Paradise Cafe

by Adrienne Staff

  Four

  “Red snapper. Avocado. Oranges. Jack.” Feeling her heart give a little hiccup of unhappiness, Abby stopped gathering the ingredients listed on her recipe and leaned weakly against the pantry shelf. Jack. Her stomach was knotted like an old rag, and a dull pain spread outward from her heart. Oh, she missed him. Hardly knew him and missed him terribly. Now, there was a laugh!

  Except she wasn’t laughing. Instead here she was, standing in the pantry of the Paradise Café one week before her Memorial Day weekend grand reopening, her arms full of groceries, but her heart empty.

  I should have made love with him. I should have. I couldn’t regret it any more than I do already, she thought. With a sigh she rested her cheek against the freshly painted wall. “At least I would have something to remember.”

  “Did I hear you say ‘remember’?” her new partner grumbled, poking his head around the corner. “Don’t tell me you forgot anything. It’s impossible! You bought out half the farmers’ market, and enough cans to feed an army.”

  “Simon,” Abby said, laughing, “it takes food to run a restaurant.”

  “It takes more than food, love. It takes pizzazz. And it’s a lucky thing I’ve got plenty of it, because you’re beginning to look a bit worn. Shadows under your lovely eyes, frown lines around your pretty mouth …”

  “Simon—”

  “Ab-by—” Simon said mockingly, drawing her name out into an unpleasant singsong. “I thought a person was supposed to come back from a vacation relaxed and refreshed. You came back a grouch!”

  “How can you say that? I came back to find you didn’t do half the things you said you would. I’ve been working sixteen hours a day just to catch up!”

  “I did plenty.” Simon sneered. “Did you look in the backroom? We now have the best wine cellar in Lake County.”

  “But we don’t need the best wine cellar in the county. We need table linens, janitorial supplies.…” Abby drew a deep breath, struggling for calm. “Listen, it’s all about done now, so let’s not argue. I don’t want to argue, Simon. I want this all to work out.” She gave her head a tiny shake to chase the fears away. It has to work out, she prayed silently.

  “It’s gonna be great!” Simon said, draping a limp arm over her shoulders. “Hey, I’ve got a meeting in Miami this afternoon. Want to lock up and fly down with me? We can have a late dinner. Put a little money on the dogs, watch a little Jai Alai, do a few parties. What d’ya say?”

  Abby shrugged off his arm and stared at him in disbelief. “I just told you how much work there is to do. Aren’t you going to stay and help?”

  “Not a chance.” He straightened his tie, smoothed back his hair. “I’m the money man, remember? That was the deal.” Smirking, he sauntered out.

  Abby stood for a moment, rolling her eyes and swearing under her breath. Then, shaking her head, she collected the rest of the ingredients and walked into the main kitchen.

  The beauty of it, the sparkling newness, made her feel better immediately. She set everything out on the counter, then ran her hand over the gleaming stainless steel, the smooth golden butcher block. She touched the opalescent thickness of the Lucite chopping boards, the round, reassuring shapes of the mixing bowls, the homey nested stack of measuring cups.

  “I’ve got to learn not to let him get to me,” she vowed, her eyes lingering on the heavy, copper-bottomed pans hanging above the stove.

  And the truth was, without Simon’s money she couldn’t have afforded a new skillet, let alone this kitchen. And this kitchen was the key to her dreams: The café a success, money coming in, bills paid off for her and her family, and maybe even a little something in the bank. It was security. It was a future.

  “I’ll make it work, I will! I’ll bite my tongue and be patient.”

  And with that promise made, she got to work. Opening one door of the giant walk-in cooler, she took out the snapper. In moments it was filleted, seasoned, sauteed. She peeled, diced, minced, simmered, and a sauce materialized. She was humming now, thinking of nothing but the taste, aroma, and eye appeal of the dish she was creating. A quick taste and she was smiling, the worry lines vanishing from around her wide blue eyes, the color blooming on her cheeks again. She sang a couple of lines from a popular song, tapping out the rhythm with her wooden spoon.

