First and Again

by Jana Richards

  It had been a good day. By the end of the afternoon she knew she’d be able to create a terrific apple pie completely on her own. The only thing marring her pleasure was the confrontation she’d had with Jack. How could he be so stubborn and so blind when it came to his own daughter?

  As if she’d summoned him, he appeared at the kitchen door. He walked into the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of water from the tap. Bridget glanced at him and then turned her attention back to her work, afraid she might open her mouth and say something she’d regret later.

  He leaned against the counter and stared at his dusty boots.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “It’s not easy for me. Being a single parent is tough.”

  She ran her dishcloth under the faucet, and squeezed out the excess moisture with brutal force. She scrubbed the stainless steel sink. “Of course, I wouldn’t have any idea what it’s like to be a single parent.”

  Jack sighed. “Of course you do. But it’s different for you. Becky is a normal kid. When you have a child with Down syndrome it’s not the same.”

  He had a point there. But she suspected Leslie wasn’t operating anywhere near her potential because he hadn’t allowed her to.

  It wasn’t any of her business how Jack Davison raised his daughter. But maybe there was just a little something she could do for Leslie.

  “You’re right. I don’t really know what it’s been like for you to raise Leslie anymore than you know what these last two years have been like for me raising Rebecca on my own. But I do know one thing. Now that Leslie knows how to set the table I want her to help me with that when your German guests arrive.”

  She held her breath. His eyes were so strikingly blue, almost shocking in their intensity. When he turned that blue stare on her it was all she could do not to squirm.

  “I guess that would be okay,” he said at last. He pushed himself away from the counter and headed to the fridge. “Something smells good. What’s for supper?”

  It was obvious he no longer wanted to talk about his daughter. That suited her just fine.

  “Gladys made a chicken casserole for you. It’s warming in the oven. And there’s some leftover pie in the fridge.”

  “Since Leslie isn’t here, there’s way too much food for one person. Would you like to stay for supper?”

  She would have been less surprised if he’d ordered her off his ranch and told her to mind her own damn business. He seemed calm, as if he didn’t care what she decided, but the set of his shoulders and his downcast gaze told her otherwise. Perhaps their argument earlier bothered him as much as it had her. Maybe this was his way of offering an olive branch.

  “Supper sounds good.”

  She set the table while Jack poured each of them a glass of milk. She brought the hot casserole dish from the oven and set it on a trivet, lifting the lid to let the fragrant aroma of tomatoes and basil escape. He smiled with pleasure when he took his first bite.

  “This is terrific.”

  “Gladys is a wonderful cook,” Bridget said, sampling her own chicken cacciatore.

  “So are you. I remember some of the stuff you used to make with your Uncle Frank in the restaurant. That was the best little restaurant for miles.”

  “I used to be a very good chef,” she said with a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “I’m a little rusty these days.”

  She took a sip of milk, trying to think of a way to change the subject. She decided that business was the safest topic.

  “I’ve come up with some simple appetizers for the luncheon.”

  “We don’t usually serve appetizers,” he said. “It’s never been something Gladys has felt comfortable with.”

  “This is very simple. I thought a little brushetta and a crudités with locally grown ingredients would be a nice touch.”

  “I have no idea what you just said. You’ll need to translate for me.”

  She smiled. “Sorry. Brushetta is chopped fresh tomatoes mixed with olive oil and spices and served over toasted rounds of French bread. Crudités are veggies with dip.”

  He finished the last bite of his cacciatore. “That sounds doable. Maybe we’ll look like we have a little class. The tourists may come to see the real West but that doesn’t mean they don’t want five-star dining.”

  “I just want this lunch to go well. I want every detail to be perfect.”

  She toyed with the remains of her casserole, her appetite deserting her. What if something went wrong? What if she messed up the beef Stroganoff, or burned the pies? What if there was something wrong with the food, and God forbid, she made someone ill again?

  “Whoa, take it easy. I think that chicken has suffered enough.” He placed his hand over hers, preventing her from stirring the casserole around her plate. Her face flamed in mortification when she realized she’d spread bits of chicken and tomato onto the kitchen table.

  Jack placed two fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. “I won’t make you go through with this lunch if it’s causing you this much anxiety. I’ll explain the situation to my guests and take them into the city for a meal. It’s not worth making you ill.”

  “I have to do this,” she said, closing her eyes against the concern she saw in his expression. “We made a deal, and I can’t go back on it now. Rebecca is doing so much better.”

  “What do you mean, she’s doing better?” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Better than what?”

  His concern for her daughter seemed real. “She’s had problems in the past.”

  She found herself telling Jack about how Rebecca got into difficulties at her previous school, and had almost slipped into the same behavior at the Paradise high school. She struggled to hold back tears. “She needs me to be strong for her right now. If I go back on my promise to you and she doesn’t ride anymore, I’m afraid she’ll quit counseling. I’m afraid if I don’t help her she’ll get into the kind of trouble that will ruin the rest of her life.”

