by Sophie Moss
“Go,” he said, making a shooing motion with his hands. “I’ll say you got a phone call and went outside for some privacy.”
“Thank you,” she said, and slipped out the back door.
As soon as she was outside, and the noise from the TV had faded, she felt herself relax again. She hopped on her bike and began to pedal toward the village. The air was filled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle. She could hear the water lapping against the shoreline and the soft crunch of oyster shells beneath her tires. She passed a hedge of blackberries bursting with summer fruit and wondered how she was ever going to return to the city after this.
Pushing the thought away, she reminded herself that Colin still hadn’t found her a job. And maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe, if she could start cooking again, she could find a job in a kitchen—a job she actually wanted. Of course, that might be jumping the gun a little. Just because Bradley had been apprehended, didn’t mean her flashbacks were going to magically disappear overnight.
The memories were still there, lurking under the surface.
It was going to take time, and a lot more therapy, to work through those memories—the same way it had for Will and Taylor.
As she came to the outskirts of the village, it occurred to her that there was probably no one on this island who understood that better than Annie. Annie had experienced the effects of PTSD through both her daughter and her husband. She’d seen, firsthand, how unpredictable it could be. And, though she’d been friendlier to Izzy lately, she might not necessarily want her using her kitchen to get back on the horse, so to speak.
Especially if Taylor was around.
Feeling slightly deflated, Izzy slowed to a stop in front of the café. She pulled her bike onto the grass, propped it against one of the trees, and followed the tinkling sound of wind chimes up to the porch. If Annie and Della were in the middle of frantic catering preparations, it was possible that they might not have even heard the news about Bradley. Della could have assumed that Izzy’s offer to help had nothing to do with any actual cooking.
The kitchen was hardly big enough for two people anyway. She walked up the steps and peered in the windows, expecting to see both women running around. But the dining room was empty. All the tables and countertops had been cleared off. And Riley was napping on the floor in front of the register.
Izzy opened the door. The dog lifted her head, thumping her tail against the tiles. But the rest of the place was quiet. “Della?”
“In here,” Della said, waving a hand from behind the half-doors that led to the kitchen.
Izzy paused to give Riley a pat on the head. “Where’s Annie?”
“She’s upstairs with Taylor,” Della answered. “They’ll be down in a minute.”
Izzy walked the rest of the way to the kitchen and pushed open the swinging doors. There was only a single cast-iron frying pan on the stove. The oven was off. And almost everything had been boxed up and put away for the evening. “I thought you said you were swamped.”
“I was,” Della said, smiling. “Earlier.”
Izzy’s gaze dropped to the counter beside the stove—the only one that had anything on it. A collection of bowls, in a variety of sizes, held crabmeat, breadcrumbs, fresh basil, lemon wedges, Old Bay Seasoning, dried mustard, eggs, and mayonnaise. Confused, she looked back up. She’d seen inside Della’s kitchen enough times to know she wasn’t a tidy cook. “What’s all this?”
“Your ingredients,” Della said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m going to teach you how to make a Maryland crab cake.”
* * *
By the time Izzy pulled the last crab cake out of the pan, Annie had come downstairs to join them. Ryan had arrived right after she’d started cooking with a bouquet of wildflowers. He’d given them to her, along with a kiss on the lips, right in front of the other two women—neither of whom had seemed at all surprised. If anything, Della had looked a little smug afterwards.
Will had walked in a few minutes later, followed by Becca and Colin. Everyone had heard the news about Bradley and wanted to offer their support. Even Grace, who’d been inundated with calls ever since the story broke, had managed a thirty second conversation with Izzy, saying she’d visit the island next weekend and they’d talk more then.
Colin and Becca had left again after about a half an hour to check on the rest of the veterans. The only person Izzy hadn’t seen yet was Taylor. According to Annie, she was upstairs in her old room, working on a top-secret project, and she’d be down when she was finished.
“Well,” Izzy said, lifting the platter of crab cakes for Della to inspect. “What do you think?”
“I think you learned from the best,” Della said, winking.
Izzy laughed and carried the platter out to the dining room where Annie had set a table for the six of them. Della had whipped up a cucumber salad to have on the side, and they’d steamed a few ears of corn as well. The entire café smelled of fried seafood, Old Bay Seasoning, and summer. And Izzy couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy.
They were about to sit down when Taylor came running downstairs. In her hand was the oyster shell wind chime she’d been working on for weeks. The piece of driftwood was perfectly balanced now and the spiral of shells made the sweetest clinking sound as the strings swayed together. “I finished!” she announced proudly.
Ryan made a big show of walking over and kneeling down in front of her so they were eye-to-eye. “Did you make this for me?”
Taylor beamed and handed it to him.
He took it, held it up reverently, admiring each piece with all the attention it deserved. The chime looked smaller, more delicate in his big hand, but, somehow, it suited him. “Thank you,” he said softly, pulling Taylor in for a hug. “I love it.”
“It’s beautiful,” Izzy said, from her seat next to Della.
“I made one for you, too,” Taylor said.
