“Oh, Jack,” she said with a gasp, “what’s it feel like now?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said, sucking air through clenched teeth.
His face had gone from white to gray, and she could see him fighting back waves of nausea.
“Here we are! Hang on!” She swung into the emergency entrance and drove up to the door, the frantic pounding of her heart drowned out by the steady blare of her horn.
The doctor told Abby they would have to keep Jack in the hospital two or three days.
And it’s a good thing, too, Jack Gallagher! Abby swore, because if I could get my hands on you, I’d murder you!
She blinked fast, furious at him, too furious to let herself cry at the sight of his being rolled out of the ER on a stretcher.
“Abby,” he said softly, stopping the orderly with a look and lifting onto his elbows. “Abby, I’m fine. They gave me a shot of antivenin, and everything’s okay—”
“Everything’s not okay, Gallagher. This was stupid. Unnecessary. Here you are, not anywhere near a raft or a river, and you’re still taking chances!” She swallowed hard, blinking madly. She shook her head, and locked her arms across her chest.
Jack started to climb off the stretcher, but the orderly pushed him back. “Hold it, buddy. You’re supposed to keep off the leg.”
“Forget the leg,” Jack snapped, then sank back, exhausted. “Abby.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “Abby, I’m sorry. Come here.” He held out his hand.
Abby turned away. She hurried down the long hallway, shoulders hunched forward, seeing nothing. But she heard Jack, heard him call, “Abby, I love you,” felt the words fall like shards of glass on her unforgiving back.
She pushed through the door out into the dark night. When she got to the Jeep, she put her head down on the steering wheel and wept. “Why, oh, why, can’t things ever be simple for me? Why can’t anything be easy?” She cried for a while, until finally the tension was gone, as well as the fear, the anger, the self-pity.
Blowing her nose, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror. “Nice going, Abigail,” she muttered. “You dope! Didn’t even tell him you love him. What if something happened to him tonight? What if the antivenin didn’t work? What if … what if …” She pressed her hands to her pounding head. “Oh, I’m tired of ‘what ifs.’ Why can’t he just be like everyone else? Why can’t he be safe and sensible? Why can’t I?”
Again tears stung her eyes, and she drove home slowly, exhausted.
She opened the trailer door and let it slam tinnily behind her; its echo ricocheted through the empty night. Pushing the cats away, she sloughed off her clothes. In a moment she had fallen across the bed and was lost in a troubled sleep.
Nine
She slept right through the alarm the next morning, and only woke when the cats wrapped themselves around her neck, meowing in hunger. “Holy moly—nine-thirty!” she yelped. She jumped in and out of the shower. Threw cat food in the dirty dish. Grabbed her shoes, purse, keys, and raced out the door, still buttoning her blouse.
When she got to the Paradise, a box of snapper was leaking ice water on the step. Dragging it inside, she paused just long enough to scrawl “Today’s Special: Blackened Snapper with Mangoes” on the blackboard over the counter and scurried into the kitchen.
The first customers arrived before she had finished lunch preparations, and she offered free limeades and boiled peanuts as pacifiers.
“Hurry up, Archie. Take this out to table four!” She pushed a bowl into his hands.
“Don’t yell at me! It’s not my fault the lunchtime waiter didn’t show, and I was on time, even if it looks like someone else around here wasn’t.”
“Archie, please, I am not in the mood for any back talk.”
“I wasn’t back-talking. No, sirree. I was just stating the facts, and wondering why certain people are awfully edgy lately—”
“Archie!”
“I’m gone. Yes, ma’am, takin’ this right out there. And no back talking.”
When the lunch crowd cleared out and her helpers were sitting in the dining room having their own lunch, Simon came in. “So, what was the take today?”
Abby drew a long hiss of a breath through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what the take was. I only know I’ve been cleaning, sautéing, and serving snapper all morning long, and I could have used a little help! You know, Simon, a little help would have been real nice. We are partners, aren’t we?”
