Julianne loaded the last of the trays into her catering truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. She flipped down the shade, checked her hair and lipstick in the mirror, and pulled out onto the service road leading to the main highway. The weather was already changing and it was only September. Deciduous maples were taking on the golden hues of autumn and the air had a crisp spicy smell that signaled the onset of cool weather to come.
The food she’d prepared for Mitch’s housewarming was rich, hearty and warm, a perfect foil for the breezy afternoon and chilly evening. The clock on the dashboard said one, and the party was at three, plenty of time to unload, set up for the servers and transform herself from cook to guest.
Mitch had invited everyone in Santa Ynez that he knew, including the local vintners. Despite his GGI affiliation, nearly everyone had accepted, some out of curiosity, some for a free meal, some because they genuinely liked what they’d seen of their new neighbor, a widower with two children, an easy smile and a firm handshake, a man who’d had the sense to leave a historic piece of architecture the way it was meant to be.
Julianne pulled into the courtyard and looked around appreciatively. Colorful paper lanterns hung from the trees and heat lamps were plentiful enough to ensure that every white-clothed table was within proper range for guests to be comfortable after the sun went down. A dark-skinned man in blue jeans and a white apron stood before a large commercial barbecue, smoking pork ribs and chicken. Tubs of ice with beer and soft drinks sat within easy reach of the tables. Julianne had arranged for a cappuccino bar to be set up at one end of the patio. Margaritas and sangria would be mixed at the wine bar on the other side, and long banquet tables had been set out for the food.
She released the latch for the back door and climbed out of the truck. Mitch saw her from the kitchen window and hurried out to greet her. He took the chafing dish from her hands. “Are you always right on schedule?” he asked.
She looked surprised. “Of course. How could I survive in this business if I wasn’t?”
“Do you have any idea how unusual you are?” he asked softly.
Julianne shrugged and turned away, slightly embarrassed. She picked up a basket of tortillas and changed the subject. “Did you hire the servers from Manuelos Restaurant?”
He nodded in the direction of the barbecue. “They’re already here. Drew and Sarah will be down in a minute to help with whatever you need them for.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the children appeared on the doorstep. Julianne waved. Sarah smiled. Drew did not, but they both headed toward the truck.
“What do you want us to do?” Drew asked, his tone just short of what his father called attitude.
“You can help unload my cakes,” Julianne replied cheerfully.
Sarah peaked into the back of the truck. “What kind are they?”
“Ask Drew. They were his idea.”
Puzzled, Sarah lifted the top of one of the containers and assessed the two-layer cake. “It looks like some kind of chocolate only not as dark.”
“Whatever it is, it looks great,” said Mitch.
Chocolate-mocha,” replied Julianne. “The other one is lemon.” She nodded at Drew. “Give one of them to your brother and you can come back for the éclairs.”
Sarah handed the lemon cake to Drew and reached in for the chocolate. “How long did it take you to make all this?”
Julianne didn’t have to think. “Six hours.”
Sarah looked impressed. “Exactly six hours?”
“Just about. I have to know exactly how long it takes because that plays a part in how much I charge.”
“Did it take a long time to learn everything?”
Julianne laughed. “Are you thinking of going into the catering business, Sarah?”
“Maybe I can work part-time for you?” she suggested.
“That might be a good idea in the summer,” said her father, “if Julianne needs someone and if you can fit it into your schedule. It seems like you’re already fairly impacted with what you have already.”
“I didn’t mean school,” Sarah assured him. “I think working with food would be fun.”
Drew snorted.
Sarah turned on him, her hands full of cake. “What does that mean?” she demanded.
“You’re a lousy cook, Sarah. Even you can’t deny that.”
“Maybe I’ll learn something.”
“It’d have to be a whole lot longer than one summer,” her brother said under his breath.
“What about you, Drew?” Julianne challenged him. “Is your summer scheduled or could you fit in a part-time job?”
