by Lacey Baker
The moment she’d mentioned the girlfriend Nikki had a spurt of memory. Her name had been Sharane Houston; her father, Brett, owned The Cigar Shop on Birch Street. Sharane died the year Quinn graduated from high school. But for about two years before then he and Sharane had been just about glued to each other.
“Thank you, ma’am,” was all Quinn said before leaving the room.
The rest of the day for Nikki proceeded without any further incidents. After seeing the Rileys out she went into her office to work on the books. They appeared to be in the black, just as they had in all the years she’d been working here. Why the taxes hadn’t been paid was still a mystery to her. And the bad part of that mystery was that there wasn’t enough cash on hand to simply pay the taxes and be done with it, not without sacrificing their credit standing or leaving most of their employees unpaid. Neither of those was an option Nikki wanted to explore. So instead she tried to be as optimistic as possible. Their summer promotions quickly came to mind. They would certainly hit all the normal promotions that ran throughout the town: romantic getaways, family reunions, and crab feasts. There was a developer looking at acres of land on the other side of Yates Passage. Nikki had heard he planned to build a new resort complete with a golf course, which would definitely be competition.
For right now, however, the romantic getaways and crab feasts worked best for The Silver Spoon. Michelle had a standing agreement with Walt Newsome, a third-generation crabber who ran The Crab Pot restaurant down at the pier. For any crab feast they booked, Walt would send up his best Chesapeake blues already steamed and seasoned with his famous mix that started with good old-fashioned Old Bay Seasoning. Michelle would provide the other crab feast staples: corn on the cob, pulled barbecue pork, barbecue ribs, potato salad, coleslaw, and hot dinner rolls.
To that end, crab feasts were instant moneymakers for them. Nikki scribbled notes on her pad describing a little of what they could offer, from the scenic Chesapeake Bay views to the luxurious and quaint rooms, and ending with the renowned Chesapeake Bay–style cooking of Chef Michelle Cantrell. She worked on the brochure a little longer then pulled up the accounting software on her computer and paid some of the B&B’s bills. The last thing on her to-do list was to make the supply orders Michelle had given her.
She had just finished writing a check when the phone on her desk rang.
“You busy? Please say no,” Cordy began. “I really need to get out of here. My roots are screaming for help, cuticles are getting so big they’re threatening to take over my entire hand.”
“Hello, Cordy. I’m fine and how are you?” Nikki asked, sitting back in her chair and cradling the phone to her ear.
“I’m not fine, didn’t I just say that? But it figures you are since you’re closed in that big old house with those gorgeous Cantrell men.”
“They’re not all here right now, I think,” she replied. She’d been in here for hours so she had no idea where anyone was. But Savannah was leaving in about fifteen minutes so Nikki suspected her siblings would be at the door preparing to see her off. Which, by the way, Nikki figured she should be doing as well.
“What time do you need me to babysit?” she asked. Sometimes it was easier to just cut to the chase with Cordy. The woman could go on and on and on. Nikki attributed that to the fact that she was closed up in the house with three kids for hours on end. The minute she had the ear of an adult she didn’t know when to stop.
“Simone says she can fit me in at five. Can you be here by then? Please say yes,” Cordy pleaded.
“Sure,” she said absently, fingering her own springy curls. “Hey, while you’re at the salon, can you ask Simone if I can come in early tomorrow morning?”
Nikki was not like Cordy, meaning she wasn’t a girlie-girl. Her nails featured permanent cuticle overgrowth; the last time she’d had a manicure was for her senior prom. She rarely did anything with her hair beyond washing it and letting it air-dry, which was why it always had that crazy-frizz-curl look that she figured was like her signature by now. And since she was a little on the skinny and short side, her hair was normally the biggest thing on her. Or at least that’s what her brothers joked.
“You want to get your hair done? Hallelujah! I’ll tell her you can be there first thing in the morning.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Not first thing. I have to come into work first. Maybe around ten thirty so I can be back in time to help Michelle with that luncheon Mom’s having.”
