Surprise Dad

by Daly Thompson

  Maury was sharp as a well-honed knife, but it had “taken a village,” which meant their entire extended family all the way down to Daniel’s youngest foster boys, to help maintain Maury’s C-average. He’d been working at the restaurant weekends and holidays from the time Daniel took him in, and now that he had his driver’s license, he was here every second he didn’t have to be somewhere else. And today, apparently, when he was supposed to be somewhere else.

  “Look at it this way,” Mike explained. “You’re conscientious about being here because you know I have to get dinner on the table. You have to be just as conscientious about football practice, because the coach has to get a team on the field. Preferably a good team.”

  “Yeah,” Maury said. “I get it.” Reluctantly he removed the last of the browned chicken from the pan, moved the pan off the burner, carefully wiped his knife, and less carefully, wiped his hands. “Guess I’d better go.” He gave Mike a smile and a wave. “Later.”

  With that crisis settled, Mike had no excuse for postponing the call to Stein. At the front desk he found two numbers placed on the cash register where he couldn’t possibly miss them, the one he’d written on the order form and another in Becky’s handwriting on a proper message pad. He dialed the one he’d written down and was surprised when Stein himself answered. That explained the two numbers. This was Stein’s private line.

  “Mike!” he said as if Santa Claus had just landed on the chimney hearth.

  “Sorry I couldn’t take your other call,” Mike said. “We’d agreed on two-thirty.”

  Stein was silent for a moment. “I didn’t make another call.” And then, “Somebody else called you about franchising?”

  He sounded so anxious that Mike wanted to reassure him. “No. I don’t know what he was calling about. Are you a lawyer with Abernathy Foods?”

  “No. I’m vice-president of acquisitions.”

  “He was a lawyer. So he was calling about something entirely different.”

  But what? He glanced at the other number and saw the Boston area code and the name Earl Ritter at the top. Lawyers made him nervous. So did the police. He’d had reason to be nervous when he was a kid, committing one petty crime after another. But not now. Not unless something from his past had come back to haunt him.

  Everything else seemed inconsequential now. The call from that lawyer—urgent, Becky had said—could be the big one.

  He made himself calm down. The man he was talking to now wanted to make him rich, or to make himself rich, at least. To stick to diners instead of doom, Mike consulted the notes he’d written on Ian’s instructions. “Tell me more about your proposal,” he said through the cottony dryness of his mouth.

  He listened to Stein drone on about “buying the concept, positioning the product”—which Mike took to be the diner—telling him pretty much what Ian had. He finished up with, “Those are the bare bones of the plan. Come to New York, we’ll show you around corporate headquarters, give you a more visual idea of what we have in mind. Any questions?”

  “Yes. What other franchises do you control?”

  After a second of silence, maybe startled silence because he hadn’t expected any sort of intelligent response from the owner of Mike’s Diner in LaRocque, Vermont, Stein rattled off an impressive list of big names in fast-food. Not that Mike would eat at any of them if he didn’t have to, but he knew they were successful.

  “How much input will I have into the plan for the diner franchises?”

  “As much as you like!” Stein said heartily. “We’re going to pay you a lot of money. Don’t think we’re going to let you off the hook.” A riff of ho-ho-ho followed.

  “Will I have any say in quality control?”

  “Well, not directly, unless you’d like to work for us in that capacity. That’s a great idea, come to think of it,” Stein said with enthusiasm. “We’ll talk about it.”

  Since that idea didn’t appeal to him at all, Mike swiftly went on to his next question. “The concept, as you put it, is an ordinary diner with an extraordinary dinner special,” Mike said. “It’s different every night. Can you do the same thing with a string of franchises?”

  “To some extent,” Stein said. Mike could tell he was hedging. “Might not be able to do a different one every night of the world, but…Hey, my friend,” he said, hearty again, “these are details we can go into in depth later on. Now, about coming to New York for a visit with us…”

  Mike thought for a few seconds, a long few seconds. He’d figured out how he could leave the diner for a day or two, cook ahead, write out detailed instructions, then pray quietly to the gods of good food that nothing went wrong. “I could do that. I couldn’t stay long.”

