by Grace Palmer
Holly still felt slightly nauseous when she woke up in the morning. She didn’t know if it was because she’d had two waffle cones and eaten half a box of Oreos dipped in peanut butter or if it was because she’d spent the night on Sara’s lumpy couch.
“This is a truly awful couch,” she called as she folded up her blankets and left them on the arm of the sofa. “Are the cushions stuffed with doll heads?”
Sara rounded the corner from the hallway, looking much more put together than she had yesterday. Her hair was smoothed back into a low ponytail, and she had on a pair of the black cigarette pants she always wore at work with a high-necked button-down tucked in.
“No, because I’m not a serial killer. What made you even think of that?”
“It’s the only thing I could come up with to explain why this couch could be so lumpy. I thought maybe the doll hair could be the incredibly thin layer of padding.”
Sara looked frightened. “No more monster movies for you. They make you weird.”
Even though it was almost a mile out of the way, Sara insisted they stop at Two Birds Coffee for a croissant and a latte before she took Holly home.
“To thank you for a fun sister night,” Sara explained, sliding her card across the counter. “I needed it.”
Holly had needed it, too. More than she’d realized.
So many people thought the life of a stay-at-home mom was tedious at best and pathetic at worst.
On one hand, Holly could understand that. She was even guilty of it herself. As much as she idolized Shelly Frank’s “easy” job parenting teenagers, she knew it wasn’t real.
Kids always came with challenges, no matter what age. Holly didn’t even want to imagine what trouble Grady and Alice would get up to in the years to come.
She’d have to be sure to warn them of the dangers of cigarettes. And following cute boys into treehouses.
But warning or no warning, some of this was inevitable, Grady was bound to get into his first fight at some point. It was a rite of passage. And if there was anyone in the world to punch—well, all things considered, the smug son of arrogant movie stars might’ve been a decent pick.
It’d be okay in the end. It always was.
Sometimes, you just had to say screw it, dip an Oreo into peanut butter, and remind yourself of that little fact.
Or have a sister to do the reminding for you.
So when Sara parked in front of Holly’s house, Holly pulled her sister into a long hug.
Sara was squirming almost instantly. “This is getting mushy. No more sister days for another year, at least,” she joked, trying to push Holly off. “It’s too emotional.”
Holly ignored her and kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Sara muttered, shaking her head as she drove away from Holly’s house.
Nothing had really changed in the Goodwin residence. Rob was still inside, Grady was still locked in a feud with the Monroe child, and Pete was still angry with her.
But Holly felt lighter.
She’d forgotten to take her keys with her last night, so she walked around the side of the house to hunt down the ceramic frog with the spare inside.
When she bent to pick up the moss-covered frog, she heard voices and stopped.
“…Hitting someone should never be about hurting them,” Pete was saying. “I mean, if you do it right, it probably will hurt. But that shouldn’t be your goal. It’s a last resort. A way to disarm someone and protect yourself. Not something you do just because you’re angry.”
Holly crept to the corner of the house and peeked around the side. Pete and Grady were standing in the shade of the elm tree. Morning light slatted across the yard, golden and warm. Pete’s dark hair had hints of red in it and Grady’s was still mussed from where he’d slept on it last night.
“So I should only hit someone when I’m not angry?” Grady asked, cocking his head to the side.
Pete had his arms up in a boxing position, his feet spread in a wide stance. Grady was mirroring him, a small shadow of definition across his thigh and calf where he flexed.
Holly couldn’t remember when Grady had grown into some actual muscle. It wasn’t much, but it was more than the adorably dimpled spaghetti legs she’d remembered.
“Well,” Pete said, dropping his arms and twisting his mouth to the side in thought, “I’m guessing you’ll be angry if you have to hit someone. But that shouldn’t be the reason you hit them. You should hit them because there is no other choice but to defend yourself. Does that make sense?”
“That’s not what Rob said.”
Holly’s chest tightened. What had “Uncle Rob” said now?
“What did Rob say?” Pete asked.
“He said to hit people so they’d know not to mess with me. He said it was the law of the jungle. Or something.”
Pete took two steps forward and knelt in front of Grady, grabbing his hand. “Standing up for yourself can be a good thing. I don’t want anyone to pick on you, and I don’t expect you to sit by and let it happen. But there are other ways to show people they shouldn’t mess with you. We don’t live in a jungle, do we?”
Grady shook his head.
“Right. We live in a community. And part of being in a community is learning how to get along with people.”
“What if people don’t want to get along with me?” Grady asked, his voice wobbling a bit at the end.
Holly wanted to run across the yard and curl him against her chest. But she knew she shouldn’t interrupt. Pete was handling this situation perfectly.
“Then they aren’t any kind of people I want to know, anyway,” Pete said, ruffling their son’s hair. “Because you’re awesome. If they don’t like you, it means they have bad taste.”
Holly could feel emotion prickling the backs of her eyes. She spun around and walked to the front of the house before it could turn into full-on tears.