“That luncheon that she’s making me come to even though I told her I didn’t have a babysitter,” Cordy said sarcastically.
“So who’s watching Mimi and Zyra?”
Cordy had three kids: Josiah, who was six years old and happily being bused to the elementary school in Easton; Mimi, a four-year-old girl who loved to primp and prance around as much as her mother did; and Zyra, who was only two and too young to know the difference between professionally teased hair and naturally curly—in other words, Aunt Nikki.
“Caleb’s on the night shift for the rest of the week so Mom had Dad threatened him with another two weeks of it if he didn’t keep them.”
Nikki laughed. Of her two brothers, Caleb was the one who swore he was allergic to children. Brad wasn’t allergic to them, just the women they came from—hence the reason he never stayed in a relationship long enough to produce any.
“That should be fun. Okay, I’ve gotta go, Savannah’s leaving today and I want to say good-bye.”
“Again? I knew she wouldn’t stay here long. That girl has always had her head in the clouds.”
“That’s what they used to say about me. Savannah’s head was always in beauty magazines—and rightfully so, she’s made a huge name for herself.”
“Yeah, but what kind of life does she have? Running from town to town, taking pictures with clothes on and clothes off, having people staring at her all the time, whispering stuff about her. It’s not a happy life if you ask me.”
“She’s super-rich, though,” Nikki said, now slouching in her chair as if that was going to make the sudden feeling of inadequacy disappear.
“Money does not buy everything, Nikki. That girl is miserable. I can see it in her eyes in every one of those pictures she takes. Problem is, she doesn’t know what to look for that’ll make her happy.”
“I think a lot of people have that problem,” Nikki replied thoughtfully.
“Really? You looking for something, little sister?”
This was not a line of questioning Nikki wanted to get started on with Cordy. “No. I was just saying. It seems to me that all the Cantrell siblings are looking for something.”
Cordy agreed. “Probably the home they left so fast. Michelle’s the only one with a good head on her shoulders.”
“And yet she’s not married with kids, either. It makes you wonder what happiness means to most people.”
“Well, if you live in Sweetland it means graduating from high school, finding a good husband and a good job, and having some halfway decent kids. We’re very simplistic around here.”
Nikki nodded even though she knew Cordy couldn’t see that motion. “Well, maybe we’re too simplistic for some folks.”
“Not for an entire family of folks, Nik. Their mother left right after the father died. Then one by one each child left as soon as they graduated. It was like they were all being held hostage until their eighteenth birthday.”
“But they went away and became very successful individuals.” Why she was defending them, Nikki had no idea. But having grown up elbow-to-elbow with Savannah, worked with Mary Janet, and grown to know Michelle, she kind of felt like they were relatives. And if Sweetland was a simplistic town, there was something else that went right along with that simplicity—loyalty.
“Success isn’t always in the amount of money in your bank account. All those degrees and titles they have and they all sat right at that funeral and cried for Mary Janet the same way we did. You ask me, they should all be staying here and helping to run that B and B.
She left it to them, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, she did. But they asked me to be manager.” Cordy lived a few blocks away from Nikki and their parents. She usually saw her a couple of times a week but last night she’d wanted to go home and get in bed. Quinn Cantrell had stirred something in her she wasn’t about to share with anyone.
“What? You’re managing the entire place now?” Cordy bellowed.
Another difference between Nikki and her older sister was that Cordy had a very loud and boisterous personality, which was probably why she’d been captain of the cheerleading team during her high school years. Nikki had been on the team but she’d always been on the bottom tier of the pyramid, even though she was the smallest girl on the squad.
“Michelle’s managing the restaurant. I handle the B and B.”
“Nik, that’s still huge! Did you tell Mom and Dad? You know Mom would want to do a dinner or something.”
