The Vacation

"Oh, no, thank you. I'm not a guest. You don't have to wait on me."

"Of course you're a guest!" Mrs. Dupris exclaimed. "Anyone under this roof who isn't paid to be here is a guest. What will you have, coffee or tea? Or perhaps something a bit stronger?"

"It's only 10am, Mrs. Dupris."

"Call me Martha, and I'm well aware of what time it is." Her grin was impossibly mischievous for someone pushing 80 years old. "So what would you like?"

"I'll stick with coffee, thanks. Black."

Mrs. Dupris, Martha, chuckled. "I suspected you were made of stern stuff." She turned to the girl. "I'll have my usual, Theresa. Thank you, dear."

They watched the girl retreat from the room, her slender form silent as she moved. "I'll have her give you a tour later," Martha said. "She's been a life-saver. A hard worker, and she really is keen on keeping this place successful. I worry she'll get married and leave, but lately she has her eye on a handsome young man who delivers here, a local, so that would be ideal."

"Sounds like you rely on her quite a bit," Justine said. She knew how it was to be in Theresa's place.

"Mmm, yes. As I was starting to say, my family isn't interested in keeping the place going in my eventual absence. None of them wants to take over the mantle, not like you did for your Gran. She was lucky to have you."

"I think I was the lucky one," Justine said, but the sentiment didn't ring quite as true as it once had.

"They want to sell and take the money instead. I've put it on the market now so I'll have a say in who runs the house later."

"Really? What's your asking price?"

"3.5 million."

Justine's jaw dropped. "Fucking hell!" She slapped her hand over her mouth and mumbled, "Sorry," but good God it was a lot of money!

Martha Dupris laughed. "It's quite alright dear. It is a fucking hell sum of money. I'd consider less from the right buyer. But if I don't like the people looking, I tell them that number and they slink away with their bank accounts untouched. There haven't been many lookers so far, but they've all left with their tails between their legs. By the way, your Grammy's B&B is probably worth far more than this place on the BC market."

That last sentence didn't even register with Justine because she was stuck on the astronomical amount of money Martha was asking for the place.

Justine hadn't seen much of the house or grounds yet, but it was hard to imagine the property being worth even half that. Bed and Breakfast's weren't the golden egg producing goose many people thought. Most owners were happy to make enough profit to go on vacation themselves during the year. "You'll never sell it."

"I will to the right person," Martha said with a sly smile.

Justine grinned back. "Good luck with that, crazy lady."

Theresa returned holding a tray topped with a mug of coffee and tea set. Half a dozen homemade ginger cookies rested on a little plate.

Martha said, "Thank you, Theresa. By the way, this is Justine. Her grandmother was a dear friend who owned a B&B in Whistler. She was one of the best letter writers I ever met."

Justine was surprised to hear that about her grandmother. She'd spent so many years with the woman, effectively thought of her as a mother, but she'd never considered there might be things she didn't know, surprises or secrets.

"It's nice to meet you," Theresa said with a little bow of her head.

"You too. You have beautiful hair, by the way. I tried for that color of red once, but couldn't get it remotely right."

The girl blushed and ducked her head, then said, "You have pretty skin for it. I hate my freckles."

"Freckles are sweet," Justine replied. "When I was fifteen, I spent the entire summer in the sun to get them because a boy I liked was fond of them. Come to think of it, the red hair was for a boy, too." Theresa seemed pleased with her revelations, but Justine saw them as an embarrassing trend that hadn't waned much in adulthood.

Martha said to Theresa, "She's right, freckles are charming. I was hoping you'd give Justine a tour. My hip is aching too much this morning. You'd think it would be happy about the warmer weather, but it's not."

"Of course I will!" Theresa said. Her bright smile and enthusiasm were catching. "I'd love to. Would now work?"

Justine looked expectantly at the lady of the house.

With a nod, Martha waved them off. "You can take your coffee with you."

Justine followed Theresa, who looked to be about twenty, through a wide circle of ground floor rooms, kitchen, formal dining room, solarium, and then to the curved stairway leading to the second floor.

"I can only show you your room because the others are occupied, but here it is." She turned a key in a lock and opened the door to a sunlit room with south facing windows.

