Here With Me

by Beverly Long

Melody turned to him. “We have to do this. Here’s the deal. When we went to see my doctor the other day, did you see that poster in the elevator? The one about the You’re Invited event that’s coming up in a couple weeks?”

  No. He’d been too busy waiting for the crate to drop out of the sky and send him straight to hell. He shook his head.

  “It’s a fund-raising event for one of the homeless shelters in Napa,” she explained. “People donate all the ingredients and they prepare and serve their favorite dish. The attendees pay a hundred dollars a plate. We’ll tell her that you’re participating in the event and you need her to teach you how to make the food.”

  “Will she believe it?”

  “It’s the best story I can come up with on short notice. It’ll have to do. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  By the time they got to the wine shed, Grandmother had already followed Rebecca and Bernard inside. They found all three of them in the far corner of the building, sitting at a big round table. There was nothing in front of Rebecca, but the places in front of Bernard and Grandmother were identical. There were at least fifteen wineglasses, a pad of writing paper, a pen, and a small silver urn. The spittoon, he imagined.

  In the middle, there were four pitchers of what looked to be red wine and there had to be at least twenty tall, absolutely straight measuring glasses. He was grateful that Pearl had explained the process or else he was sure he’d have been absolutely dumbfounded.

  “Melody, George,” Pearl said, smiling brightly. “What can we do for you?”

  Melody looked at him and he knew the burden rested firmly on his shoulders. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I wanted to try to interrupt before you got started. Rebecca, we. . .uh. . .I was wondering if you might be available to assist me?”

  Rebecca leaned forward in her chair. Bernard frowned at him and said, “George, we’re just about to get started here. Rebecca’s never witnessed a blending trial.”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t plum desperate,” George said. At least that much was honest. “But I’ve gotten myself into a jam by volunteering at a charity event.”

  “The You’re Invited fund-raiser in Napa this coming weekend,” Melody added, finally jumping in.

  Rebecca pushed her chair back and stood up. “And you need me to teach you how to make something.”

  Bernard put his hand on her arm. “Maybe Bessie could help him?”

  Rebecca did a deliberate shudder. “The woman tries, Bernard, but really. He’s got to have something special. After all, George is representing the Sweet Song of Summer brand.”

  “But you were looking so forward to this,” Bernard said. “And given that this is our special day, I thought we’d spend it together.”

  “Special day?” Pearl asked.

  Bernard practically beamed. “Rebecca and I are engaged to be married.”

  George looked at Melody. She had her mouth open but no sound was coming out.

  George extended his hand to Bernard. “Congratulations.”

  Pearl was the next to come around. “Yes, of course, my congratulations to you both.”

  “Show ‘em your ring, honey,” Bernard said.

  Rebecca extended her hand. George didn’t know much about diamonds but it looked big to him and if the look on Melody’s and Pearl’s faces were any indication, Bernard had done right by his woman.

  Rebecca leaned down and gave him a brush of her lips across his cheek. “I know this is our special day, Snookums. But this is your area of expertise and I’m needed in my own.”

  She made it sound like she’d been called to serve some kind of noble cause. It was easy, however, to ignore her self-importance when he could see the satisfied look on Pearl Song’s face.

  Rebecca looped her arm though George’s. “What is it that you want to make?” she asked.

  He had no idea. He looked at Melody. She stared at Rebecca and said, “Tarts.”

  Rebecca did a pronounced shiver. “Oh, excellent. I’ve got the most wonderful recipe for a cinnamon, raisin, walnut, and apple tart.”

  They’d reached the door of the wine shed. A heavy rain had started to fall and the wind was picking up even more. “We’ll have to make a run for it,” Rebecca said.

  “You go ahead,” he said, dislodging her arm. “I’ll help Melody. I don’t want her to slip.”

  Rebecca looked at Melody. “I didn’t realize you were coming,” she said.

  Melody gave her a big smile. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  George waited until Rebecca had taken off running toward the house. Then he turned to Melody. “I don’t see anything good coming from this,” he said. “Do not leave me alone with her.”

  “Do I look crazy?” she said. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. It was short, barely a brush against his lips. Then she patted his chest in a comforting gesture. “Just a word of warning, George. If she asks if she can pinch your buns, run like hell.”

  Once inside the house, Melody was relieved to see that the kitchen was empty. She hadn’t been looking forward to cajoling Bessie into abandoning her kingdom. The longtime cook came in early and fixed breakfast for whoever wanted it. Then she’d prepare sandwiches for the field workers to have for lunch as well as get the evening meal prepared. After that, she always took a couple hours off to visit her sister who lived in a nursing home in Napa and then returned to put the finishing touches on dinner.

  If everything went according to plan, they’d be in and out before the woman ever came back. If not, well, then she’d let George explain it.

  Rebecca surveyed the kitchen with something short of disdain and turned to George with a hopeful look on her face. “I’d so much rather be doing this in my studio.”

  Melody could have predicted the next line.

  “Maybe we should go there,” Rebecca said. “I have my car here. Of course,” she said, looking at Melody, “it’s just a two-seater.”

  Melody started to see red.

