Bailey couldn’t imagine finding anyone more right than Brandon, but she nodded gamely.
“Now, let’s see,” Olivia said, “do we want to make some mock Devonshire cream to go with our scones?”
Fifteen minutes later the scones were out of the oven, perfectly formed and golden-brown. Olivia set four on a pretty serving plate and suggested they go enjoy the comfy chairs in the lobby. Once she’d relaxed in a comfy, overstuffed chair, Olivia took one of the scones and bit into it. Bailey watched as her mentor chewed, then closed her eyes. “Delicious,” Olivia said. “Lovely taste combination.”
Her praise was a balm to Bailey’s wounded soul.
Olivia savored another bite, then said, “I hate to see your talents wasted here.”
“Oh, they’re not,” Bailey assured her. A sudden, scary thought occurred. Maybe Olivia was trying to find a nice way to fire her. She launched into a list of everything she was doing right. “I think the website looks really great, especially the food pictures. And I like helping people check in.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job,” Olivia said, and Bailey breathed a sigh of relief. “But I think you’re meant for greater things than manning our reception desk.”
Once upon a time Bailey, too, had thought she was meant for great things. Maybe she still was. Maybe she’d become a famous food photographer. Except that taking pictures of someone else’s culinary creations would be like settling for second best.
“Don’t let one bad experience stop you from doing what you’re passionate about,” Olivia said. “You Sterling women are made of sterner stuff.”
Well, her older sister was—that was for sure. Sammy had saved the family company. Sometimes Bailey wished she was more like her.
“I don’t think I am,” she confessed. Otherwise she’d have stayed in L.A. and fought for her business. She’d have sued Samba Barrett. She’d have...done something. But no matter what she might have done, it would’ve been too late to save her culinary reputation. So what good did it do to be brave?
“You are,” Olivia said. “We all get knocked down at some point in life. And that’s where you are right now. You’ve had a crisis of confidence. But I know you’ll pick yourself up and start cooking again. What you end up doing may not look exactly like what you did before, but you’ll find your way.” Now she pointed a finger at Bailey. “And when you see that path, when you get excited again, don’t let fear turn off the spigot. Let the energy flow. That’s what I did after my husband died, and look how well we’re doing.”
“You make it seem so easy,” Bailey said.
Olivia chuckled. “Oh, believe me, it’s not at first. You were so young back then, you probably don’t remember when George died.”
“I do.” Bailey remembered Olivia seated at her mother’s kitchen table, crying, Mama with an arm around her shoulders. They’d all gone to the memorial service, and Bailey had spent a lot of time glancing over at Brandon, who’d been trying not to cry, sending him comforting thoughts.
“I had no head for business, and sometimes I felt like I was drowning. You see, it was a dream we’d shared, something we’d planned on doing together. With him gone...” Olivia picked off a piece of her scone and studied it, then crumbled it between her fingers, watching the broken bits fall onto her plate.
“I can’t imagine what that was like,” Bailey said. Suddenly her troubles looked as small as the crumbs on Olivia’s plate.
“It was hard, but we carried on. And I’m so glad we did. It wasn’t the dream I had of running this place with my husband, but it’s turned out okay, and it’s given me a lot of pleasure.” She smiled at Bailey. “The wonderful thing about dreams is that you may wake up from one, but there’s always another one waiting. I don’t know what God has in mind for you, but I know it’s something special.”
Bailey nodded and murmured her thanks. She wanted to believe every word Olivia said. Before that awful incident in L.A. she had. She’d skipped through her childhood, enjoying her status as the spoiled baby of the family. Even after losing her father she’d managed to still find joy in life (usually in the kitchen). And when she’d left home she’d gone with a suitcase full of cooking utensils, her small savings, a check from her mother and stepfather and a heart filled with hope. She’d had every expectation that her dreams would come true. Why not? She loved to create in the kitchen; she liked people; she trusted people.
And that, she realized, had been her big mistake. But how could you go through life not trusting people?
One of their guests was moving toward the front desk, and that signaled the end of Bailey’s chat with Olivia. But it had given her plenty to think about. The wonderful smells from breakfast still haunted the lobby. Now they whispered, “Come back.”
But then she thought of all those horrible headlines and plugged her ears.
And she was right to. Morgan Withers, one of the maids, drove that home to her later that day. Morgan had graduated from Icicle Falls High the year before and was still trying to find her direction in life.
“Who was in 201?” she asked Bailey.
“An older guy.” He’d been a nice old man. A little doddery, but very sweet.
“That explains it,” Morgan said with a frown. “He missed the toilet.”
Eeew. Bailey wrinkled her nose. “I could have gone all day without hearing that.”
“Well, I could have gone all day without cleaning that,” Morgan said with a scowl. “Sometimes I hate this job.”
Okay, so it wasn’t fun cleaning up after people, but Olivia paid well, and Bailey found herself mildly incensed on Olivia’s behalf. “You don’t have to work here,” she said.