Pete loved their kids just as much as she did. It would serve them both well if she took a step back and let him lead the way from time to time.
Holly slid the key into the front door, but before she could turn it, the door opened.
Once again, she and Rob were standing on opposite sides of the threshold, looking at one another.
“Hi,” she said, feeling slightly more sheepish than she had the last time they’d spoken.
“Hey.” He shrugged his greeting because his hands were full.
Full of luggage.
His luggage.
Holly frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Time to move on,” he said, looking over her shoulder, eyes unfocused in the distance like he was a cowboy setting out on the Western Trail. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“No,” Holly said on instinct, shaking her head, “that’s not true. You don’t have to—”
Rob chuckled. “You’re nice, but you’re a bad liar. I’ve overstayed and then some.”
Okay, he was right. Holly couldn’t deny it. She wanted Rob to leave. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel bad about how they were leaving things.
Even if she didn’t like Rob, Pete did. That meant something to her.
“Where will you go next?”
“I’ve been making calls and sending out emails all week, searching for a job on the mainland. Another buddy of mine—from prison,” he added in a harsh whisper like it was a secret, “is working at a barber shop in downtown Boston. The owner is actually looking to hire felons. He’s hoping to rehabilitate some of us, I guess. Either way, it’s a good-paying gig, and I cut inmates’ hair when I was locked up. I got pretty good at it.”
“You’ve been applying for jobs?” All the times Holly had seen Rob sitting on the couch, scrolling through the new phone he’d just bought or surfing the internet on Pete’s laptop, she’d assumed he was wasting time.
“Constantly,” he said, his shoulders sagging. “Nobody is trying to hire someone with my track record. It’s a tough market. So I have to jump on this w
hile I can.”
“Of course. That’s great.” Holly reached out and touched Rob’s bare shoulder. He had on a tank top and the entire interaction was beyond awkward. “Congratulations.”
Rob gave her a wide smile that actually reminded Holly of Pete. The two of them were just cousins—second or once-removed, she still hadn’t figured out—but they had the same slightly turned-in upper lip.
“Listen,” he said, dropping his luggage and leaning in, voice low, “I’m sorry if I got Grady in hot water. He’s a sweet kid. I didn’t want anyone messing with him.”
“Neither do I. We can agree on that.”
“When Petey and I were kids, I walloped too many kids to count for making fun of him.” Rob clenched his jaw like the thought of it still made him angry. “He and Grady are so much alike. It was instinct. And I screwed things up.”
For the countless time that morning, Holly’s heart clenched. The last week had done a number on her, and she felt on the verge of tears at the smallest things. Like Rob defending Pete.
Holly could picture it. She’d loved Pete immediately when she’d met him, but he was always a little off-beat. A unique soul, someone who was easy for others to pick on. Kind of like Grady.
Rob’s advice, while terrible, had come from a good place. A loving place.
“You didn’t screw everything up,” she said. “Grady will be just fine. Believe me.”
A cab pulled up along the curb, and Rob grabbed his bags. “That’ll be my ride. I already told the boys bye, but give Grady an extra hug for me. And Alice, too.”
“I will,” Holly said. “Do you need anything for the road? A snack or a drink?”
Rob chuckled like the thought was funny. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for everything, though.”
As she watched Rob climb into his cab, Holly realized he hadn’t been with them all that long. Ten days wasn’t so much in the grand scheme of things. Just a blip.
A blip she wasn’t keen to re-live anytime soon, of course.
Holly watched Rob clamber in the cab and slip away. Then, sighing, she walked through the house to the back door.
In the yard, Pete was letting Grady box against his palms and Alice was soaring on her swing set, feet bare, hair flying behind her.
The kids ran over and gave Holly a hug as soon as they saw her, squeezing her like she’d been gone for a week instead of one night.
“Where were you?” Alice asked, clutching Holly’s leg.
She patted her hair and looked at Pete as she answered. “I went to Aunt Sara’s. The two of us needed a sister’s night.”
“That’s nice,” Pete murmured.
“Necessary, too.” Holly looked at her husband meaningfully.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about—” Pete started.
“I shouldn’t have made you feel like—” Holly said.
They both stopped and laughed. Then Holly grabbed Pete’s hand. “You’re a great dad. A wonderful partner. A hard worker. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren’t.”
“You’re a great mom. A wonderful partner. A hard worker.” Pete wrinkled his nose. “I’m recycling your compliments, but I really mean them. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about Rob. He can be… messy.”
Holly waved her hand. “It’s fine. I get it. He was trying to be nice. He just missed the mark.”
“He is known for that,” Pete laughed. “He has good intentions.”
He pulled Holly against his side and kissed her temple. She curled her face against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Me, too.”
Maybe sometime soon they’d unpack the last ten days. But it didn’t need to happen today.
For now, Grady was chasing a squealing Alice through the yard, a grasshopper clutched in his hand. The sun was shining. Her husband was holding her close.
And they were okay.
They were all okay.
25
Sara
Little Bull Restaurant
Sara came in the back door of Little Bull and flipped on the lights.
