After a moment passed with no response from Merrill, Faith reached over and took her hand. “If this is too much for you . . .” she began.
Sniffing, Merrill gazed down at her lap.
“I’m so sorry.” Ellie shifted Greyson to her shoulder. “I never should have suggested the idea. We’ll figure out another—”
“Stop.” Merrill rose and stroked the baby’s back. “Your idea to be married that day is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Grace would have loved it.”
“Really?” Relief flooded Ellie’s face. “So does that mean yes?”
Swiping away tears, Merrill nodded, and Ellie clasped her hand. “Thank you so much, Merrill. I can’t wait to tell Dennis.”
“Congratulations! I had no idea you guys were even thinking of a date.” Faith got up to embrace Ellie. “Does that mean the designer dress fits?”
“Actually, I changed my mind about that. I’m keeping most things a lot simpler than I originally planned.”
“Speaking of simple, we’re planning a small tea that day after Grace’s dedication,” said Connie. “Your family is welcome to join us.”
“That’s very sweet, but although the ceremony will be intimate, we’ll probably have a larger crowd at a reception afterward. Maybe a hundred. I don’t want to impose that group on you. I’ll admit we haven’t quite figured out that part yet.”
“Faith, maybe David can suggest some local venues,” said Connie.
“I have a better idea.” Faith widened her eyes at her friend. “Ellie, what if David and I hosted your wedding celebration at The Blue Osprey?”
92
No sooner had she spoken the words than Faith regretted them. What had she just proposed? She hadn’t even seen David or the renovated restaurant yet, and had just committed to hosting a wedding reception in less than three weeks’ time—for a hundred guests!
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Ellie cried.
“David will have the final word on whether we can be ready,” Faith backtracked. “I know he’s waiting on a few inspections. And then there’s silverware, and linens, and loads of other details to finalize.” She and David were meeting later that day to divvy up the work checklist.
“Oh, I really hope you will be! If anybody can pull it off, it’s you two.”
Heading to the restaurant in Maeve’s old wagon, Faith wished she felt as confident as Ellie, who had gone along with Connie and Merrill on the birdbath hunt. Approaching the inlet, her palms dampened at the prospect of finally touring the renovated restaurant—and seeing David in the flesh for the first time in months.
Panicked, she pulled over a few blocks before the restaurant to decide on her demeanor. She’d left things so awkwardly, kissing David’s cheek in such a sisterly fashion when she left for Florida. If she kissed him today, he might read too much into the gesture. But didn’t she want him to?
Maybe a hug instead. But should it be full-on frontal, or a more constrained one-armed version? Ugh. If only she hadn’t damaged their easy, satisfying rhythm by decamping to Miami, she wouldn’t be having this dilemma.
Faith checked her face in the car mirror, swiping on some lip gloss. Her rare hours off in the Miami sun had flushed her cheeks and streaked her ponytail with caramel. She reached up to tighten it one last time, then, on a whim, yanked out the elastic, letting her hair fall over her shoulders in waves before driving the final blocks to the restaurant.
On the way, she passed the site of David’s farewell surfing lesson, a teachable moment about so much more than duck diving. She had often replayed that fleeting but triumphant on-top-of-the-world instant in her mind while melting in the Miami swelter.
Yes, he had whetted her appetite. By insisting she experience surfing, David had achieved his goal, leaving Faith hungry for more. More like famished, actually. And though there were plenty of surfing opportunities in South Beach and no shortage of available chefs, Faith had pursued neither.
It turned out there was only one beach for Faith: the battered sands of Wave’s End, where fate had deposited her one balmy fall day. The resilient town had left its imprint on her, like the foamy filigree at the surf’s edge studded with seaweed and sea glass and, on rare occasions when the tide cooperated, an occasional mermaid’s purse, that caretaker of sea life.
And along with that beach, perhaps there was only one chef for Faith as well.
Still, why should she care how she looked in front of David? They would soon be sweating side by side in the kitchen. She was overthinking this, she decided.
