Riverbend

by Tess Thompson

“I most certainly do.”

  She wiped her face and neck with a towel from her gym bag, still looking in the mirror. Her face was still red. It probably would be for another thirty minutes. Lee always said Annie's skin, fair and often flushed, reminded her of a ripe peach. Right now it looked more like a tomato.

  Gathering up their bags, they walked towards the door. “You sign up for the online dating site yet?” He said it gently and casually, like they hadn't talked in length about it many times before.

  “I've been busy.”

  “Not all men are bad, you know.”

  “I guess.”

  “I just want you to have what Lee and I have.”

  “Pretty unlikely.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don't know.” Because I'm not beautiful like Lee. And there are no men out there as good as you. And because I'm afraid to choose another man who will hurt me. And there's Alder to think of. “I have work I love and good friends and my son. Isn't romantic love too much to ask for?”

  “Absolutely not. You can't tell me you're not lonely. I know because I was there once. For eight years. Then, out of nowhere, came Lee.”

  Neither of them said it, but Annie knew they were both thinking the same thing. Lee's first husband had committed suicide, leaving her pregnant and in debt. She'd been as low as a person can be. But on the other side of that grief was Tommy. And they were a happy family now.

  “Boom, my life was transformed,” he continued. “That's how it's going to happen for you. Although it might happen faster if you'd be a little proactive. You're not going to find someone hanging out with a bunch of married people all the time.”

  “John and Linus aren't married.”

  He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You know they would be if Oregon passed a Gay Marriage Law.”

  “I know. I'm just kidding.” At the door, she swung her bag over her shoulder. The morning was warm already, the sunlight too bright for her blue eyes. She slipped her sunglasses on as they crossed the street. “I look at you two and I think I should try and be more open to the idea. But it's hard, given my two mistakes.”

  There had only been one man between Marco and now. She'd met him while living on the coast and working at a mediocre restaurant as an assistant chef. He was a logger from southern Oregon named Reuben: tall and handsome and rugged. The physical attraction she felt for him was stronger than any rational thought, especially given how long she'd been alone. She quit her job and followed him to this little town, moving into his small trailer with Alder at her side.

  Welcome to River Valley, the sign at the beginning of town read. Population, 1425. And that lack of population meant there was no work for a chef. After several months, Rueben's cruel tongue killed all the initial attraction she'd felt for him. She'd chosen another mean man. He didn't beat her with his fists but lashed with his tongue instead. You eat like a pig. It's like sleeping with a wet noodle. Your boy's a freak. She'd made a terrible mistake. But she'd blown through her savings by then and took a job at the grocery store, hoping to save enough to move away after a short time.

  Now, Lee was waving to them from the front door of their restaurant, Riversong. She held a magazine in her hand. Was she bouncing on her toes? She was.

  “I bet the article in Food and Wine came out,” said Tommy.

  Her stomach turned over. “I wonder what it says?”

  “I'm guessing it's good, given her face.”

  “Yeah, and she's bouncing.”

  “She doesn't bounce,” said Tommy. “Ever.”

  “Right?”

  Lee ushered them inside, closing the front door behind her and locking it. They wouldn't open until this evening. The restaurant was cool and dark, the tables bare of anything but crisp white tablecloths and empty vases.

  “I'm afraid to look,” said Annie.

  “Don't be. It's as good as you can imagine.” Lee, normally cool and reserved, was grinning as she opened the magazine and spread it out on one of the tables.

  “Is there a photo of us?” asked Annie. “Do I look fat?”

  “First of all, I can't believe that's the first thing you're asking,” said Lee, shaking her head. “And second of all, you're not fat.” Lee tapped her finger on the full-page photo of the two of them standing under the blue awnings in front of the restaurant. “See here. You're smaller than me.”

  It was true. Lee, several inches taller than Annie, was narrow in both hips and shoulders, but Annie was smaller, more petite. She let out a long breath. “All right. Fine.”

  Tommy put his arm around her still sweaty shoulder. “You need to see yourself as you are, sweetheart, not as you used to be.” He picked up the magazine. “Who gets to read it first?”

  “Read it to us,” said Lee, sitting at the table and crossing her legs.

  Tommy sat next to her, his melodic voice pleasant in the empty restaurant.

  “We're the best restaurant in a town no one's ever heard of,” joked Annie Bell, Riversong's Head Chef. Opened just two years ago and nestled in the quiet southern Oregon town of River Valley, Riversong is now known as one of the finest places to eat in the Pacific Northwest. “When we first opened,” mused Manager and visionary, Lee Tucker, “I looked down the main street of our little town and watched cars driving right through, everyone headed somewhere, anywhere but here. And I thought, we'll never pull this off.”

  She needn't have worried. During peak tourist months, getting a reservation in the sixteen-table restaurant is akin to winning the lottery. Patrons travel to the little town of River Valley just for the cuisine, aptly named Italian-Oregon fusion by Bell. Using all locally grown produce and proteins, Bell changes the menu seasonally while drawing upon her Italian culinary background to create truly unique dishes. “Whatever's locally in season is what I use for all our entrées,” said Bell. “If it isn't grown here, it isn't going in my food. Our proteins come almost exclusively from 4-H projects from our town's kids. We know they're grown the old-fashioned way, without hormones or chemicals.”