She was already shaking her head. “That’s exactly why I haven’t told them yet. I don’t need a celebration. It’s a promotion and it was nice. That’s all.”
Cordy was quiet.
“That’s not all. Something’s going on, I can hear it in your voice. Why don’t you want a celebration when you know that means Dad will put out the grill and slap barbecue on every kind of meat he can find at Godfrey’s. It’s your favorite, so why would you intentionally try to avoid it?”
Cordy was also very intuitive. Nosy, pushy, and intuitive.
“Just in a mood since Mrs. Cantrell passed, that’s all.” And her oldest grandson saw me just about naked. She wisely left that part out.
“Okay, I guess so. But we’re going to celebrate. I’ll call Mom and we’ll schedule it for sometime later in the week when things get back to normal.”
“Right. Normal. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll be there at four.”
“Great. Thanks. And Nik—” Cordy always called her Nik, which always reminded Nikki that she was the little sister. “—congratulations. You’re a great success.”
“Thanks, Cordy,” Nikki told her before hanging up. Leave it to Cordy to end up making her feel better.
But her sister’s words left her wondering if success was the only thing she’d get out of her life.
* * *
“This is not acceptable! What kind of place is this that there are no taxis or car services or anything civilized?” Savannah screamed.
“Calm down, Savannah,” Quinn said, moving one of Savannah’s many bags out of the way so she wouldn’t trip on them. “The only taxi here is Hoover King’s and I know you don’t want to ride with him.”
The puppy who’d been designated to Savannah followed her every step with paws that seemed too big for his small frame and ears that followed suit.
“You calm down, Quinn! I’m stuck here and I’m going to miss my plane,” she said.
“Savannah, it is not the end of the world. So the service got your reservation mixed up. When did they say they would be here?”
“They have the reservation for Thursday, not Monday,” she complained.
Quinn had come downstairs to see his sister off and to make his way to the veterinarian’s office. He had some questions about Dixi and wanted to know what he should be looking for in a new owner. Preston had told him again that he’d posted a listing on a website to get rid of his dog. Parker hadn’t said much about his, but seemed to be bonding with the dog. Parker also seemed to be more than content to hang around Sweetland for an indefinite amount of time, despite his job in the city and the fact that his motorcycle was most likely driving the people of this quiet town insane.
Raine had already made it known that she was keeping her dog, and she didn’t seem to be ready to leave Sweetland, either. She’d also been the only one to commit any money to help save the B&B.
Quinn would be the first to admit he hadn’t been with his siblings like this in a very long time, but he prided himself on knowing them at least generally. Raine’s and Parker’s behavior seemed a little off to him.
As for Savannah, this was her norm. So much so that Michelle had already left them standing in the foyer. For all that Michelle seemed to share their grandmother’s personality, she had no tolerance for Savannah at all.
“Did they have any vehicles that could pick you up today?” he asked, still trying to console her. Quinn didn’t really know if he blamed her or not.
“No. Everything is booked.”
“Then why don’t you see about moving your flight to Thursday? Do you have any shoots scheduled this week?” he asked because he was curious about how her job was going. Savannah wasn’t much for opening up and sharing her feelings, but just like with Raine and Parker, Quinn sensed something wasn’t totally right with his youngest sister.
“No, I don’t. But Quinn, you don’t understand,” she whined. He almost winced. This was exactly the way she’d acted when she was younger. The years had obviously done nothing toward maturing her.
“I do understand, Savannah,” he said, nodding. “You’re acting like a child over something that’s fixable. Either you try to call another car service or you move your flight. It’s not that hard.”
“I don’t want to stay here another day,” she told him.
“Why?” he asked. Savannah was normally spoiled and self-centered, but there was something else behind her urgency to leave town. Quinn didn’t know how he knew that for sure, but he did.
Savannah turned away to stare out the door. They both knew there wasn’t any car coming to pick her up, so this action was futile. But Quinn waited because something else he knew was that Savannah—even though she could be very self-centered—could also be very vulnerable.
