Saving Home

Andy was instantly alert. “Is it Dad?” she wanted to know. “Does he want to see me?”

Alex waved away both questions, concentrating on what was being said on the other end of the line.

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll send someone to you right away. And don’t worry, I’ll call a doctor. It’s Dr. Donnelly. I’ve got his number right here. Hang on, help is on the way.” Hanging up, Alex looked straight at her sister. “You’re it,” she declared.

Andy wasn’t sure what had just happened or who Alex had been talking to. “As in tag?” she asked, bewildered.

Alex shook her head, her blond hair all but dancing around her face. “As in the help I promised.”

Andy felt something tighten around her heart. “Dad?” Alex’s earlier dismissal hadn’t fully convinced her.

“Ms. Carlyle,” Alex corrected. “I’d go myself but in my present shape, I don’t exactly inspire confidence and I’m not exactly built for speed, so you’re elected.”

“Ms. Carlyle?” Andy repeated. It took a second for the name to get past her concern for her father. Another full second to fully register. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Other than being in her late eighties, early nineties?”

No one really knew the woman’s exact age. And Ms. Carlyle made it clear she preferred it that way. She had pointed out a long time ago that the inn’s main objective was to make her stay with them as pleasant an experience as humanly possible. This automatically included allowing the woman to maintain both her secrets and her dignity if those secrets contributed to Ms. Carlyle’s sense of dignity.

“Yes,” Andy answered with as much patience as she could muster, “other than that.”

“My guess is that it might be her heart,” Alex speculated, going through the list of regularly used phone numbers to locate the doctor’s. “She confided in Wyatt that she’d been having occasional...flutters...I think she called them.”

The term, as far as Andy knew, covered a wide variety of complaints for the former elementary school teacher. “She’s still sweet on Wyatt, huh?”

Alex nodded, still searching. “Ever since he interviewed her for that book his father had been writing about the inn. Here it is,” she cried triumphantly, jabbing the number with her well-polished nail for emphasis. “I’ll call the doctor, ask him to please come here and see her.” She glanced up at Andy. “I just hope he’s up to it. He’s getting on in years, too.” Alex sighed. “Things aren’t supposed to keep changing like this,” she lamented.

“If they didn’t,” Andy pointed out even though she didn’t care for change, either, “you and Wyatt would still be exchanging barbs instead of making babies.”

“Go!” Alex ordered, pointing in the direction of their only live-in guest’s quarters. “You’re wasting time. She could be freaking out.”

The stately Ms. Anne Josephine Carlyle spent a good deal of her time in the Queen Mary Suite, one of the inn’s original rooms. It was on the first floor within easy walking distance of the dining hall as well as the back veranda. The latter had an incredible view of the ocean and at night, during a full moon, it appeared as if the moon and the ocean were enjoying a secret relationship built on affection and gentle caresses.