Aloha With Love Read online

  More time. What an understatement. Hopefully Patti wouldn’t ask for anything more concrete, like a date on the calendar. Jenna couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing yet another person today with bad news.

  Patti’s fingernails kept tapping. “Take all the time you need. We’re fine.”

  “But my inbox—” She didn’t bother to clarify she couldn’t possibly keep up with her email anyway, not with its lag and island Wi-Fi.

  “Don’t worry about your inbox. It’s mostly FYI.” There was a momentary pause. “By the way, Darren keeps popping his head in my office, hoping I’ve heard from you.”

  Jenna’s eyes rolled so hard she nearly gave herself a migraine. “Seems like he’s willing to put more effort into talking to me after we’ve broken up than while we were together.”

  She could hear Patti’s grin. “There’s the Jenna Burke I’ve missed.”

  Her boss’s fingernails resume their keyboard clacking. “Thanks, Patti.”

  “Think of me when you’re on the beach.”

  Sure. Jenna laughed and hung up.

  A ding on her laptop signaled another incoming message as her inbox queue finally caught up. Still thinking of Darren’s newfound interest in communication, Jenna had her finger poised above the delete button before she saw the name of the sender. She froze.

  May Burke.

  “What. Is. Happening?”

  Jenna clicked to open the email, but no luck. She gritted her teeth and clicked again. In a counterattack, her cursor devolved into a pinwheel. Again.

  “Don’t you spinning pinwheel of death me!” she growled.

  She clicked again and her screen froze, even the pinwheel stopped moving. Jenna slammed her laptop closed. Well, her aunt’s message was a surprise, and Jenna had no clue whether it was a good one. Based on what she’d seen in movies, messages received from beyond the grave usually weren’t. What in the world might Aunt May be trying to communicate to her—and why now?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aunt May’s funeral service was small and intimate, every bit as warm and inviting as the woman herself had been. Jenna was surprised at the number of people who turned up—most were friends and family, but there were many others, unfamiliar faces she didn’t recognize who’d known and loved Aunt May too. Just like at her memorial. It was no surprise the woman had left her mark on so many people, but Jenna couldn’t help but wonder if she’d left anyone else any special surprises in her will or if the pleasure had been reserved just for Sarah and her.

  Well, and Ben Fletcher too, she supposed.

  When the service was over, a few friends and relatives lingered to share their condolences with the family. Jenna stood beside her sister and father, accepting hugs, handshakes, and sympathy cards as the well-wishers shuffled past. Still in New York, Grace had sent a lovely spray of lilies and ivy. Her note had smugly suggested Jenna plant the ivy at Aunt May’s.

  Ben had observed the service from the back pew of the chapel. Jenna had given him a polite smile when they’d made eye contact, but otherwise she’d refused to notice how nice he cleaned up in a trim black suit which had shown off his broad shoulders and narrow hips. He’d given her a small nod when he passed through the line to shake hands with her father, but had slipped through the doors after the service without saying anything. Fine by her.

  When everyone else had gone and the chapel empty, Jenna moved forward for her turn with Aunt May. She wanted a few minutes to herself to say goodbye to the woman who had stepped in after her mother had passed away and finished raising her. The finality of the moment caught in Jenna’s throat. This was truly goodbye.

  “I’ll be just a second.” Jenna touched her sister’s arm as Sarah, Mike, and the kids turned to make their way out of the chapel and toward a future without Aunt May.

  Sarah nodded. She dabbed at the tears in the corner of her eye with a handkerchief, and allowed herself to be led away by her husband.

  “I’ll stay, too,” Jim said.

  He looked to Jenna for approval and she nodded. Alone sounded better with two. Together, Jenna and her father moved to stand beside Aunt May’s casket. Jim hadn’t said a word throughout the service. How heavy was the weight of things unsaid? Jenna supposed it must be quite a lot.

  After a few moments of quiet, Jim draped his arm over Jenna’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. He sniffed. “My sister was a heck of a gal, wasn’t she, Peanut?”