It wasn't an enormous space, but like downstairs, it was tastefully decorated with an eclectic variety of antiques and newer pieces. There were elements of the past combined with elements of modern day, and they mixed in a way that was surprisingly organic, natural. Justine was impressed. The small en suite bathroom had a claw foot tub combined with a shower along with the usual amenities.

They went outside next. New growth showed in the mostly bare flowerbeds, but Justine could imagine them bursting with riotous blooms and lush greenery. At the end of a lawn was a gothic style metal and glass greenhouse.

"That is the most gorgeous greenhouse I've ever seen!"

"We're kind of a gardener's B&B," Theresa said. "Martha has a pretty extensive hardy perennial garden and raises some exotic annuals in the greenhouse. If guests want to potter around with plants, or take clippings for propagation or whatever, they can. It's surprising the number of people who want to go on vacation just to get their hands dirty."

"Who knew?" Outdoor sports and photography were the pull for Justine's property. Gardening sounded much more tranquil.

Theresa led her around to the front drive to grab her bag, then Justine was left alone while her guide left to finish chores. She decided to explore the village while the weather was so fine, and grab some lunch while she was there.

Justine took her bag upstairs and changed into jeans, a light-weight cowl neck sweater, and her running shoes. She toyed with the idea of a tee-shirt, but thought that might be tempting fate. It was only early April after all.

The walk to the village was pretty, with expansive views of the countryside from the top quarter of the hill. A park bench had even been perched near the trees off the driveway to encourage leisurely viewing. Birds flitted about in the sun and the trees hummed with the labor of bees.

The village itself was quaint and picturesque, with a colonial feel that couldn't be pinned to just one aspect. The facades of the buildings were decorated with planter boxes filled with fragrant primroses, tulips, and pansies.

Justine passed a barber shop and a small drugstore, "pharmacie" she tried to enunciate to herself, a produce market, and a café. Several antique sellers were interspersed with a dozen other shops lining the street.

This is nice. It was an entirely different feel than Whistler, or even the nearest towns. The kind of place where a person could brush shoulders with locals and tourists and not feel threatened by either.

Justine decided then she would see if Mrs. Dupris could put her up for the remainder of her trip, put her to work even, because if she could absorb the cheerful energy of the little village and the B&B, then she'd be able to say her trip east was successful.

After an indulgent lunch in a café, she made her way back up the hill to the B&B. With a full belly and the warm sun at her back, she felt at peace for the first time in ages.

As Justine exited the wooded trail onto the drive up to the house, she noticed a big refrigerated truck backed to the rear of the B&B. Produce delivered past midday? She shook her head at the poor service, then chastised herself. Maybe they did things differently at La Petite Auberge.

Thinking Martha and Theresa might need help putting things away, she ran up the porch steps and made her way through the house to the kitchen. She found them chatting at the old kitchen table, seemingly oblivious to the truck out back. "Isn't there a delivery?" she asked.

The wooden screen door flew open. "Ok Martha, j'ai fini c'est la dernière," boomed a masculine voice.

The bright light behind him obscured his silhouette, but the voice was unforgettable. "Samuel?"

He froze with box in hand, slowly turning his head her direction. "Justine?"

"You two know each other?" asked Theresa incredulously.

"Uh, yeah," Justine said, a horrible understanding washing over her. Samuel was Theresa's crush! Of course he is.

"But it can't be! How in the world did you find me?" Samuel asked, still in disbelief.

Not as much as Justine, though. Once again, fate was an utter bitch. Her eyes had adjusted and he was just as beautiful as he had been two days before. Dammit!

"Found you?" she asked, trying to cover her discomfort. She didn't want Theresa to get the wrong idea. "I'll have you know I'm a guest here at La Petite Auberge, I'm a friend of the family."

"Yes she is," Martha chimed in. "And what a wonderful coincidence that Samuel here, and his father before him, delivered the best farm products in the region. They have for as long as I've owned this place."

Justine smiled politely and tried not to care, but she did. She forced her eyes back to his. "Was your MRI clear, then?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"So they tell me. There don't seem to be any lingering problems. How's your hand?"