He met her exasperated question with a nasty grin. “You bet we are, kiddo. But I’m the money; you’re the elbow grease.” He laughed at her swift flash of anger. “And that’s the way you wanted it, remember?” He pointed one narrow, manicured finger at her. “You’re the one who wanted total say in the kitchen. This was your place, your precious Paradise Café. Well”—he shrugged, suddenly bored with the argument—“it doesn’t look like you’re having much fun in paradise right now.”
“Simon, you are not a nice person.” Abby shook her head and closed her eyes.
Color burned in his face, edging his lips with white. “Well, maybe I’m not Sir Galahad, like your mountain man, but I’m the real world, baby. I’m your real world! And maybe you’d better start paying some close attention, instead of dreamin’ and romancin’!”
Abby tipped up her chin. “That’s none of your business.”
“Just trying to be helpful.”
“Baloney, Simon. You wouldn’t offer help if the place were on fire.” Her blond hair was sweat-dark, and was clinging to her cheeks and neck. “Go away, Simon. Just go away,” she said wearily.
“I’ll go if I want, and I’ll stay if I want, and you don’t have a thing to say about it.”
That was the last straw! “Like hell I don’t! This is still my place. I’m the one who makes it work. You’d look pretty dumb investing in an empty restaurant, with nothing cooking on the stove and not a customer in sight!”
“Not half as dumb as you’d look, locked out of your own sweet little Paradise Café, with all your friends and neighbors watching. You see, I don’t give a damn about this place, your fine cooking, your big plans: The mortgage on your parents’ house, that savings account for your little sister. Oh, I know all about it! Hell, if this place goes bust, I’ll just write it off as a tax loss. But you—you’ll be back on the porch of some little cracker shack, shelling peanuts.”
Abby gasped, her face as white as if he had struck her. She stared at him, speechless with shock, as he left.
Alone, she tried not to cry, but the tears choked her throat, burned her eyes, and then she was sobbing, muffling her face in a tea towel. How could this be happening? How could she have made such a mistake? Why hadn’t someone warned her or helped her? Why didn’t anyone help her now? Oh, Jack, why aren’t you here when I need you?
And then, like an impossible answer to a prayer, she heard the front door open.
“Jack?” she cried, knowing it couldn’t be, but wishing it anyway. “Jack, is that—”
“It’s me. Jeanette,” her sister called, heading for the kitchen.
Abby rubbed her face dry, grabbed a pot, and started scrubbing.
“Wow, looks like a tornado touched down in there. Where’s your waiter? Can I give you a hand?”
Keeping her back turned, Abby attempted a cheerful “Sure, that would be great. Thanks, sis.”
Jeanette stopped. “Are you all right?”
“Sure. Fine.”
The younger girl came closer and peeked over her sister’s shoulder. “Hey, you’ve been crying.”
“Onions,” Abby answered hastily.
“Huh-uh, those aren’t onion tears! Oh, Abby, what’s the matter?” Her sister’s unlikely show of weakness had her scared. “What happened? Did you and Jack have a fight?”
“No. It’s Simon. We had a—a small business disagreement.”
“Oh.” Jeanette sighed with relief. “Is that all? Well, why don’t you go find Jack and get some good hugs
? You’d feel better in no time!”
Abby just closed her eyes, pressing one hand to her damp forehead. “Sometimes it is hard to believe that we are sisters, Jeanette.”
“I know. It takes me back at times too.” She laughed. “But anyway, I’m sorry that creep gave you a bad time. Would a hug from me help?”
“A hug is not what I need!”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Hugs help. Hugs and kisses are even better. And some good, strong arms wrapped around you can sure feel good. Now, I,” she added quickly, seeing Abby’s eyes widen, “am speaking only from what I see in the movies, you understand. But you, Abby, you’ve got the real thing!”
“For all the good it does.” Abby sighed.
“You have to give it a chance, Abby. You have to be willing to admit you can’t do everything, that you need someone,” Jeanette insisted with quiet sincerity. “So why don’t you let me mind the store, and you go find Jack.”
“Oh, he’s easy to find. He’s in the hospital. He went ’gator hunting and got himself bitten by a water moccasin.”
“Oh, no!” Jeanette gasped. “Is he okay? Where did he get bitten? Was it awful? How big a snake? Did you get to stay with him all night?”
