“That’s okay,” Carrie said. “It would be wasted on me, anyway, and Faith is a better prep assistant. I’ll take my lumps as Betty White and see what I can find out about the housing market.”
“Great. That’ll work.” Jen pointed at the notepad on Faith’s lap. “What did you guys find out?”
Faith leaned forward and bounced a little with excitement. “Well, there are lots of rentals listed on Craigslist, and if we put in an ad, I bet you’d get a lot of bites. It’s not a bad amount at all for rent. It could go a long way toward paying taxes and there’d be extra for repairs.”
Jen’s heart lightened at the prospect. Maybe there was hope, after all, if she could convince her dad and brother just to let things be.
“That’s the good news,” Faith added, a little bit more quietly.
Jen leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Uh-oh.”
Carrie reached for the wine bottle and topped off Jen’s glass. She nodded when Jen asked, “Am I going to need that?”
Faith handed over the notepad, and Jen’s eyes flew open. She almost couldn’t catch her breath at the number—there were so many zeroes.
“You can’t be serious.” She looked back at the house and up at the hold in the awning. “Even like this? The stairs? The toilets? Everything?”
Faith nodded slowly and pointed at the beach view. “It seems like that’s the big seller. I could be wrong—I’m not a professional. But you know there aren’t all that many of these houses left. The newly built ones are a lot more than that, if you can imagine. And very few right on the beach with a view of the harbor, also. It’s unique.”
“Wow.” Jen tossed the notepad on the glass coffee table. “If Greg gets a whiff of that, I bet it’s all over.”
Carrie groaned. “Sylvia’s family’s got money. Why would he care?”
“His faith and loyalty remain to be seen, I’m afraid. I don’t hold out much hope. I’ve called at least ten times to remind him about the party on the Fourth, and he hasn’t even bothered to call back.”
“He has to come,” Carrie said. “All the kids are coming, aren’t they? I mean, except Max all the way from Boston. And your dad. It’ll be the perfect time to try to make your case.”
Jen stood and leaned against the railing as the waves crashed on the shore. She closed her eyes as the warm breeze warmed her face. She couldn’t imagine not standing here, feeling this.
“Yep. We’ll just have to keep trying, and make it the best case we can.”
Carrie and Faith both nodded, and Jen knew that they’d all give it their best try. And if that didn’t work, at least they had each other.
Chapter Seventeen
Jen couldn’t believe her good luck. She stood in Mrs. Russo’s kitchen, mesmerized by the smell of the sauce that filled the kitchen.
“Mrs. Russo, I can’t believe you made sauce, too. I didn’t expect that. I know it takes hours and hours.”
“It does,” Joe said. “She insisted.”
Mrs. Russo patted her gray hair that she’d pulled into a bun and slipped an apron over her dress. Although the apron was clean, it had obviously been worn for many years, the pockets a little frayed at the top. Jen thought she might even remember it from years and years ago.
She handed Jen and Faith aprons and turned to her son. “Joey, put yours on.”
Joe rolled his eyes and smiled at Jen as he reached into the pantry and took out a white apron with a red heart patched onto the chest. Jen smiled back at him and tried to stifle a laugh.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Faith said as she put on her apron. “Looks like you’ve had that for a while.”
Joe nodded slowly.
“I gave it to him when he was a little boy. Got an extra big one for him to grow into. If he was going to learn to cook, it needed to be the right way.”
“Yep, and I’ve worn it ever since, Ma.”
“He’s a good boy,” she whispered to Jen and Faith. “But don’t tell him. It’ll go to his head.”
Joe pretended he hadn’t heard her, but Jen was certain he had as they were all crowded in the very small kitchen.
Mrs. Russo showed Jen how to roll the pasta that she’d made earlier, handing her a note card with the recipe on it. “I know you like to cook, so all I want to show you with the pasta dough is the consistency you’re aiming for. A little here, a little there, but this is what it’s supposed to feel like.” She handed Faith and Jen each a ball of dough that they squished in their hands.