  George didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but since I’m filling in for Gino, I need to stay close. In case I’m needed.”

  Rebecca reached over, grabbed his hand, and rubbed the top of it, like one might scratch the top of a cat’s head. “Oh, what’s not to like about a man who takes his responsibilities so seriously?”

  Melody squatted down, pulled some stainless-steel bowls and tart pans out of the cupboard, and banged them down on the counter. “I think we ought to get started.”

  “This is Chanel,” Rebecca said, motioning to her pantsuit. “I hope you have an apron.”

  Melody pulled three out of the drawer. George looked at his with a raised eyebrow but he put it on. It had little butterflies on it and what would have reached Bessie’s knees, barely covered his waist.

  “Cute,” Melody whispered as she brushed past him.

  He frowned at her.

  Rebecca opened the refrigerator, leaning so far over that her suit jacket pulled up and the top of her blue thong, resting above her low-rise pants, was clearly visible. She looked over her shoulder at George but he’d suddenly developed an interest in his shoes.

  Looking frustrated, she turned back to the refrigerator. She hauled out butter, a sack of apples, and the egg carton. She handed the sack of apples to Melody. “Perhaps you could start on these,” she said.

  George pulled out her chair for her. When she sat down, she leaned very close to his ear and said, “She’s making a mistake if she gives me a sharp knife.”

  “George, you can help me with the crust,” Rebecca said. She handed him two sticks of butter. “Be a dear and melt this in the microwave.”

  It was the closest thing to panic that she’d ever seen on George’s face. He stood motionless.

  Melody pointed to the built-in microwave that was above the stove. He walked over, studied it for a moment, and then finally opened the door. He laid the butter sticks inside and closed the door.

  “Uh, George,” Melody
said. “You’re going to want to put those in a dish of some kind. Otherwise, Bessie is going to kill you when she opens the door and there’s melted butter everywhere.”

  His face turned pink and he didn’t look at her as he pulled a dish out of the cupboard and placed the sticks in it. Once he’d shut the microwave door again, he simply stood there.

  Fortunately, Rebecca was rummaging around in the cupboards pulling out sugar and flour and she wasn’t paying attention. Melody pushed her chair back, walked over, punched in thirty seconds, and pushed the start button. How had the man managed to be in his thirties and never used a microwave?

  “You never made much popcorn at the sheriff’s office, right?”

  He shook his head. When the buzzer rang on the microwave, he opened the door, and started to reach for the bowl. “It’ll be hot,” she warned.

  He nodded and carefully grabbed for the edges of the bowl. He sat it down next to Rebecca, looking every bit like a man about ready to run for the nearest exit.

  “Excellent,” she said, smiling at him. She handed him a sack of walnuts. “Chop these up in the food processor.”

  His sigh was silent but Melody could see his chest fall. She pushed her chair back again. “I’ll show you where Bessie keeps it,” she said.

  She pulled the appliance out of the cupboard, plugged it in, set the blade at the right level, dumped the bag of walnuts in, and stepped back. All he had to do was turn the switch on, which he did in an able fashion.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “No problem.” She dumped the almost-crushed walnuts into a bowl and pushed it toward him. “I’ll just be over here with my apples.” She went back and sat down.

  Rebecca had mixed the ingredients for the crust and dumped the ball of dough into the center of the tart pan. “Come here,” she said to George. “You look like a man who’s good with his hands.”

  Oh, good grief. The woman was as transparent as plastic wrap. Melody heard the telephone ring. And continue ringing. Where the heck was Tilly? She was the one always racing to answer the phone lately. On the fifth ring, Melody shoved her chair back yet again.

  She walked to the kitchen door but before she opened it, she made a point to catch George’s eye. She switched her gaze deliberately to the knife she’d left on the table, then back to him, this time focusing on the area right below his belt. “Behave,” she mouthed and walked out.

  She picked up the phone on what had to be the tenth ring. “Hello.”

  “Pearl Song, please.”

  It was a man. Not that that was so unusual. Any number of male friends and neighbors regularly contacted her grandmother. But she knew her grandmother would not want to be bothered during the blending trials.

  “I’m sorry. She’s unavailable right now. May I take a message?”

  “Who am I speaking with?” he asked.

  “This is Melody Song. Song-Johnson,” she added. “I’m—”

  “Pearl’s granddaughter. Of course. This is William Beagle. I’m your—”

  “Grandmother’s attorney,” she said, finishing his sentence. William Beagle had taken over his father’s law practice some years ago and Grandmother liked to refer to him as Young Will Beagle, her handsome legal eagle.

  “Yes, that’s right. I really need to talk with your grandmother. It’s very important.”

  She didn’t want to take the chance that her grandmother had been waiting for this call. “If you hold for a moment, I’ll get her,” she said.

  She put his call on hold and pressed the intercom bottom that would allow her to overhead page in the wine shed. They’d installed the technology several years ago and had the same capability with the gift shop and tasting room. “Grandmother,” she said, “you have a telephone call on line one.”

  She half expected her grandmother to demand who had the audacity to interrupt her at a time like this but instead, what she heard was, “Thank you, I’ll pick it up.”