  And as if the world around her could sense her fragile peace, the sun popped through a rift of high white clouds and sent a sunbeam shining through the kitchen window. Outside a mockingbird sang. “Oh, I may not be rich or famous or lead a glamorous life,” she said to herself, “but I sure can cook!”

  The back door swung open, and a teenager wearing a pink T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of bright pink high-tops hurried in. “Hi, sis. How’s it goin’? I haven’t seen you for five minutes since you got back. Wow! the kitchen looks great!”

  Abby laughed. “Now I know things are back to normal. Jeanette, I think a person could get hurt wearing jeans that tight—”

  “Shoot, Abby,” came the teenager’s flip reply, “you sound just like Mom. But it’s worse because you’re so cute. You should be in these jeans, having a good time—”

  “I am having a good time. Or was until a moment ago. My sauce is going to curdle.”

  “Your whole life is going to curdle if someone doesn’t get you to stop working and have some fun. But you never listen to me.”

  “Nor you to me!”

  “True. By the way, I assume El Creepo isn’t here, right?”

  “Simon?” Abby asked, frowning.

  “Him! Geez, he makes me nervous. Always sitting around, scoping me from the distance, Yuck! I couldn’t stand him for a partner.”

  “Well, Lee Iacocca didn’t happen to answer my ad.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” Abby waved it away, but she still looked worried. “He hasn’t gotten fresh, has he?”

  “ ‘Gotten fresh’? I don’t think they’ve said that in a hundred years. But no, he hasn’t made a move on me.” She grinned. “He acts cocky, but I think he’s really scared of you.”

  A horn blared outside. Pink high-tops flashing, Jeanette raced across the kitchen and stuck her head out the door. “Hokay! I’m comin’!”

  “I thought you were alone—”

  “Nope. Tige and Willy are with me. School’s out early because of finals, and we’re going on a picnic.”

  “So how did you do?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “On your exam, Jeanette! Did you pass?”

  “Oh, yeah, I think so. I sure hope so! I’m already taking math in summer school. But anyway, I stopped by to see if maybe you could lend me a couple of dollars?”

  “I thought you were working at the Seven-Eleven.”

  “I am. Was. They’ve had a temporary layoff. But don’t worry, I put an app in at McDonald’s and Burger King. Not playing any favorites.” She grinned.

  Abby sighed and shook her head at her sister’s dauntless unconcern. But then, she was only a kid. And things were tough enough.

  “Here.” She reached into her pocketbook, then paused, holding the bill between her fingers like a lure. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?”

  “Sure.” Jeanette laughed. “You’ll love them.” Shouting out the door, she waved them in, two boyish versions of Jeanette, long-haired, jean-clad kids with wide smiles and easygoing charm. They blustered in, bumping shoulders and shoving, causing Abby to fear for her chairs, glassware—even the stove!

  “It’s nice to meet you both. Tige?” she ventured, holding out her hand.

  The blonder of the two gave it a rough pump. “Hi.”

  The second followed suit. “And I’m Willy. Nice to meet you. You know, my parents eat here a lot. They don’t bring me ’cause they say I eat too much, but they really think you’re a terrific chef.”

  Abby grinned, delighted, immediately impressed with this boy’s fine upbringing. “Well, please tell them we’re reopening on Friday and I’ll be looking forward to seeing th
em.”

  “Sure. Well, we better get goin’.”

  “Have fun. And, Jeanette, be good. I’ll see y’all soon—”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Mom wants you to come for dinner. And she said, quote, ‘If that girl says she’s too busy, tell her she’d better at least show up for breakfast. She’s working too hard.’ Unquote.” Having delivered the message, she evaporated through the door. Her friends followed.

  “Tell her I’ll try!” Abby called at their backs, and shut the door.

  The sauce had congealed to a lump in the bottom of the pan. “Well,” Abby said musingly, washing it in warm, sudsy water and already beginning to hum softly to herself, “let’s see what happens this time if I add a little fresh lemon juice, some mango, and.…”

  It was well after two o’clock when the phone rang. After wiping her hands on her apron, she grabbed the receiver. “Hello,” she sang.

  “Abby?”

