Page 4 of Hush (The Seaside Saga #25)

WHEN JASON PARKS HIS LOADED-UP SUV in Celia’s driveway, he turns his architectural eye on the guest cottage.

Everything—from its stone foundation to the pale yellow cedar shingles and wide white trim to the open front porch—uplifts.

It’s just what he’d intended when he sat at his drafting table, put pencil to paper and drew the reno prints last year.

The cottage hints at some sort of fairy-tale life.

Which was his goal following the awful loss of Sal.

For that cottage to capture some of the hope that Sal had felt during his summer at Stony Point—right down to the diamond-shaped stained-glass window glimmering in a high peak.

Now Jason grabs a carton of staging items from the SUV cargo area. The box is stuffed with throw pillows. But he also tucks in a large gold egret figurine. The bird’s scrawny legs stick straight up from those pillows as he heads to the front porch and knocks at the door.

Instantly, Celia’s there and holding Aria. Celia whisks Jason into the living room, and by the time he sets that stuffed carton on a blue accent chair, she’s putting Aria in his arms. The baby gurgles at him as her tiny fingers clutch his sweatshirt fabric, too.

“What a greeting,” Jason says. “Look at you, little goddaughter. Getting so big now. And so beautiful.”

“Oh, isn’t she?” Celia asks, then motions for him to follow her to the kitchen. “I didn’t think you’d be here this early. I was just cooking some eggs.”

“Take your time.” Still holding Aria, Jason pauses in the kitchen doorway.

Morning sunlight casts a warmth on the room’s white-paneled walls.

Dried flower bunches hang from exposed ceiling beams. A woven rag rug is on the floor.

With Celia busy at the stove, Jason sits with the baby on one of the blue-painted wood chairs at the table.

A mismatched collection of framed seascapes hangs on the wall beside him.

“Just tell me where you want your staging stuff,” he half says to Celia while adjusting Aria in his hold, “and I can get started.”

“I cleared a spot on the back porch. But have some eggs first,” Celia offers while sliding a spatula beneath them on a stovetop pan. “I cooked too many. We can do the boxes after, if that’s all right.”

Jason starts to resist. Everything on his day’s itinerary begins ticking through his mind.

But then Aria coos and reaches toward one of those paintings on the wall.

And Celia’s standing there at the stove.

Waiting for his answer, she holds her spatula paused in the air; her flannel shirt is untucked over jeans and moccasin slippers.

Something’s on her face, too. Some emotional fatigue left over from her past day .

And that’s what does it.

Jason gives in if only to make Celia’s life easier this Wednesday morning.

“Yeah, I have time.” As he says it, he turns in his seat so that Aria can inspect those seascapes.

“You see the seagulls, cupcake?” he asks.

He also takes her tiny hand and touches her fingers to the painted gulls soaring over a calm inlet.

When she laughs, he tells her, “Sea birds just like here at the beach.”

Meanwhile, Celia’s setting a stoneware plate in front of him, then pouring orange juice into a tall glass. “Busy day ahead?” she asks, then turns back to the stove.

“Sure is.” With his hands wrapped around Aria, Jason sits her on the edge of the table, leans close and lightly rubs his whiskered jaw on her cheek.

He hears her happy gurgles as he does, then looks over to Celia approaching with that egg pan.

“Got a think-tank meeting with Mitch and Carol first. They’re narrowing down a cottage name for their place.

Afterward? Mostly work for my regular clients.

Some on the road, some in my barn studio. ”

Celia’s spooning eggs onto their plates. “Busy’s good, right?”

“Yeah. To an extent, anyway. And what’s on tap for you today?”

“Me? Well, Elsa texted me an hour ago,” Celia says while bringing the toaster to the table and plugging it in there.

She also drops in two slices of whole-grain bread.

“When this one’s in for her morning nap,” she goes on, lifting Aria from his hold and sitting her in a baby swing near the table, “Elsa and I made plans to babyproof the house.”

“Really. Already? ”

Celia nods. “Aria will be crawling around in no time. I want everything safe for her. Everything taken care of.” After bringing butter and jam to the table, too, Celia sits. And sighs. And leans back. “Might be the first time I’ve stopped all morning,” she says, then salts her eggs.

“Well, what about you , then?” Jason asks right as the toaster pops up.

Celia tips her head and squints at him. “What about me?”