“Yeah? Well, where am I supposed to work with just a high school diploma?” Morgan growled. “Herman’s?”
“I don’t know,” Bailey said. She was having enough trouble figuring out her own life. “What do you want to do?”
Morgan looked wistful. “I want to be a nurse.”
She’d have much bigger messes to deal with as a nurse than she had now, but Bailey decided this wasn’t the time to point that out. “That’s really noble. You should do it.”
“I can’t afford to go to school.”
“You could save up,” Bailey said. She’d saved up to start her catering business.
“I’ve been trying, but it’s really hard.”
Especially when you spent all your money on clothes. But Bailey was in no position to judge. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of times she’d surrendered to the lure of a cute pair of shoes.
“Well, don’t give up,” she said. “It’s important to go for your dreams.”
“Yeah? I saw how well that worked for you,” Morgan retorted. The words were barely out of her mouth before her face acquired an instant sunburn. She stared down at her toes. “Sorry. That was mean.”
Mean but true, Bailey thought as Morgan slipped off to the kitchen for her break.
And now Morgan wasn’t the only one who was grumpy.
That night Bailey returned to her mother’s book for more sage advice.
You may be feeling like you are out of options. Trust me, this is never true. We always have options, always have choices. But sometimes, buried under discouragement, they can be hard to see.
Bailey wondered about Morgan the maid. Was she discouraged? Maybe she blew her money because she figured there was no sense in saving it. Maybe she needed to read this book, too. Bailey decided to pass it on when she was done. Even if a girl wasn’t lucky enough to have Muriel Sterling for a mother, she could at least have a Muriel Sterling book.
Bailey read on.
Sit down, either on your own or with a close friend or relative, and make a list of all your strengths. Once you’ve done that, make another list of all the possible ways you can use those strengths.
Just like when they were teenagers, her sister had her nose in a romance novel. She seemed embarrassed to be caught with it, quickly stuffing it in her nightstand drawer. “What’s wrong?” Then she saw what Bailey was carrying. “Oh. You’re reading Mom’s new book.”
“What are my strengths?” Bailey asked, plopping down on the bed.
Cecily snuggled back against the pillows. “Well, you’re creative. You’ve come up with a lot of great recipes.”
Bailey nodded and wrote that down. “What else?”
“You’re fun and enthusiastic. You’re optimistic. Most of the time,” Cecily amended.
Okay, the past couple of months she hadn’t been so optimistic. But even the sunniest disposition would have trouble breaking through the clouds that had been raining on her. First the catering disaster and then Brandon. Ick.
That had been a Memorial Day to forget. After seeing Brandon and Arielle she’d come home and eaten the chocolate silk pie she’d made the day before to take to the family barbecue at Sammy’s, standing over the sink, trying bite by bite to lose the image of Brandon and his new love in his old room, kissing passionately. She’d made a second dessert, a peach cobbler, but after her earlier eating binge she’d felt too sick to do anything, so the peach cobbler had gone off to her sister’s without her.
She was past that now. No more feeling sorry for herself and overdosing on chocolate. She was back to being optimistic, and she was going to stay that way even if it killed her.
“What else?” she asked as she wrote optimistic and underlined it three times for emphasis.
“You’re good with people.” Cecily covered a yawn.
Her sister had to work in the morning, and so did she. What was she doing keeping them both up?
“You’re loyal,” Cecily said drowsily. “You’re there when we need you.”
“I’m not sure how any of those things are going to help me find a new career,” Bailey said. “How did you know you were supposed to work at Sweet Dreams?”
“I don’t know. It just seemed to evolve.”
“And you love doing it.”
“Actually, I do.”
“That’s what I want,” Bailey said, looking at her list, “to find a career I love. I wish it could be with food. There must be something. Don’t you think?”
Cecily didn’t say anything, and Bailey glanced up to see that her eyes had dropped shut.
Maybe that was enough list-making for one night. Bailey switched off her sister’s light. “Thanks for being such a great sister,” she whispered, then started to tiptoe out of the room. Until she stubbed her toe on the corner of the bed. Then the tiptoeing turned to hopping and yelping.
“You okay?” Cecily asked.
“I’m fine,” Bailey said between gritted teeth and limped back to her own bed. Or at least she would be fine once her toe stopped throbbing. Once she’d figured out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
By the end of the week she was no closer to figuring out her future, but she knew what she’d be doing that Friday night. She was going dancing at The Red Barn with Cecily.
She was just finishing her makeup when her cell phone rang. It was Olivia.
“I need help,” she croaked.
“Of course,” Bailey said. “What do you need?”
“I need you to come in and cook breakfast tomorrow.”
The icy fingers of dread grabbed hold of Bailey, and she swallowed hard. “But what about Betsy?” Betsy was a retired teacher who loved coming in on weekends and helping Olivia cook.
“She’s sick, too.”
“Well, then, Lorna?” Lorna Griswald was married and had three kids. She supplemented the family income by working in the kitchen on weekdays. Surely she could step in.”