  “We’ll have our presentation so well-organized it won’t take long,” Stein said. “When can you come? Next week? Wednesday sound good?”

  “I have to check some dates,” Mike said. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll call you,” Stein sang. “What about five or so this afternoon?”

  Mike was getting the not-unpleasant feeling that Stein really wanted to franchise his diner. Maybe it would be a good thing. He wouldn’t have to feel under so much pressure all the time. He’d increase the financial status of his family. But…“I’ll try to have an answer for you by then,” he said.

  As soon as the call with Stein ended, he called Ian. “Unless you tell me not to,” he said, “I’m going to New York to talk to these people.”

  “Good,” Ian said. “Successful company, give it a shot.”

  “I will.” Then he added, “I also have to return a phone call from a lawyer in Boston.”

  “So?”

  “So? So maybe it’s bad news.”

  Ian made a huffing noise. “Why would you assume that?”

  “You know why.” Mike knew Ian thought he was being an idiot, and maybe he was. He looked at the phone number again. “I should stop second-guessing and just make the call.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  After saying goodbye to Ian, Mike picked up the message pad and dialed. He and his brothers had been living honest, productive lives since they’d left juvenile correction. Seriously, what was the worst the folks around here could do if they found out they weren’t brothers by birth? Find a vet outside the valley? Stop eating at the diner? Stop wearing wool?

  That was enough to make him smile.

  “Mike Foster,” he said crisply when an assistant answered, “returning Mr. Ritter’s call.”

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Foster.” Rather than being coolly professional, she sounded distraught. “Mr. Ritter’s been called away on a family emergency. He was very anxious to speak with you, but I’ve just discovered he left his BlackBerry behind, so I can’t give you a cell number.”

  “No problem,” Mike said, his stomach muscles clenching. “I’ll wait to hear from him.” No smiling now. He’d wanted so badly to get it over with, whatever it was, and now he’d have to worry about it for hours, days, maybe.

  He put the phone down slowly. He had to call Stein back about going to New York. He’d have to get through the dinner rush, smiling, chatting, and twisted like a licorice stick inside. It wouldn’t help that Allie would be there waiting tables, either, but maybe the annoying attraction he’d felt this morning wouldn’t come back. Instead, it would feel like old times having her around.

  And she might take his mind off both the lawyer and the franchise deal. Tonight he just wanted to run his restaurant.

  ALLIE COULDN’T BELIEVE how quickly it all came back to her. Working at the diner felt as comfortable as the old black flats she’d worn to work. She’d quickly picked up the changes to the menu, and the new cash register was a snap to figure out.

  The only downside was that she knew almost everyone who came into the restaurant. And everyone wanted to know the same thing—what was she doing working at Mike’s Diner? Why wasn’t she in medical school?

  Except that Vermonters didn’t ask people about their private lives. Not d
irectly. Instead, they said, “Allie, heard you were home,” their eyebrows lifted almost to the hairline, hoping she’d explain. When she said cheerfully, “It’s great to be back. Let me tell you about the dinner special,” the next prod was something like, “How’s med school?” And when all she said was, “The university has a great medical school. The special tonight is…” her cross-examiner would say, “Bet your mom’s glad to have you home.”

  At which she would smile and blurt out the special, then speed away.

  Several times during the evening she’d managed to say hi to Mike, or send him a little wave, but hadn’t had a chance to have a conversation with him. The diner was swamped. At eight, business started to slow down. Allie carried a stack of plates into the kitchen and observed that Mike was in his office.

  “Busy night,” she said, just tossing it into the room, not wanting to disturb his work at the computer.