  He looked into her eyes. “No matter what happens with this luncheon, whether you cook it or not, Rebecca is always welcome to ride here. She’s a good kid. If you can’t do the lunch, I won’t make her stop.”

  She stared at him, stunned. Immediately a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Knowing that she could pull out without affecting Rebecca’s future made all the difference.

  He turned her hand over in his. “What’s made you so scared, Bridget? Celia said that you trained in France, that you worked at some of the fanciest restaurants in San Francisco before operating your own catering business. You’ve probably cooked a thousand meals far more complex than this one. Why would a little luncheon like this make you so scared?”

  His hand felt warm in hers, lending comfort and support. She saw no recriminations in his eyes like she’d seen in Ben’s, no blame, or disappointment, or anger.

  “I made some people really sick.”

  It was such a relief to say the words aloud. For so long the truth had been hiding in her heart, unspoken. Something in Jack’s eyes was so reassuring that she just opened up and began to talk.

  “We were catering a wedding,” she began. She held on tightly to his hand. “The bride wanted salmon. I purchased several dozen from a supplier I’d used many times before. But this time something went wrong.”

  “What happened?”

  “Normally, I would have worked on the main course myself, but Ben, my ex-husband, insisted that he needed help with the dessert. It was a fancy crepe that needed a lot of prep. So my assistant prepared the salmon dish. He didn’t realize the fish was off. Over thirty people became ill, some so severally they had to be hospitalized. One little girl almost didn’t make it.” She shivered at the thought. “The bride and groom sued us. We settled out of court but the damage was done. Word about food poisoning gets around pretty quickly in the catering business. No one would hire us. We lost our business and all our equipment, and then our house. Pretty soon our marriage fell apart too.”

  He pulled a ti
ssue from his pocket and silently passed it to her. Bridget wiped her eyes.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to work in a restaurant or in catering again. Rebecca and I got an apartment and I got a job in a grocery store. It barely paid enough to cover the rent. I had to take Rebecca out of private school and cancel her riding lessons. That’s when she started to get into trouble.”

  “If you didn’t work with the fish, how can you blame yourself for what happened?”

  She took a deep breath. “If I’d checked the fish myself, maybe I would have recognized that something was wrong. I was responsible for ordering all the food. I was the senior chef. It was my responsibility to make sure all the food was safe.”

  “It seems to me that your ex-husband and your assistant deserve some of the blame here as well. And what about the people who sold you the bad fish? Aren’t they responsible for some of this?”

  “I spoke to my distributor right after this happened. He swore the salmon had been flown in from Seattle the day before and had been refrigerated the whole time. I saw the boxes the fish came in and I saw the date stamp. I don’t understand what could have happened.”

  “I don’t understand either, but I know one thing. You did everything possible to make your kitchen safe. I think other people let you down.”

  It was kind of him to say so, even if she didn’t believe it. She and Jack had developed a strange sort of relationship. At times they seemed totally at odds, and at other times they were each other’s best support. In many ways he was very different from the person he’d been at nineteen, and in some ways exactly the same.

  As she sat holding his hand, she slowly came to realize two things. First of all, she wanted to cook the lunch for his guests. She wanted to make it perfect, not because of what he’d promised to Rebecca but because she wanted to do it. For the first time in two years she actually felt excited by the prospect of being in a kitchen again.

  The second thing she realized was that despite their differences, she desperately wanted to sleep with him. But she knew herself well enough to know that she could never have sex without involving her heart. No way she’d go down that road again.

  She pulled her hand carefully from his, determined to put some distance between them.

  “Your luncheon will be wonderful,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The little bell over the door in Celia’s shop tinkled as Bridget entered. Aside from Celia, the shop was empty, but then she knew it would be, since she’d phoned ahead and discovered that her sister was between clients.

  “Hi. I come bearing gifts.”

  She held out the piece of pie she’d saved for her sister. Celia eagerly reached for it.

  “This looks delicious. Did you make it yourself?”

  “Hardly. It was a group effort.”

  Celia removed the plastic wrap covering the pie and pulled a fork from a drawer. She took a bite and moaned, a look of complete rapture on her face. Bridget laughed.

  “Would you like me to leave you two alone?”

  “Oh my God! This is so good! You really are talented, Bridge.”

  “Like I said, it was a group effort. Martha taught me how to make the pastry and Gladys worked on the filling.”

  Celia took another bite and smiled. “Well, it’s a winning combination. Now that you’ve perfected this recipe, what are you going to do with it?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.” She told Celia about her deal with Jack. “Do you think you could help me with some of the prep work?”

  She consulted her appointment book. “What day is it on?”

  When Bridget told her, she frowned. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a big wedding booked that day. I’ll be up to my elbows in up-dos all morning.”

