifted off with a smile.
Chapter Nine
Grace heard footsteps on the stairs, and from her position behind the front desk, she tensed in anticipation. But a moment later the small family who’d been staying in the room next to hers appeared.
“Good morning. Checking out?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the father said.
Grace made small talk as she completed the checkout process then handed them the receipt.
“Do you need directions, or are you all set?” she asked the father since their toddler was busy spilling juice on his mother’s shirt and wiggling to get down.