by Sophie Moss
Della glanced up, her blue eyes sad. “My husband, Joe—he’s a waterman. He works hard, and has a second job working on Jimmy Faulkner’s construction crew on the weekends, but it’s still not enough for us to live on. We both need to have a job.”
Annie gazed at the woman across from her. She knew what it was like to need a job, to wonder if there would be enough money to pay the rent or mortgage bill. It was risky to hire a chef with no restaurant experience. But Della had cooked for large-scale events. Even if they were only community events, they were still large-scale events. And if she’d worked at the same law firm for thirty years, that showed loyalty.
“I imagine,” Annie said slowly, “if you grew up here, you probably know how to cook a lot of traditional Chesapeake Bay recipes.”
Della nodded. “My grandmother taught me how to cook.”
“Can you cook better than Don at The Tackle Box?”
“Don?” Della snorted. “I can out cook Don with one hand tied behind my back.”
The sound of wind chimes glided over the salty breezes. It wasn’t a deep rich coppery sound like Annie had heard the first night Will walked into her restaurant, or the delicate aluminum flutes she’d heard when she and Taylor had come up with the name of the café. These had a quirky, uneven cadence, like silver spoons suspended from tangled fishing line.
“I can’t pay much,” Annie admitted. “At least, not at first. If things start to pick up, we can talk about a raise.”
Della’s whole face lit up. “Are you offering me the job?”
Annie held up a hand. “I want to feature a seasonal menu of soups, salads, and sandwiches—local Chesapeake fare with a twist. The Rusty Rudder and The Tackle Box are our main competition. We’d need to offer a step up from that.”
“A step up…?” Della said slowly.
Annie nodded. She and Taylor had spent the weekend scoping out the competition. The Tackle Box, which was a small dark green building at the bottom of the drawbridge, doubled as the island market and grill. Rusty’s, which included an inn with about a dozen rooms, was known mostly as a family hangout and bar. They both specialized mainly in fried food.
“So,” Della continued, “you mean something kind of classy? Like you?”
Annie brushed at her hair self-consciously. No one had ever called her classy before. “I guess…yes. That’s what I’m looking for.”
The woman sat up a little straighter. “I can do classy.”
“I want to open in two weeks,” Annie went on, “in time for the Rockfish Tournament. I’ve heard there will be close to a hundred tourists here that weekend. If we can find a way to get some of them to come to the café instead of going to Rusty’s or The Tackle Box, we might be able to pull off a successful first day.”
Della’s eyes lit up. “We could offer to cook the fish they catch in the tournament, and I could get word out to the charter boat captains to put in a good word for us. It could give us an edge up.”
“I’d want to see a menu by the end of the week, at the latest.”
“I can get you one by tomorrow.”
Annie smiled and held out her hand. “Then you’re hired.”
Della grasped Annie’s hand in both of hers, pumping it up and down. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”
Annie laughed, looking back down at the top of Della’s résumé. “I forgot to catch your last name.”
“It’s Dozier,” she said. “Della Dozier.”
Dozier. Where had she heard that name before? A slow sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach and Annie drew her hand back “You’re not related to Will Dozier, are you?”
Della beamed. “I’m his aunt.”
Of all the people on this island for Della to be related to. Annie’s boots scuffed through the fallen leaves beginning to blanket the sidewalks as she walked to the school to pick up Taylor. Was there no getting away from this man?
For someone who hadn’t been home in years, Will sure had a lot of ties to this place.
Letting her fingers run through the golden leaves of a locust branch, she considered her decision to hire Della. In hindsight, it might have been wise to spend a few days verifying her references before offering her the job.
What kind of manager took a potential employee on her word and hired her on the spot?
A bad one, an evil voice whispered in Annie’s ear.
No. She pushed the voice away. She was a good manager. At least, she had been when she’d worked as the assistant manager at Citron Bleu. But she’d never owned her own restaurant. She’d never had to worry about what would happen if she failed.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. Failure wasn’t an option.
Passing several clusters of parents chatting and gossiping outside the entrance to the school, she was aware of several pairs of eyes on her. When she caught their glances of sympathy, she realized they must all know who she was now, and what had happened to Taylor.
She didn’t want them to feel sorry for her. She wanted everything to go back to normal as quickly as possible. Walking inside, she made her way to Taylor’s classroom. She spotted her daughter gathered around a craft table with five other kids, gluing wings onto construction paper butterflies.
Taylor glanced up when Annie stepped into the room. “Mom, look!” She held up her orange butterfly, its body suspended from a string. “It’s a monarch!”
“It’s beautiful,” Annie said, smiling.
Becca waved to Annie from the front of the room. “Time to start cleaning up,” she said to the class.
The organized scene dissolved into a fit of chaos as the kids grabbed handfuls of markers and construction paper and dumped them into the big plastic bins in the corner. Chairs scraped back from desks and their excited voices filled the room as they raced to get their things from their cubbies. Taylor ran over to Annie, carrying her broom and her butterfly. “Can we go see the monarchs, mom? I want to show you.”
“Where are they?”
“Not far. There’s a trail right across the road.”
