by Lisa Patton
It felt quite lovely to be back in a man’s arms. I closed my eyes and settled into his embrace, Van’s lyrics transporting me into a world far across the sea. Ever so slowly, we inched along with the music. Peter and I almost made it around two full circles before the inn phone started to ring. Nervously, each of us looked up, waiting for the other to make a move toward the kitchen. Please stop ringing, I thought. But reservations are money in this business and to ignore a phone call is to kiss away cash. It kept ringing and ringing. And it wouldn’t stop.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, letting go of his hand and moving away from his embrace.
“Wouldn’t want to miss a reservation, right?”
“Right,” I whispered, hoping he would stop me.
When he didn’t, I hurried into the kitchen.
I answered the phone, “Peach Blossom Inn,” and a man started right into the conversation.
“Leelee, you’ve got your wish!”
His voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it. “Excuse me?”
“You’re going home. You can be in Memphis as soon as you’ve got a moving van to pack up your things.”
“Ed? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else would be calling you with great news? I’ve got a buyer who is ready, with cash, to close as soon as you can vacate.”
I had to sit down on the red stool to steady myself. “You’ve got a buyer? You’ve got to be kidding. I had no idea you’d even been by to show the inn.”
“I haven’t been by. These folks knew about the place the last time it was on the market. They don’t need to see it again. They’re ready to move forward immediately. Isn’t this great? I told you I’d get it sold.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I said, in a not-so-excited way.
“I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“It’s just that you caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting your call.” Peter was in the kitchen by this time, watching me curiously.
“Hey, I know it’s late but I just wanted to give you the good news. I’ll call tomorrow and we can iron out all the details. Good night, Leelee. And congratulations.”
“Good night.”
I slowly hung up the receiver and glanced down at the floor, searching for the right words, the right emotions . . . the right way to feel. I had longed for this moment from the minute I stepped foot onto the soil of the state of Vermont, fourteen months ago. Here it was, finally upon me, and I wasn’t even sure how to react. Thoughts of home were no longer consuming me every single minute of the day.
“Who was that? Obviously not a reservation,” Peter said.
“No. It wasn’t.”
“Then who was it?” The gleam in his eyes served as a reminder of the tender moments we had just shared.
I hesitated before answering him. “Ed Baldwin.”
“The real estate guy?”
I slowly nodded. “Yeah.” Peter could tell I was stalling, I’m sure, because I couldn’t say anything for a few moments, creating an uncomfortable silence. Finally, it spilled out. “He’s got a buyer.”
Right away, Peter looked down at his feet, and then mustered a smile. “Well, what do you know? That’s great, boss! You’ve got your wish. You’re finally going home. Good for you. I’m happy for you. Give me five.” He raised his hand and slapped mine, which I had barely raised at all. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
He felt my forehead. “You don’t feel sick. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me, it’s just that . . .”
“It’s just what? That you’re afraid I’ll be upset I’m losing my job?”
“Well, yeah, that’s part of it.”
“You don’t need to be concerned with that. I can find another job in a heartbeat,” he said defensively. “You’ll give me a good recommendation, won’t you, boss?”
“Of course I will, that goes without saying. But—”
“Hey, I’ve heard the Sugartree Inn is looking for a chef. I’ll call them in the morning. No sweat. I’m cool.”
He acted like he wasn’t bothered at all, that replacing his job at the Peach Blossom Inn was all in a day’s work. Next thing I knew, he was headed over to the back door and grabbing his coat off the hook. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna head out. See ya Tuesday.”
He never even gave me a chance to move off the stool he was in such a hurry. So I just waved.
He waved back, headed out the door, and was gone. And so was our dance.
Why did I answer that stupid phone call? Why, why, why? We could have at least finished our dance. And then . . . and then what? Did I think he would have kissed me? Did I even want him to kiss me? I sat on the stool all alone in the huge commercial kitchen of the Peach Blossom Inn and glanced around, ready to cry.
The big pots hung above the line and the dishwashing station was wiped clean. The floor was mopped down and the rubber mats hung over the sinks to dry. The liquor bottles were placed neatly one in front of the other and all the plates were stacked and in place. I rose to get a better view of the ovens and I glanced over to where Peter usually stood behind the line.
He really is drop-dead gorgeous. Over six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes, and a body so red hot, I could melt anywhere near it. I pictured him standing there with his apron folded in half, tied around his waist, and wearing his black-and-white checked chef pants. A bandanna wrapped around his forehead instead of a big, billowy white hat. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? And now, I learn he’s been hiding unspeakable grief.
Somehow my pain seemed minuscule in comparison. If something happened to Sarah or Isabella I’d go out of my mind. I don’t think I could breathe another day into my body if I tried. Here he finally gets up the nerve to talk to me about it and I finally get the call I spent the first six months praying for.
