Goodbye Caution Read online

  To Emmy,

  I think you’re pretty awesome, kid!

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  December 26, 2012

  Dear Journal,

  You were given to me today with an encouraging gesture to write my memories down. The task, though it needs to be done, is daunting. My head is spinning. Where do I start?

  You see, I’ve been “lost” for seven years. However, it only took three months and an extraordinary man to find me. I know ... the math doesn’t seem to add up. But it does—you’ll see.

  I guess the best place for me to start is at the beginning (of the last three months, that is). Everything will fall into place for you from there, just as it did for me. I will write it as I remember it. I don’t want to leave a single detail out.

  I must warn you (eye roll—only I would warn a journal!) that everything moves along rather quickly. I thought it was odd when it was happening—I couldn’t slow things down, let alone stop them. Believe me—I tried! I know ... I’m rambling. The point is, everything does happen for a reason. They were right! Whomever “they” are. *Shrugs*

  And now, without further ado, I give you the story of how this lost woman was found.

  *Cue dramatic theatre music (I’m thinking Andrew Lloyd Webber–esque)!

  Always,

  Becca Campbell

  Let’s see ... I have the Gustafson wedding and reception at three o’clock. Did they send me their seating chart? Shit ... did they? Where did I put that? Oh, I’ll look for it later. I need to reconfirm the caterer, the minister, the DJs, and the party rental store. I really should get my own stuff! Am I making the favors? No, no, that’s the Millers’ wedding next month. Let me jot that down so I don’t forget. I have to place the order for the store on Monday before next crop weekend. Which theme am I doing for that weekend?

  “Becca!”

  “Huh ... what?” I practically jump out of my seat to face Hazel.

  “Becca, I have been calling your name for five minutes now! Where are you, honey?”

  Oh no ... here we go again. I love Hazel. She’s a sweet, elderly woman with pure white hair and powder blue eyes, and she has been in my employ for four years. I think I pay her too much. She’s an excellent employee; honestly, I don’t know what I would do without her. Most of all, she’s become a dear, dear trusted friend and a surrogate grandmother to my daughter, Morgan. Of course, being my daughter’s surrogate grandmother leads to motherly tendencies toward me. This includes, of course, the I’m concerned about you lectures. I’m too busy today to endure one. Then again, I’m too busy most days—which is what causes most of these lectures. It’s a double-edged sword. But really, today I just can’t.

  “Sorry, Hazel. What did you need?” I smile my brightest I’m okay ... I’m just daydreaming (who’s got time for that?) smile.

  “Well, one of the girls in the crop wondered if we have any more 12-by-12 Cricut mats left. There’s none out and they’re not in their usual place in the stockroom.” There’s a sense of urgency in her voice. This is one of the things I love about Hazel and why she is such a great employee. Every customer is treated like the most important person in the world. I tell you, it’s that kind of treatment that’s really helped keep The Mad Scrapper in business.

  “Oh, yeah!” I jump up quickly (again, to avoid a lecture). “I know just where they are. They came in yesterday.” And I’m off to the stockroom. I grab several so that I can restock the display while I’m at it. “Here you go, Hazel.” I smile and hand her one.

  Oh no ... her mouth is opening. She’s going to say something! “Hey, have you seen Morgan?” Quick thinking, Becca!

  “I think she went out to the stables to see what Charlie’s up to.” She rolls her eyes with a slight smile.

  “Good. I’m gonna go see what they are both up to. Can you keep an eye out here?” I ask as I head out the door, not giving her a chance at that lecture. Phew—that was close! I head over to the stables to the left of the inn. Climbing up the small hill, I continue on with my mental list of things that need to be done.