“Joey’s making the filling over there. Two different kinds. A basic sausage and one with wild mushrooms.”
Jen leaned over Joe’s shoulder and took in a deep breath. It smelled heavenly—garlic, onions, maybe even a little marsala wine. She smiled up at Joe as he stirred. He smiled down at her and handed her a spoon.
“Here you go. Make yourself useful, as Ma says.”
Mrs. Russo nodded. “That’s right. Come over here, Faith. We’ll roll out some of this dough while the fillings are cooking. I need to use the dining room table, as there’s not enough room in here for the big sheets.”
Faith shrugged her shoulders and smiled at Jen. She followed Mrs. Russo through the swinging kitchen door into the dining room.
Jen laughed and said, “Faith’s not a big cook, but she’s a good sport.”
“I remember that about her,” Joe said as he picked up his sauté pan and swished the contents around in a circle.
Jen did the same with hers and was grateful that nothing sloshed out the sides.
“This is so fun. Thanks for inviting us.”
Joe nodded. “It’s nice to be all be back together. We had so much fun. I’ve missed it.”
“You’re enjoying being here? You don’t miss your old life?”
Joe paused for a moment and looked around the kitchen. “You know, I thought it might be hard. My life in Chicago was much different. We lived in the city, in a high-rise apartment. When Claudia and I split up—which had been coming for years and was the right thing to do—I thought I’d just continue. Walked to work at the accounting firm, everything was close by. When dad passed and I came home, I didn’t really know what to expect.”
“And?” Jen prodded, wondering what it would be like to be away for a long time and come back home. She’d always been home.
“Ma and I have had lots of time together. It’s been nice. Learning a lot about my dad. Missing him. Going through his things. Seeing you guys. It’s been nice. Nicer than I thought.”
“Good,” Jen said. “And gondoliering has to be keeping you in shape, too.” She couldn’t help but laugh and was relieved that he laughed, too.
“Good grief, that get-up. But yeah, until we make a decision about the business, I am filling in when anybody needs help, keeping the books and doing whatever has to happen.”
“Taking the occasional gondolier shift, too, clearly.”
“Clearly, yes. But you’re right. It’s good exercise. And people are so excited to go, it’s kind of nice. Seeing my hometown through other people’s eyes. And I can share stuff about Newport that they don’t know. And they appreciate it.”
“That’s fantastic. And I, for one, am very glad that you’re here. It’s been nice catching up.”
Joe nodded and poured the contents of each saucepan into a separate dish. He collected big spoons, a roller and something that looked to Jen like a pizza cutter.
“Grab those bowls. These should be cool enough in a minute. Ma will be ready to fill by now and she doesn’t like to wait.”
“Okay, right behind you. Obviously, you’ve done this once or twice before.”
Joe laughed and rolled his eyes. “More times than I can count.” He pushed his hip against the swinging door and held it open for Jen to go through.
Jen followed along closely as Mrs. Russo showed her how to roll the dough and make the ravioli. As they worked, they talked about Newport and how much it had changed over the years, and Jen shared a bit about the dilemma with
the house. Mrs. Russo had given her a very sympathetic look and nodded her head.
As the ravioli boiled, Jen and Faith cleared off the dining room table and set it with Joe’s direction. In no time, they were eating a delicious, authentic Italian meal.
“Mrs. Russo, this is just fantastic. I’m stuffed,” Faith said as she set down her fork and leaned back in her chair.
“Eat some more, all of you.”
Jen, Faith and Joe laughed, but Joe took one more bite to satisfy his mother.
“Delicious, Mrs. Russo. Thank you so much for sharing how to make it. Now, if I can get your sauce recipe out of you, my life will be complete.”
Joe and his mother exchanged smiles.
“Not likely,” Joe said. “It’s a family gravy recipe, and I don’t think she’s ever shared it. Not even with me.”
Jen’s ears perked up when he used the word gravy. She knew several older Italian women and they all referred to their sauces as gravy.