Another beer? Why not. I grabbed a Corona, opened it, and wandered back out to my fire in the parlor. Walking up to the boom box, I searched through the CD ’til I found track five again. I hit Play and slowly drifted back over to the front of my fire to savor every moment of Van’s voice.
“We were born”—I closed my eyes and lifted up my right arm—“before the wind”—I clasped his invisible hand into mine and I wrapped my arm around his waist. Slowly, I started moving with him. The top of my head brushed just under his chin and I pressed in closer to him this time, less timid and more willing to feel his beautiful body next to mine. I moved my legs in between his so that our bodies were touching all the way from head to toe. Round and round we glided to the unhurried rhythm of the song. Ever so tenderly, he reached down and lifted my chin off his chest. With inviting eyes, he leaned in and gently placed his lips upon mine. Kissing me softly once, twice, thrice; he slowly opened my mouth with his. Now his arms were wrapped around me as he tenderly savored my kiss and held me ’til the ballad’s end.
As the piano sounded its last chord, I let my arms drift back down to my side. Wanting to thank him for the dance, I slowly opened my eyes to smile at him.
Where’d you go? Please don’t leave. Not yet. Just one more dance?
Not tonight. My partner had silently vanished into the mystic.
Chapter Twenty-two
Huge flakes cascaded down from the sky and landed one on top of the other, quickly covering any patch that had melted away from the previous snowfall. Neither of my little girls were awake so I walked around the inn, admiring its beauty, especially in contrast to that first day when I stepped foot in the foyer. The houseitosis was completely gone and the place looked like another inn altogether.
After bundling up, I ventured outside to take a look at the front of the place. There my beautiful new sign hung in place of the old Vermont Haus Inn rusted one. PEACH BLOSSOM INN was in beautiful script with perfect little peaches in place of the two Os in “Blossom.” I remember when the man de
livered it last July. Peter and I raced each other to the front door to watch the man hang it. Peter was so proud of the way it looked. I thought nothing of it at the time, but in looking back on it now, I remember he picked me up and twirled me around he was so happy. I was kind of happy, but I was thinking more about getting back to Memphis than my new sign.
Then there was the day the new menus arrived. We used the new logo on peach parchment and the lettering itself was exquisite. Peter beamed every time he picked one up. I always thought it was because I had added his name to the menu, along with mine, as a courtesy to him. Your hosts, Leelee Satterfield—Innkeeper & Peter Owen—Chef.
Now I was realizing that it was much more than that. Peter put time and thought into every single detail of that menu. It took him a solid week to finalize the entrées and he spent hours and hours searching through his vast collection of cookbooks to come up with the perfect bill of fare. In the last eight months, Peter Owen had never missed one hour of work, forgotten to place a food order, wasted one cut of meat, over-ordered a single time, or let me down in any way. He had been there for me, unconditionally and with a smile, every single, solitary day since Baker Satterfield left me to run that place all by myself. And now he was losing his job.
But I warned him in the initial interview that this could happen. I remember distinctly being honest and up-front about the possibility of the inn selling at any time. The more I thought about it though, guilt was not the emotion I was feeling. It was sorrow. Sorrow over the end of the song, the end of the adventure, the end of the dream. I wasn’t quite sure whose dream I was mourning or which one, but it was a melancholy time nonetheless.
It was getting mighty cold outside and by now I was covered in snow. As I stepped back into the foyer for warmth I heard Roberta pull up in her little Ford Taurus and park just outside the kitchen in the side parking lot.
She seemed startled when she walked out of the bathroom. I was waiting right outside the door.
“Oops, you scared me,” she said. “You’re up mighty early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Did you finally break down and buy a scanner?” Roberta giggled, amused with herself.
“No, Roberta, never.”
“Follow me upstairs if you want to chat,” she said, heading out of the kitchen. “I’ve gut to make up the guest room in the front.”
I followed her up to the linen closet and then into the unmade bedroom, where I sat down on a chair in the corner.
Roberta unfolded the sheets. “Now then, why ain’t you sleepin’?”
“Ed Baldwin called last night. He’s got a buyer.”
“You don’t say! Why, you must be as happy as a fly drowning in new, warm syrup.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sure, I’m happy. It’s what I’ve been wanting for over a year. But I never would have imagined in a million years that my happiness would feel this unhappy.”
Roberta went about her business of tucking in the corners of the sheets, her little round body stretching over the bed as she flattened out the top sheet with her hand. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I know I’m no shrink, but I think you’re a lot happier than you realize. Right here in Vermont.”
I thought about what she said but I didn’t answer her right away. I helped her spread the blanket out over the bed. “But Memphis is my home,” I finally replied, “and I miss it.”
“It seems to me that everything’s falling in place right here in Willingham. The inn’s makin’ money, you’ve got it decorated awfully nice. Helga’s gone, and you’re not crying every day over Baker. And that’s thanks to Peter.” She stared right into my eyes.