For the space of a heartbeat, he looked interested. Then his eyes glazed over. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got other plans.”
“What plans are those?” asked Mitch, his voice like steel.
“I might go to summer school and get my math and language requirements out of the way.”
“Are you behind in those subjects?” asked his father.
“No, but it would free my schedule for more electives next year if I take the core subjects during the summer.”
“You can’t—” Sarah began, but Drew’s elbow in her back stopped her from continuing.
“That sounds reasonable,” said Mitch. “It isn’t what I expected, but if that’s what you want to do, I suppose we can work out some other way for you to pay for your car insurance.”
Julianne looked from Mitch to his son. She was experienced when it came to children. Something wasn’t right. She couldn’t put her finger on how she knew, but there it was. She smiled brightly, picked up two foil-covered platters and headed toward one of the long white tables. It wasn’t her business. No one would appreciate her curiosity or her opinion.
Nick sat in the back seat of his father’s car and stared out the window, wishing he had been allowed to stay home and play with Max, Cyril’s ten-year-old son. Max came to visit every other week or so. His parents were divorced and his mother lived somewhere to the north. That was all Nick knew except that Max was exciting. He used words Nick wasn’t allowed to use. He had a slingshot and he knew the best and most forbidden places to play. A sulk pulled down Nick’s mouth. Max would be long gone by the time he got home. There would be no one his age to play with at the party and another weekend would be wasted.
His mother and father were talking in the front seat. At least they weren’t yelling at each other anymore. That was a good thing. Maybe, now that his dad had come home, they would be friends. Nick looked at his mother, at her pretty, smiling face, her shiny, smooth hair and the long fingers of her tanned hands moving as she talked. He felt warm all through his middle. It was almost worth it to miss an afternoon playing with Max if it made his mother smile.
His dad looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay, sport?” he asked.
Nick nodded.
“You’re awfully quiet back there.”
His mother turned around and looked at him. He felt her eyes flicker across his face and chest. It worried him. She always knew what he was thinking. He didn’t want that. His thoughts were private, even if she was his mother.
“Is anything wrong, sweetheart?”
“No.”
Her eyes softened. “Max will be back before you know it.”
“Why couldn’t he come to the party?”
“He wasn’t invited,” his mother replied.
“I wasn’t either.”
Francesca sighed. “It’s just one afternoon, Nick.”
“I know.”
He saw his father raise his eyebrows, look at his mother and shake his head slightly. His mother turned away and looked out the window.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he remembered was his mother’s voice saying, “We’re here, Nick. Wake up.”
He woke to the smell of barbecued meat and the sound of mariachi music. Slowly he opened his eyes. Piñatas and colored lanterns hung from the trees. Men in
sombreros with sequins on their pants stood in the corner playing guitars and violins. People stood in groups laughing and talking. The tables were heavy with food. He recognized his grandmother’s cakes. She had iced them earlier that day.
He climbed out of the car, saw his grandmother and waved. She waved back. He wandered through the crowd, ending up in front of a large bowl of lime-colored punch.
“Hi, Nick,” said a voice behind him. “Are you lost?”
He turned. It was Sarah Gillette. “No.”
“Are you hungry?”
He looked at the table groaning with food. “Not really.”
“Leave the kid alone, Sarah. Can’t you see he’s bored to death?”
It was Sarah’s brother. His hair was messed up and he wore his pants low on his hips. Nick was flattered that Drew had noticed him.
“I’m not bored,” he said quickly, afraid they would think he was rude. “I’m just not hungry.”
Sarah looked sympathetic. “Isn’t there anyone here your age?”
He shook his head.
“Your name’s Nick, isn’t it?” Drew asked.
Nick nodded.
“I have some video games in my room, if you want to play,” Drew said casually.
Nick was torn. He wanted to play video games, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere with Drew. He hesitated a bit too long.
Drew shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said and sauntered away.
