Page 47
Story: Birdie By the Bay
“He loves to play cards,” Lottie said.
“So does Vic,” Harlow said.
“Do you need me to go with you?”
Lottie shook her head. “I have a horse and buggy waiting for us at the curb.”
“Fancy,” Harlow teased.
“David doesn’t like me wandering around the streets alone at night, even though I’m sure I would be perfectly safe.”
Vic patted his pocket. “I’ll have my phone handy if you need me.”
The women reached the front gate where Lottie introduced Harlow to their driver. “This is Marty. He’s my go-to guy for craft night.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Wynn.”
She held out her hand. “Please call me Harlow.”
“Harlow.” He helped her into the seat before making quick work of folding her wheelchair and stowing it in the back.
“Cards and casserole night with Dad, craft night with the girls,” Harlow said. “You stay busy.”
“Very. When I moved here, I didn’t know a soul. I’m a little chatty and made friends fairly easily.”
“Lucky you.”
Lottie’s brows knitted. “You don’t have friends?”
“I have Eryn. Other than Vic, she’s the only one I would consider a true friend. The rest are acquaintances or colleagues. Hollywood isn’t known for fostering friendships.”
“You mean Hollyweird?” Lottie curled her lip. “I’m sorry, but Hollywood is not a place I would want to live.”
“It has its disadvantages.” During the trip Harlow was content to let Lottie do the talking. She shared stories about living in England, growing up in the countryside, and her eventual move to the States.
Harlow interrupted. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you move all the way over here?”
“Love. I fell in love with an American. He swept me off my feet.” Lottie’s expression grew distant. “We never had children. He died years ago. Unfortunately, neither of us was good at handling money. To put it bluntly, I found myself flat broke.”
“Here in Michigan?”
“Not Michigan. We lived in Indiana.” Lottie told her she saw an ad for a job on the island. “The Grand Hotel was looking for a gardener. Of course, when I researched Mackinac Island and learned about the grand and glorious hotel, I couldn’t resist. The rest is history.”
“Do you still work at the hotel?”
“I work at the hotel and at Wynn Harbor Inn helping your father. Both jobs give me enough to pay the bills.”
“Have you ever considered returning home to England?”
“The thought crossed my mind a few years ago, but everyone is gone now. I have no family to speak of. Mackinac Island is home. My friends, David, they’re my family. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Dad could use a few friends,” Harlow joked. “I’ve heard he’s a recluse.”
“Tragedies tend to cause people to react, one way or another. Your father chose to internalize everything.”
Lottie had hit the nail on the head. David Wynn had always been an enthusiastic, jovial host. He loved guests, loved sharing Wynn Harbor Inn with others. It was his pride and joy. He went from being an outgoing, larger-than-life personality to sour and distant. The fire had affected him in so many ways. Destroyed so many dreams. Created so much heartbreak.
“I’m trying to get him out of his funk. It’s a slow go, though. He’s stubborn as a mule.”
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