  Bridget did her best to hide her disappointment. “That’s okay. I can manage. It’s only a luncheon and only for six people.”

  At one time she would have been able to handle a simple affair like this on her own with one hand tied behind her back. Even now she could handle the work herself. But it would have been nice to have Celia present, to lend moral support. And aside from that, it would have been nice to have an excuse to spend time with her sister.

  “I could ask Megan,” Celia said. “She likes to cook.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.” She polished off the rest of the pie and set down her plate. “Was asking me to help you with Jack’s dinner the only reason you dropped by today?”

  “That and to bring you the pie. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  “I don’t know. Is it? I have a feeling you have more on your mind than food.”

  Bridget wandered around the shop on the pretense of examining photos of beautiful people modeling beautiful haircuts. Nervousness kept her from looking into her sister’s face.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about wanting to be real sisters, the kind that talk about stuff, and stick together, no matter what. Do you think that’s possible for us?”

  “Anything’s possible, if we want it enough. Do you want it?”

  She made herself look into Celia’s eyes. “Yes, I do. Very much.”

  Celia smiled and took her hand. “Good. So do I.”

  Unexpected tears clogged her throat. She laughed, surprised by the strength of the emotion that made her want to weep in relief.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” she said, a little embarrassed as tears escaped down her cheeks.

  Celia gently wiped away her tears with the pad of her thumb, her smile tender.

  “Maybe it’s time to have a good cry and wash away the past. Maybe it’s time for new beginnings.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “Let’s start all over.” Celia extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Celia. I’m your older sister. What’s your name?”

  She took Celia’s hand. Perhaps this was what they needed, a clean slate, a new beginning.

  “Hi, I’m Bridget. I’m your little sister.”

  * * *

  “Are you Mavis Turner?”

  The uniformed delivery man stood just inside the bar with his clipboard in his hand and a pen at the ready. She wondered if he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.

  “That’s my mother, but we’re not expecting a delivery.”

  He consulted his clipboard once more. “No, this is definitely for you. Mavis Turner, Paradise Motel, Paradise, North Dakota. Take a look.”

  She set down her mop and pail and took the offered clipboard. There was no doubt about it. Her mother’s name and address definitely appeared on the man’s list. She handed back the clipboard, glancing at the regular group of old boys having coffee at their favorite table. They’d stopped talking to listen with rapt attention.

  “I don’t understand. We haven’t ordered anything. Where is this delivery from?”

  “From Prairie Pride Restaurant Supply Company in Bismarck. It’s a commercial oven. Where would you like it?”

  What the hell was going on?

  “Hey Bridget, does this mean you’re reopening the restaurant?” Don asked.

  Her mother entered the bar from the staircase leading upstairs to their apartment. She smiled at the delivery man.

  “Oh good, the oven’s here. You can bring it right through here into the restaurant.”

  The delivery man had Mavis sign his clipboard, clearly relieved that someone knew what was going on. He hurried back to his truck. Bridget turned to her mother.

  “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

  She took Mavis’s arm and steered her toward the empty restaurant, mindful of the speculation going on back in the bar.

  “Why on earth did you buy a commercial oven? I told you I’m not interested in opening the restaurant.”

  “I realize that, but I’m thinking that with no other restaurant in town I have an obligation to reopen. The town needs a restaura
nt and I’m the only person who can provide one.”

  “But you don’t like the restaurant business,” she argued. “You never have. If you reopen I’m going to get pulled into this operation whether I like it or not. I don’t like being manipulated, Mother.”

  “No one’s trying to manipulate you.” Mavis frowned, her eyes turning hot with anger. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. Everything’s not always about Bridget.”

  She took a step back. She’d rarely seen Mavis angry, even when she’d been a teenager and had deliberately tried to provoke her.

  “Okay then, if I’m not going to run the restaurant, who is? You don’t cook, and besides, running a restaurant requires stamina. You’ll run yourself ragged if you try to do this on your own.”

  “Are you saying I’m too old to run my business?” Mavis’s eyes narrowed and her lips compressed into a thin, angry line. “I’m not ready for the nursing home just yet. For your information, I’ve got someone in mind to run the restaurant, someone who won’t give me as much grief as you do.”

  She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Bridget threw up her hands in frustration. She tore off her apron and marched out of the restaurant. Could she and her mother ever have a civil conversation?

  * * *

  A few moments later Bridget found herself entering her sister’s hairdressing shop for the second time that day, her thoughts in chaos. She almost walked straight out again when she saw Tina Wilson sitting in Celia’s chair, getting the finishing touches on her new hairdo.

  “Hey, sis,” Celia said with a smile. “What brings you by again?”

  “I had a few minutes to spare so I thought I’d stop by. But I see you’re busy.” She turned and opened the door. “I can come back another time.”