“He stepped right into the chef’s job, didn’t he?” I picked up the bedspread from another chair and tossed it onto the bed. “That does help, I have to admit.”
“I’m not talking about Peter helping out with the cooking, I mean he gives you something to smile about. You turn into a glowworm any time he comes around.”
“I do?”
“Yuup, you do.”
“When do I glow?”
“The minute he walks in the room. Why, the same goes for him. He lights up like a firefly whenever you get near him. Call me nuts if you want to, but that’s my observance.” She shook out the pillow and held it up under her chin. Then shook it down into a freshly laundered case.
“Hmmm.”
“It’s something to think about.” Roberta’s eyebrows popped up and she smiled a toothless grin as she plopped the pillow onto the bed.
______
I was in the big kitchen taking a reservation when Jeb showed up, apparently ready to spend his day off—and mine—talking. I didn’t have to break the news to him. Roberta nabbed him before he even made it into the kitchen.
“When do you leave?” Jeb said, as soon as I hung up the phone.
“Ed said I could leave as soon as I pack up my stuff but I still have to hire a mover. Maybe in a couple of months or so.”
“You want to stay two more months in this winter? Are you sure you’re still Leelee?” Jeb walked up and knocked on my head.
“I was just thinking that all the moving vans are probably booked up, that’s all.”
“I doubt that. But what do I know about moving vans? I’ve never lived anywhere else in thirty-nine years, except right acrosst the street.” Jeb combed his beard with his fingers and looked off to the side. “I might end up down south. You never know. I think I might like it down there.”
“Really? Jeb Duggar, you mean to tell me that you would actually leave Vermont behind?”
“I might,” he said, nodding his head, lips pursed.
“Well, the upside is there’s hardly ever any snow, not that many chimneys to sweep, and you sure don’t have to get up on the roof to chip ice. And you can be assured of this, you’ll never find a roof rake in any hardware store, no matter how hard you look.”
“Hmmm, I guess that means my plowing business might suffer.” Nervously, he twirled the edges of his mustache.
“Oh, it would suffer all right. Try nonexistent.”
“Then what could I do down south?”
“I guess you could still be a handyman; I mean houses need fixing there, too.”
“Why, sure.”
“And you could paint. And wallpaper and wash dishes in a restaurant. Or how about your own business? Jeb’s Computer World shouldn’t be that hard to move.”
Jeb puffed out his chest and I could see the wheels turning in that head of his. He hadn’t even thought about JCW. “I’ll think about it.” He said it like he thought I was trying to talk him into it. “Mom’s pretty sold on Vermont. She’s never lived anywhere else either. And, you’re wrong about something. It is hard to move a business. Jeb’s Computer World’s got a reputation around here.”
“Yes, it does. And not only in Willingham. JCW’s reputation has spread all the way to Tennessee.”
“I might give Alice and them a call,” Jeb said, like they were thick. “They told me when they were here they’d all be fighting over me if I lived in Tennessee.”
Bless his heart. “Any time you’re ready for their numbers, just ask.” I could just picture Alice now when Richard told her there was a Jeb Duggar on the phone for her.
“Mommeeeee,” Isabella cried, reaching out her arms to me, and I squeezed in between the two of them. Sarah crawled up in my lap and Isabella nudged in next to her on my other leg. I kissed the tops of both of their heads and wrapped my arms around them. Their little bodies were warm even though the temperature outside was negative fifteen.
What am I doing to them? I thought as I held them tightly. All they ever do now is watch TV. They don’t go outside, except when they’re at school, and the teachers make all the kids go out for recess, no matter how cold. I’m not about to take them out for longer than fifteen minutes at a time. There is absolutely nothing else to do here, I thought. We go into Manchester every now and then
to get to McDonald’s. That McDonald’s has to be the only one in the country without a playground.
Thank goodness for Sarah’s kindergarten class. The school bus took them to ski on Tuesdays and that was kind of cool. In fact when I went up to the mountain to watch last week, the instructor had all the kids following behind him, snowplowing without any poles. It was quite the sight to see all those children, seven and under, twisting and turning single file down a green slope all bundled up in hats and snowsuits.
I tried skiing in Vermont, really I did, but the temperatures up on the mountain were always under zero, always. It was unbearable to me. My toe heaters helped, but I was still miserable being outside for any length of time.
I seriously considered exactly what there was to offer my little girls if we stayed. Kids ice skated on ponds around Willingham, but that scared me. Which reminded me of another thing. No swimming pools in Vermont. I could have either skiers or swimmers. That was my choice.
“Girls,” I said softly, and leaned down in between their little faces. “What would y’all say if I told you we could be home soon?”
Sarah took her thumb out of her mouth, and held it up, wet, like she would go right back to it. “In Memphis?”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“To our old house with Daddy?”
“No, not to our old house, but we’d find another one.”
“With Daddy?” Sarah asked once more.
“I don’t think so, angel, but he could come visit.”
“Doesn’t he love us anymore?”