Becca wove through the desks, making her way to the back of the room. “The trail leads into the fields. You can’t miss it. Follow it until you hit the weeping willow and then turn left. It takes about ten minutes.”
Annie hesitated. “Isn’t that private property?”
“Will won’t mind,” Becca said, waving goodbye to the kids heading out of the classroom with their parents. “It’s his family’s land, but it’s always been open to everyone on the island. His grandfather made a walking trail through the marshes years ago. Everybody uses it.”
Of course they do. Annie remembered Grace’s reaction when she’d first heard about the resort. She’d said it would only be a matter of time before the developers expanded their vision to include a gated community and a golf course. This must be the land she was worried about losing.
Maybe it was time she saw what was so special about it. She looked back down at Taylor. “We can go for a short walk to see the butterflies.”
Taylor grinned and ran to get her backpack.
Annie turned to Becca, lowering her voice. “She made it through the whole day?”
Becca nodded. “I think it was the nature walk. I’ve never seen a child get so excited about butterflies before.” She reached behind Annie and pulled a small field guide off the shelf. “Taylor kept asking me about the wildlife while we were walking. I thought you might want to borrow this for a while.”
Annie looked down at the field guide. The pages were worn and crinkled at the edges, like they’d been read and referenced hundreds of times over the years. If butterflies could help bring back her daughter’s spirit, Annie would learn to identify every species in this book.
Taylor walked back over and Annie took her hand.
“Bye, Miss Haddaway!” Taylor waved as they walked out into the hallway. They made their way down the hall and out the doors to the parking lot.
“It’s this way.” Taylor marched past the ca
rs with a sense of purpose Annie hadn’t seen in a long time. “Miss Haddaway said the monarchs are only here for a little while and then they fly south. Their real home is in Mexico.”
“Really?” Annie asked, flipping to the page on monarchs as Taylor led her into the fields.
“Miss Haddaway said they’re in danger.”
“In danger?” Annie asked. “Why?”
“She said their homes are being destroyed. They need special places like this one so they can survive.”
Oh no, Annie thought as they crossed a small footbridge over a snaking finger of water winding through the soggy land. She wasn’t just up against the islanders’ resistance to sell to a developer; she was up against a natural habitat for endangered butterflies?
She stepped over a fallen tree trunk, following Taylor toward the weeping willow. “What is it about this place that they need?”
“The milkweed.” Taylor pointed to the fields of overgrown weeds and wildflowers that wove through the marshes and painted the landscape in swirls of green and gold. “See the one with the fuzzy purple flower? It’s the only plant monarch babies eat. Without it, they die.”
Annie bit her lip. Maybe the resort would be willing to keep this land as a sanctuary for the birds and the butterflies. No, she thought. She knew better than that. Walking trails through a field of weeds didn’t exactly spell out luxury.
“Look!” Taylor broke into a jog. “There they are!”
Annie could just make out a flutter of orange wings through the branches of the weeping willow. Her boots squished over the soft ground as she followed Taylor into the next field. When she saw them, she paused, awe struck. There must have been hundreds, or maybe thousands of butterflies.
Taylor’s purple backpack bounced as she trotted toward them. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“They are,” Annie breathed. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. They flew over the marshes, drinking the nectar of the autumn wildflowers, stretching their wings in the afternoon sun. She’d seen butterflies before, but never so many in one place.
“Miss Haddaway said there’s another field full of them if we keep walking that way.” Taylor pointed to the west, where a line of white pines and dogwoods cut through the marshes.
Annie nodded, trailing after her daughter who was already heading for the next field. How could she say no?
She listened to Taylor chat about her day, occasionally flipping through the book to identify a bird stalking through the marshes or roosting high in the boughs of a tree. She drew back as a bramble bush tugged on the hem of her sweater, and looked down as Taylor ducked through an opening in an overgrown blackberry grove. “Wait, Taylor. I think we’ve…”
Gone too far.
The words died in her throat as she took in the gorgeous waterfront inn. It rose up against the water in shades of pale yellow and white. A hackberry tree sheltered the front porch, where a row of white wicker rockers sat facing the oyster-shell driveway. All the windows were open, and the gauzy curtains fluttered in the breezes airing out the house.
Annie drew in a breath as a butterfly landed on her shoulder, brushing its delicate wings against her neck. She took in the cluster of fenced gardens with charming red gates on the north side of the house, the old swing hanging from a tree branch in the back yard. Two red Adirondack chairs sat at the end of a long pier, facing the spot where the sun would dip into the water at night.
“Wow,” Taylor whispered beside her. “Who lives here?”
Will.
Annie heard the sound of dogs barking, then the clang of boots on metal—someone walking down a ladder. She reached for Taylor’s hand. “I think we should go.”
“Why?” Taylor asked as two labs bounded around the side of the house and raced toward them with their tails wagging. Taylor giggled as the dogs surrounded them, jumping up and planting muddy paws on their jeans.
Annie tried to pull Taylor back behind the protective wall of blackberries. But she was too late. She spotted Will strolling around to the front of the house. A sweat-stained T-shirt hugged the broad muscles of his chest and shoulders. His long legs filled out a pair of worn jeans, and when he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, she glimpsed a set of tan, washboard abs.