  Her heart stopped. She slapped her hand over the mouthpiece, hoping he hadn’t heard the sharp intake of her breath or the crazy pounding of her heart. Count to ten. Quick. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t wait that long. “Jack?” It came out a whisper. A breath of hope, fear.

  There was a low, husky laugh on the other end of the line. “Yup. How are you?”

  “Fine.” Her voice squeaked. Abby felt as if she had swallowed a hot potato that just wouldn’t cool down. Tears stung her eyes, and her throat ached. “Jack … you shouldn’t have called. It’s silly. It’s—it’s—” She stumbled over the rush of emotions, then asked helplessly, “Why did you call?”

  “Because I missed you. I want to see you again.”

  “We can’t.”

  “You bet we can! I’m here. Come get me.”

  Dead silence. And then, softly, “Where are you, Gallagher?”

  “Orlando International Airport, the sign says. That-away to Disney World! You want to come pick me up or should I grab a cab?”

  “No.”

  “No what, darlin’?”

  “No,” she said, gasping. “Neither! Gallagher, get back on that plane and go home to Colorado. Home to your rivers, your friends, Pop—”

  “It’s you I want.”

  She felt dizzy with excitement. How was she supposed to think straight when the ground kept dropping away beneath her feet? “J-Jack—” she stuttered.

  “Don’t bother to argue. Or tell me how little sense this makes. I’m not leaving until I see you. So, if I start walking now, I should be there in about, oh, six hours. Seven if I stop for dinner.”

  “Stay where you are!” she shouted, and began to hang up. She yanked the phone back to her ear. “Wait! Where are you? What gate? What airline?”

  “Continental. Gate forty-seven.”

  “Okay.” She swallowed hard. “Wait there. I’m coming to get you.”

  She was trembling with a wild mixture of dismay and pleasure. Jack was here. In an hour she would see him. In an hour she could touch him, taste his kiss on her lips.… In an hour she was supposed to be perfecting the sauce for her snapper, going over next week’s order with the seafood distributor, signing a contract with a new exterminating company, and meeting with Mrs. LaRue of the Tavares Garden Club, who wanted to arrange an awards luncheon for twenty-eight.

  Her hands began to shake. “Jack Gallagher, I’ll get you for this!” she swore. Her words echoed around the kitchen and came back to mock her. That was exactly what her heart was telling her to do: Go get that man! And now!

  The highway was a bright white ribbon unwinding in the bright white glare of a Florida afternoon. It led her south down the old Orange Blossom Trail, past lakes and rolling hills, replanted groves dotted with tiny green trees, deserted groves with their bare brown skeletons, small towns about to be gobbled up by Orlando’s eager growth, tile-roofed suburban shopping centers, industrial parks, topless bars and fast-food chains, and then to the airport.

  Following the color-coded signs, she took the ramp marked Arrivals and slowed as she approached Continental. She scanned the drive for a parking spot, and had just found one down the way when Jack came striding out through the double wide doors into the bright white sunlight.

  She saw him lift one arm to shade his eyes while he found her again, and then his face broke into a grin.

  It made her heart stop … then leap to life, beating as it never had before. Waving, she leaned across the front seat and pushed the door open, but he ran around to her side, dropped his bag, opened the door, reached in, and lifted her out and into his arms.

  She clung to him, tilting her head back to meet his kisses. His mouth pressed hungrily against her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, then hurried back to her mouth. His hands closed around her shoulders, lifting her against him until she stood on tiptoe, clinging to his mouth. The rest of the world vanished. Surrendering herself to the sweet rapture of their kiss, she drew her hands over his neck, shoulders, back, feeling his shirt, damp with sweat, plastered against his hard muscles and warm flesh.

  They finally tore themselves apart and stared at each other with a mixture of desire and surprise.

  “Oh, baby, that was worth coming two thousand miles!”

  “Two million, it was so wonderful!” She gasped.

  And then they were both laughing, holding tightly for a moment and then letting go of each other and leaning back side by side against the car’s hot metal surface, unaware of any heat but what they had generated.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” Jack chuckled, his eyes traveling slowly over her face. “Well, that makes for a bit of a problem.”

