The Echo of Old Books(57)

“So you came to my house.”

It sounded bad when he said it. Intrusive and a little bit creepy. “Not to see you. Well, I’d have to see you, but I wasn’t planning to bother you. I wrote my questions down on Post-its and stuck them to the pages so you could look them over when you had time. If I had known you were here, I wouldn’t have . . .” Ashlyn let the words dangle. He looked tired and annoyed, as if she’d caught him in the middle of something. “I’m sorry. It looks like I picked a bad time.”

She was about to head back down the steps when he stopped her. “I never got your messages. That’s why I didn’t return your calls. I’ve been holed up with the phone unplugged for the last few days. I’m not sure how many. I’ve lost track at this point.” He paused, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “What’s today?”

“Sunday.”

He nodded wearily. “A week. Good grief.”

She saw it now, the shadow of stubble along his jaw and clothes that looked like they’d been worn for several days. “You’ve been writing?”

“I promised my editor a look at the first five chapters by next week and it’s not going well. I can’t seem to get the thing off the ground.” He raked back his hair, leaving it standing on end. “Sorry for barking. I’m not good without sleep.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry about disturbing you while you were working.”

Ashlyn was waiting for a response when she realized Ethan’s attention had drifted away. She turned, following his gaze, and spotted a plump woman in a lavender tracksuit hovering at the end of the drive with an equally plump springer spaniel. At first glance, it appeared she was having trouble with the dog’s leash, but a closer look suggested her attention was actually trained on them.

“That’s Mrs. Warren,” Ethan said. “Our one-woman neighborhood-watch committee.” He smiled tightly, offering the woman an almost comic wave. “I used to steal pickles from her backyard when I was a kid. Whole jars snatched right off her picnic table. She told my mother I’d end up in prison. She’s been keeping an eye on me since I moved back, waiting for me to slip up. You’d better come in before she pegs you as my accomplice. I’m sure she’s already memorized your license plate.”

Ashlyn was surprised by the invitation but happily followed him inside. At the last minute, she turned in the doorway to throw Mrs. Warren a wave.

Ethan snorted as he closed the door behind them. “That should have tongues wagging by morning.”

“Sorry. Busybodies make me crazy. They love to peek through your blinds, but most of them wouldn’t lift a finger if your house caught fire.”

Ethan’s brows shot up. “Is that the voice of experience speaking?”

“Something like that.”

They were standing in a large foyer with polished parquet floors and an enormous mirror that caught the light from an overhead fixture of bronze and cut glass. Beyond a curved archway, Ashlyn caught a glimpse of a spacious parlor decorated in soft shades of cream and gray.

“What a beautiful room.”

“Care for the full tour?”

She nodded sheepishly. “If you can spare the time.”

Ethan said little as he led her from room to room, pointing out a feature here and there but otherwise leaving the rooms to speak for themselves. The house was a study in sophistication and style but with an unfussy cohesion running throughout. Smartly papered walls, fabrics in cool, sedate hues, furnishings chosen for comfort rather than show.

“It’s all so beautiful,” she said when they arrived back at the kitchen. “Like something out of House & Garden but still warm and welcoming.”

“Thanks. My mother’s doing. When she found out she was sick, she decided to redecorate the place from top to bottom. So everything would be shipshape for my father. And for me when he passed away. That’s how she was, always thinking about everybody else. She drove herself crazy to get it right. She was afraid she wouldn’t finish in time.”

Ashlyn flashed back to the boxes she’d gone through before coming across Regretting Belle and the echoes she’d inadvertently picked up. Echoes belonging to someone who was sick and afraid of running out of time. Echoes she now realized had belonged to Ethan’s mother.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “What was her name?”

“Catherine.”

“She sounds lovely.”

Ethan smiled, but there was sadness there too. “She was. And a real fighter. They gave her a year when she was diagnosed. She hung in for three.”

“And she spent them making sure things would be easier for you and your dad when she was gone.”

“That’s who she was. She made dozens of lists, phone numbers for all the neighbors, who to call to fix this or that, where she kept the important papers. She even made the housekeeper swear to stay on and look after my father. Now she looks after me. Or tries to.”

Ashlyn managed a smile, but she couldn’t help comparing the choices her mother had made in the wake of her diagnosis to those of Catherine Hillard, who had done everything in her power to ensure those she loved were looked after. She had chosen to stay. Chosen to fight.

They had wandered back to the kitchen now. Ethan pointed to the stove, where a large pot sat on the back burner. “Can I interest you in a bowl of seafood chowder?”