  I can hear Morgan’s laughter coming from just inside the stables. Charlie must be telling her some new jokes. He’s a great guy who knows his way around horses. His services come real cheap, too—free, in fact! He’s been retired from the lumber mill for five years now. He grew up on a farm, and he practically begged me for the stable job I was offering. I do feed him, so I guess his labor isn’t entirely free. He’s such a great character to have around here, though; I’d feed him even if he didn’t take care of the horses. Every Thanksgiving, I give him a hefty bonus so he doesn’t think I’m paying him. It’s hard to refuse the money around the holidays and, truth be told, I think he secretly depends on it. It was his idea in the first place to rent our stables out. When he first came on here, it was just Morgan’s horse. He’s really made this quite the profitable side business for me. He deserves that money. This has all become more than just a

  “hobby to keep an old man busy.” Besides, it’s very evident he’s sweet on Hazel. Someday, she’ll let her guard down and I’ll be able to throw them a wedding here.

  Between the stables, the scrapbooking store, and the B&B that hosts two scrapbooking weekends a month (or “crop” weekends, as we like to call them), I’m up to my eyebrows in work and up to my big toe in time. I’m always racing against the clock—hence Hazel’s lectures.

  In the midst of all of this, I’m trying to be a great mom and mold a very beautiful, outgoing, and wise-beyond-her-years ten-year-old. This is all for her. Everything I do is for her. She is the reason behind my drive. She is my world.

  “Well howdy there, Mama!” Morgan tips her hat to me.

  “That’s an interesting accent for New England, honey.” This kid cracks me up. This is her latest “thing”—trying on new accents.

  “I reckon people from all walks of life move to New England ... maybe that’s why it’s new!” I give her the chuckle and eye roll she deserves.

  “Don’t stay out here too long. C’mon in and get started on that diorama after you’re done with Butterscotch.”

  “Ugh!” Morgan grunts. From the look on her face, I’ll bet she’s not happy she left it ‘til the last weekend before it was due.

  “Charlie, dinner’s in an hour!” I shout down the corridor of the stable. “Don’t let her keep you here any longer; it’s getting cold out!”

  “Okay, Becca. We’ll be in soon.” He comes out from Rocco’s stall and gives me a nod. I move Morgan’s cowgirl hat and kiss her on the forehead. Back to the inn—and my to-do lists.

  “Becca ... do you have a minute?” Claudia asks as soon as I walk through the door.

  Shit! Damn it ... I was supposed to crunch numbers and see if I could give her a permanent forty-hour workweek.

  “Hey, Claudia.” I put my arm around her shoulders as we walk into my office.

  “Becca, I know you probably haven’t gotten the chance to see where you’re at as far as offering me full time, but it’s been two weeks and I’ve received another job offer,” she starts.

  “No! No, Claudia, please. You can’t leave me!” I
start to beg. Shit, why didn’t I just take the time to figure this out?

  “That’s just it—I don’t want to leave! I love this job. I love you and Morgan, Hazel, Charlie, and everyone! Do you think anyone else would let me come to work with rainbow-colored hair, facial piercings, and exaggerated makeup? No! I’d have to totally not be me and sell hardware like I know what the hell I’m talking about!”

  Uh oh ... her chin is quivering. She’s right, though. Even I got a lot of flak for hiring her, but I just knew there was this wonderful, intelligent, and warm person underneath her costume. And oh, how everybody loves her now. She’s become so great and knowledgeable at scrapbooking that she now teaches a few classes here. Why would I tell her to change her appearance when I’m in the business of promoting creativity? That would be very hypocritical.

  “I guess there’s only one thing I can do,” I sigh. “I’m gonna need you to tell me when the extra twenty hours will work best for you.” I’ll figure it out. I always do.

  “Becca, seriously?” Claudia screeches and hugs me like I gave her a million dollars.

  Hazel opens the door.

  “What’s all the commotion in here?”

  “Becca’s putting me on full time—permanently!”

  “Oh, it’s about time! You should’ve done that months ago!” Hazel looks up as if some divine intervention took place here. Hey, maybe it has. No lecture from Hazel, and I do get to free up some time to spend with Morgan.