  “She was.” She leaned into her dad’s embrace, grateful for the comfort. “There were so many people here I didn’t know. It shows how much people loved her. And it was so nice to hear their stories. They brought back so many wonderful memories.”

  “Those are the best parts of her to live on. Remember the old tire swing on the big oak tree in her yard?”

  Jenna laughed as memories of her swinging on the tire swing—and her dad untangling the rope numerous times after she’d worn it out—came back to her. “I put a lot of miles on that swing.”

  “May’s idea. I told her you wouldn’t use it, but she knew better. She spent hours trying to throw that rope over the highest, sturdiest limb.” Jim sniffed again, happy memories breaking through his sadness as he pulled his arm away and rubbed his hands. “And her strawberry field? Do you remember? I imagine it’s nothing but dust and dried-up roots by now.”

  “Oh, I loved her fresh strawberries!” Jenna remembered plucking the sweet fruits from the vine, gathering basketfuls her mom and Sarah would use to make fresh pies and jams. Had she seen the patch when she’d been at the house? So little remained of her aunt’s once-beautiful gardens it was hard to be sure.

  “She was allergic to them.” Jim laughed, all traces of tears gone from his voice now. “She tended that garden for years wearing rubber gloves. She did it for you and Sarah.”

  “You can’t be serious!” A flashback of Aunt May plucking strawberries in rubber gloves flashed into Jenna’s memory. At the time she’d assumed it was some gardener’s quirk she was too young to appreciate. Now it made more sense. “Come to think of it, I remember her tending the gardens, but never saw her eat a strawberry. Guess now I know why.” She made a mental note to replant the strawberries, right after she tucked Grace’s ivy into the soil.

  “The Easter egg hunts, the luaus, and the holiday sleepovers,” her dad reflected, each remembrance bringing fresh memories to the forefront of Jenna’s thoughts.

  “She really knew how to celebrate the seasons,” Jenna agreed, now thinking about how Aunt May’s house had looked all decked out for Christmas. She’d worked with her aunt to trace each eave of the large Victorian in white mini lights. They’d wrapped yards of green garland around every column and palm in the front lawn. Decked every door and window with a wreath so the house seemed alive with yuletide cheer. “When Sarah and I were kids, we’d watch scary movies together. Aunt May would let us stay up past midnight.”

  Jim nodded. “You girls had your own room there for years. Sometimes I worried you two would never come back home, you were so comfortable. At home.”

  Home. Jenna gave her dad a squeeze. “Of course we would, but Aunt May’s was definitely home away from home. Bunk beds and sugary cereal—who could resist?”

  “She was an excellent second mother to you girls. You two were the daughters she always wished she had. She lived for you and Sarah.”

  “She really did, didn’t she?”

  She’s still here, Jenna thought. May had left them the house, the renovation. She remembered the surprise email in her inbox last night, still waiting, unread. Aunt May was gone, but apparently not finished.

  Jim opened his arms to Jenna, and she moved into them, giving her dad a bigger hug than she’d given anyone in a long time. “Come on, let’s go home,” he said as they pulled away from the embrace. “I bet Sarah has cooked up something extra special for such a sad day.”

  “It’s not that sad, Dad,” Jenna asserted. She reconsidered. “Well, of course it’s sad, but remembering all these won
derful memories makes it hard to stay sad.”

  Jim nodded. “You’re right. All those old memories, all the old joy and happiness, that’s what May always wanted to leave behind. Just like her house.”

  Jenna’s eyebrows twisted. There was something important in her father’s words, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “What do you mean?”

  “My sister had a funny thing about making sure whatever she left behind was worth holding on to. Not just memories—those fade. May wanted a part of her to live on. To leave its mark. To keep her spirit alive. That’s why she left the house to you and your sister—and why she picked Ben to help you with the renovation.”

  “I think Aunt May might have misjudged that one a little,” Jenna grumped. “I think he’s a little nuts. He refers to May’s house as a she.”

  “Kind of like I do with Betty Lou?”

