“Great! You can bring Jennifer.”
“Shoot! Jennifer has summer soccer every night this week. Maybe I can get Mrs. Pease to take her.”
Claire’s eyes filled with motherly concern. “You don’t want to miss a game, do you? It won’t be but the blink of an eye, and she’ll be off on her own. Don’t feel like you have to come. There will be plenty of hands to bake the cupcakes.”
“We’ll see.” Hailey didn’t want to voice her worries or the fact that she could use extra money, so she changed the subject. “What’s going on in the bathroom?”
Claire glanced into the bathroom, where Sally could be heard clanging a wrench against the pipes, and plastered a smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes and worried Hailey. “Oh, just a little leak. Sally will take care of it.” Claire gestured toward the kitchen. “I’ve got cinnamon rolls in the oven. Can you mix up some brownies?”
“I’m on it.” Hailey headed toward the cabinet and pulled out cocoa, flour, and baking soda. “Do you have a game plan? Like how many per night and a list of ingredients, that sort of thing.” She put the dry ingredients on the counter and headed to the fridge for eggs, milk, and butter.
“I’m making a list of ingredients, but a solid plan might be good. Maybe I should see if Maxi and Jane want to help me work it out. Jane is so good with that sort of thing. Would you come too?”
Hailey was honored to be included. She loved Claire’s friends, who liked to mother her and Jennifer. It was welcome attention since Hailey’s own mother had died when she was twelve. She liked to spend time with them, but even better, the invitation signaled that Claire trusted her as more than just hired help. “I’d love to.”
Chapter Ten
Tides was the same as Rob remembered from when he had stayed there as a kid. Even the interior—with the large old-fashioned floral-wallpaper foyer that served as a lobby, the well-kept balustrade of the staircase leading to the second floor, and the walls hung with paintings of the beach and other nearby landmarks—hadn’t changed.
At the tinkle of the bells attached to the door, an old woman bustled out from a room deeper in the old Victorian house. She was robust, if thin, her face craggy with wrinkles, and her long white hair pulled back from her face. Although the bell had called her, her eyes were glassy, as if she couldn’t seem to remember why she had stepped through the door. She peered around, the wrinkles in her face softening with confusion as she searched.
“Are you looking for Dad?” Her voice was soft, almost girlish.
Immediately, the lost look in her face and the timidity of her voice clicked into a slot in his mind. The woman must have some sort of dementia. Rob recognized the signs, having lived with that very expression for far too many years of his life. Caroline, his late wife, had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. It was a disease that not only sapped the memory but also the personality, and finally the very life from her.
He was flooded with compassion for the woman in front of him. What was this woman doing there, unaccompanied? Was she a guest? Rob glanced at the open door, knowing full well a person with dementia could wander off and get lost. He knew just how to handle someone with memory loss.
Tucking his hands into his pockets, he smiled and strolled forward. “Hello. I hoped to speak with the owner of this inn. Would that be you?” he teased.
She giggled. “Oh, Charlie, you know it will be some day. Do you have a delivery? You can bring it to the back with me.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t Charlie. Not to mention, given how young she seemed to think she was, he would be far too old for her to be flirting with him. She acted like a teenager.
He cracked a smile and shrugged his shoulders, careful not to encourage her but also not to confuse her by correcting her. Sometimes it was kinder just to play along. “No delivery today. But I hope I’ll be back soon with the delivery. Who should I talk to about that?”
A younger, harried-looking woman, who resembled the old woman to such an extent that they must be related, stepped out from another archway.
“You can talk to me.” Shyly, she tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear. She was soft-spoken, not like the brusque business owners or overly friendly extroverts he usually dealt with. It was refreshing. Maybe she was someone he could do business with on friendly, trusting terms.
He gave the older woman another smile because that felt far safer. “I hope you don’t think I’ll be ignoring you, but I do want to talk to this fine woman about potential future deliveries. I have a business proposition.”
The younger woman nodded briskly and stepped up, offering her hand. “It’s fine. I’m Jane Miller, and this is my mother, Adelaide.”
Rob shook hands with Jane. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Rob Bradford from Bradford Breads. I just opened a store in town. Is there a place we can sit down and talk?”
Abruptly, the old woman sharpened. The fog of confusion left her face, and her voice gained strength. “If you’re talking business, then you’ll talk to me. I still run this place, you know.”
Rob was speechless at how quickly she seemed to shake off the confusion.
Then she added, “At least while Daddy is away.”
Lines spiderwebbed around Jane’s eyes, her smile turning forced. “Of course, Mom. Why don’t you show him to the kitchen?”
The old woman nodded and turned on her heel, bustling away with vigor that belied her age. As Rob indicated that Jane should follow first and he would trail behind, she lowered her voice and whispered, “It’s very kind of you to include her. Most people get uncomfortable around her when she’s like this.”
His smile faded, but he tried to hide it. “I have some experience with dementia.” Before she asked more—he didn’t want to open that can of worms with a stranger—he lengthened his stride. Not to mention, most people didn’t care to hear about a woman in her forties developing Alzheimer’s.
Thankfully, Jane simply nodded, a look of sympathy flashing through her eyes, before continuing to the kitchen.
