“Sure.” She placed the other half of the onion on the cutting board. “Make the cuts just like I did. Then curl your fingers and grip the onion gently between your thumb and little finger. While you cut, be careful where you place the knife, use your knuckles as a guide. Draw the knife through from the heel of the blade to the tip. Rock it in short, even strokes and work your way to the root end. Not too quickly! Remember, use your knuckles as a guide.”
“Why aren’t we crying?” he asked as he neared completion of his effort. “Bridget always cries when she works with onions.”
“It’s a matter of positioning and of using a very sharp knife. We don’t create as many fumes.”
“Wow!”
She smiled at him. “Good job.”
He eyed his pieces of onion. “They don’t look like yours.”
“I’ve been cooking longer than you have.”
“What’s all this for?” he asked, motioning to the red wine vinegar, the cloves of garlic, the olive oil.
“We’re making a vegetable marinade as a side dish for the roast we’re going to have for dinner tonight.”
“What’s a marinade?”
“It’s a liquid used to soak—in this case, vegetables—to give them a unique flavor.”
“Ugh! Sounds awful.”
“Wait until you taste it.”
He watched her dice the carrots. “Where did you learn to do stuff like this?”
“A lot of it from my mother. She always loved to cook.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Do you see her often?”
“As often as I can. She lives in Canada now.”
He tapped the side of his knife point absently on the cutting board. “My mother died when I was a baby.”
“I know.”
He frowned. “Who told you?”
“Barbara. Samantha showed me a photo of her. Of your father, too.”
He shrugged, continuing to tap the knife point.
“It must have been hard for you,” she said, “losing both your parents.”
The knife blade poised in midair. “How can it be hard when I never knew them?”
“Because you never knew them.”
He straightened, dropping the knife to the counter and pushing it away. “You sound like one of those school shrinks I used to have to talk to. ‘David, tell me how you feel. David, tell me what you think. You must learn to express yourself, David.’ Idiots!”
“You don’t seem to have much trouble with that now,” she murmured.
He stared angrily at her for a moment, then the expression in his pale eyes changed. He tossed his mass of hair. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just picky about who I talk to.”
She scooped the onions and carrot pieces into a large bowl. “Tell me,” she said, opening the bottle of wine vinegar and pouring an appropriate amount over the small mound of vegetables. “Your birthday is Saturday…have you thought about what you’d like to do?”
“Go for a bike ride…with you.”
Robin smiled. “I’d be honored. But what I actually meant was, would you like a special dinner? A cake?”
“Neither.”
“But your brother and sister are coming. Your niece and nephew, too. Don’t you think they’d all enjoy a celebration?”
“They’re coming up a week early for the wedding. My birthday is just incidental.”
“I truly doubt that.”
“You don’t know them the way I do, okay? Just believe me when I say that it doesn’t matter. I don’t want a dinner, and I don’t want a cake.”
“May I at least wish you a simple happy birthday on Saturday?”
“And come for a bike ride?”
“That, too.”
“Then it’s a deal,” he said gruffly, and left the room.
AS THE WEEK DREW TO A close, so too did the various guests’ reservations. The Whittakers were the first to leave. Frank, true to form to the very end, grumbled that his wake-up call had been five minutes late and, as a result, his plans for the entire day had to be altered. Eric listened patiently, apologized even though he later said the call wasn’t late, then gallantly took Alma’s hand and kissed it. She tittered and flushed, while Frank looked on grumpily.
The departures of the other guests proceeded smoothly, until finally Donal Caldwell was the only person outside the family and Robin to inhabit the inn.
By Saturday morning the fine tension that came with hosting strangers had dissipated, and breakfast was much more leisurely. Samantha came downstairs in her robe and slippers, Barbara with her hair wrapped in a towel.
“It’s a special conditioner,” she explained.
“Only one week left,” Samantha teased. “Time enough to change your mind.”
“I’m not going to change my mind!” Barbara snapped edgily, reaching for a freshly baked cinnamon roll.
Samantha grinned. “Nerves starting to kick in, huh?”
Barbara glared at her, then shrugged. “Yes, I guess,” she admitted. “I thought it was bad before. If I live through this week, the marriage will be easy.”
Eric entered the room, yawning. “What’s this about marriage being easy?”
“Especially with Eileen as a mother-in-law,” Samantha contributed.
“It’s going to be all right. We’ll be fine,” Barbara defended her commitment.
“Of course you will,” Robin agreed, setting a fresh carafe of coffee on the table. Barbara sent her a grateful look.
“Have you eaten?” Eric asked her as she started to turn back to the kitchen. “Not yet.”
“Then come sit down. We’re all going to need these few days to relax. You included.”
“But—” she protested. He didn’t understand that being in the same room with him wasn’t a relaxing experience for her. She could scarcely tell him that, though.
“No buts,” he insisted. “Toward the end of the week, the place will start to fill up again with the wedding guests. It’s going to be more hectic around here than it’s ever been. You’ll probably be asking me for a bonus.”