“Jeanette, take it easy. He’ll be fine—”
“But I can’t stand it. He’s so wonderful, and if anything happened to him, I—I—” She started to cry, and suddenly Abby found herself crying again too.
“Oh, sis, don’t, please!” Jeanette said. “Here, have a tissue. Sit down. I’ll call Jack for you.”
And before Abby could answer, Jeanette was dialing information for the hospital number, which she just as quickly dialed. “Hi! Mr. Gallagher, please. Jack Gallagher. No, I don’t know the room number—”
“Two-sixteen,” Abby whispered, but her sister was already talking again.
“Hello, Jack?… No, it’s Jeanette, but Abby’s right here.… Yeah, hold on, but are you okay? I almost died when Abby told me! Was it awful? You’re so brave. I couldn’t stand even thinking about your being hurt, and—Yeah, that’s okay. Sure, I’ll put her on. You be good, now, ya hear!”
Abby took the phone. “Hi, Jack.… Oh, I’m fine; don’t worry about me. How are you? You’re really all right? And the swelling went down? Can you walk?… Oh, I bet that’s a sight!” She gave a hiccupy little laugh. “Jack, when can you come home?”
She listened to the low, husky sound of his voice, letting it fill her from her toes to the top of her head. Everything else disappeared, the way everyday sounds fade when you hold a shell to your ear and the roar of the sea encompasses you. All her hard edges melted, and she felt warm and alive, happy for the first moment that day.
“What?” she asked, brought back to reality. “I’m sorry, what did you say?… day after tomorrow? Yes, oh yes, I’ll be there! Maybe I can even sneak over before the dinner rush, if I can get caught up, and if—what?” She laughed softly, an easy little laugh aimed at herself. “I guess I am running in ten directions at once again, but—but I suddenly had this awful need to see you.”
His answer made her blush. “I love you too,” she whispered, and hung up the phone.
Jeanette was grinning at her. “Didn’t I tell you about hugs?”
“Okay, little sister, for once, you were right. Just don’t let it go to your head. Now, I’ve got to get started on this evening’s menu. Let’s see, there’s the puff pastry to do, and then Lena can shell the peas, and … Hey! Would you run down into Zellwood and get me a couple of bushels of white corn? Oh, Jeanette, everything’s going to be all right.”
At eight-thirty Wednesday morning Abby was standing in front of her half-steamed bathroom mirror, blowing her hair dry, thinking of Jack and grinning at herself like a giddy teenager.
Jack … Jack … Jack. It was the sound her heart made as it pounded in her throat. There, she could see her own pulse, its wild fluttering beneath her skin. Jack. In a few minutes she would see him, touch him. Oh, she’d touch him, all right. She’d make up for her silly anger the other night at the hospital. And she’d tell him—no! she’d show him—how much she really did love him, and she’d make him forget all her mistakes. I mean, a person couldn’t change all at once, right? And she had spent so many years holding back that it was hard to let go all of a sudden. But she would! She could, and she’d prove it, and—
There was a loud knock at the screen door.
Jeanette? Now, that girl was supposed to be home. I’ll murder her if she’s come to tag along, and I don’t care how crazy she is about Jack!
Aloud she yelled, “Okay, okay, I’m coming!” She pulled the door open. “Jeanette? Oh, Harry! And Mr. Wyler! What a surprise. What is it?”
“Can we talk to you a minute, Abby?”
“Well, I—I was just on my way out.”
Harry Griffin tugged the bill down on his baseball cap, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shifted his feet on the tiny front step. “It’s kind of important, if you could spare a minute.”
The air went out of her balloon with a hiss. “Sure, Harry, Mr. Wyler, you all come in and sit down. Let me get you a cup of coffee.”
“No, thanks, we won’t trouble you for anything.”
The two men remained standing, looking at the floor.
“Thing is,” Harry, the official spokesman, said, “we want to know why you canceled our deliveries after all these years, and without even a word or a howdy-do.”
Abby blinked. “Canceled my orders? Me? I don’t know what you mean. I mean”—she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief—“I can’t run the Paradise without chicken and fish!”
Neither man cracked a smile.
Abby dropped into a chair. “Please. Sit down. Now, tell me what’s going on.”
