The House Guests

by Emilie Richards

  Savannah put her arms around her mother and they embraced.

  Gen finally sat back. “Think we can make this room work? We can shop for a bed, maybe a little dresser. Pauline’s husband is handy with tools, and he says he’ll turn the bookcase back into a closet. If you can’t live with the art—it’s a little intense—we can store it.”

  “The room’s fine. Maybe I can paint the walls something brighter, more like a bedroom.”

  Gen’s eyes widened. “Really? I just had the whole house painted. The decorator chose a very pricey pearl white for these walls. Specially mixed. See that pretty lustrous undertone?”

  Savannah thought white was white, and the walls looked more like icebergs than pearls.

  Gen was nodding now, as if she wanted to compromise. “Maybe the room could use some color on the little wall around the window to frame the view. I can call my decorator for a suggestion.” She changed the subject. “So you were having a tough time in Florida?”

  Savannah shrugged. She knew better than to criticize Cassie. While Cassie and Gen didn’t know each other well, they had banded together to raise her.

  “Florida’s not my home.” She managed a brave smile. “And Cassie’s not my mother.”

  Gen frowned. “She’s been very good to you. She’s done a great job.”

  Savannah just smiled again. “I can’t wait to hear all about Africa.”

  “We’ll do that over dinner. It’s all ready.”

  “I know. I can tell you everything that’s in the salad.”

  Gen laughed. “Come on down when you’re ready.”

  Savannah joined her a few minutes later. Gen was sipping a glass of wine, and she’d poured a glass of some kind of juice for Savannah into an identical wineglass.

  “Here’s to us,” Gen said.

  Savannah raised her glass. “To us.”

  Gen had put out cheese and crackers, and now Savannah slapped together three and ate them quickly.

  “Wow, you were hungry.”

  Savannah made another. “I didn’t have time to grab anything in Phoenix between flights.”

  “You should have told Pauline to stop on the way home to get takeout.”

  “She thought salad would be enough.”

  “She’s never had children. We’ll have to educate her.”

  Savannah had her second disloyal thought. Gen did have a child, but she and Savannah had spent so little time together that now she wondered who was going to educate her mother?

  “Did she tell you I’m a vegetarian now?” Gen asked. “But whenever we eat out, please feel free to order meat if you prefer it.”

  Savannah hoped they ate out often. “Why’d you become a vegetarian?”

  As they divided the remaining salad and took it to the table, Gen told the whole story in detail. When she was out in the field with doctors on her team, she had gotten used to eating something called ugali, a boiled dough made from cornmeal served with cooked vegetables. The goat or mutton that was also served hadn’t appealed to her, and eventually, she’d decided not to eat meat anymore.

  “And there you have it,” Gen said. “Vegetarian by degrees.”

  Savannah had been relieved to see there were rolls and butter on the table. Now she reached for her third one and used it to scoop up the dribbles of what was left of the salad dressing in her otherwise empty bowl.

  “I guess I’m lucky vegetarian is my preference now,” Gen said, “because Pauline’s not much of a cook. But she did buy a Kenyan cookbook this week, so I guess we’ll see how easy it is to translate what I ate every day into an American meal you can enjoy.”

  “That will be interesting.” Eating vegetarian food cooked by a reluctant Pauline would be interesting in the same way that being forced to run around the Coastal Winds track by her sadistic physical education teacher had been.

  “So, tell me what was the final straw for you and Cassie, Vanna? Why did you decide you’d rather live here?”

  “It’s not as sudden as you’re making it sound. I would have come months ago, but after Dad died you were in Africa.”

  “Should I have come back then? You never told me you wanted to live with me. You could have asked.”

  Savannah supposed she could have. But if she had, what kind of repercussions might there have been? Would Gen have been angry about leaving Africa early? Would she have blamed her daughter for changing her life so drastically?

  “The problems with Cassie just built up over the months,” she said.

  “So what was the latest problem?”

  “What did Cassie tell you?”

  “That you were gone this past weekend and lied about where you were. When you came back, you refused to tell her the truth.”

  Silently Savannah tried to pick the story apart, but it wasn’t going to be easy. “I promise I didn’t do anything wrong, nothing Cassie needed to worry about, although I couldn’t tell her where I’d been, which infuriated her. Honestly? I was helping a friend, and I can’t say who. But I wasn’t in danger, and I wasn’t drinking or doing drugs or having sex.”

  “Did you tell her that much?”

  “Not exactly. I try not to talk to Cassie any more than I have to.”

  “Why is that?”

  “What’s the point? She doesn’t believe me anyway. And besides...”

  Gen sipped her wine and waited. She wasn’t a particularly good listener, but today she was trying.

  “The day Dad drowned? He and Cassie had a big fight first. He stormed out, and I’m pretty sure if that hadn’t happened, then he would have paid more attention to the storm heading his direction.”

  Gen was frowning now. “I’m sorry, but are you saying your father’s death was Cassie’s fault?”