Mrs. Russo nodded. “Not until it’s time. If I tell you all how to make it, you won’t need me anymore. I’ll tell you what. Next we can make my family’s cheesecake. Best Italian cheesecake ever. More like ricotta pie but better than New York style. You’ll see.”
“I’d be honored,” Jen said, and Joe winked at her.
Over dinner, Jen and Faith had talked about the fundraiser they were helping Carrie with. Mrs. Russo had clearly been thinking about it.
“Jen, you know Joey and I have been going through some of my dear departed husband’s things. He had quite a collection of memorabilia, and I don’t want it all. Neither does Joey. How about if you guys go through it and see what you think might be good for the auction?”
Joe paused for a moment and looked at his mother. “You sure? Last we spoke you didn’t know what you wanted to keep.”
“You know, I’ve already taken the few things I do want. The things that remind me most of your father. You can take anything that’s in that room of his—if you can get in it.” She turned to Jen and patted her hand. “It might be all junk, Jen, but you’re welcome to anything at all.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Russo. We’ll do that. And maybe it’ll be helpful for us to clean it out.”
“You’re welcome, dear. And it’s not just an excuse to get you to come back. I promise.” Jen smiled as Mrs. Russo winked at Joe on her way to the kitchen to get the coffee.
They chatted for a bit longer, and as Joe cleared the coffee cups, Jen noticed an almost-finished crossword puzzle on the sideboard. She picked it up and read the clue for the one remaining word.
“I love crossword puzzles,” she said as she smiled at Mrs. Russo. “Want some help with this one?”
Mrs. Russo tapped her cheek with her finger. “Joey and I have been staring at that one for days now. Neither of us can get it. If you can, please, be my guest. It’d be great to finish that puzzle. ‘Strips in a club.’ We just can’t get it.”
Jen squinted at the clue and looked at the surrounding letters. After a moment she laughed and looked up at Joe.
“You guys are going to hate me when I tell you.”
She handed the folded newspaper to Mrs. Russo and the pencil to Joe. She took great pleasure at the flabbergasted looks on their faces when she told them the answer. “Bacon.”
Joe’s mouth hung open, and then he laughed loud and long as his mother filled in the letters.
“Well, look at that, Joey. She did it.”
He rested his hand on his mother’s shoulder with an appreciative glance at Jen. “Thanks for that. Another one down.”
“Any time,” Jen said. She glanced at Faith, who was enjoying the entire scene as much as she was from the look on her face. She almost hated to leave.
Chapter Eighteen
Carrie could hardly believe that an entire week had gone by and that the night she’d been dreading—her meeting with Dirk—had arrived.
She’d considered asking the girls their opinions about what to wear, but she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t like it was a date, and the prospect of having to explain to Dirk that she wasn’t really Betty White—obviously—didn’t sound like much fun.
But she’d had her reasons. The guy had been bugging Andrea at the clinic, and he should have gotten the hint. She’d have called him back if she’d wanted to, and he’d never stated his reason for calling anyway. She squared her shoulders, ready to defend her ruse. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a cream-colored light sweater. And that was as dressed up as she was willing to get.
She did slip on her favorite flip-flops that had tiny seashells on them, but just because they were comfortable. He was going to get what he got, and he was lucky she was willing to co-chair with him anyway.
It was a lovely, warm night, and she decided to walk to the Pavilion. It wasn’t very far, and she could stop by Jen’s on the way back and tell the girls what she’d found out since it was on the way.
“Well, you look nice.”
Carrie stopped and looked up at Jen’s porch. She hadn’t even realized that she was passing by until Jen caught her attention. She looked down at her jeans and sweater.
“I do? That wasn’t what I was going for.”
“I might have suggested something a little nicer, but you look very pretty. Makes your hair look blonder.”
“Thanks, I think,” Carrie said as she nodded at Faith as she stepped onto the porch.
“Very nice,” Faith said, and this time Carrie could feel the heat in her cheeks.