Sarah smiled but Nick could tell it wasn’t a real smile. There was a crease between her eyebrows. “I’ll go find my grandma,” he said.
Sarah looked relieved. “I’ll see you later.” She walked away.
Nick wandered toward the food table, took some chips from the bowl and headed toward the group that included Julianne. He leaned into her.
She looked down and immediately her arm circled his shoulders. “There you are.” She pulled him in front of her, keeping her arm around his chest. “Say hello to everyone.”
“Hello,” Nick said dutifully. He knew them all.
Mrs. Monleigh, his grandmother’s oldest friend, leaned down and spoke to him. “Cindy’s here, Nick. Have you seen her?”
He shook his head. Cindy was Mrs. Monleigh’s granddaughter. She was in Nick’s class in school. She was also one of those girls the teacher always picked to erase the board and take messages to the office. She had red hair and freckles and when it was hot, her face turned red, too. Nick hated red hair, especially the frizzy, bright orange kind that Cindy had. He didn’t like her very much either.
“There she is.” Mrs. Monleigh pointed to the porch. “She’s sitting on the porch swing reading her book. Look at her, Julianne. I don’t know what Cindy would do without a book in her hand. The child is positively antisocial.”
“She isn’t at all antisocial,” said his grandmother. “Be grateful she’s interested in books. So many aren’t anymore.”
“You’ll never stop being a teacher, Julianne.” She patted Nick on the back. “Go over there, Nick, and ask my granddaughter to play with you before her eyes get so bad she’ll be in glasses before she’s nine.”
Dismayed, Nick looked at his grandmother. Whatever hope he had for the day would be completely destroyed if he had to play with Cindy Monleigh.
Julianne saved him. “There’s nothing wrong with Cindy,” she said firmly. “Nick, please ask your mother if she remembered to bring the wine I forgot.”
Gratefully, Nick retreated in search of his mother.
Francesca leaned against a centuries-old olive tree. The dark wood and green leaves were a perfect complement for her pale yellow dress and the lightweight cardigan she’d flung over her shoulders. Her legs were very tanned and the combination of shapely calf and red-painted toenails peeking out of strappy sandals was both innocent and seductive at the same time. She was deep in conversation with Mitchell Gillette, but she turned to accept the drink Jake handed her.
Mitch raised his eyebrows. “A margarita instead of wine?”
Francesca shrugged. “I believe in diversifying, and your theme is Mexican.”
“Does that carry over into areas other than your choice of beverage?”
Francesca sipped her drink. Her eyes met Jake’s over the rim of her glass. He winked at her. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On what you’re referring to.”
“What about a variety of vintners in your valley?”
“If you’re referring to small independents, I would say definitely. You’re welcome here, Mitch, if you’re serious about your own vineyard and winery. That doesn’t extend to GGI.” She looked around. “This is a lovely party, but it won’t change anyone’s mind about that company and it won’t convince anyone to share their well water with GGI. I’m sorry if that’s what you had in mind.”
“You are blunt, aren’t you?”
Jake hid a smile. Why had he ever thought Francesca couldn’t take care of herself?
She sighed. “I suppose I am blunt, although I prefer to call it straightforward honesty. I’m not one for beating around the bush. Now, if you want that well water for yourself, that’s another matter entirely.”
Nick tapped her on the arm. She turned around, and when she saw who it was her face softened. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said in a voice that bore no resemblance at all to the one she used with Mitch.
“Grandma wants to know if you remembered her wine.”
Francesca looked bewildered. “Tell her I gave it to her when we first came.”
Nick nodded. He had an idea that his grandmother was fibbing. Sometimes a fib was allowed if the reason was good enough. This time he thought it was.
