by Alison Kent
“And I’m sorry I don’t have more time today. I’ve got to get to work. But I was wondering…” He stopped, looked down at his laced hands.
“Yes?”
“If you haven’t hired anyone yet, and are still taking applications, I’d like to throw my name in the hat for the cook’s position. I haven’t talked to the Gristmill yet about reducing my hours there, but if you want me, I imagine I can work something out.”
For several days now she’d been turning over an idea in her mind, and now that he was here…“How would you feel about sharing the kitchen duties?”
“Sharing?” He blinked, scratching the back of his head. “The cooking or the cleaning? All of it?”
“All of it,” she said, hoping Dolly would agree, because she really thought this could work. “Whatever the two of you think best.”
“I’m always up for a division of labor. Tell me more.”
Kaylie sat straighter, leaned toward him. “The woman I’ve been most interested in doesn’t have professional experience, but comes with amazing personal references. Everyone I talked to said they’d been begging her for years to open a restaurant or start a catering business.”
Mitch squared one leg over the opposite knee. “What’s she doing now?”
“She actually works for Ten Keller. My contractor. In his front office. And it turns out I went to school with her son. Their last name is Breeze, and at the time mine was Bridges, so we were always lined up together.”
Mitch looked back at his hands. “She’s a friend of yours, then.”
“I didn’t remember her until I saw her again, but then that’s not a surprise.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t want to get into the reasons why, but…“I’ve forgotten a lot of things about my time here. Not in the house, or with my foster family. But other things. Kids I went to school with.”
“You remembered getting a stuffed animal for Christmas when you were a kid,” he said, his voice so soft she almost couldn’t hear.
“I know. And that surprised me.” Probably as much as she’d surprised him sharing the memory. “Dolly, that’s the woman’s name, Dolly Breeze, she had to remind me about a school play I was in with her son.”
“Oh yeah?”
Something in the way he asked, as if he wasn’t making conversation but truly wanted to know, had her saying more. Again. “It was seventh grade. Our drama class put on a production of A Christmas Carol. Now that I have remembered it, I can say it was pretty bad.”
“Hey, it was seventh grade. I don’t think much about the seventh-grade experience is good for anyone.”
“That’s probably true. But I really think you’d like Dolly.”
“If she keeps your contractor on his toes, then you’re probably right,” he said, his mouth pulling into a smirk.
What was it with these two men? “Will you think about it?”
“I don’t need to think about it.” He slapped both palms to his thighs. “I’m in.”
“Great,” she said, more excited than ever to get the menu settled. “I’ll give her a call and see what she thinks. If she’s on board, I’ll see about setting up a time for all three of us to get together.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, getting to his feet.
“I’ll be in touch, then,” she said from her chair, offering him her hand.
He gave it a quick shake, held it for a second longer, and then let go and offered her a single slicing wave in parting. Kaylie listened as his steps carried him through the kitchen, listened to the bang of the screen door as it slammed. She closed her eyes, waiting for the next interruption, and was still waiting when she fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Where would I find your newspaper archives? I’m looking specifically for the Austin American-Statesman from twenty-three years ago?” There, Kaylie mused. She’d said it. Put into words the reality of what she’d returned to Hope Springs to do. The only thing left to figure out was why irritation rather than anticipation had hopped onboard for the ride.
For some inexplicable reason, she’d made up her mind after yesterday’s nap that today was the day to visit the small town’s even smaller library. Whether due to the remains of a fleeting dream, or having Dolly remind her of seventh grade, or the conversation with Mitch where she’d remembered a childhood Christmas, she’d decided it was time—even if she’d lost what had once been a keen interest in her life’s missing parts.
As bits and pieces of those years had continued to return, she’d found the pull to look into the past diminished. Her present was wonderful. Her future promising. Turning around and walking in the other direction seemed such a wrong path to take. For so long she’d thought learning about her parents would give her strength to close the door on her old life and open the one into the new. But she was finding that wasn’t the case at all.
She rarely thought of them these days. Rarely wondered where her mother had ended up, where her father had gone, if either of them had been curious about her, had ever tried to find her. Had even cared what had happened to her after the state had taken her away. If everything was as perfect as it felt, what good would it do her to dredge up these things? She was happy. She was happy. She didn’t need to know; why had she ever thought otherwise?
The librarian was saying something, leading her to a quiet corner near the rear of the small room, but all Kaylie could hear was May Wise’s voice. Don’t look to where you’ve come from. Look to where you’re going. Clinging desperately to those words, she swiped at the hair sticking damply to her forehead, and focused on the woman in front of her, giving Kaylie directions as they walked.
“…on microfilm. The spools are in the cabinet next to the table, and the instructions for loading them into the viewer are on the poster above it. It’s fairly self-explanatory, but if you need any help at all, I’ll be at the desk. Just give a wave. I’m not exactly overwhelmed, as you can see.”
“Thanks very much. I think I can manage, but I’ll let you know if it turns out otherwise.”