“I got a letter yesterday saying you’d no longer be doing business with me.”
“That’s right,” Wyler echoed.
“ ‘We’re taking our business elsewhere at a fairer price’ were the exact words,” he quoted, angrily meeting her eyes. “Not what I expected from an old friend.”
“We are old friends! And you must know I’d never do that. If I had to cancel an order, you know I’d talk to you in person! But I didn’t cancel anything!”
“Your partner did. Sent it with a bank check, right to the penny. And a copy to your lawyers, it said. Any future deliveries would be returned at my expense.”
“That’s right,” came the echo.
“Well, ignore it!” Abby snapped. “Damn that man.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. Then she looked up, cold-eyed and determined. “Harry, Mr. Wyler, I’m sorry about this. But you just go on delivering my orders, and I’ll take care of this mix-up. And I apologize for the confusion.” She stood up and offered her hand. “Thanks for coming over.”
“Uh—Abby, you might want to give Gebbaurer a call if, I mean, if you want to keep using Sumter Laundry. He—uh, he got the same letter.” The man was stammering, uncomfortable to be telling her things she obviously didn’t know about her own business.
And Abby felt sick. Sick and embarrassed. Shamed before these men who had watched her build the Paradise up from nothing, friends who had respected and encouraged her.
Keeping her head up, she walked over to the phone and picked up a pad and pencil. “Who else? Who else had I better call?”
She made seven calls that morning, apologizing, explaining. Her whole body was shaking with the frustration she kept hidden as she spoke. Her voice was calm, steady, reassuring, but her stomach was clenching and unclenching like a fist. The last call was to Simon. His answering machine was on, and when she was done with her message she hoped it was smoking! Then she slammed the receiver down and sank back in her chair. What a morning! What a damn awful morning!
And the blood rushed out of her head. Leaping up, she felt the walls spin, the floor buck up to meet her. She fell to her knees, catching hold of the chair cushion and clinging there. Jack! It was past eleven and she hadn’t gone to get him, hadn�
�t even called! He’d think she had forgotten him. And she had forgotten!
Another wave of sickness washed over her. There was something wrong with her. Something was definitely the matter; something was missing or broken. Here was the most wonderful man in the world, the most handsome, the bravest, strongest, most exciting man, and she’d left him standing at the curb. Was she crazy?
Grabbing her shoulder bag, she raced out the door.
The hour-long drive to the hospital seemed to take ten hours.
He wasn’t waiting outside, in front of the main entrance. “Obviously, you dope!” she muttered, “since it’s ninety-five degrees and you’re three hours late!” She zipped into a parking spot and ran up the drive to the main waiting room. No Jack. Up to the nurse’s station on two. No Jack.
“Well, Abby, there you are,” said Lorene Gray, the nurse who had delivered Jeanette sixteen years before. “Guess you and Mr. Gallagher got your wires crossed.”
“Where is he?”
“Why, Jeanette came and picked him up. When he couldn’t reach you—”
“Business crisis,” Abby interrupted, too flustered to maintain her usual reserve.
“That’s what they figured.” The nurse laughed. “Anyway, they’re long gone.” Picking up a chart, she added, “He’s some looker, that fellow of yours.”
“Pardon?” Abby stared.
“Now, Abigail Jean, I may be married thirty-seven years come October, but I still do notice things. And that one’s hard to miss. They sure do raise ’em big in Colorado, don’t they?” With a hearty laugh, she sailed into a patient’s room.
Abby raised a cloud of dust along the dirt road to the marina. “Jack? Hello—hello—” she called, jumping onto the deck of the houseboat. “Jack?” She heard a crash and a clatter from inside, and then there he was in the doorway, a dark, tousled-haired giant, bare-chested, leaning on a pair of crutches.
“Well, hello.”
“Hi.” She was balanced on the edge of hysteria; she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Hi. Oh, you look fine.” Her heart tumbled over. “Oh, Jack, I’m sorry. Things got crazy this morning just as I was going out the door to get you, and then I couldn’t get away, and—and I’m sorry.” The wave of momentum that had carried her this far crested and withdrew. “I’m sorry.”
Paradise Cafe Page 13
