I could come away from this and not have to worry about money ever again. I’d be set for life. But I don’t know if I would be happy without the restaurant my parents inherited from my maternal grandparents. I’d have Brynn to live for, but what about my own future? Every season, I’ve told myself, is going to be the season we turn everything around and the restaurant gets back into the black. It’s even happened a few times, but the feast and famine financial cycles are too tumultuous and it’s getting harder to handle them by the day.
But selling before I absolutely have to would feel like I was giving up. If I can just hold on a little while longer, I can convince myself that I’m not a quitter. I know that would make my parents proud. And my sister.
I don’t want to see Peter today. He reminds me that there’s more out there than just my humble little existence, and that’s scary.
I haven’t had a break in a while. Maybe I will call in sick today after all. I’ll go to the restaurant and drop off my purchase - dammit, Peter’s purchase - and tell Cassie I need her to cover for me today. We have two of our cooks coming in and if last Sunday is any indication of what today is going to be like, she’ll be more than able to handle it herself.
I start my car and let out a big breath. If I don’t see Peter today, I won’t have to tell him no. And I’m getting tired of saying no. I’ve been saying no for far too long.
8
Peter
I think the last time I made a verbal contract was on the playground and I timed how long each of my friends and I got with the coveted hard-seat swings. The kind you can stand on. They were a hot item, and with no other way to play fair than to time everyone’s turn, it would have been anarchy if I hadn’t stepped in. My presence made order out of the chaos.
“This does have today’s date on it and it is signed by you,” Cassie says saltily as she holds the check in front of me with her fingers pinched on two corners. “Technically I could cash this. And you wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”
“You’re correct,” I tell Cassie from across the counter. “It wouldn’t be fraud. Like you said, it’s signed and dated and any good hired witness would be able to attest to the validity of it if you try to sue me. Our contract was verbal and I’m not in the habit of recording every conversation I have, and with my word against yours and the check in your possession, I don’t have a leg to stand on. And you should never write out a check that you can’t cover.”
“You don’t really have fifty grand?” Cassie raises an eyebrow at me.
“I do, but this check wasn’t for the purpose of cashing. It was for the purpose of ensuring to you that Claire would be returned home safely.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to use financial instruments for anything other than their intended purpose, but alright.”
Cassie puts the check on the counter and grabs a pot of coffee. She puts a mug in front of me and gives me a pour. I take the check and slip it into my wallet.
“When is Claire coming in for the day?” I ask as I bring the cup of coffee to my lips. I look around the restaurant. There aren’t many customers here, but with only a few tables occupied there are far more than there were yesterday.
“She isn’t.”
“Is everything alright?” I feel my heart beat double-time for a moment. The thought of anything being wrong is cause for concern, though if there were something wrong I don’t think Cassie would be here so casually pouring coffee for people she doesn’t particularly care for. She might actually be my in. If she’s being nice to me even though she doesn’t like me, maybe she can get through to Claire on my behalf.
“Yes, everything is fine.” She gives me a square look in the eyes. This woman is trying to face me down in a staring content. If she comes bundled with Claire, I’m okay with it. My brother and I have always been surrounded by strong women. The more the better. She finally breaks her stare and turns away to put the coffee pot back with a chuckle. I can tell she’s planning to talk to me over her shoulder if this conversation continues. Good business tactic. Make it seem as though you’re doing the other side a favor by merely being in their presence. Again, these women are strong and a little rough and they know what they’re doing.
They’ve done well with keeping the lights on in this place as long as they have without having to resort to a go-fund-me campaign. I don’t think Claire would ever agree to something like that if the need arose. I say the more tools in your belt the better, but I think she would feel uncomfortable with it. I say charity isn’t wrong if you’re truly in need, and she is, though I don’t think she wants to admit it.
I look around and take the place in. Lots of metal surfaces and they look like they’ve been beaten with a hammer. It’s not updated to today’s standards, but then again the mid-century look has had a second coming in the last ten or fifteen years. And anyway, places like this don’t draw a crowd based on their atmosphere. Places like this live on bread alone and the views you get from the picnic tables outside.
“What am I not seeing here?” I ask Cassie. My timeline on this is short and I’m not talking about the restaurant. I’m talking about Claire herself, and I know Cassie knows this.
She turns around, plops her rag on the counter and brushes her hands on her apron.
“Claire hasn’t had the best few years, okay? This is something you should know about her if you really intend on doing whatever it is I can see you trying to do. Brynn is her sister’s daughter. Claire’s parents and sister were killed by a drunk driver three years ago, and overnight she became a nineteen-year-old single mom. Mike and I were there to help her, but we were young ourselves, too.” She picks up the rag again and points at my chest. “That’s what you’re not seeing here.”
I feel myself deflate like I’ve been punched in the gut. Ice hits my chest.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“She doesn’t like to talk about it and I don’t blame her. And the only reason I’m telling you is because you seem to really like her and you didn’t run at the first sign she might go ahead and chomp your head off like most guys. So if you’re serious about this, you’ll be really fucking careful around her. She would probably murder me if I told you all this, but it’s information you need if you’re going to keep hanging around here.”