“Not a problem,” said the other woman, leaving Kaylie alone with her past. She did not want to be here. She wanted to be at Two Owls, seeing how the repairs to the plumbing were going. She wanted to be talking casseroles with Dolly and Mitch. She wanted to be walking through her yard with Ten, throwing the ball for Magoo. But more than anything in this moment she wanted May Wise at her side.
Since that was the one thing she couldn’t have, however, and since she was already here, she pulled out the chair and sat. Finding the spool with the right range of dates, she loaded it and rolled it forward, advancing from page to page, scanning the headlines, smiling at the ads for sunglasses, cringing at the models’ hair, rolling her eyes at the poster for Young Guns II. Boy, had those guys changed.
She spent at least an hour getting nowhere, or reading too much about the year she’d turned five. And then she stopped reading and stared at the image in front of her taking up a quarter page of the local news. The crime-scene photo…Why did it look so familiar? Frowning, she leaned closer, reading the print beneath the headline, knowing she’d seen it before…or someone had shown it to her before. This wasn’t new. It was…
Dear God. The story! It was her story! Her life. The headline, the copy, the image showing the yellow tape—grainy in old black and white—across the door to the apartment where she’d lived. This was her past, her mother being wheeled out on a gurney, one bandaged wrist handcuffed to the metal frame. She’d seen this all from another view. From above, on the apartment staircase…There! That was her wrapped up in a blanket and sitting in Ernest Flynn’s lap!
Her heart like a balloon swelling at the base of her throat, she read the reporter’s words and knew this wasn’t the first time she had. When had she seen this before? Where? Why hadn’t she remembered any of this article? Why had she blocked out the very things she’d come to Hope Springs to find?
She printed the page and dug in her wallet f
or change to pay for the copy. As she made her way to the front desk, she wondered if this was how it was always going to be, bits and pieces she’d have to sift through for details that might lead her to the truth. Was it worth knowing if the discovery was dragged out over weeks or months, even years? When all of it, the whole shebang, might already be locked in the back of her mind?
She hated this…this…defense mechanism, or whatever it was. This ridiculous memory lapse her subconscious thought it was protecting her with. She didn’t need protection. Ten had told her she was better than anyone he knew at making lemonade when life served up lemons, and he was right. She’d dealt with everything her twenty-eight years had thrown her way. Foster homes, course finals, three a.m. doughnuts, termites.
All of those things she’d had no choice in, and she’d survived with only a few hard knocks. Looking back instead of moving forward…this she could choose. As she made her way to the farthest of the six parking spots and her Jeep, she folded the sheet of paper and stuffed it into her purse. Her head pounding, her stomach in knots, she chose, in this moment, the only thing she could.
To go home.
The next night, Kaylie lined up her ingredients on the kitchen island, found her measuring cups and spoons, a saucepan and glass bowl large enough to use as a double boiler, and her favorite aluminum baking pan. The utensils and cookware she’d brought with her from Austin last week. The food items she’d bought this morning at Tandy’s Grocery.
She hadn’t planned to bake brownies until her new kitchen was done, but she was itchy with the wait. Her baking muscles felt flabby, like those of a runner kept too long from the trails, or a cyclist grounded, a swimmer landlocked. A bit of an exaggeration, she knew, but it had been weeks and she was going, well, stir-crazy.
She turned on the oven, then secured her favorite recipe to her magnetic stand, doubting she’d look at it again but wanting it there anyway. She knew this recipe by heart. She didn’t need the lined steno sheet May had written it on, the ink from her blue ballpoint faded into the paper along with drops of vanilla and butter smears and dribbles of melted chocolate wiped clean. This one was embedded in Kaylie’s heart as well as her head.
Peeling away the paper from the unsalted butter, she thought back to the first time she’d watched May turn what had seemed like unrelated food items into the most glorious dessert she’d ever put in her mouth. The chocolate had been rich and sweet but not too much of either, the texture more cakelike than a gooey fudge, though she’d grown to appreciate both.
May had asked her if she wanted frosting, and she couldn’t imagine adding anything more to what her young palate, which had known only Hostess and Little Debbie snacks, thought was perfection. Over time, she’d learned a little something extra was often a very good thing. But only a little. Too much meant ruin. And she feared her feelings for Tennessee Keller had become too much.
She added the chocolate to the butter in the double boiler, and while those melted, she measured sugar into a bowl. The salt and vanilla and flour she put into miniramekins, and the eggs she set in a saucer that had enough of a lip to keep them from rolling into the sink. Rather than use an electric mixer, she chose her favorite wooden spoon. It had been May’s favorite wooden spoon first, and it had somehow survived the years and the change in ownership with no more than a chip in the handle.
When she’d sought out a general contractor, she’d never thought she’d get more in the bargain, but she was pretty sure Tennessee Keller was fast becoming her very best friend. She’d never had a best friend, though most of her closest ones had been male. She wasn’t sure why, except she didn’t think that she had ever made a very good girl. Her hair was usually in a net, or beneath a white chef’s hat, any attempt at style lost to her trade. She bought clothes that would last, and often paid more because of that, so she rarely needed—or had time—to shop, no matter how much she enjoyed it.