  Her father had a point. She shrugged.

  “Ben spent a lot of time with your aunt over the years, even after she went into the home. Always helped out where he could, though I don’t think she ever paid him one red cent. When her condition got bad enough she started thinking about her estate, well, Ben was the one she called. She wanted to fix it up, sell it off so it didn’t weigh the family down. Ben refused. He told her the house was her legacy, that he wanted her family and the world to have something to remember her by a hundred years from now.” Jim laughed. “Right up May’s alley.”

  Jenna thought of the name painted on the side of Ben’s work truck. Legacy Renovations. Of course.

  The past week had hit Jenna like a wrecking ball. First losing the pitch to Barrington, then getting dumped by Darren—both had left cracks at the very foundation of everything she’d worked so hard for: a rising career and a marriage to the perfect partner. Aunt May’s passing had been the last swing of a very destructive hammer, shattering Jenna’s already fragile heart into a million pieces of grief and doubt and failure.

  The surprise of inheriting her aunt’s dilapidated home—and being saddled with the task of renovating it—had twisted her grief into frustration. In all her preoccupation with the things she’d lost, Jenna had failed to appreciate the gift May had given her. Renovating the home wasn’t an obligation or a waste of her time, even if she wasn’t planning on living in the house. It was an opportunity, a blessing disguised as a chore. Aunt May had given the niece who’d loved building the chance to rebuild something from nothing, to imbue her own vision into the house she had loved as much as her aunt had. Even Sarah, who’d never been one for building things, loved putting together things from scratch, and Aunt May had thought of that too. Nails and tiling were ingredients in the recipe for a beautiful home.

  As Jenna walked arm in arm with her dad to the parking lot, her gaze fell on a dirty gray truck. Halfway across the parking lot, with his suit jacket off and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, Ben leaned against his truck.

  Had he waited for her? No, of course not—why would he? Regardless, Jenna knew an opportunity when she saw one.

  “Wish me luck, Dad,” Jenna said. She gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek then, without giving herself time to second guess her next move, she took off in the direction of the pickup, waving her arms to get Ben’s attention. “Ben, wait!”

  Surprise was evident on Ben’s face. He opened the truck’s door, but didn’t climb in. Instead, he leaned against the cab and waited as she rushed toward him.

  “I need to apologize,” Jenna started when she reached the truck. She held her finger up and paused, catching her breath from her short run under the warm summer sun. “You were right. I was wrong. Aunt May’s legacy deserves better than the basic renovations I wanted to do, and so does her house. Will you reconsider the job?”

  When he didn’t answer, she added, “Please?”

  Ben chewed on his response for longer than Jenna thought entirely polite, but eventually his posture softened.

  “For your aunt, I will. But here are my conditions.” He caught Jenna’s exasperated sigh and gave her a stern look. “No laminate. Fireplace stays. We knock down a wall to open up the floor plan. Both bathrooms and the kitchen are complete remodels, preserving as much of the original plumbing hardware as possible.”

  “Maybe no laminate,” Jenna countered. “We do still have a budget to work within, and I’m responsible for ensuring May’s money covers the renovation.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes, but eventually acquiesced. “We can revisit the flooring together. But definitely new crown molding, ceiling fans, and low VOC paint.”

  Okay, this wasn’t bad. Jenna nodded her approval at Ben’s list, stalling only on the last. “What’s VOC paint?”

  “Volatile organic compound. You know that really potent new-paint smell?”

  She nodded.

  “Low VOC reduces it. Also reduces the carbon footprint. Unstable chemicals in high VOC paints let off harmful gases toxic to people and the environment.”

  “Oh,” Jenna breathed, simultaneously impressed by Ben’s attention to environmentally friendly construction details and tucking that bit of knowledge away for future use. If she ever got her chance to build the sustainable architectures she dreamed of, low VOC paint was something she wanted to be sure she specified in her estimate. “Yes, of course that’s fine.”

  “And...” Ben smirked, not finished with his list of requirements. “A new back porch. No steps.”