“I understand,” I tell her, “I get it.”
I wipe the corners of my mouth with my napkin and put a ten-dollar-bill and a few coins on the counter.
“Now you get it, man,” Cassie says with a turn of the subject, sliding the coins to the edge of the counter and into her palm. “This is how we roll. Quarters and pennies, people. Quarters and pennies.”
“Thank you, Cassie. For everything. Can I please get an order of fish and chips to go?”
She gives me a smile and a nod and grabs the bill from the counter. I can see in her eyes the words she doesn’t have to say: don’t hurt Claire.
I won’t hurt her. She’s my woman. I will do right by her no matter what.
9
Claire
I’m having difficulty getting a good enough view of my ass in this mirror.
“Just stay still,” I tell myself, my bare butt sliding down the edge of the porcelain sink. I twist and bend and try to keep myself from sliding and to get my tweezers at the correct angle to pull this splinter from my cheek but I have everything going against me: the heat, the slipperiness of the sink, and the fact that these tweezers were never any good to begin with.
The lobsters are chilling in a bucket of ice in the sink downstairs. I think my freezer is on the fritz again. I’m going to have to bring my pudding cups to Crabby’s to keep them cold. That’ll be a good pairing to the old fries Cassie and I like. Pudding cups and a bag of old fries. As long as I have good food for Brynn I don’t care what I eat. I’ll eat her discarded pizza crusts. She doesn’t like the crusts. I can’t live without them. We’re a perfect team.
I squint my eyes as I peer down over my shoulder into
the mirror, at the big globe of my ass with the tell-tale black speck and pink irritated skin around it. I throw the tweezers into the sink with a clank and hop off the edge, pulling my tee shirt down around my hips and pulling my shorts on. This isn’t working. I wash my hands because you can never be too hygienic and grab a towel to dry off before going back downstairs.
It turns out the migraine I was planning to fake actually came to fruition, and the splinter isn’t helping. Remember when you were a kid and wanted to play hooky from school so you decided the day before the intended hooky day that you had to start planting the seeds then and there? You’d start complaining of a sore throat, or you’d ball up your fist and cough into it, or put your fingers to your temples and shake your head in a motion of concern for your own well-being.
Then there’s the thing where you’ll decide you’re going to play hooky and actually get sick. I think this is the universe’s way of telling you that you can’t stand in the way of what’s going to happen with or without your consent. I should have known telling myself a migraine was coming on would be a surefire way to earn myself an actual migraine.
With my freezer liquifying, I reach in and grab a bag of peas, go over to the couch and lay down with my feet up on one of the arms and put the cold bag on my head. That feels good. My migraine should be gone soon. They usually only last about forty minutes or an hour, and after this I’ll have to go back to working on my splinter and trying to decide if I want to let Peter come over for dinner.
I lay back and try to let myself relax for a minute. It feels good. It almost feels like everything is going to work out and be okay. I feel my muscles loosen and I cross my arms over my chest and snuggle into the couch. It’s lumpy and bumpy but if you know where to position your torso and limbs it’s like a hug from an old friend.
I’m already thinking about the lobsters. Maybe I should do Peter the courtesy of letting him cook for me. Besides, I could use some company. Brynn won’t go near lobster and she’s wary of any kind of seafood, ironically. She thinks lobsters and crabs look like bugs.
I’m suddenly jolted back to reality when I hear the snap of my screen door closing. I grab the bag of peas from my forehead and spring to a seated position on the couch.
“Hello?” I call out, peering toward the front door.
“You keep your door unlocked?” I hear a male voice call to me. I recognize it as Peter’s instantly and it feels like a smooth trickle of honey dipping through me. It’s as calming as the day is long. I rest my arms on the back of the couch and rest my chin on them. Peter’s coming through the door again with a shopping bag and what looks like a takeout container inside. I’d think it were from Crabby’s if the bag had our logo on it. I’m a little insulted. He should be patronizing Crabby’s if he’s in the mood for some takeout. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence that he’s choosing to take out his lunch from someplace else, especially if he thought Crabby’s fish and chips are “superb” as he said yesterday.
He walks into my field of vision again, passing me on the couch and coming around to sit next to me. I eye him curiously and mutely as I watch him pull the takeout container from the bag and set it on the coffee table.
I watch him as he looks around. It’s like he’s inside a museum and trying to decide what exhibit to look at first. His eyes land on the fireplace and the mantle where I have photos of me, Brynn and Cassie. He looks out the big, sliding glass doors at the left of the fireplace, which lead out to the porch and the beach and the white sand and blue sky and ocean beyond it. He catches a look at the glass and wood display case where all of my dad’s treasures are housed.
And the whole time, I’m watching him take it in. It makes me think of seeing Brynn grow up before my eyes and seeing the world though hers. A fresh take on things. In her world, lobsters are big sea bugs and as often as I gently remind her that in some parts of the world bugs are consumed as a great source of protein, she refuses to waver. Now, seeing things through Peter’s eyes, observing my surroundings as though I’ve just stepped into this house, it’s making me feel like I’m seeing things anew again. It sends a tickle through my body and when his eyes cast toward mine I feel myself soften to him. I can’t help myself. Even though I should be annoyed at him barging in here and bringing me food, I can’t help how I feel. I’m grateful. I don’t even know his last name.