In the end, David made it easy. Outside the restaurant accepting a delivery, he turned at the bleat of Faith’s horn and, recognizing Maeve’s wagon, bounded down the block, yanked open her door and pulled Faith out of the car and into a bear hug so unyielding it left her breathless.
“Welcome back, partner!” David smiled broadly. “About time you showed up.”
93
“Oh, my goodness, David. It’s gorgeous.” During David’s grand tour of The Blue Osprey, Faith soaked up the fruits of their collaboration, which came alive in the restaurant’s newly stuccoed exterior, its beige-and-cream striped awnings, the lush potted palms.
Gone were the dated yard-high corded pilings at the entrance, where a blue plaster osprey once had perched, now replaced with contemporary gas lamps. Instead of picnic tables on a concrete apron, the exterior dining area now boasted bronze cast-iron four-tops with salmon umbrellas and swiveling bar stools arranged on a brick patio. Strategically situated outdoor sofas framed copper fire pits, inviting conversation.
“Meet with your approval?” Inside, the sleek update continued, with David’s original dining room tables and chairs rejuvenated by mahogany stain. Faith gasped at the most striking modification: per David’s vision, the bistro-style floor plan offered diners glimpses of their meal-in-progress over a granite half wall, bronze sconces illuminating the prep area. “No more cursing in the kitchen,” he kidded.
For their joint work area, he had splurged on streamlined worktops and appliances: eight-burner stove, double-wide Sub-Zero freezer, single-deck brick-lined gas-and-wood-fired pizza oven. There was even a salamander, a grill equipped with high-temperature overhead gas heating.
Faith gulped. David—and Bruce—had spared nothing with this redesign. “It’s amazing,” she said. “You’d never believe it was the same place.”
“I know. Except for this.” David led her to a far wall and pointed to the small brass plaque affixed at waist height.
“‘October 29, 2012,’” Faith read. “That’s when Nadine hit.”
“Here’s the waterline,” he said, rubbing the plaque. “I never want to forget it. That day changed everything for me, Faith.”
David looked at her, and Faith moistened her lips, waiting for him to expound on that thought, the most telling thing he had said since she’d arrived. But he only wiped his hand across a tabletop, turning up his dust-coated palm. “But we move on. Anyway, we’ve got tons more work to do before we open.”
“Right. And barely any time.” She should not have expected anything more.
Turning away, Faith raised a finger in the air, her lips moving silently as she circuited the dining room.
“What are you doing?” David asked.
“Quiet. I’m counting.”
“I can tell you right now: eighty-four seats, not including outside.”
Faith turned to him, hands on hips. “What are the chances we can fit an even hundred?”
94
Chalk it up to everything he’d survived in the seven months post-Nadine, but David didn’t bat an eye at the prospect of hosting Ellie and Dennis’s wedding reception.
“Bring it on,” he said. “It’ll be a great soft opening for us. Let everyone know we’ve bounced back.”
And somehow, in scarcely three weeks, the couple’s nuptials came together. Ellie and Dennis tackled entertainment, tuxes and transportation, while Ellie’s mother, Ingrid, worked her formidable city contacts to procure
dresses and invitations on the compressed timetable.
“What did Ingrid say about your downsized wedding?” Faith asked Ellie one night on the phone.
“It bothered her initially, but she got over it. I think the storm mellowed her, too.”
Privately, Faith believed it was because Ellie had matured enough in recent months to stand up for the wedding she and Dennis desired instead of submitting to the elaborate, stuffy church-and-ballroom affair of her mother’s dreams.
Food-wise, in keeping with their pared-down theme, the couple opted for finger food only, selecting fresh, fun, locally sourced offerings reflecting the locale. Their fete would kick off with a raw bar brimming with Cape May salt oysters surrounded by crab claws and shrimp. Main selections continually passed during the party would evoke a gourmand’s boardwalk stroll: skewers of sizzling shrimp wrapped in crispy prosciutto, cilantro-studded crab cakes, tacos layered with butter-poached lobster, tuna sliders with wasabi mayonnaise, individual balsamic-drizzled roasted-tomato-and-mozzarella tarts, cones of Asiago-dusted French fries, tiny pots of corn chowder.