Her arms were folded over the buttoned-up top to the white dress she wore. On her feet were natural-colored sandals that matched the bangles on her arms and earrings in her ears.
“Nobody likes me here,” she said softly.
So softly Quinn almost didn’t hear her. Eventually he stepped closer to her so he wouldn’t miss another word.
“You’re crazy, you know that? What do you mean nobody likes you? They don’t even know you. You’ve been gone for ten years,” he told her.
“It doesn’t matter. They don’t forget. None of them does. Did you see how Marabelle and Louisa looked at me at the funeral? Like they remember every wrong step I’ve ever taken.”
“Marabelle and Louisa have likely taken some wrong steps themselves. And since when do you give a crap about what somebody’s saying about you? Those two ladies have been talking about every citizen of Sweetland probably since the day they were born,” he told her. Then Quinn touched her shoulder, turning her so that she faced him. “Now come on, tell me what’s really bothering you.”
She kept her arms folded, her bottom lip pouting, and Quinn almost smiled. As much as she wanted to be an adult, had the body of one, and actually should be one right about now, Savannah was still just his baby sister.
And that’s precisely what he should have been thinking about and not the female who chose this moment to walk into the foyer.
“Oh, sorry if I’m interrupting,” Nikki said, tucking her hands into her back pockets. “I was just coming to see you off, Savannah. I was hoping I hadn’t missed you.”
Savannah shook her head and sighed. “No. I’m not gone yet because the idiot car service got the dates wrong and now I have to find another service to take me up to Baltimore to catch a flight.”
“Really? Wow. I think Emory Newsome goes up to Baltimore once a week to deliver his fresh-picked crabmeat to the markets. I don’t recall which day but you can check with him to see if he can give you a lift,” Nikki offered.
“He only goes once a week?” Savannah asked, almost appalled by the thought. “How is that considered fresh?”
“Emory’s getting older. Remember he used to be out in that old raggedy boat of his at the crack of dawn each morning. We could see him as we walked past the pier to the bus stop, waving as if we were going away forever.�
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Quinn could be wrong but he thought Savannah had actually smiled at that memory. Nikki sure did and Quinn caught himself looking at her, captured by that small smile that emanated so much.
“Now with other bigger picking houses taking over most of his old accounts, he doesn’t have to go into the city so frequently. Just a few old private-owned stores that keep him in business,” Nikki told her.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Savannah said thoughtfully. “I guess I could give him a call. You’d think I’d be able to rent a car someplace.”
“You can if you get to Easton or Annapolis,” Nikki replied.
“If I could get there I could get to Baltimore,” Savannah added with a sigh.
“Or you could just make the best of a bad situation,” Quinn offered. “You’re not in a strange place, Savannah, you grew up here. Just get on the phone and reschedule your flight and car. Then go for a walk or something to take your mind off whatever is really bothering you.”
At that she shot Quinn one of her seething looks. The look had improved over the years but Quinn wasn’t impressed. “You don’t have all the answers, Quinn,” she told him. “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re smarter. You have no idea what I’ve been through or how hard it was to come back here.”
“But I do have an idea of what it feels like to suck it up and move on. Maybe you should give that a try,” he snapped.
Quinn thought she was going to stomp her foot or punch him—hell, she was probably considering some combination of both. To her credit she didn’t do either, but her fists did clench and unclench at her sides, which told Quinn he’d really hit a nerve. The thing about Savannah that a lot of people didn’t understand was that the way she acted was sort of justified. She was only thirteen when their father died and their mother left town. In most cases the death of a parent is traumatic enough, but to lose both parents at one time was devastating, especially for an impressionable thirteen-year-old who had loved her father dearly and just about worshipped her mother. Savannah’s petulant and surly behavior had started almost instantly upon their departure so that Gramma had a time raising her through the rest of her teenage years.