  Instead of ignoring her, Mike swiveled his desk chair toward her. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

  She knew he was talking about more than her first night back at the diner. “Okay.” When he kept looking at her, she admitted, “You know, half relieved that I made a move to save myself, half scared to death that I’ll regret it. But I’ll be fine. I have things to keep me busy. One of them is that I’ve agreed to chair the dinner committee for the benefit.”

  “Your mother sucked you in?”

  “Afraid so.” It was true, but she hated to admit it. “I’m so glad you’re catering it.”

  “What choice did I have?” he said. “In fact, what choice did my sister-in-law have when she was planning the benefit? But the good news here,” he added, “is that it sounds like you and Elaine are speaking to each other, at least.”

  “Yes, thank goodness. She more or less apologized for overreacting, but I know what she’s hoping I’ll decide.”

  “Your mom’s a stubborn woman.”

  Allie jumped. She hadn’t noticed Barney standing behind her.

  “She’ll come around,” Barney said, and then added, “Just wanted you to know we served all the whatever it was, the chicken special.” He turned and went back to his after-dinner, pre-breakfast jobs.

  “Barney knows my mother?” Allie asked Mike. “I mean, well enough to know she’s stubborn?”

  “News to me,” Mike said. “By the way,” he asked her, “what’s the date of the benefit? Nobody tells me anything.”

  She named a date in late October. “Any problem?”

  “Nope.” He gave her an odd look, then blurted out, “Want to come to breakfast tomorrow morning and talk about the menu?”

  “Sure,” Allie said, surprised by the suggestion, but strangely excited, too. “Breakfast would be great.” With a wave, she went back to cleaning up the dining room with Colleen and Becky.

  A few words with Mike, and she already felt better. What was it about him? For one thing, he was consistently calm and unruffled. In spite of his bright green eyes and his short, almost military-style auburn hair that indicated some fighting Irish in his blood, she’d never seen him lose his temper.

  Hold it back, maybe, but never lose it.

  Maybe it was because he was happy with his life. He’d found his calling. Mike and food. They went together like love and red roses.

  And what went together with her? She’d learned she wasn’t meant to be a dedicated doctor. She’d always thought it was what she wanted to do with her life until she actually began to study medicine. First she’d had that calm, “I’ll start to enjoy it later,” feeling. Next came doubt, then disinterest. She’d had to force herself to retain her rigorous study habits, her intense focus on being at the top of the class. But at last, she’d been overwhelmed by boredom.

  That was when she knew she could never be the kind of doctor a patient deserved.

  Sooner or later, she’d figure out what she did want to do. In the meantime, she’d work at the diner and throw the best party—the benefit dinner—Serenity Valley had ever seen.

  For now, it was enough.

  AFTER ALLIE walked away, Mike groaned. Breakfast. He’d asked her to meet him for breakfast. Had he lost his mind? The entire time she’d been talking to him, he’d been thinking big-bad-wolf thoughts that surprised him even more than they might surprise her. In his current state of uncertainty about how to treat an adult, attractive, no, desirable Allie, he should have suggested they discuss the benefit menu by phone, e-mail and fax.

  Anything but in person.

  Maybe the upcoming trip to New York would help. He’d be gone for a couple of days, and the change might do him good. Deliberately pushing thoughts of Allie out of his mind, he considered which dinner specials Barney and Maury could handle while he was in New York. Then he went back to worrying about the lawyer.

  Twenty-four hours ago everything was fine. Allie was happy in med school, or so he’d thought, instead of running around the diner in a starched white shirt and black trousers that weren’t too tight, but they weren’t loose, either. Nobody was bugging him to franchise the diner and coming to New York to discuss it. Maury wasn’t cutting football practice to learn how to make Moroccan chicken. Lawyers weren’t calling and then not being around to explain why they’d called.

  He wished it would all just go away.

  At a little after ten, he locked up and wearily climbed the stairs to his apartment over the diner. It was such a relief not to be pretending anymore that life was just hunky-dory. He poured a glass of wine, hoping it would make him sleepy, and collapsed on the sofa.