For the couple’s custom cocktail, guests could avail themselves of palate-cleansing shots of vodka-infused fresh-fruit sorbet.
And finally, supplanting the wedding cake would be deep-fried zeppoles, dusted in confectioners’ sugar or dunked in chocolate, served alongside chocolate-chip ice cream sandwiches filled with locally made frozen custard.
One by one, the remaining wedding details fused at The Blue Osprey. There was still one slight hitch, however: it was now the day before the wedding, and the new sign for their restaurant still hadn’t been hung.
Though Faith tried not to worry, she wanted their restaurant to be one hundred percent photo-ready for guests’ social-media feeds and the publicity they could generate.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be there,” David assured her for the third time.
Merrill arrived for the weekend festivities that afternoon, and volunteered to be Greyson’s official baby-minder during the reception. “For Grace,” she said simply.
Ellie, Dennis and Greyson were staying at the inn, along with Faith. David had offered his room for use as the baby’s nursery, saying he’d be spending so much time at the restaurant he’d barely be there anyway and could bunk with Bruce if necessary.
“Things are different now,” David explained to Faith as they unpacked cartons of table linens. Collaborating on the restaurant renovations over the past few months had brought him and Bruce closer together, he said. “Maybe it was a good thing you took off for Miami. My father might not have gotten so involved otherwise.”
Faith agreed about time’s power to heal. During her months in Miami, she had missed her mother and the bond they’d forged during their months together at The Mermaid’s Purse. She was proud of the way Connie had warmed to the challenge of running the inn, a zeal that intensified as Connie and Roxanne shifted into high gear to ready the inn for the twin celebrations.
For the thirty or so guests at that evening’s wedding rehearsal, Connie and Roxanne turned out a simple but elegant early summer dinner, starting with a refreshing watermelon, feta and arugula salad, and followed by roast loin of pork with fig jelly, creamy scallion-studded polenta and roasted carrots served with cumin yogurt. Gage confidently supervised several friends recruited as servers for the evening. Hair slicked back and dressed in black pants and white button-down shirts, the teens self-consciously shuttled plates and drinks to and from the kitchen without a single mishap. Gage appeared smitten with a certain fresh-faced blonde, whose high ponytail bounced like a show pony’s as she moved around the dining room.
“He’s doing great,” Roxanne whispered into Faith’s ear. “He even made the surfing team, thanks to David. You’ve got a great partner there. I hope you know that.” With a squeeze of Faith’s shoulder, Roxanne excused herself to supervise the arrival of dessert: at Ellie’s request, a reprise of the bosomy cupcake mermaid, her mane accessorized with a scrap of snowy netting for the occasion.
Deciding she could do with more champagne, Faith went in search of the bar, finding Bruce in charge of dispensing drinks. Though he long ago had accepted her apology for her lunatic outburst, Faith still colored as she held out her flute.
“Great to see you, Faith. Your mother’s happy to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back. Thanks for all your support with the renovations. The place looks fantastic. David couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Nor without you. Here’s to new beginnings in Wave’s End.” Bruce raised his drink.
“I’ll certainly drink to that.” Sipping her champagne, Faith glanced around the dining room. “Isn’t it bizarre to think that Nadine started all of this?”
“She certainly made her mark. They’re retiring that name, you know.”
“Who is?”
“The weather powers that be. They keep lists of hurricane names. A name can be repeated every seven years.”
“So why not repeat Nadine?”
“Because when a storm is so deadly that the future use of its name on another storm would be insensitive, they can strike that name from the list. They voted, and Nadine is no more.” He shook his head. “You know, it’s ironic. I looked it up once. Nadine means ‘hope.’”
“It’s not about the name,” said Connie, joining them. “It’s about the pain and emotions it dredges up.”
Bruce regarded Connie then, a look of such concern that Faith realized he knew everything. This conversation was no longer about the storm, but about a mother rewriting history, making a wrenching choice to abandon an old traumatic life and forge a new one, with new identities.