She held it up to show a white and pink Hello Kitty Band-Aid over her cut. "Healing nicely."

Sam gave a tentative smile. "Glad to hear it."

"So, how do you know each other?" Theresa asked, hand planted on her hip.

Justine couldn't look the girl in the eye, so she picked at a nick in the countertop. "It's a long story. I had to go to the hospital and Samuel was there." It was terse accounting of what had been the best day of her trip so far, but she didn't want to hurt Theresa's feelings. Best to just leave them alone. She straightened and turned a last time toward Samuel. "Is it back to the farm now or do you have more deliveries?"

"Back the farm." He looked confused, a little bit concerned.

"Well, I won't keep you then." With a tight smile, she turned and left.

She hadn't quite made it to the stairs when she heard Martha say, "What was that all about?"

**

Sam stood with the box in his hands wondering what the hell had just happened. But of course he was the one intruding on Justine's vacation, and he had no right to ruin it.

She hadn't expected to see him.

Maybe he'd misread her friendliness in Montreal. Maybe he'd misread her interest in his home and work.

Maybe he'd misread her altogether, like Valerie and the others.

Theresa took the box from him and started sorting through the vegetables at the sink.

Martha told him, "I don't know what's gotten into Justine. Maybe she isn't feeling well."

"Maybe." Samuel scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, unsure what to do.

"These look great!" Theresa said. "I wasn't expecting asparagus."

Sam forced himself to focus on her. "We used cold frames this year. I've got to get going. See you Wednesday."

"Yeah, sure," she said, hesitant. "Is everything okay?"

"How could anything be wrong on such a beautiful day?" Sam muttered. "See you later." He forced a smile and bolted for the door, thinking what a disaster.

**

Justine was consumed with the unfairness of losing Samuel once again. Not losing him, but having to let him go.

Who else could Mrs. Dupris have been referring to? How many handsome young men could possibly make deliveries to the house?

So fucking unfair.

Sam had seemed happy to see her which was no consolation at all. Neither was the fact that he was more handsome than she'd remembered. He had such an honest, unpretentious way about him. He was Gordon's opposite in every way, and that was a very good thing. The best thing.

Still, better to find out he was Theresa's crush sooner than later. Justine didn't want to earn Martha's ire any more than Theresa's.

After she heard the truck rumble to life and roll away, Justine gathered herself up and returned to the kitchen to help Theresa. Her trip to the village had inspired her to find out about running this particular B&B, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Maybe she'd even learn something to take home with her.

A strange little knot formed in her stomach at the thought of home, composed primarily of disappointment and anxiety. She wished her family had never mentioned moving, because for the first time she really questioned why she continued to stay.

The easy answer, as Beth had so astutely stumbled upon, was a devotion to the memory of their grandmother and her childhood. Justine couldn't deny that was a part of it. Maybe the main part, but not the only part.

Memories were what kept her going, but were they enough when confronted with her sadly lacking roots in the only place she'd ever called home?

Justine didn't have the energy to brood over it. When night fell and the lights went out, there would be time enough. She wouldn't be able to stop herself, then.

She found Theresa standing at the sink with a pan of water and a scrub brush.

"So, Samuel seems nice," she said to the redhead.

"Sam? Yeah, he's a good guy." She continued scrubbing asparagus and said no more.

Justine was confused. "He's handsome, right?"

"Sure, if you like the strapping farmer type," Theresa smiled over her shoulder at Justine, then started on the spinach.

"Don't you?" A sick trickle of doubt started to make its way into her bloodstream. Had she gotten the entire situation wrong?

Theresa's hands stilled and she gazed out the window over the sink. "I guess I wouldn't say no if he showed an interest, but he's kept to himself since he and Valerie split." She glanced back at Justine. "He seemed happy to see you, though. Maybe he likes you."

Holy shit!

Theresa continued, "My tastes run more toward the baker variety."

Justine's mouth went dry and she clenched her hands together to stop them shaking. "A baker delivers to the house?"

"Yes. We bake our own bread, but they make the best pastries around. That stuff's hard to learn. Do you make your own at your B&B?"

"No." Justine couldn't remember if they even offered pastries, her mind was too busy wondering how to make things right with Samuel. What must he have thought? "I think I'm going for a little drive. Do you mind?"