Taylor squealed as the yellow lab licked her face.
“Riley, down,” Will ordered, his deep voice echoing over the water.
Both dogs sat, panting and batting their tails against the grass, cocking their heads at Taylor’s broom.
“They’re harmless,” he said, his long strides eating up the overgrown dandelions and crabgrass as he crossed the yard to them. “But they think your broom is a stick. They want to play with it.” He smiled at Taylor as he got closer, an easy, friendly smile—the kind of smile a woman could get lost in. “You must be Taylor.”
Taylor nodded, giggling when the chocolate lab nipped at her construction paper butterfly.
“Here,” he said, digging out a handful of treats from his pocket. “Feed them these and they’ll do anything you ask.”
Taylor handed her paper butterfly to Annie, taking the treats from Will and feeding them to the dogs. She laughed as they slobbered all over her fingers.
Annie folded the butterfly and tucked it carefully into Taylor’s backpack. As soon as she’d zipped it back up, Taylor took off running down to the beach with the dogs chasing after her.
“She looks just like you,” Will said, watching her grab a stick off the ground and toss it into the water for the dogs.
Annie nodded, her gaze slowly drifting back to the inn. She could picture the porches and steps covered in flowers, the gardens in full bloom. She wondered what it looked like inside, what the views were like from the upstairs bedrooms. Her eyes followed the curve of the driveway to the three private cottages nestled between two tall magnolia trees. Water lapped at the rocks behind them, a quiet coaxing lullaby. “I can’t believe you grew up here.”
“It was a great place to grow up.”
Annie glanced up at him. In the afternoon sunlight she could see the tiny flecks of amber around his irises. Sweat gleamed off the muscles of his neck and shoulders. She resisted the urge to reach up and brush a bit of sawdust off his neck, just to feel the warmth of his skin on her fingertips. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Fix it up. Find a buyer who’ll run it as is.”
She looked back at the beach when Taylor squealed. The dogs had dropped the stick at her feet and were shaking their wet coats, spraying her with water. “You can’t control what a buyer does.”
“I can try.”
So would she, if this was her home. She knew now why Will didn’t want to sell it. This was the kind of house you wanted to raise a family in, the kind of house you held onto for generations. The kind of house you never wanted to let go.
But she needed him to sell it. She needed the resort and the tourists to come to this island so she could open her real restaurant. The café would hold her over for a little while, but it wasn’t a long-term solution. She needed the stability of a resort, the income that a steady stream of tourists would generate so she and Taylor could stay here, so they could put down roots and build a life here.
She reached down, snapping off the top of a Queen Anne’s lace. “It’s just a house.”
Will dipped his hands in his pockets. “How would you feel if someone tore down the home you grew up in?”
Annie turned away, picking more Queen Anne’s lace and winding them into a wreath for Taylor. “I wouldn’t know. We’ve never owned a home before.”
Will turned his attention back to her, watching her weave the stems. “Where did you grow up?”
“We moved around a lot.”
“Military?”
She looked back up at him. “What?”
“Was one of your parents in the military?”
“No.”
Will held her gaze. “I thought maybe that’s why you moved around a lot.”
She sh
ook her head. “My mother was an artist. We moved every couple of years so she could find new people and places to paint.”
“Every couple of years?”
“Pretty much.”
Will’s gaze dropped to where her fingers were twisting the stems into a tight, even braid. “How’d you feel about that?”
“I got used to it,” she lied. She didn’t need to tell him how hard it had been, how unsettling it had been to never know if her mother’s muse would show up in the new city. To never know if they would be staying for two weeks, six months, or three years.
All she’d ever wanted was to stay in one place. To make friends she didn’t have to say goodbye to. To live in a real home in a real town with neighbors who knew her name.
She looked back up at him. “Where do you live now?”
“San Diego.”
“That’s far away.”
“It’s almost as far as you can get from Heron Island and still be in the States.”
“Why’d you move there?”
“I’m in the Navy.”
“Oh…” She trailed off. She hadn’t realized he was here on leave. “That’s why you asked if one of my parents was in the military.”
He nodded.
“So you know what it’s like to move around a lot.”
“I do.”
She looked back at the house. “How long are you here for?”
“Six weeks.”
Her gaze lingered on the empty rocking chairs lined up on the porch, wondering what it would be like to sit there at the end of the day in the summer and watch the fireflies twinkle over the marshes. “What if you can’t find another buyer in six weeks?”
He smiled. “I’ll find one.”
Taylor’s carefree laughter rolled over the Bay and Annie looked back at her daughter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her this happy.
“Do you want to come in?” Will asked, nodding toward the house. “I don’t have much in the way of food, but I can offer you a beer. We could sit on the porch and see how long it takes until the dogs steal Taylor’s broom.”
Annie shook her head. She had to leave. It wasn’t Taylor she was worried about getting attached this time. It was herself. This was the kind of home she’d always dreamed of. It was the kind of place she’d learned not to wish for, because wishes were dangerous. Wishes led to hope. Hope didn’t pay the bills, and it didn’t put food on the table.