He still wasn’t hungry. His mother had given him a directive but he didn’t think it was something that needed to be done immediately. Nick walked across the courtyard and stood at the large arched entrance where the pavers ended. He looked back at the mingling guests. Just then Cindy Monleigh looked up from her book. Across the courtyard her eyes met his. Instinctively, Nick stepped behind the stucco wall. His heart pounded in his chest. Without thinking, he began to run up the packed dirt path lined with olive trees, around the bend in the road that hid the house from his view, up the embankment and down toward the sound of water trickling over stones. Only when he’d reached the creek did he stop, his breath coming in great laboring gasps. His side cramped. He did what his father told him to do, pressed his finger against the stitch and leaned over. After a minute the pain subsided and he sat down.
The water interested him. It was clear, the green furry stones beneath the surface completely visible beneath the tea-colored water. It was higher than usual and appeared to be flowing faster. He stuck his hand in. It was deliciously cold. Pulling off his socks and tennis shoes, he climbed on a large overhanging rock and dipped in one of his feet.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Turning, he lost his balance and plunged into the water. It was deeper than he thought. He found his footing, broke the surface and gulped in a single lungful of air before the current pulled at him again. The water was icy cold as it closed over his shoulders and head. “Help me,” he managed before he went under again. His limbs were paralyzed by the cold mountain runoff. His chest hurt. He kicked his legs and forced himself to open his eyes and orient his position. Clawing his way to the surface, he fought to keep the panic from overtaking him.
Then, when he thought he couldn’t hold his breath for another instant, strong arms gripped his shoulders and hauled him out of the water and halfway up the embankment.
Sputtering, Nick shook the water from his hair and opened his eyes. Drew Gillette, very pale, soaked to the bone, his chest heaving, sat beside him.
After a minute the older boy looked at him. “Next time, take me up on my offer to play video games. Okay?”
Nick nodded his head.
Fifteen
Francesca set her untouched wineglass on one of the long tables and went in search of Nick. She spotted Julianne seated at a small table wit
h Mitch Gillette. Her mother-in-law was laughing. She looked very young.
Objectively, Francesca was pleased for her. Mitchell Gillette was intelligent, attractive, successful and single, a breed not often found in the small town of Santa Ynez, and Julianne deserved some happiness. If only he wasn’t associated with the hated GGI.
Francesca hesitated. She hated to interrupt, but she hadn’t seen Nick in quite some time. Maybe he’d told Julianne where he would be. She stood there, unsure of her next move, when Julianne glanced up and spotted her. She smiled and beckoned. Relieved, Francesca approached the table.
“I’m looking for Nick. Have you seen him?”
Julianne thought a minute. “Not for a while. Carol Monleigh was suggesting he play with her granddaughter, so I sent him to ask you a question.”
Francesca’s forehead cleared. “You asked about the wine?”
Julianne nodded.
Francesca looked at her watch. “That was an hour ago. Do you have any idea where he is?”
Mitch stood and spoke reassuringly. “He’s probably somewhere in the house. I’ll check for you.”
Francesca wasn’t listening. She was staring over his shoulder. Drew Gillette stood under the arched entrance to the courtyard with Nick on his back. Her son’s head was on the older boy’s shoulder and his eyes were closed. Her heart thumped. Something was very wrong.
Somehow, her brain signaled her feet to move and, instantly, she was at Drew’s side. “What happened?” she asked as she extricated Nick’s long arms and legs from around the teenager.
“He fell into the stream.”
“What was he doing there?” Her voice was sharper than she intended.
“I don’t know.” Drew’s voice shook. “I saw him climb on some rocks. Then he fell in.”
Nick’s clothes were completely soaked and he was shivering.
“What were you doing there?” Francesca demanded. Her arms were tight around her son.
“Saving him,” the boy replied flippantly.
Nick opened his eyes. “I’m okay, Mom, just a little bit cold.”
“Easy does it, Francie.” Jake’s voice was low and calm. “Let’s get him home and into some dry clothes. We’ll get the details later.” He held out his arms. “Do you want me to take him?”
A Delicate Finish Page 14