  Savannah wished Gen hadn’t stated it so directly. “Maybe not entirely, but some, yeah.”

  “Vanna, people fight. Your father and I fought when we were married. And despite that, he still lived to raise you and marry Cassie and join a flourishing medical practice.”

  “You don’t understand. Things were tense before that. The atmosphere around our house was as thick...as thick as a tree trunk. His mind wasn’t on sailing.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “It seems to me you have forgotten that Mark knew better than to sail when he was upset, especially alone. I’m guessing whatever happened on the water that day had absolutely nothing to do with Cassie and absolutely everything to do with bad weather and a race for shore that just ended badly, as sailing sometimes does.”

  Savannah was angry. She wanted to rail at Gen for taking such a ridiculous stance, but she was also aware that while living with Gen had always been her fallback position, now she had no fallback position. This crowded little condo was Savannah’s last stand, and from here, there was no other place to go. She and Gen had to get along. She and Pauline had to get along. She had to get along with whatever idiots she ran into at whatever Palm Springs high school she attended.

  She was fifteen, and she had three years until she could strike out on her own. She took a deep breath and hoped that giving in and giving up weren’t all it took to be an adult. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Gen got up to take their bowls to the sink. “What do you say we go out for ice cream? I’ll get my keys.” She left for her bedroom.

  Savannah wasn’t surprised Gen had decided on ice cream without consulting her. She rarely asked Savannah for suggestions. She wasn’t selfish, witness the many hours she gave to charitable causes when she could have been raking in big bucks. Gen just wasn’t used to thinking of anyone but herself. Taking suggestions wasn’t on her radar, particularly from a daughter she really didn’t know.

  Tonight, if given the choice, rather than ice cream, Savannah would have chosen to go somewhere for pizza to fill the hole inside her that the salad hadn’t touched.
r />   Although as she considered that third disloyal thought of the day, she wondered if the hole inside her had anything to do with food at all.

  34

  CASSIE HAD NEVER FELT at loose ends in New York. Between volunteer work, friends and Savannah’s busy schedule, her days had been happily filled. Now with Savannah already gone for a week and no job or worthwhile interviews to fill the hours, she had organized and scoured the house, shopped garage sales for containers for the patio and carefully pampered half a dozen plants from her local home improvement store’s bargain table. Travis had given her a tray of cuttings to root, which she tended every day, but once she’d settled everything into its appropriate place and routine, boredom had set in again.

  On a Friday morning Amber watched her staring at a spoonful of scrambled eggs and took matters into her own hands. Literally. She waved them in Cassie’s face until her friend looked up.

  “I know what you’re doing. No more kicking yourself. You made the best decision you could when you allowed Savannah to leave. She pushed you to the wall.”

  Cassie was too depressed to pretend otherwise. “I keep asking myself where I went wrong raising her. I’ve gotten all the way back to the year she was five and wanted to take horseback riding lessons, and I told her she had to wait. By the time she turned six, she was afraid of horses. Now it’s my fault she’ll never be on the Olympic Equestrian Team.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Cassie tried to smile. “Am I funny yet?”

  Amber got up to fill both their coffee mugs, bringing the pot to the table. “You’re coming with me to the Kouzina today. Yiayia gave me the go-ahead to sort and organize the supply room. I had to pick Roxanne up off the floor when I told her.”

  Cassie knew exactly what was happening. She wasn’t needed. Amber was trying to entertain her. “You’ll do fine without me.”

  “We’ll never know.” Amber set the pot on the table and herself in the chair across from Cassie. “Listen, between the two of us, we can make the Kouzina twice as efficient. Yiayia seems to be pulling back a little, and this is exactly the right moment to get in and do what we can before she changes her mind.”

  “Pulling back?”

  “You want proof? She let Rox choose the specials on Wednesday night and yesterday at lunch.”

  Now Cassie looked up. “You’re kidding.”

  “We sold out of both just an hour after they went into the menus. Even Yiayia seemed impressed. Roxanne was the chef in charge.”

  “Where’s Buck?”

  “He’s been away. Roxanne thinks he’s getting ready for a trip to see his family in Greece.”

  “Is Rox going to pack Yiayia in his suitcase?”

  “If she can get away with it.”

  “Yiayia and Rox love each other. They fight, but the love is always obvious.”

  Apparently Amber could tell who Cassie was really talking about. “You and Savannah will settle this eventually. But for now? You’re coming with me. I really need your help.”

  Forty minutes later they were inside the Kouzina’s storage area, looking at the mess they had to deal with. Roxanne in her chef’s coat had joined them, eager to put in her own two cents on how to organize supplies.

  “I can see this space being so useful.” Cassie wandered as much as she could, taking care not to trip over jugs and boxes. “In fact I can see it adding a lot of value.”

  Roxanne lowered herself to a stack of crates. “What would you do with it?”

  “Well, if you’re really going to waste this valuable space and continue to use it as a storeroom, you need to do an inventory, then have a handyman—or woman—come and build shelves, or buy ready-made units to add to what you already have. You’ll want to figure out what you use most often, and where it should be stored, here or in the kitchen, which frankly needs a major renovation.”