His eyes stay on mine for a moment, sending a ripple of desire through me. He could put his hand on the back of my neck and pull me toward him right now, brush his lips against mine and I wouldn’t stop him. I’d welcome it. I’d tell him he was a jerk for barging into my life like this and turning it completely upside down. I’d tell him that I don’t want him and I’m a fool for letting him kiss me. When his gaze travels down to my lips I feel him touching me there. Then he averts his attention away from me.
If he were mean for making me want him, now he’s being mean for taking it away.
“I brought you some lunch,” he says, popping open the takeout container. He grabs a fork and a packet of vinegar from the plastic bag. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” I reply, “but you’re not doing yourself any favors by getting me fish and chips from some other restaurant. This is your idea of ingratiating yourself to me?”
“Just sit still and tell me what you think.” He drizzles a few drops of vinegar onto the fish and then spears a corner with the fork. Putting his hand beneath the bite he’s flaked off, he brings the fork to my mouth. It’s hot, it’s crispy, it’s flaky, it’s salty. It’s good. It’s perfect. It tastes just like Crabby’s.
“It’s okay, I guess,” I tell him.
“Do you realize that any random person could barge in here whenever they want?”
“The only person I have to be afraid of barging in is you, Peter. Everyone else is welcome.” I grab a napkin and wipe the corners of my mouth. Oh, and he brought what looks like sweet tea, too. I grab the takeout cup and put the straw to my lips. I don’t know how I knew it was sweet tea, but that’s what it is. “Too sweet for my taste.”
“This is the signature dish I want to sell at the restaurant,” he says. “After I buy it from you and put money into it and bring it back to life and keeping you on as manager.”
“Oh yeah?” I fold my arms across my chest and lean back into the couch. “Who’s recipe is that, anyway?”
“Your grandmother’s.”
I heart goes flip-flop and I swallow thickly.
“This is from Crabby’s?” I rise to my feet and go over to the sliding glass door to look out at the ocean. Peter is getting to me. Maybe it isn’t him. Maybe it’s the heat or my migraine.
“Here,” Peter says, coming up behind me, “have another sip of tea. It’s hot today.”
“Thanks,” I say as he puts it in my hand. I don’t turn around. I take another sip of the tea. It’s perfect.
I feel him moving behind me. If he were to make a move, I wouldn’t block him. I’ve never been too shy to make the first move, but with him it’s different. My first kiss was the same guy who Cassie pushed off his bike on the playground when we were kids. I was eighteen for my first kiss and I went in for it. It took him by surprise. After the playground incident it took some time for both of us to grow up. Once we did, we found each other again. And then when everything happened with my family he got distant. I realized then that I might come with too much baggage. But Peter is sticking around. It doesn’t make sense and I don’t like things that don’t make sense. I’d rather do a puzzle than write a story. I’d rather make a batch of my grandmother’s fish batter than make up my own recipe from scratch. Things have been difficult the last few years. That’s no secret to me or anyone else in this small town. Something tells me Peter would stick around if he knew what I’ve been through, but I don’t know if my heart can take that chance.
“Oh wow,” he says behind me. I turn around with the hint of a tear pressing against the corner of my eye. He’s looking at the cabinet where all my da
d’s finds are. A lot of coins, some that are actually pretty old. A few pieces of jewelry that he tried to find the owners of, but never could. There’s a gold cross that I really like, with a few green emeralds on it. A claddagh ring. There’s even an engagement ring in here. It isn’t worth much, and my dad posted on lost and found message boards and put up fliers everywhere to try to find the owner, but he didn’t have any luck. That was probably twenty years ago by now. He always told me he’d give that ring to the man who wanted to marry me.
“Yeah,” I say as I sidle up next to Peter. “These are all things my dad found with that old metal detector.”
“The one you had on the beach last night.”
Was that really only last night? God, I feel like the last two days have taken up an entire month of my life.
“It was his hobby. There actually used to be a pretty big community of people who like to comb the beaches out here for treasures like these.”
“It’s remarkable,” he replies. There’s genuine wonder in his voice. I turn slowly to go sit on the couch. When I sit, I feel the splinter in my butt cheek pinch. Oof, that’s a bad angle. Peter looks over his shoulder at me and can see the discomfort on my face.
“Are you alright?” He comes over and sits next to me again, this time a little bit closer.
“Yeah,” I breathe. I feel the sting of tears again, but they’re not from the splinter. In spite of how much I’ve tried to push him away, Peter very simply takes my chin in his hand and leans down to brush his lips against mine. He does it so softly and so sweetly and he doesn’t wait for me to ask or to give him a signal, but after just a moment it doesn’t feel so sweet anymore. This is not an innocent kiss. It’s slow and steady but it’s telling me exactly what this man is thinking. I feel my panties dampen as he deepens the kiss against me, brushing his tongue out and into my mouth. I feel a moan escape from my lips as he pulls me against his lap and makes me straddle him.
I'll Catch You Page 4