  “Fine.” Remembering May’s strawberries, Jenna added a condition of her own. “But not too big. Aunt May used to have a garden in the back. I want to revive it and will need the space.”

  Ben stuck out a hand and Jenna slipped her palm into his before he could change his mind.

  “The house is always right?” he asked.

  Jenna understood. They’d work together to do what was best for the house, putting aside their differences for the good of the cause—and Aunt May’s legacy.

  “The house is always right,” she confirmed.

  “Deal. When do we start?”

  “Monday.”

  Nodding, Ben opened the pickup’s driver’s side door and stepped one leg in. “I’ll see you then. Bring your hammer.”

  Jenna flinched. “I architect and design. I don’t provide free labor.”

  “Whatever you say. But we’ll get things done twice as fast if there were two of us.”

  Two? “Don’t you have employees?”

  “I’m a one-man crew.” Ben gave Jenna another one of those mischievous looks he’d shown when they’d inspected the house together. “May told me you were pretty good with tools. She used to brag about you all the time.”

  It was Jenna’s turn to smirk. “I haven’t so much as held a hammer in years. I’m not sure I could tell the different between a Phillips-head and a flathead screwdriver anymore.”

  Ben settled himself inside the cab of his truck and shut the door. “The flathead is the one with the flat head,” he quipped through the open window.

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “It was a figure of speech.”

  “Not a very good one.” Ben cranked the truck engine to life. “Besides, it’ll come back to you. Like riding a bike.”

  “No, it won’t,” Jenna called as Ben’s truck began to inch away. “Because I don’t ride bikes!”

  “If you say so.” Ben waved out the open window and sped away.

  Was he referring to Jenna’s assertion she wouldn’t be joining him at Aunt May’s or about her resistance to bike riding? It didn’t matter either way so long as he took the job, which—Jenna smiled to herself—he had.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At dusk, Jenna traded her prim funeral attire for an old pair of jeans and a tank top, and headed out into the workshop to give her father a hand. She stood at the edge of the workshop for a moment, watching Jim sand the kou tree turned coffee table. The piece was beginning to take shape. A few minutes later, he turned off the sander and sat back, then pulled a carpenter pencil from the old canvas apron he always wore when woodworking an
d chewed at the tip.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Peanut!” Jim exclaimed, looking up from his work. “What are you doing here?”

  Jenna ran her hand over the smooth surface of the kou. Pinched the fine layer of sawdust between her thumb and forefinger. “Don’t sound so happy to see me,” she joked, snatching up a cloth to clear away the grit. “I’m just here to help.”

  Her father’s face crinkled around the edges in a grin. “Do you remember how to use tools?”

  “Someone recently told me it’s like riding a bike.”

  Jim laughed, but the sound was warm. “And when was the last time you rode a bike?”

  “About twenty years ago.”

  Jim laughed again, then tucked the pencil into one of the pockets of his apron. He snapped his fingers. “I have something for you,” he said, stepping away to the back of the large workspace. He climbed up on a footstool and retrieved something made of black and brown leather, then stepped back down, extending the item to her as he unfolded it.

  “Are you serious?” Jenna recognized the toolbelt in her dad’s hands and her heart skipped. “I haven’t seen this in forever.”

  “It was torn,” Jim explained. “I had it sewn back up and the leather cleaned, metal shined. Always hoped you might have use for it again someday.”

  Jenna secured the toolbelt around her waist and ran her hands over the tools she’d treasured so much when she’d been a young girl. Her fingers landed on her favorite of all the items in her belt and she pulled out the hammer, then held it up to the dim light of deepening twilight so she could inspect the ivory handle and black rubber grip. Below the metal head was a ring of imitation rubies, sparkling red in the light. “Ruby. Oh my gosh, I had no idea you still had her.”

  “She’s been here all this time. I polished her up for you and replaced the missing gemstones.” Her dad beamed. He handed her a nail and watched as she hammered it deftly into a piece of spare wood. “Looks like it is like riding a bike after all.”