She settled into a chair. This was the first time she had been a participant at the family dining room table. Until now, her meals had always been taken in the kitchen.
“Relax,” Eric murmured for her ears alone while his sisters talked. He poured a cup of coffee. “Drink this, eat something and you’ll feel better.”
“I feel perfectly fine as I am.”
“You look as if you’ve seen our ghost again.”
“No.”
“You’ve seen our ghost?” Samantha exclaimed, catching the key word. She frowned in speculation. “For some reason it seems to like the kitchen. What did it do?” she asked curiously.
Robin shrugged. “I never actually saw a form. It was more a movement I caught out of the corner of my eye.”
“Bridget says the air vibrates. Are you Irish?”
“Not that I know of.”
“See?” She turned to Eric. “It can’t only be in Bridget’s Celtic imagination, if Robin saw it, too.”
“Maybe we should advertise that the place is haunted,” Eric teased.
“I think it’s Micha Talbot,” Barbara said between bites. “He was such a horrible man, he’s doomed for all eternity to remain in the place where he caused so much heartache.”
Samantha snickered. “Our kitchen?”
“This house. Dunnigan Bay.”
“Well,” Samantha said, “I think it’s the ghost of some poor servant girl who spent hours and hours scrubbing in the kitchen. So many hours that she just can’t leave.”
Eric laughed outright. “It’s a good thing she didn’t spend her days scrubbing the entryway. I’d hate to think of how many people would have unknowingly tripped over her.”
“Oh, you!” Samantha cried, and threw her napkin at him.
Everyone was laughing when David came to stand in the doorway. His dour look was like a bucket of cold water thrown on their jocularity. Smiles
faded or became forced.
“Good morning,” Eric said in greeting.
David murmured something unintelligible.
Samantha’s gaze darted from brother to brother. “We were talking about our ghost, Davey,” she said after a strained moment had passed. “Robin’s seen it, too! Tell him, Robin. He’s like Eric. He doesn’t believe in it, either.”
Robin started to deny again that she’d actually seen it but was interrupted by David’s hostile reprimand, “Don’t call me Davey! You know I don’t like it!”
“She didn’t mean it as an insult,” Eric said evenly.
“Everything anyone says around this place is an insult. I’m eighteen now, okay? I’m an adult. I should be treated like an adult.”
“It takes more than reaching a certain age to be an adult,” Eric retorted.
“You mean like yourself, right? You were probably born an adult.”
“David!” Barbara scolded.
“David, please,” Samantha pleaded. “Not today.”
“What’s different about today? Oh! It’s my birthday!” he said sarcastically. “I didn’t hear many happy returns of the day when I came in just now. Did you?”
“You didn’t give us time!” Samantha cried.
David dismissed her reasoning. “Who cares? It doesn’t really matter.”
“If you came here looking for a fight—” Eric snapped. He started to rise from his chair.
“I came here to find Robin,” David growled. “She and I are going bike riding.”
Eric laughed shortly. “Maybe you’d better check with her again. She may have changed her mind.”
All eyes switched to Robin. As silent witness to the scene that had just taken place, she knew exactly who had started all the trouble. But she could also see that beneath the boy’s bravado lay a tremendous amount of pain. She couldn’t turn him down, even if that was her first inclination.
She stood up. “I’ll just be a minute.”
David’s smile lorded his victory over his brother. “Good,” he said without looking at her. “I’ll be outside.” Then he wheeled away from the doorway, leaving everyone in the room to deal with the aftereffects of his antagonism.
Samantha looked at Barbara and then at Eric. She reached out to cover his hand with hers as he settled back into his chair.
Eric shook his head, dismay replacing anger.
“I’ll talk to him,” Robin offered.
“There probably aren’t enough words,” Eric murmured.
Their gazes met, and Robin perceived all the years of effort and strain, uncertainty and apprehension, sacrifice and the sometimes dubious rewards that had gone into his struggle to be a father to his siblings. He had done his best, but, as often seemed to be the case with caregivers, it was the hardest to reach who caused the most heartache.
“I’ll still try,” she said softly.
Something undefinable had passed between them in those moments. A linking of spirits, of souls. He felt it and so did she.
He nodded slowly, and she turned away.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY RODE ALONG THE BACK trails, over isolated hilltops and through hidden glens. When Robin’s muscles could stand no more, she called ahead to David for a rest.
He stopped, straddling his mountain bike, and waited for her to catch up. She let her bike coast the last few feet before staggering to a halt. Her cheeks were red, her breathing labored, but her eyes reflected her enjoyment, as did her wide smile.
“That was wonderful!” she cried. “But if I don’t stop now, you may…have to send up flares to…help get me back to the inn.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he demanded.
“I was having too much fun.”
He swung a leg free and leaned his bike up against a tree. Then, after lending her a helping hand, he did the same with her bike.
“How long has it been since you’ve ridden?” he asked as she wobbled along the trail.
“The last time I rode I was eighteen, I think,” she said. “So about ten years.”