  His eyelids drooped. He stifled a yawn. Just as he was dropping off to sleep, he heard the phone in the diner ring. He didn’t even try to make it downstairs to catch it before the fourth ring. He needed his rest.

  He needed to be alert—and cautious—when he saw Allie in the morning.

  Chapter Three

  When Allie breezed into the diner, she brought with her the hint of autumn in the air, the scent of wood smoke and apples. She was wearing black slacks that skimmed her slender hips and a sparkling white shirt.

  “You’re wearing your uniform?” Mike asked her.

  “In case you needed extra help,” she said as she came up to him, all smiles, her eyes glowing. “I wanted to be dressed appropriately.”

  “Thanks, but we can’t have you working around the clock.” Mike couldn’t help smiling back. Even though he knew it was selfish, knew that Allie should be a hundred and fifty miles away in school, he was glad she was here temporarily and working for him. “What if I started to depend on you? Because when you decide what you want to do with your life, I insist that you desert me.”

  “Don’t worry.” Her eyes narrowed. “The second I decide what to do next, I’ll be out of here so fast you won’t even have a chance to say goodbye.”

  “Sure you will.” When Allie left—and she would—she wouldn’t just desert him, and they both knew it. He led her to a table in the back. “Want a menu?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I have one, thank you, branded on my memory. The special last night was wonderful, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “It nearly cost Maury his position on the football team.”

  Before he could explain away her puzzled expression, Colleen and Becky, both stout and motherly, descended on their table.

  “Coffee?” Becky asked, pouring without waiting for an answer.

  “Mike?” Colleen looked surprised. “You’re eating?”

  “I do, occasionally,” he said, “standing up in the kitchen. It’s me sitting down that scares you.”

  She giggled, opened her order pad and turned to Allie. “Gosh, we’re glad to have you back with us,” she said. “It’s just like old times.”

  “Good to be home for a while,” Allie said.

  “What’s for breakfast, you skinny little thing?” Colleen asked fondly.

  “Everything,” Allie said. “Eggs over easy, bacon, home fries, whole wheat toast—”

  “We’re serving biscuits now,” Colleen s
aid. “A Southern touch. Want to try one? Barney thinks he’s finally got the recipe just right.”

  “Absolutely. Maybe I should look at a menu if you’re changing things around here.”

  Mike ordered the same thing, added juice for both of them and instructed Colleen to bring out cinnamon rolls as soon as the next batch was out of the oven.

  “That’s more than I eat in a week,” Allie protested.

  “Good thing you’re home so we can feed you. How are things at home?”

  “Everything’s fine except that I feel even guiltier now that Mom’s not hysterical anymore,” Allie said. “I’ve disappointed her, and she makes gingerbread for me. I’ve dashed her hopes and dreams for me, and this morning she brought me coffee in bed.” She sighed. “I’m being killed by kindness.”

  Mike laughed. “Maybe she feels guilty for being so upset when you came home.”

  “Could be. It seems she ran away once.”

  She told him about Elaine fleeing to Vegas. He was astounded. He could have sworn Elaine Hendricks had never done anything reckless her entire life. “That’s an eye-opener,” he said when Allie’d finished. “So she has to understand, right?”

  “Ah, but the point is,” Allie said, “that she came to her senses and married my father. The parallel—” and she gestured dramatically as a lecturer might “—is for me to come to my senses and go back to med school.”

  Mike couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have a parent in his court the way Elaine was in Allie’s court, but he did know how terrible he’d feel if he let down someone he cared about. “It’s none of my business, but what made you decide to quit?”

  “A lot of things,” she told him. “Not enjoying the work, being bored by it. I tried hard, but my grades weren’t up to my standards. Not bad, just…”

  “A three-point-five average instead of a four?”

  She cleared her throat. “Three-point-seven,” and when she saw how much that amused him, she said defensively, “but when you’ve made all As for twelve years and a four-point grade average in college, it’s not enough.”