  “You’re right. Now, let’s get back out there.”

  Mmm. I can smell dinner coming from the kitchen. I love crop weekends for many reasons, and the fact that Adam Stein, a local gourmet chef, is here for the dinner service those nights isn’t the least of them. Luckily, trade works just as well—if not better—than the almighty dollar. Adam boards his daughter’s horse, Princess, with me because he doesn’t have the land, time, or know-how to do it himself. In exchange, he does the dinner service for my crop weekends. It’s worked out beautifully!

  It’s a wonder how any of these scrappers will keep their eyes open tonight after Adam’s dinner. Bleu-cheese-crusted filet mignon with port-wine sauce, rosemary-roasted potatoes, and glazed carrots. I’m not a big carrot fan, but the rest was just divine. Speaking of filet mignon—I really need to crunch our numbers.

  Thankfully, Claudia has offered to stay tonight for the last crop night of the weekend. This gives me some time to finally look at the numbers and add sleep to my agenda for the evening. I head to the back of the store, which is adjacent to the inn, and through the French doors of my office.

  “Hey Morgy baby, glad to see I didn’t have to drag you in here to work on that.” I kiss the top of her head.

  “Claudia gave me a great idea for my diorama, so I’m actually excited to get this done.” She continues on with her “masterpiece” without even looking up at me.

  “Well, I have some paperwork to do. If we finish up at the same time, we can snuggle up to a movie tonight. Your choice,” I add.

  “You don’t have to do the crop, Mom?” She looks up, hopeful and excited. I feel a huge pang in my heart. Hazel is so right. I’m working hard to make sure Morgan has everything she needs—now and in the future. And the only thing she truly wants is me.

  “Claudia is working it tonight. It’s just you and me, kiddo.”

  She lets out a little excited screech and gets back to work.

  I turn to my desk—the war zone. It’s where I fight most of my daily battles. I’m always struggling to find something in the heaps of paperwork: a bill, a note, a seating chart. You name it; I’m trying to find it. It’s chaos! To top it all off, I don’t have a very good organizational program on the computer, either.

  Focus, Becca. Focus. I sit down and open my calendar. Okay, I only have the Gustafson and the Miller weddings left for the fall. No others until spring. As much as I love doing the weddings, they’re quite draining. However, the additional income is what enables me to make so many extra mortgage payments a year. I’m also able to build up our nest egg and give Charlie his yearly “bonus.” My goal is to have the mortgage completely paid off within the next four years. I just wish I could add on more rooms right now. Next month starts ski season and we will be booked solidly until the end of March. Oh well. Someday.

  Hmm ... as long as we don’t have anything major happen this season, and even with the added expense of Claudia’s new hours, we should be in the black by two grand each month. Not bad. I glance over at Morgan to find her still working diligently. Eh, I guess I’ll file this paperwork... .

  Ugh ... six in the morning already? I distinctly remember throwing this alarm clock through the window yesterday! I must’ve been too tired to realize that my Jedi mind trick didn’t work. I turn off my alarm, wishing I could afford the extra nine minutes the snooze button would allow. But, alas, I have about thirty people who will be looking for their breakfast soon.

  I’m glad the alarm didn’t wake Morgan up. We were up so late having our slumber party last night. Popcorn, cocoa, and Ever After with Drew Barrymore. I love that movie; it’s my all-time favorite. Like most women, I’m perpetually a Disney princess at heart, waiting for my Prince Charming to come along. Well, now that I’m older, my idea of Prince Charming looks more like Christian Grey. Damn, that imaginary man is hot! Hmm. Where did I put those books? I think it’s time for a reread of that trilogy. Ugh, my ADD is going to be the death of me. Focus, Becca. Thirty people. Breakfast. Now!

  “Good morning, Hazel.” She’s already got my sausage bake in the oven, and the muffins are mixed and ready to go. “You got an early start today.” Why is she already up?