He reaches for the toasted bread, leaving a slice on his plate, a slice on Celia’s. “Everything taken care of with you , too?”

***

And Celia knows.

She knows that Jason knows. That Shane would’ve shared the latest on her mother as Jason helped pack up Celia’s staging gear. She slathers some jam on her buttered toast, then looks across the table at him. “Shane filled you in on things?”

“Little bit.” Jason lifts a forkful of scrambled egg. “So… how’re you doing?”

“I’m okay.”

“Shane told me about your mother driving past you near the marsh yesterday. And about last night,” Jason says around a mouthful of that egg. “The deal with her letter.”

Celia nods. “You know something?” She bites into her folded-up toast, then holds up a finger while sipping her orange juice. “I’m curious,” she says then.

“Curious. About what?”

“Well… You talked to Shane all along. When he was in Sa n Francisco. When he was working on your stairs. And just now.” She pauses to reach over to Aria in the swing.

A fuzzy lion rattle is tucked beside the baby.

Celia gives it a shake, then wraps Aria’s fingers around it.

“So I’m curious about what you make of it all. The whole story about my mother.”

“Okay.” Jason takes a swallow of orange juice, then presses a napkin to his mouth. “What I make of it first is that Shane had your back one hundred and ten percent.”

“Agree.”

“But the rest? It’s hard for me to reconcile, Celia.

” Jason scoops up some egg with his buttered toast. “Because my father? Man, he was my hero . Kept me going when I was at my worst and feeling lower than low with no leg, no brother, no life after the accident. He actually lifted me with his own stories, his own war experiences—which he made damn sure I learned something from, too. But Dad? He was also there when I was at my best. Graduating from Yale School of Architecture, starting the business with Neil, and finally turning things around well after the bike wreck. All the time… he was there. Just about did me in when he died, Celia. Miss the guy like hell.”

Celia can fully hear that Jason’s had bleak times. Bleak days after that accident ten years ago. She also can’t miss the undeniable love for his father.

“So for me?” Jason goes on. “Had my father left me a note like that, it would’ve been impossible to burn that envelope. I’d have pored over every word of the letter inside.”

“I get it. I couldn’t have burned it, either—if it was from my father. But it wasn’t. ”

“They were that different, your parents?”

“Worlds apart. And the thing is?” Celia picks at her scrambled eggs while Aria coos beside her.

“I would’ve opened the envelope, Jason—if my mother didn’t drive away near the marsh.

If when I saw her brake lights come on, if she’d just stopped, gotten out…

told me Shane had a note that explained things, then became so emotional and drove off?

I would’ve done it. I would’ve read her letter.

If only she’d opened that damn car door and came to me in the street, maybe.

Hugged me. Said my name. Said she talked with Shane.

If she’d told me that he’s a good man. That he shed light on my life.

On her life. That he had her think differently—but she still had to leave.

If she’d begged me to please read her letter, I’d have done it.

If she’d let me in the smallest bit.” Celia shrugs with a sad smile.

“But she didn’t. She looked at me in her rearview mirror and drove away. ”

There’s a moment’s pause, then. Oh, how close Celia had come to opening that letter last night. She was a few words away from doing it. A few words that Heather couldn’t bring herself to say. So it’s frightening to think how very little—just a mere sentence or two—can hugely alter our lives.

“I’m really sorry,” is all Jason says then. “For you.”

“Me, too. Sorry that things couldn’t be different.

But they aren’t,” Celia admits while walking to the counter to the coffee maker now.

She carries the glass decanter to the table.

“Second time this happened, no less. First in San Francisco. Then, here. And, you know. Fool me twice, shame on me,” she quietly says while pouring the coffee into two mugs.

“So… I couldn’t read the letter. My wisest ch oice was just to let it all go.

Which I did.” She returns the decanter to the counter, then sits at the table again. “And when I did, Jason?”

He just looks across the breakfast plates and napkins and steaming coffee mugs at her.

“I felt like a white dove, flying away free.”

What surprises Celia then is how Jason sets down his fork, stands and walks around the table. He bends low and gives her a hug, too.

“Sometimes you just know who you need to have in your life,” Celia hears in her ear. Jason’s voice is low and utterly understanding and it makes her squeeze her eyes shut. “Who belongs in it. And who doesn’t.”