“Me?” Izzy asked, taken aback.
Taylor nodded and ran back upstairs. A few moments later, she came down again, clutching a shiny red colander turned upside down with several kitchen utensils suspended beneath. “It’s all cooking stuff.”
Taking the chime carefully from Taylor’s hands, Izzy’s gaze dropped to the slotted spoon, metal whisk, pair of tongs, silver spatula, and salt and pepper shakers—each dangling from its own piece of cooking twine. “I can’t believe you made me a wind chime. Thank you. I…promise to find the perfect place to hang it.”
“Actually,” Annie said, from across the table. “We thought you might want to hang it here.”
“Here?” Izzy asked, surprised. “You mean, until I leave?”
“No,” Annie said, exchanging a glance with Della. “We were hoping you might want to stay.”
“Stay?” Izzy’s brows drew together.
Annie nodded. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook with people asking about our catering services ever since you helped us with Ryan’s event. I’d really like to say yes to some of them. But I can’t do that without you.”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “You’re offering me a job?”
“And a place to live, if you want it,” Annie said. “You could rent the apartment upstairs. There’s a full kitchen up there. I know it’s probably not as big as you’re used to, but if we do as well as I think we’re going to, we might be able to renovate it next year.”
Izzy stared at her. Annie wanted her to stay here? To work here? And she was already talking about renovations? “Did you know about this?” she asked, looking at Ryan.
He nodded.
Her gaze shifted to Will. “Are you okay with this?”
“Of course,” he said, smiling.
Della reached over, squeezed her hand. “Think about how much fun we’ll have cooking together.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Izzy said.
“Say yes,” Taylor said.
Izzy looked at Taylor’s expectant face, then back at the chime. “I think,” s
he said, as her lips curved, “that we should go find a place to hang this wind chime.”
Twenty-Two
Two months later…
By the end of September, the first touches of autumn had begun to sweep over the island. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer and cooler. Acorns were falling from the branches of the oak trees and squirrels were racing around, gathering them up. Soon, the watermen would stow away their crabbing gear for the winter. A few of them had already removed the canopies from their workboats to make room for the tongs and dredges they would use during oyster season.
From her apartment above the café, with a view of the narrow channel that threaded through the marshes, Izzy could watch them come and go. She knew the names of most of the boats now, and the stories of the men behind the wheels. In the mornings, when the sun was barely a whisper of light along the horizon, she could hear them cutting a slow path toward the open Bay.
The sound always made her smile.
The next cohort of veterans had arrived on the island a few weeks ago. They were gradually settling into their jobs and getting to know each other. Izzy wondered if they had any idea that the friendships they would make over the next three months would last for the rest of their lives.
Her own group had disbanded at the end of August. Kade had been picked up by a gardening center in Annapolis, whose customers got a kick out of consulting with the heavily-tattooed ex-Marine about what flowers to plant around their mailboxes. His wife hadn’t asked him to move back in yet, but she was letting him see his children again. They were taking things slowly. She wanted to make sure all the changes he’d made in the program would stick first.
Izzy didn’t blame her.
Once you’d been burned, it took a lot longer to trust again.
Most of the veterans had found jobs on the Western Shore. The only three who’d stayed in the area were Izzy, Hailey, and Paul. Hailey had gotten a job at the local maritime museum and Paul had managed to convince Ryan to let him stay on at the farm. Colin had been opposed to the idea initially, but in the end, when it came down to it, Paul had made himself indispensable.
As for Ryan, Izzy saw him almost every night. Sometimes he stopped by the café after work just to say hello; other times he stayed for dinner. He was quietly pursuing her with the same patient persistence he used to pursue everything he wanted in life. And, as usual, it was working.
She was actually starting to believe that they could have a future together—that she could be intimate with someone again. She hadn’t invited him to spend the night yet, but she was getting closer to taking that step. She’d even bought something lacy and feminine to wear when she did. It was in the top drawer of her dresser, wrapped in pink tissue paper—a constant reminder of that one last fear she still needed to overcome.
At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Izzy felt a flutter in her belly. Thinking it might be Ryan, since he usually stopped by around this time, she checked her reflection in the oven door, tucked a few curls into her ponytail, and smoothed her hands down the front of her apron. Smiling, she turned to face the person making his or her way up to the apartment.
But it wasn’t Ryan. It was Will.
“Hi,” she said, not quite as happy to see him as she would have been to see Ryan, but still happy to see him.
“It smells amazing up here,” Will said, walking into the kitchen. “What are you making?”
“Pumpkin-seed crusted rockfish, oyster stew with fennel and chorizo, and a spicy bay scallop ceviche.” Izzy moved over to the stove and lifted the top off the stew to let him have a look. “We’re catering an engagement party for the daughter of a former ambassador in a few weeks. The bride’s mother wanted a traditional menu, but the bride pulled us aside afterwards and said she wanted something a little different.”
She picked up a spoon, handed it to him. “Care to do the honors?”