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get a start on things here. I’m so excited!”

  “Why’s that?”

  “My nephew called last night, and he’s finally coming out. He’s bringing a few friends to go skiing next month.” She smiles and looks up at the ceiling, like another divine intervention has occurred. I am beginning to wonder if she does indeed have a direct line to the big guy.

  “That’s great. I know you’ve been trying to get him out here for a while. He’s from California, right?” I pour the granola into a large crystal bowl and vanilla yogurt into its sister.

  “Well, he lives there now, but he’s from England. I can’t wait for you to meet him! He’s so handsome, smart, and confident.”

  “His name wouldn’t happen to be Christian Grey, would it?” I sigh hopefully.

  “No, it’s Grayson, dear. Who’s Christian Grey?” She looks at me quizzically. I’d introduce her, but she’d probably have a heart attack by chapter five.

  “Oh ... no one.”

  “Well, he’ll be here in two weeks. He’s not sure how long he’s staying, but it sounds like at least three weeks. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve blocked your best room for him.”

  “Wow. Three weeks. He must have a great boss!”

  “He works for himself,” she offers.

  “Hazel, I work for myself and I can’t even take a day off.”

  “You can ... you just choose not to, Becca.”

  “Hazel, c’mon. You know I don’t have that much of a choice.” I love her, but it’s irritating when she acts like this. I work as hard as I do just to keep us afloat. I feel like if I relax for one second, then one may turn into two, and so on and so forth. I can’t afford to let go of the reins, not until I have enough put away to carry us for a long time—God forbid.

  “Becca, please don’t overthink what I said.”

  Was I doing that? Of course I was. I overthink everything.

  “I know what your goals are,” she continues, “your worries and your struggles. But I also know Morgan is not going to stay this age forever. When things finally settle down to your standards and you start to catch up on your scrapping, well, honey, you’re gonna have a whole lot of years of Morgan’s life to fill those pages.”

  There it is. The arrow of truth—with a direct hit to my heart. Ooh, she plays dirty, this
one! Seriously, I pay her way too much. I could easily hire somebody else for far less who wouldn’t give me a reality slap upside my head every time she sees fit. I’d fire her, if I didn’t love her so damn much ... and need that slap on occasion. She helps me to stay on track with my number-one goal: to be a good mom.

  Hazel was never able to have children. I know part of her “gentle” prodding is meant to help me not take for granted the precious gift God gave me.

  “You know what, Hazel?” I can play dirty, too. “You’re a great mom and grandmother, and we’re so lucky to have you. I love you!” A hug and a kiss and I leave the room, knowing for once I’ve made Hazel speechless ... and I meant every word of it.

  I grab my iPhone and immediately set a reminder to go ahead and book the Disney Vacation for February break. I’ve been hemming and hawing over it like I do with everything. That’s Morgan’s birthday week, and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate it. Put that in your hat, Hazel!

  The next two weeks, with the exception of losing power during the Gustafson wedding, are pretty uneventful. Hazel’s been laying the TLC on extra thick since that morning in the kitchen. There’s a lot to be said about feeling appreciated. I think there’s also a possibility she knows I pay her too much. Seriously, this inside joke of me overpaying her would have a lot more thunder if I could share it with somebody that knows her as well. Ah, someday—when Morgan gets older, I guess. For now, I laugh to myself like all the other crazy people in the world!

  Speaking of crazy, Hazel has been a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs the past few days. I think if I get one more reminder that her nephew Grayson is coming tonight my head will surely explode. I know she hasn’t seen him since her trip last year, but jeezum petes! Calm down, lady, it’s not Elvis! Does she even like Elvis? Wow ... my ADD? Off the charts. I can’t even stay focused on my own conversations in my head. I actually distract myself from myself. Who am I, Sybil? Why is Hazel staring at me with a raised eyebrow?

  “You’re not going to be lost in your thoughts all day, are you?”