The stainless-steel worktops shimmered, still clean and lemony from the night before. Knives hung from the magnetic strip along the wall in order from biggest to smallest. All of the mixing bowls, pots, and utensils were stacked neatly in their shelves.
Part of being a chef was coming in and mucking up a kitchen, not being afraid to get your hands, apron, and the walls dirty. But Sara also loved the way it felt when everything was in its place.
It was one reason why she liked to come in and open up so early. It gave her time to enjoy the view before the sink was full of soaking dishes and the counters were streaked after countless wipe downs during meal prep.
The other reason was that she didn’t have anything waiting for her at home.
Joey hadn’t texted her since he’d stormed out the day before. Sara hadn’t texted him, either, but texting had never been her thing. Even more than in real life, she managed to put her foot in her mouth via text. It was better for her if the person she was talking to could hear her intonations and see her facial expressions. They tended to get less angry that way.
Sara turned on the radio she’d mounted into the wall. Usually, it was too loud to hear anything over the shouts of the service line, but when she was alone, she liked to dance around.
It was still set to the R&B station Jose liked, but Sara decided to keep it there. A little rhythm and blues could do her soul well.
The chef’s special was usually decided on Sunday night, but Sara had been distracted. She’d planned to figure it out Monday, but then Joey and Holly and monster movies had all come demanding her attention one after the next. Sara had been swamped doing nothing and stressing out about it.
She was standing in front of the pantry, swaying along with a song about everlasting love, when she heard a click.
It sounded like the back door latching closed.
Sara paused, waiting to hear someone on her staff call out her name or announce themselves, but when no one did, she stepped out of the pantry and poked her head around the door.
The kitchen was still empty and glittering. Not a sign of anyone.
“Hello?”
She cringed as soon as she said it. The girl in the horror movie she watched with Holly last night had done the exact same thing, calling out after a weird noise in an empty building. And look how that ended for her.
So she shrugged it off and went back into the pantry.
Her produce supplier would be coming just before lunch, which was good because the potato supply was looking scarce. She also left Annica a note on the whiteboard to make her apple Sharlotka cake before the last of the Granny Smiths turned.
What else needed doing?
Sara was bent over the pantry’s lower shelves, taking stock of Little Bull’s available fruits, when her phone rang.
She yelped and stood up so quickly she smacked her head on the shelf just above her. A can of tomato paste clunked off and rolled across the floor.
Her phone was still on the counter next to the door, so Sara stumbled out of the pantry, rubbing the back of her head.
The wave of disappointment when she saw Jose’s name on the screen made her realize how much she’d hoped it would be Joey.
“What’s going on?” she asked in way of a greeting.
“What are you doing at the restaurant so early?”
Sara spun around, scanning the room for any sign of Jose or a camera. “How do you know that?”
“I just drove by. The light is on.”
She relaxed slightly, relieved to know she wasn’t being watched. No more horror movies for a while, she decided. “I’m working.”
“It’s three hours before lunch opening. No one needs to be working yet.”
“I’m trying to decide on the chef special.”
“I thought I was doing the special this week?”
“Oh!” She suddenly remembered telling Jose on Thursday night that the sp
ecial was all his. His salmon wrapped in flaky pastry and covered in a white wine sauce had been so good Sara felt like she was hallucinating after a single bite.
“It’s okay if you changed your mind,” he said quickly. “Or if you weren’t serious.”
“I was serious! Your salmon wellington was delicious.”
“Thanks, but if you don’t want to serve it, I get it. No hard feelings.”
“Jose, I want to serve it,” Sara said, enunciating each syllable clearly. Jose hadn’t come to Little Bull with a ton of restaurant experience, but he was a natural talent and he learned quickly.
“This week?” he asked, still hesitant.
“This week! Starting tonight,” Sara said. “I’ve just been out of it this weekend. I completely forgot. But yes, you are doing the chef’s special this week.”
“I can postpone until next week if you want,” he offered. “I still want you to try the cream sauce one more time. I adjusted the ratio of cream to white wine, and I think it’s good but—”
“It’s great,” Sara said, cutting him off. “It was great last week and I’m sure it’s even better now. I’m writing ‘Jose’s Salmon Wellington’ on the special’s board as we speak.”
He sighed. “Thanks, Sara.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You just saved me the trouble of throwing something together.”
“It probably would have been better than what I’m—”
“No! It will be great.”
He chuckled. “Your specials always do so well. It’s a lot to live up to.”
“You’ll do amazing. The people will demand it become a menu item, I’m sure,” Sara said.
Truly, Sara wouldn’t mind adding a menu item she hadn’t come up with. She loved the idea of promoting other chefs in her kitchen. Of letting Nantucket know she had a talented team working alongside her.
“Is the pastry already done? Is there anything you need me to prep?” she asked.
“Nope. I took care of everything last night.”
Just in case he was wrong, she pulled open the refrigerator and saw the pastry sheets stacked in plastic wrap and ready to go.