“Gladly.” He dipped the spoon into the rich, creamy broth and took the first taste, groaning the instant it hit his tongue. “Mmm,” he said, nodding. “Mmm-hmm.”
“You like it?” she asked hopefully.
Will set the spoon down. “It’s incredible, Izzy. I can’t imagine anyone not liking this. Has Della tasted it yet?”
“Not yet,” Izzy said, pleased by his reaction. “If she likes it, I’ll offer to add it to the menu downstairs this winter. Though, ” she added, “it is pretty spicy. Do you think the locals will be able to handle it?”
“Yeah,” Will said, laughing. “I think they’ll be able to handle it.”
She smiled, glad that he thought so. She enjoyed experimenting with traditional recipes and giving them her own unique twist. But it was just as important to her to respect the sensitivities of the locals. She didn’t want to push too much change on anyone too fast. Not that there was much chance of that happening as long as Della was in charge of the kitchen downstairs.
When it came to their catering services, they were able to offer the best of both worlds. If a client wanted a traditional menu, Della would provide the recipes for Izzy to cook. If they were open to something more experimental, Izzy would take the lead.
The two women had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, with both of them up and down the stairs all day long, wandering in and out of each other’s kitchens, bouncing ideas off each other and tasting each other’s creations.
Somehow, in a different way and with a different woman, Izzy had managed to reclaim the dream she’d once shared with her grandmother. It was hard to believe that this was her life now, that after everything that had happened, she had found her way back to the one thing she loved more than anything in the world.
“Before I forget,” Will said, pulling a card out of his pocket. “Erin thinks she might have found a social worker who’d be willing to meet with your friend at no charge.”
“Thank you,” Izzy said gratefully, glancing down at the name before slipping the card in her pocket.
It had taken Izzy a few weeks to convince Carolina that she needed to talk to someone, and that it would be safe for her to do so, but her friend had finally come around to the idea. It would be a huge help if she didn’t have to pay for it. Any extra money her friend made these days was going toward the attorney she’d hired to work on her citizenship.
More importantly, though, Carolina and her children had finally left their apartment in Sandtown-Winchester and moved into Izzy’s house on the other side of Baltimore. Every two weeks, Izzy drove across the bridge to visit them. They seemed to be settling in just fine. And Izzy could sleep better at night, knowing that Carolina and her children were safe.
When the timer binged, she pulled a tray of toasted pumpkin seeds out of the oven and set them on the counter beside the rockfish. “Do you want me to bring some of this over later, relieve whoever’s on kitchen duty at the inn?”
Will checked his watch. “Why don’t you wait until tomorrow? They’ve probably already started on dinner for tonight.” He pushed back from the counter. “I should probably go, make sure no one burns the place down.”
Izzy smiled. She knew he was joking…sort of.
Will headed for the stairwell, but he paused outside Taylor’s old bedroom, which was still decorated with the same twinkle lights, paper butterflies, and dream catchers as it had been when she’d lived here. Izzy had left everything the same so that Taylor and her friends could still come up and play whenever they wanted.
“Thank you for not changing this,” Will said quietly.
“Of course,” Izzy said.
He tapped his palm against the doorframe, like he needed to leave a few emotions there, then headed for the stairs again.
Taking a deep breath, Izzy walked out from behind the counter. “Will?”
He stopped walking, looked back at her.
She’d never really gotten a chance to thank him, to let him know how much the program had meant to her. “I just wanted to say…thank you, for not giving up on me.”
“Honestly, the t
hought never crossed my mind.”
* * *
Later that night, Ryan helped Izzy step down from the dock behind his father’s house into the old wooden rowboat that had been in his family since he was a child. The air was cool and crisp. And when he handed her a blanket to stow under her seat, she wrapped it around her shoulders instead.
As soon as she was settled, he lowered himself to the seat across from her and picked up the oars. It had been a long time since he’d been out in this boat, but he remembered it like it was yesterday, and his father had kept it in good condition over the years.
Over the past two months, Ryan’s relationship with his father had begun to shift. Izzy had told him what his father had said when she’d gone out on the boat with him that day in July—that he thought his wife had left him because he hadn’t been enough for her. Suddenly, all his father’s actions over the years had begun to make perfect sense.
His father hadn’t been pushing him away because he didn’t want him around. He’d been pushing him away because he didn’t want his son to end up like him—to ever know what it felt like to not be enough for someone.
It had taken a few heart-to-hearts between the two men to get it all out on the table, but Ryan finally understood where his father was coming from. And his father was finally beginning to accept that Ryan actually wanted to be here—that this was all he’d ever wanted.
“Do you want me to open this now or later?” Izzy asked, holding up the bottle of wine he’d brought along.
“Later.”
“Where are we going?” she asked curiously.
He smiled. “You’ll see.”
He dipped the oars into the water, rowing them toward Pearl Cove. His whole life he’d been running from this. He’d tried to turn his back on it, pretend that it didn’t exist. But he didn’t want to pretend anymore.
He knew what he’d seen and heard out there as a child—what he could still see and hear every time a full moon rose over this island.
There was a full moon tonight.