“This is not a date. It’s work. I’m on recon for the beach house and trying to involve myself as little as possible in the fundraiser. It’s work,” she protested, but she could hear them chuckling as she continued down the boardwalk.
She shook it off and headed toward the Pavilion. When she arrived, the hostess smiled at her, but Carrie noticed her smile was a little pinched.
“Hello, Dr. Carrie,” the young girl said. Carrie looked at her teeth—she couldn’t help it—and noticed that the girl’s braces had fixed things quite nicely.
“Hello, Jessica. Your teeth look lovely.”
The hostess glanced in both directions, almost in a panic. She loved being a dentist—unfortunately, very few of her clients were ever happy to see her. Or wanted to come to the clinic. Hazard of the profession, she supposed, but it wouldn’t be awful if somebody ever said thanks.
“Are you here alone?” Jessica said as she reached for a menu, her surprise at seeing her dentist seeming to have worn off.
“No. I’m meeting somebody. Dirk. Dirk Crabtree.”
Jessica smiled wide. “Oh, of course. Mr. Crabtree. He’s here already. He’s talking to some people, but I’ll take you over.”
Carrie followed the hostess through the restaurant, bracing herself for her confession. She hoped he had a good sense of humor. He’d seemed like he might, and she hoped her luck held out.
She stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted him. And the people he was talking to. Friends of her parents. From the yacht club.
“Mr. Crabtree, your dinner guest has arrived.”
Dirk stood and turned to Carrie, his eyes registering his surprised and a touch of laughter.
“Ms. White? How nice to see you again, but I’m scheduled to meet with Carrie. Carrie Westland.”
“Hello, Carrie. Nice to see you again,” Dr. Mendoza said, with a smile and a nod. His wife nodded as well before they headed over to their own table.
She did her best not to roll her eyes and took the seat next to him. He sat down and leaned forward, his elbows on the table.
“Well, I can tell this is going to be quite a story,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “And I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Same here,” Carrie mumbled under her breath.
The waitress came for their drink order, and Carrie ordered a glass of merlot to his Manhattan. He rested his elbow on the back of his chair as he leaned back and smiled at her.
“Well?”
Carrie took a deep b
reath and spilled her story. He laughed several times as she explained that she’d been caught off guard, hadn’t wanted to talk to him, and just blurted out “Betty White” as she’d been watching The Golden Girls.
He listened intently as he sipped his Manhattan and even though she tried not to look at him, she couldn’t help but notice he was handsome. And because he wasn’t outright laughing at her—and wasn’t angry either—she decided maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to work with him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone go to such great lengths to avoid me before. Or if they did, they were better at it than you are.”
“Fair enough,” she said with a laugh, glad that the story was out and over with.
“I was only calling to see if you might be interested in selling the property that the clinic is on. It’s part of my job, to find properties that might be desirable for my clients. No offense intended.”
“Again, fair enough. I don’t want to sell, though. I love my job, and I’ve worked very hard building my practice. In fact, the hostess is one of my patients.”
Dirk leaned back in his chair and looked over at the hostess, who was sharing her bright, white smile with everyone in the lobby.
“Nice job there. I can see why Newport would need you to stay in practice. I won’t bother you with that question again.”
Carrie smiled and nodded as she took a sip of her merlot. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all, and they could just get right to the business of the fundraiser. She certainly hoped so.
By the time Dirk’s Chilean sea bass and Carrie’s filet mignon were gone, they’d come up with a plan. Dirk was efficient, and Carrie was grateful because she’d never done this before.
“So if we do all the wrapping beforehand, get all the auction sheets set up and ready to be put out, we should be in great shape.”
Carrie nodded vigorously when the waiter suggested creme brûlée for dessert, as it was one of her favorites—especially at the pavilion. Dirk ordered a cappuccino but didn’t say no when Carrie offered him a spoon to share the rich, creamy dessert.
Newport Harbor House Page 8