“You’re going to be sore tomorrow. We shouldn’t have come so far.”
“I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s been a lovely morning.”
They walked to the side of a tiny stream and sat down, Robin already starting to feel stiffness in her muscles. She straightened her legs and began to rub her thighs and calves.
“Eric’s gonna be pis—not pleased,” he amended in midword.
“What does Eric have to do with it?” Robin asked. “I make my own decisions.”
David threw a small stone into the water downstream. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. A person would have to be blind not to see.”
“He doesn’t own me,” she said defensively.
“Would you like him to?” David returned quickly.
“I didn’t know we came this far to talk about me and Eric.”
“‘Me and Eric,’” he repeated in a mocking falsetto.
Robin was unsettled enough in her own mind that she wasn’t about to take any ridicule. She struggled to get up.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t go.”
Robin looked at him, at the misery behind his contriteness, and she knew that he was asking much more than simple forgiveness. David was in sore need of someone he could talk to. And he had decided that she was that person.
She settled down again. A cooling breeze followed the narrow waterway, teasing the hairs that had escaped from the ponytail she’d pulled her hair into before leaving the inn. She drew her knees toward her chin and propped her arms across them. David stretched out on his side on the bracken. For a time, neither said anything. They enjoyed the sounds of the birds playing in the trees and the water gurgling over rocks in the narrow gully.
Finally David broke the silence. “You didn’t think I behaved very well this morning, did you?”
“Did you?” she rejoined.
“It’s just—they make me so…crazy!”
“All of them?”
He looked down at the ground. “Eric, mostly.”
“What does he do that gets to you?”
“Breathe?” David joked.
“That’s not very funny,” she admonished gently.
“I know. It’s just…” He shrugged, unable to put his feelings into better words.
Silence again stretched between them. Robin searched for the right thing to say. Many words battled for precedence on her tongue, but none of them would help.
“What are you going to do?” she asked eventually. “Stay here? Leave?”
“I’d like to leave.”
“And do what?”
He didn’t answer.
Robin sighed. “It’s a tough old world out there right now, David. Even people with plans are having a hard time.”
“I’d find something to do.”
“What if you didn’t?”
“You think I should stay here, then! Get that last credit to graduate, go on to college! Just like Eric tries to cram down my throat!”
“Graduating from high school is so important nowadays. And I’m not saying it because that’s what Eric says. I’m saying it because I believe it. As for college—”
“I hate school! I’m not good at it!”
“Then do something else.”
He jumped to his feet and stomped through the shallow stream to the other bank, his back to her. “I’m not good at anything. Ask Eric. Ask any of them. The only thing I’m good at is—” He bit off the rest of his sentence.
His back was ramrod straight, but Robin sensed that were she to force him to turn around there would be a glimmer of tears in his eyes.
“Is what?” she probed softly.
He raked a hand through his long hair, the gesture reminiscent of his brother when he was feeling uncertain. Wordlessly, David shook his head.
Robin struggled to her feet and limped across the stream. Her muscles were stiffer now than they had been before. She hoped that
tomorrow she would be able to get out of bed!
She touched the boy’s arm. “There are other things besides college. I have a friend like you who wasn’t particularly interested in formal studies. This friend went to a trade school—a culinary school—to learn to be a chef. You could do that, too.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You could.”
He turned to look at her, and she saw that she’d been right when she speculated about the tears. A web of moisture still clung to his eyelashes.
Before she knew what to expect, he bent down to kiss her. It was a sweet, awkward salute that lasted only seconds. When he straightened, he began unevenly, “I said you were different and you are. You’re the only person who ever…”
She waited for him to finish. When he didn’t, she smiled gently. “I believe in you, David. You’re smart, you’re capable. All you have to do is start believing in yourself.”
He shook his head, denying everything she’d said, but she stopped him by catching hold of his chin.
“Don’t contradict your elder,” she teased him.
A slow smile touched his lips. “You aren’t that much elder,” he answered.
“Tell that to my poor aching back. Come on. Help me onto my bike before I’m too stiff to bend over.”
“Is it that bad?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
She grinned. “I’ll live, but I may have to ask you to help me make dinner tonight.”
He looked at her. “That’s not exactly the height of subtlety, you know.”
“I know. Will you do it?”
“On my birthday?”
Robin forged on. “And will you be a little nicer to the others, Eric included? They truly didn’t mean to upset you this morning.”
“It’s my birthday. Shouldn’t they be a little nicer to me?”
“They will if you let them.”
“So it’s all my fault!” Some of his prickliness was returning.
“I didn’t say that.”
He frowned, weighing his decision. “All right,” he agreed. “But none of them better give me a hard time.”
Robin nodded her approval.
THE TRIP BACK TO THE INN took longer than the trip out because they went more slowly and took frequent breaks. Once they returned, it was to find that Allison and her children had arrived. Her car, a late-model BMW, was parked in the drive. “The brats are here,” David muttered.
Room at Heron's Inn Page 10