“To Connie and Faith Sterling.” Bruce raised his glass.
Faith lifted her glass to theirs.
“We’d like to toast to that, too, if you’d be so kind as to pour us each a drink.”
Faith turned to see David in the front hallway, patiently assisting a stooped Fred into the dining room. Faith’s eyes misted, remembering her mother’s call one early April evening to let her know of Mona’s passing, a couple of months after the couple moved into an assisted-living facility. “She went very peacefully in her sleep, as she sat beside Fred,” Connie had related.
At least Mona had a chance to meet Greyson, an encounter preserved in a handsome walnut frame on the inn’s mantel.
“Are we good?” Faith asked David as she embraced Fred.
Knowing she referred to the still absent sign, David gave her a thumbs-up. “Good as gold.”
95
As Ellie’s wedding day dawned, Faith paced the inn’s back porch, sipping coffee while she waited for David. The morning’s fresh, dry air was free of the torpor and humidity that had weighed it down all week. Overhead, a pearl sky rimmed rosy coral teased of the imminent sunrise. So far, all signs pointed to the weather gods smiling down on the happy couple later that day, just as Ellie had predicted they would.
Did anything ever not go that girl’s way?
Swallowing a large gulp of coffee, Faith decided that whatever urgent restaurant matter of David’s required her rising at this ungodly hour, it would have been worth it to witness the birth of this glorious day.
Countdown, she thought, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to dispel her mounting anxiety.
At the sound of a car sinking into the rock driveway, Faith opened her eyes, expecting David. Instead, her mother pulled up in the old wagon.
“Hi, honey,” Connie greeted her as she strolled up the walk. “Didn’t expect you to be up so early.”
“Big day. David supposedly needs my executive decision on something. Where have you been? Oh, my God, is Maeve okay?” The former innkeeper had been living on her own in a small inland apartment for the last few months, and Faith knew Connie checked on her often.
“Of course. She’s fine. You thought I was with Maeve?” Connie did a poor job of hiding her smile.
“But if you weren’t with her . . .” Faith put two and tw
o together. “Ohhhh. I get it.”
Connie squared her shoulders. “Yes, honey. I’m coming from Bruce’s. We’ve been together for a while now. He’s a lovely man, and we’re very happy.” Toying with a strand of hair, she searched Faith’s face. “This time feels different. It really does. Are you okay with it?”
Faith hesitated. How often her mother had spoken those words: about her contests, her men, the chances she took. But today, things were different. The tide had shifted.
For the first time, Connie had asked for Faith’s opinion. My mother sincerely cares what I think. The irony was Connie no longer needed Faith’s advice. Far from the desperate, naive woman Faith had driven down to Wave’s End last fall, her mother had earned her stripes, as an innkeeper and, dare she say it, as a friend. And certainly Bruce had proven himself a solid port in a storm. “I think it’s wonderful, Mom. Bruce is great.”
Connie reached out and coiled Faith’s ponytail, letting it fall on her daughter’s shoulder. “Thank you for that. I know you had your doubts, but I’ve never had a man treat me as kindly as he does.”
“You deserve it. It’s what I’ve always wanted for you.” She had spent so much of her life protecting her mother, shielding her and cleaning up her mistakes. But when Faith finally had stepped out of her way, Connie had figured things out on her own. The sight of her mother so content and self-assured, with an equal partner at her side, freed Faith to pursue her own future without worry. “We’re adults who should accept one another’s choices and support each other without judgment. So enjoy each other, but promise me one thing: no more secrets from now on!”
Connie squeezed Faith’s hand. “I think I can manage that.”
Behind them, David’s jeep rolled into the driveway.
“I’ve got to run.” Faith hugged Connie fiercely. “I’m really happy for you, Mom.”
Climbing into David’s jeep, Faith jerked her thumb toward the porch, where Connie stood waving. “Did you know about that?” she asked David.
At Wave's End: A Novel Page 26