Makeup was nothing but mascara, powder blush, and lip gloss, if that. Baking was a sweaty business, sometimes a messy business, and her sensitive skin fared better when bare. And yet she found herself spending more time in front of the mirror these days, wondering if Ten liked what he saw. She supposed he did; he’d kissed her and made sure she knew he meant it. But what she was more interested in was why, when she was honestly quite plain.
Ten, on the other hand, was anything but. He was…a surprise. His body beautifully built, his hips lean, his stomach flat, his legs thick but not bulky with muscle. He wore his jeans with purpose, the denim modestly covering his most intimate parts, while conversely showing them off. She liked that, the hint of sexuality she could choose to ignore if she wanted. She didn’t. She indulged. The way she was indulging now, breathing in the rich scent of chocolate as she stirred the batter until glossy.
As much as she’d had the urge to flex her baking muscles, she’d also needed the emotional release baking never failed to provide. Yesterday’s library visit had left her unable to sleep last night. She’d tossed and turned, disturbing Magoo as she’d pictured her life laid out in print for anyone to see.
They’d always been there, those newspaper archives, the rest of the public records. The years she’d lived with Winton and May…How many people had been curious enough to hunt for the truth? The Wises wouldn’t have talked. She knew that. But had any of their friends heard gossip and felt compelled to share what they’d learned?
The worst part was, forcing herself to dig for information—in the library as well as previously on the Internet—had been next to fruitless. In all her searches, she’d turned up nothing on Dawn Bridges other than the date of her release. Where had she gone after prison? Where had she been since? Kaylie didn’t want the expense of a private investigator, though hiring one might be her only option in the end. If she decided to go forward with her search. And that was a decision she was seriously rethinking.
Since losing May Wise, Kaylie had been obsessed with her parents—which made no sense at all. They were nothing to her. They never had been. Why in the world had she thought finding them mattered? She’d upended her life over a ridiculous fixation…yet had absolutely no regrets. Her return to Hope Springs had been the best move she could ever have made. She was happier than she’d been in years. She was blossoming. She was finding herself. She was falling in love.
Were all these things possible because she was finally, without even realizing it, listening to May? Maybe what she was looking for all along was more of what the Wises had given her. A home and a family. One filled with people she cared for, not people with whom she shared blood. Wasn’t that what she was finding with Luna and Ten? With Dolly and Mitch and Will? With Indiana? It was sobering, truly, to realize that a search she should never have made in the first place had given her exactly what she’d been looking for all along.
Two Owls’ Chocolate Brownie on the Brain
the brownie to cure all ills
4 ounces unsweetened chocolate
4 ounces unsalted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1¼ cups sugar
⅛ teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
½ cup flour
½ cup cacao nibs
½ cup semisweet chocolate chips
½ cup chopped pecans
Preheat oven to 400°F. Grease or spray with cooking oil and flour (or line with aluminum foil) an 8 x 8–inch baking dish.
Melt the chocolate with the butter in a double boiler (or in a microwave), stirring often so as not to burn the chocolate. Add in the vanilla, the sugar, and the salt. Whisk in the eggs, one at a time. Mix in the flour, blending until the batter is smooth. Stir in the chocolate chips, the cacao nibs, and the nuts.
Pour the batter into the prepared baking pan. Bake for 18–20 minutes, or until an inserted tester comes out with a bit of batter attached. Cool completely before cutting.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Kaylie! You’ve got visitors!”
As if that was anything new? She closed her laptop, set
ting it and her legal pad in the dining room’s wingback chair. It was where she did all of her business these days, and strangely enough she’d grown used to the inconvenience. Eventually she’d set up an office on the second floor, but for now she liked being in the thick of things.
With the major construction due for completion this weekend, the truck with the café’s furniture would arrive on Monday. The curtains and blinds were scheduled to be installed the following day. The middle of next week, the deliveries of the remaining supplies for Two Owls would begin. Meaning this had to be about the garden. Finally! Not that it had been long since she and Indiana Keller had talked, but she was as anxious to get her starter plants in as she was to open the café in just over six weeks.
“Thanks, Will,” she said as she reached the kitchen. She wouldn’t be able to use her own produce until later in the year, but the garden going in where she’d once played softball and eaten thick slices of ham on even thicker slices of May’s bread, and where spindly watercolor wildflowers had grown, made her so happy she wanted to spit or skip rope or something.
But she didn’t do any of that since Will was still there, biting into the brownie he’d snitched from the plate on the kitchen island. It must’ve been the fifth he’d eaten after arriving this morning to discover she’d baked late last night. “No, thank you.”
She loved that her brownies were a hit with her contractor and his ex-con crew of one. And why she’d thought that about Will now when she hadn’t for days had her wondering when his being on parole had ceased to matter. Because it had. And she was glad.
She was very, very glad. “You’re welcome, but if you get sick while three stories up on the ladder, give a warning to those of us below.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his laugh a wicked howl that might’ve sent shivers down her spine if she wasn’t getting her shivers elsewhere these days.