  Melody turned off the intercom and watched to see that the blinking red light on the phone turned to a solid red, indicating that the line had been answered.

  She went back to the kitchen. George was patting dough into baking dishes and Rebecca was watching him. He stood on one side of the counter and she was on the other. She had her arms braced on the countertop and was leaning forward.

  The woman had opened another button. George, if he chose to look, had a very nice view.

  This was getting ridiculous. The woman had no shame. She was openly flirting with him while his pregnant wife was right there.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  George looked up and she swore he was relieved to have her once again safely at his side. She didn’t know if it was because he was the most inept man she’d ever seen in a kitchen or whether he was slightly afraid of what Rebecca might try next.

  “We’re ready for your apples,” Rebecca said.

  “I’m on it,” Melody replied. She walked over, picked up the bowl of sliced apples, and handed it to Rebecca. “So, you and Bernard are engaged. When’s the wedding date?” she asked.

  Rebecca didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at George. “Watch closely,” she said. “First I’m going to put the raisins and walnuts in. Then I’ll add a layer of apples and top it off with the sugar-and-cinnamon mixture.”

  She reached for the raisin-and-walnut mixture. George grabbed it first and pulled it toward him. “I believe my wife asked you a question,” he said. He said it very seriously and even Rebecca was smart enough to realize he wasn’t fooling around.

  Melody’s heart was so full of love for George at that exact moment that it was about to burst out of her chest.

  Rebecca turned to Melody, and said, “We haven’t set a date. But soon. Neither one of us wants to wait.”

  “Do you plan on living here?” Melody asked.

  Rebecca looked surprised, then perhaps a little offended. “My television show is taped in San Francisco.”

  It suddenly dawned on Melody that Rebecca had no real intention of ever marrying Bernard. That, for this woman, it was all about the chase. Specifically, men chasing after her. It made Melody furious and she was just about to press the issue, because after all, her husband would make the woman answer, when they heard the front door open and then the sound of Grandmother’s and Bernard’s voices. Then it was quiet.

  Rebecca pulled her car keys out of her pants pocket. “Anyway, just put the layers together the way I described, bake it for forty minutes, and serve it warm.”

  She was gone before they could reply, like she couldn’t get away fast enough. Melody was sure her suspicion was correct, and her heart ached for Bernard.

  Melody looked at George and he shook his head. “I don’t know what her game is.”

  “Me either. All I know is that we’re going to need to be here for Bernard when it all falls apart.”

  “We will be.”

  She liked the sound of that. “By the way, thanks for sticking up for me. I mean, I’ve got at least twenty pounds on her. I probably could have taken her, but it was nice not to have to.”

  “I’d have held your coat for you.” He pulled her into his arms and rubbed his nose against her nose. “You had some flour on your nose.”

  She kissed him. It was a soft kiss, offering up promises of what was yet to come. “You’re sort of sexy in butterflies,” she said.

  He put his hand under her shirt and gently cupped her breast. She felt the heat of his skin through the thin material of her bra. “You’re mighty appealing yourself when you don’t have any clothes on at all,” he said.

  She kissed him again. Then she backed away and his hand fell to his side. “Let’s get this tart in the oven and get this mess cleaned up,” she said. “I think we’ll still have time for a nap, if you know what I mean, before dinner.”

  He started carrying dirty bowls to the sink. He washed and dried dishes while she finished putting the tart together. Within ten minutes they were done. They left the kitchen a
nd were headed upstairs when Melody saw Bernard sitting in the family room. He wasn’t reading or watching television. He was just sitting, staring off into space.

  Even though all she really wanted to do was go upstairs, she sat down next to him. “How did it go this afternoon?”

  “Fine. Your grandmother is right. This may be our best vintage ever.”

  If so, she’d have expected a little more excitement. “Rebecca had to leave,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to provide too many details.

  He didn’t look all that surprised. “A headache?” he asked.

  “She didn’t say.”

  He nodded and looked rather resigned. “That’s usually what it is when she’s tired of pretending that she’s interested in me.”

  Yikes. Melody had no idea what to say to that. “I’m sorry, Bernard.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, patting her hand. “I’m an old fool but I’m not blind. It was never going to work.”

  “You gave her a beautiful. . .and expensive ring,” Melody said.

  “You know what they say? A fool and his money are soon parted. It doesn’t matter. By the way, who was it on the telephone for your grandmother, Melody?”

  Young Will Beagle was on the tip of her tongue. But then it dawned on her that it was an odd question to ask. The time to ask that question would have been right after the telephone call. The person to ask would have been her grandmother.

  Which meant maybe he had, and Grandmother hadn’t told him anything.

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Grandmother. Where is she, by the way?”

  “Upstairs. Once she got that call, she seemed to be in a big hurry to get finished up. We weren’t even done.”

  Things were not making sense. From what George had said, her grandmother was really looking forward to the blending trials. What would have caused her to cut them short?

  She looked at George. “I think I’m going to go find Grandmother.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m right here.”

  Melody, George, and Bernard all turned to the right. Grandmother had changed into what looked to be a new black suit. She had panty hose on and good shoes.