"Course not. Have fun. You might want to go check out the lake, it's a beautiful afternoon."

"I might."

She wouldn't.

Justine had no intention of sightseeing. She only wanted to track down the Lafortune's Farm, assuming the name on the side of Sam's delivery truck had been correct.

She ran up to her room for her phone, spun up the search engine, typed the name in, and a moment later a number of hits came up, along with a map.

Would he think she was stalking him? Christ, she'd never chased after a man before, but something told her she should chase him.

What if your instincts are wrong again?

Samuel had already shown himself to be a more genuine person than Gordon ever had. It was just an apology anyway.

Justine grabbed her purse and her keys and raced down stairs and out the front door.

Mrs. Dupris stopped her on the porch. She was sitting in a rocking chair, talking with some guests. "Justine, I'd like you to meet the Smiths. They've come to stay twice a year for the last eight years. They're some of our most loyal visitors."

The last thing Justine wanted was a meet-and-greet, but she forced a smile and shook their hands. They both looked to be in their fifties, both dressed optimistically for the warm weather in shorts. "It's a pleasure," she said. "I'm sorry, but there's something urgent I need to take care of. Will you please excuse me?"

Martha's silvery eyebrows rose. "You just arrived! What could possibly be so urgent?"

"Uh, it's a misunderstanding I need to clear up. I'll be back later. Sorry again. Bye!"

Justine hurried down the porch steps before anyone else could protest. If they thought she was a bit unhinged, well, they were probably right and she'd deal with it later.

Her GPS led her south several kilometers, toward the US border. The Lafortune Farm was off a quiet road that led to another small village.

There was only one house in the vicinity of the GPS target, a white two story farmhouse up a long gravel drive. Behind it was an enormous barn and several other outbuildings. Most of the fields were freshly plowed, the raised rows of soil rich and dark.

It's got to be his. Where else would he live?

Justine turned up the drive and tried to calm her dangerously high heartrate. When she pulled to a stop at the front of the house, reason reared its head and asked if she was really doing the right thing.

It's just an apology, she assured herself. He hadn't deserved her rudeness, though it didn't entirely explain her sense of urgency. Or, at all, really.

She climbed out of the car and forced herself up the front steps before she could change her mind.

A frail elderly woman answered the door, looking surprised.

Was this the wrong house after all, or Sam's mother? She hadn't gotten the impression he lived with his parents.

"May I help you?" the woman asked. She had gray hair cut short in a no-maintenance style and wore a big fluffy blue cardigan over her yellow housecoat.

"I hope so. I'm looking for Samuel. Is this where he lives?"

"Yes, and who are you?"

Justine shifted on her feet, wondering how much to tell. How much Samuel might have shared himself. She'd gotten the impression his family was quite close. "My name is Justine. He and I met at the hospital in Montreal. I don't suppose he mentioned...?"

The woman considered her through cloudy gray eyes. "No, but Sam is like his father. He doesn't reveal what he doesn't think we need to know. He's private that way, but you must be the reason he's been so distracted. It makes sense now." She smiled. "Come in, please. I'm his mother, my name is Hélène, but you can call me Helen."

Samuel had been distracted? Over her?

Justine stepped into the foyer and pushed the door closed. Coats hung from hooks on the wall and boots were lined up neatly on rubber mats. The air was a tad too warm and smelled of a cooking roast.

"Thank you, Helen. I hate to intrude. He's probably busy."

"He's out back collecting eggs from his ducks, but you're welcome to wait. It's a bit of a relief, you showing up. His father and I were thinking maybe his bump on the head was worse than he told us. What brings you out here?"

That was a very good question. As with her entire vacation, Justine wasn't sure what she hoped to achieve. She thought it safest to focus on the micro rather than the macro. "I'm staying at the La Petite Auberge and I happened to see him there earlier. There was a little misunderstanding and I wanted to apologize."

"I see. And how is Martha Dupris faring? Recovered from her hip surgery yet?"

"She doesn't think so," Justine replied with a grin.

Hélène laughed long and loud, more than the comment really warranted, but it was endearing. Justine could see where Samuel picked up that particular trait.