  Abby cut a glance at him and nodded. “I know what you mean, Gallagher.”

  Jack laughed. “You do, huh? Think you can read my mind?”

  “Uh-huh. It would have been a whole lot simpler if you’d gotten off that plane, kissed me, and we’d both wondered, ‘Now, what was all that fuss about?’ ”

  Slipping one hand beneath her hair, he leaned over and tipped her face up to his. “But it didn’t happen that way, did it? My heart went bang! Just like last time, and so did yours. You can’t hide it.… No, don’t turn away, Abby. Tell me!”

  With an impish grin, she lifted her wide blue eyes to his. “Bang,” she whispered.

  “I knew it! Call it what you want: Fate, destiny—”

  “Temporary insanity?” she offered. “Gallagher, this is crazy. You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to be here. And”—she glanced quickly at her watch—“oh, lordy, neither am I! Oh, Jack, I’m going to be late for everything!”

  “Well, just forget I’m here,” he insisted, tossing his suitcase in the back seat of Abby’s beat-up Dodge station wagon.

  Abby stood stock-still, her lips parted in futile protest, and then she rolled her eyes and slid in the front.

  Jack climbed inside, making the car seem immeasurably smaller. He leaned back against the door and folded his hands behind his head. “Ready! I’m yours.”

  She drove north, hurrying to beat the start of rush-hour traffic. As she drove she sneaked eager glances at Jack, and always found him looking at her.

  “Have you been here before?”

  “No.”

  “Then pay attention to the scenery, Gallagher. This is central Florida. Disney World is a way to the south behind us.”

  “I thought that airport was Disney World! A monorail, Mickey and Minnie in every window, parrots in the terminal. Is all of Orlando like that?”

  “No. But it is big and bustling. Skyscrapers downtown, suburbs sprawling all over. But up where I live, there are just small, friendly towns, acres of orange groves, beautiful horse farms, and over a thousand named lakes.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Chamber of Commerce.” Jack grinned.

  Abby laughed. “I can’t help it. I don’t think there’s anywhere as pretty.”

  “I’ve got my doubts, darlin’, but I’m open to persuasion.”

  There was something in his tone that made Abby’s heart skip a beat. She shot him a sideways gl
ance. “Jack, I work. Almost every day. All day long.”

  “Surely you can find some time for a visiting friend.”

  The thought, the madness of it, sent shivers up her spine. Looking to change the subject, she asked, “So, where are you staying?”

  “With you,” he answered coolly.

  She took her foot off the accelerator. “You’re what?” she asked with a gasp as the car lost speed. “Oh, no, you’re not! I live in a small town. In an even smaller trailer park. Everyone knows me, and everyone knows I live alone.”

  “Tell them I’m your cousin—your uncle—your nephew.”

  “You’re crazy! My whole family comes from Hooper, Florida. That’s a stone’s throw away—twenty minutes northwest, with a population of two-hundred-seven teen. On good days. If a tornado hasn’t come through and blown anyone away, or a mad ’gator trotted through and gobbled anyone up. Cousins, uncles, and nephews are known by name, sight, and the kind of breakfast cereal they eat.”

  “Think you could pick this up over twenty-five, darlin’? That semi’s about to roll over us.”

  “Oops!” she yelped, glancing in her rearview mirror. “See what you do to me? Now, let’s be sensible. What I’m going to do is turn this car around and take you back to Disney World. Then I won’t feel guilty. You’ll have fun; you can go to Fantasyland—”

  “My fantasy’s right here, Abby Clarke,” Jack whispered. He slid one hand down the length of her thigh and let it rest on her knee.

  She brushed it off with a despairing flap of her hand. “Don’t you dare start anything now, Jack Gallagher. I have got to get back to work. A thousand—no, a million—things are waiting, and you are making it impossible to think straight.”

  She took the first turnaround on the highway and zipped back into the steady flow of cars heading south. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she kept an eye on the traffic around her, frowning into the bright afternoon light. “Okay, first you find a place to stay. And then, if you’re still in town, and still interested, I’ll see you Monday afternoon.”