  Roxanne was nodding along. “My dream is to gut the kitchen and open it to the restaurant. Have everything in sight, stainless steel and sparkling. There are all kinds of ways to manage storage in there, but best yet, I think we could close in the little porch overlooking the parking lot for that purpose.”

  “That would be perfect. I’m sure you’ve told Yiayia?”

  “Mama sees every change as a criticism of what she’s done or not done since taking over the restaurant after my father died.”

  “If you added to the kitchen and didn’t need this space for storage? I would follow your father’s original instincts. You said Pappou hoped to add to the Kouzina when he bought it?” Cassie waited for Roxanne to nod. “So first, open it up to the restaurant. Then put a bakery display case along this wall and fill it with baklava and the other dessert goodies on the menu. Not everything would have to be baked here. There are plenty of talented local bakers who can’t afford their own storefront.” Cassie pointed. “And on this wall? I’d put in a good quality refrigerated display case that had an area for frozen food, too. And I’d fill the freezer with specialties the Kouzina’s known for. Yiayia’s moussaka. Pastitsio. Tiropita and spanikopita for parties. Diners would be delighted to bring home something for later in the week. The refrigerated area could feature Greek salads, stuffed grape leaves, hummus and tzatziki. You get the idea. You’d put a note on the menus making customers feel you’re doing this as a favor because you want them to eat well all week.” Cassie could have gone on, but she didn’t.

  “All those ideas without even a few minutes to think about it?”

  Amber advanced the fantasy. “Tables in the center. No. Make that one long narrow table, a high top with room for maybe ten or even twelve people for sharing special menus family style. I think that would fit, and people could still shop along the edges. We could also use the room for small dinners or parties if we could rearrange things. Maybe build the table in pieces so the configuration could be changed. Add a wine display if licensing allows us to sell wine by the bottle.”

  Cassie was making additions in her imagination. “Soft lighting and music. You might be able to get local artists to display and sell their work here. Have a revolving show. Great publicity.”

  Roxanne looked as if she could envision it. “Move into the twenty-first century with a real point-of-sale system, and no more time trying to use nineteenth-century accounting systems. So how about this? Cassie, you be our marketing manager, in charge of renovating and stocking this area. You can oversee the project, plus market the restaurant in new and better ways. Amber, you be the general manager, keeping back and front of house on track. We’d work together on improving the ambience with new tables and chairs, paint, more local art.”

  “What about you?” Cassie asked, although she knew the answer.

  “Executive chef.”

  “Nouveau Greek cuisine,” Amber said. “Old favorites both the traditional way and newly updated. Customers could choose. Greek but not kitschy. Everything as fresh as Yiayia insists on it now.”

  They all fell silent, thinking about how much fun that would be and, at the moment, how impossible. Finally Roxanne got up. “I have things to do before the lunch rush. You two let me know if there’s anything you need from me.”

  “Quite a fantasy, huh?” Cassie said when Roxanne was gone.

  Amber nodded. “Back to reality.”

  Two hours later the shelves had been cleared and cleaned, and ingredients sorted by types of packaging and how often items were used. They had heaved everything useless or outdated into a corner to be removed for good and moved shelves to open up wider walkways. Cassie had created a list of what was where and why, and she had promised to print and laminate it and come back tomorrow to label each shelf.

  “That’s all we can do today,” Amber said. “I have to wash up and change to work out front. Go ahead and drive home, and I’ll get a ride tonight.”

  “I thought I’d scrub the shelves we didn’t get to.”

/>   “You already did plenty.”

  “I like being here.”

  After Amber left, Cassie thought about those words. Today, as during her childhood, the sounds and smells of the Kouzina soothed her. Some of the best moments of her childhood had been spent under this roof. Here with her grandparents and Roxanne, she could be the child she couldn’t be at home, where too often she had been the most adult person on the premises.

  In New York, away from both good and bad memories of life in Tarpon Springs, she had fallen in love with a man whose career was already assured, and later with his tiny daughter who had needed and wanted her love. Married to him, she could devote herself to creating the happy home she’d been denied.

  Had Mark demanded that of her? Or had she snuggled into his life, like a warm blanket, because her own insecurities had made it difficult to ask for more? If she had asked, would they have been able to solve their problems?

  She was still thinking, still scrubbing, when her cell phone buzzed. While Cassie knew better than to expect a call from Savannah, she still fished the phone from her pocket and answered without checking ID.

  “Miss Costas? Will you hold for Dr. Farthington?”

  For a moment she was disoriented. Diane Farthington was the headmistress of the Pfeiffer Grant upper school, as well as the woman who had kicked Savannah to the curb. The last time they’d spoken was almost a year ago.

  She waited until Dr. Farthington said hello. Then some of the pent-up anger that had festered over the year seeped out. “I hope this isn’t a fundraising phone call. I’m not inclined to contribute this year, Diane.”