“She went out of town with her family.” Now the croak had degenerated into a mere whisper. “I haven’t even felt well enough to plan the menu.”
“But you plan your menus on Thursdays,” Bailey said. And then Olivia bought what she needed for the weekend on Fridays. Olivia had been well enough to go shopping on Thursday. Now Bailey was smelling a rat.
“I think that’s when I started feeling bad,” Olivia said, sounding as though Death was hovering at her elbow.
Bailey could hardly come right out and tell her boss that she was full of hoo-ha. “Are you sure you feel that bad? Maybe by tomorrow...”
“I can’t wait until tomorrow. People will be wanting their breakfast. Oh, honey, I’m sorry to ask, but could you please pitch in just this once? You can make whatever you want.”
Whatever she wanted. Her imagination began skipping in circles. Oh, it was so tempting. But... “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Please. I’m depending on you.”
Bailey swallowed again. She couldn’t do this. Olivia shouldn’t ask her.
“Please. For me?”
“What if somebody gets sick?”
“No one will get sick,” Olivia promised.
“But if someone does?”
“That’s why we have insurance. You’ll be fine. I can’t talk anymore. I need to sleep. Come on by, and Eric will give you a blank check. Thank you, honey.”
And then she was gone, leaving Bailey with a dial tone in her ear and a knot in her stomach.
Chapter Eleven
“You ready to go?” Cecily asked, coming into the bathroom, where Bailey stood staring at her cell phone. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I have to make breakfast at the lodge tomorrow.”
Cecily smiled as if this was good news. “That’s great.”
“Olivia doesn’t have the menu planned,” Bailey continued, her voice rising along with her level of panic.
“That’s even better. Now you can get creative.”
Bailey shook her head. “No, I can’t. I...can’t do this.”
Cecily grabbed her by the arms. “Yes. You can. You really can.”
The bad thought wouldn’t go away. What if someone got sick?
“No one’s going to get sick,” said her sister, the mind reader.
Someone was going to get sick right now, as a matter of fact. “I don’t feel good,” Bailey whimpered and collapsed against the bathroom vanity.
“You’ll do great,” Cecily assured her.
“But what if—”
Her sister didn’t let her finish. “Nothing’s going to happen. You can’t let one bad experience stop you from doing something you love. Deep down, you know that.”
Did she? Maybe. The one thing she did know was that she missed being able to cook for people. It was fine making dinner for her and her sister every night, but that wasn’t the same as creating a meal for a large number of people. What she was doing now was the equivalent of an artist hanging her paintings in her closet.
“How many people would you say ate your cooking before the Samba Barrett party?”
She’d had hundreds of catering gigs in L.A. And before she’d moved, she’d been making goodies for everything from friends’ birthday parties to church events. “A lot.”
“And none of those people ever complained or got sick. Right?”
True.
“And we know Samba Barrett faked her illness for the publicity. Right?”
“Right,” Bailey said slowly.
“So, do you really want to let one faker keep lots of other people from enjoying all the yummy things you come up with in the kitchen?” Cecily asked softly.
“No,” Bailey decided. Here was an opportunity to do what she loved. She shouldn’t run away from it eve
n if she was scared. And Olivia hadn’t planned the menu yet (or so she said). Bailey could make whatever she wanted. Well, within limits. She didn’t want to get too extravagant. Olivia hadn’t mentioned a budget, but Bailey was sure her boss would want her to stick to a reasonable amount. “I could make muffin-tin omelets,” she mused. “And Mom’s almond puff pastry,” she said, getting excited. Add to that a nice fruit salad, and she’d have a lovely menu. “I’d better get over to the lodge. I need to check on how many we’ll have for breakfast. Then I’ve got to make a grocery list and go shopping.”
“I guess this means we’re not going dancing,” Cecily said with a smile.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m sorry. I just wrecked your Friday night.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find something to do.”
Of course she would. She’d call Luke. She’d probably only suggested going dancing because she was worried about Bailey’s not having a life. Well, it looked as if she had a life now. She was smiling when she hurried out of the condo.
* * *
Bailey had just rushed out the door when Todd called Cecily. “Hey, thought I might sneak away from the old cave and come spin you and your sis around the floor at The Red Barn.”
“There’ll only be one sister to spin,” Cecily said. “Bailey got called in to cook breakfast at the lodge. She just left to plan her menu and go shopping. She’ll be busy all night.”
“So, you’re there all alone? What a shame. I’ll be right over.”
Not so long ago she would have retorted, “Who says I want you to come over?” They were well beyond that now. “Good idea,” she said.
* * *
Eric was behind the reception desk watching a movie on his laptop when Bailey arrived at the lodge. “I hear you’re in charge of breakfast,” he greeted her.
She nodded. “Is your mom really sick?”
“She’s in bed,” he said, not actually answering Bailey’s question. “So, what are we having?” She told him, and he grinned. “I have to wait until morning for this?”
The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane (Life in Icicle Falls) Page 13
