Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Hannah Matthews prided herself on being sensible and responsible. A single mom and a public relations executive handling several very demanding but fascinating clients, she was the person to turn to in any crisis. She claimed there wasn’t a superstitious bone in her body, but she was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something to the old adage that things happened in threes, especially bad things. She was also losing her faith that God never gave a person more than they could handle, because she was definitely on overload.
Not quite three months past her final chemo treatment for breast cancer and less than a month after her mother’s death from the very same disease, here she was back in a town she hadn’t been able to flee fast enough, standing in front of the bed-and-breakfast that had once been her much-despised home. Worse, she was facing the arduous prospect of trying to convince her stubborn eighty-five-year-old grandmother that it was time to move into an assisted-living community and sell Seaview Inn. Life couldn’t get much more stressful than this, or if it could, she didn’t want to find out how.
“Hannah, why are you just standing out there daydreaming?” her grandmother demanded from behind the inn’s screen door, her tone every bit as querulous and demanding as Hannah remembered from her last visit home. “As hot as it is, leaving this front door wide open is a waste of air-conditioning. And why weren’t you here this morning? You told me you’d be here this morning. I’ve been sitting on the porch watching for you most of the day. The heat finally drove me inside.”
Hannah bit back a sigh and grabbed the handle of her suitcase to pull it along behind her. “My flight was delayed, Gran. Remember, I called you from the airport in New York to let you know?”
Her grandmother’s faded hazel eyes filled with confusion, yet another recent change from her once astute demeanor. “You did? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Gran, but it doesn’t matter now. I’m here.”
“And about time, too,” her grandmother added with a little humph.
Hannah placed an arm around her grandmother’s frail shoulders and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You look good, Gran. Are you feeling okay?”
Truthfully, her grandmother looked as if a strong wind would blow her away. She’d lost weight she could ill afford to lose. Her face, filled with eighty-five years of lines and wrinkles, was sallow. Losing her only child, Hannah’s mother, had taken a lot out of her. Her friends in town had called Hannah to let her know that Jenny had rarely left the house since the funeral. She’d been skipping the meetings of her quilting circle and, more telling, Sunday services at church. They were worried about her.
“She’s just going to fade away, die of a broken heart all alone, if you ask me,” Rachel Morrison had said when she’d called.
Hannah hadn’t missed the critical note in Rachel’s voice, the unmistakable hint that Hannah had been irresponsible to run off right after her mother’s burial and leave her grandmother to cope with her grief and Seaview Inn all on her own.
Though her family knew what she was struggling with, Hannah had been unwilling to share her own cancer crisis with any of these well-meaning neighbors. She’d been unable to defend her actions in any way that might have satisfied them. How could she possibly tell them that seeing her mom’s quick decline and painful death while in the middle of her own treatment had left her terrified? She hadn’t been able to get away from Seaview and the memories of her mother’s final days fast enough. She believed that a positive attitude was an essential ingredient for surviving cancer, but it was almost impossible to maintain that attitude in the face of her mother’s death from a recurrence that had come less than two years after she’d first been diagnosed.
So, instead of explaining, Hannah had succumbed to guilt and dutifully taken the remaining two weeks of leave she’d accumulated during years of ignoring vacation time and socking away sick days to come here. That two weeks was all that was left after the time taken for her mastectomy and then the chemo, which had knocked her for a loop despite her stubborn determination to pretend she was just fine. Her boss had grudgingly agreed to let her off, but he’d made it plain he wasn’t one bit happy about the timing.
In less than twenty-four hours, she’d flown back to Florida, rented a car, driven for an hour, and then taken a ferry out to Seaview Key, a tiny island community of less than a thousand full-time residents just off Florida’s west coast. Once there, she’d had to deal with