  Truly partners in every sense of the word, Bell and Tucker, both with young children, not only work together closely at Riversong but are also best friends. “Riversong's a family-run business. It's not unusual to see us here before opening with our children playing in the front while we work in the kitchen or office,” says Tucker, referring to Bell's ten-year-old son and her two-year-old daughter. “That's what I call a good work environment for mothers,” she added with a laugh.

  Annie Bell insists this is the secret to their success. “Lee runs this place with love. I cook with love. Our customers feel it when they walk in and they taste it in every bite.”

  Keeping with the family tradition, Tucker's husband, Tommy Hernandez, a local singer/songwriter, plays Thursdays through Sundays with his band, Los Fuegos, in the bar after the dinner hour ends. A gem in this little town no one's ever heard of, he covers not only his own songs (think big name country artists, and they've almost all recorded one of his songs) but many other folk and country hits. When you hear him play guitar and sing, you'll forget you're in Oregon and think you've been somehow transported to Nashville.

  This food writer had such a good time with these good people that I didn't want to leave. I'm looking for another excuse to make my way to River Valley again this summer. Whether you have to beg, borrow, or steal, get yourself a reservation sooner rather than later. And stay to hear the band. Ask Cindi the bartender (spelled with an i, not a y, she'll be sure to tell you right away) for one of her hand-shaken margaritas. Just make sure to give your car keys to the hostess and stay at the Second Chance Inn next door where they deliver a basket of fresh Riversong scones and a poem to your door at 7 a.m. But not to worry, they won't knock, just in case you're sleeping off that margarita.

  A must try if you're able to score a table in the summer months is the Coniglio Sanremese con Fiori di Zucca, or, as they say in Oregon, Rabbit with Zucchini Blossoms. A fried zucchini blossom? Heaven.

>   “I guess we can't ask for better than that,” said Annie.

  “Nice plug for the band,” said Tommy, clapping his hands together. “The guys will be thrilled.”

  “And Linus's inn,” said Lee.

  “I have to fetch his scone order,” said Annie. “I'll take him a copy. I cannot wait to see his face.”

  “Cindi's going to get the biggest head over this,” said Lee, smiling. “I can just hear her now.”

  They all laughed as Annie headed next door to see Linus.

  Chapter Two

  WHEN SHE ENTERED THE INN'S LOBBY, Linus was at the front desk, typing at the computer. He was tall and slender and immediately gave the impression of hospitality and a feeling that in his care one would lack for nothing. His hair was dark and he wore it neatly slicked back—striking against his fair skin, still smooth despite the fact that he was in his early forties. Annie thought it was because he'd lived for so long in Seattle, where the sun didn't appear but for three months of the year. Linus's inn, aptly named Second Chance Inn, was opened a year after Riversong. He'd come to help Lee open the restaurant—he and Lee had been best friends for years before she lost her husband—and had loved the town so much that he decided to stay and open the inn.

  Designed like the traditional inns of simpler times, with old-fashioned lamps and dark wood for the desk and trim, the only way one could tell it was a modern inn was the gas fireplace. The rooms were decorated in the boutique style, with a theme for each room and named after famous poets. Annie's favorite was the Mary Oliver room, splashed with colors of the seaside, soft blues and greens.

  The cool air of the lobby felt good to her overheated skin. She was still sweating from the workout. She resisted the urge to smell under her armpits. Linus would not approve.

  “Morning,” said Linus. He pursed his lips and cocked his head to the left. “How was the workout?” He wore his customary designer linen suit. No tie today. It was summer. Even Linus took the summers off from ties.

  “Awful.”

  “Already dreading it.” Linus patted his flat stomach and rolled his eyes. “But I have to go. John already called to remind me it was a gym day. One of the many problems with being in love with a younger man.” He handed her a sticky note. “Write down everything you did.”

  “You realize John and Tommy actually like to work out. It's weird.”

  “And annoying.”

  They laughed. “You have the scone order for me?” she asked as she scrawled out the workout routine.

  He handed her a sheet of paper with the guests’ names and their requests. Guests were given a choice of blackberry, cinnamon, or pumpkin scones. In the summer, almost every guest chose blackberry. In the winter, it was an almost even amount of cinnamon and pumpkin.

  Linus tapped the top of his computer monitor. “Guess what?”

  She looked at him blankly. “I don't know. What?”

  “I passed both my written and flight exam. I just got word from my instructor. I can officially fly a helicopter now.”

  “Already? I didn't know you were taking the test. It feels like you just started taking instruction.”

  “I was a nervous wreck over the test so I kept it to myself in case I didn't pass.” He put his hand on his left hip. “But seriously, how butch am I?”

  “Super butch.” She gazed at him. “I'm impressed. I know it was a tremendous amount of work.” A little less than two years ago, Linus had announced at dinner one night that he wanted to become a helicopter pilot. He couldn't explain his reasons exactly but Annie had understood. There were certain desires and ambitions that were undeniable. One could pretend for a period of time they were ridiculous or unattainable but in the night when our demons asserted their darkness, the thoughts would come, haunting, perhaps even mocking—you must try. This is all. Try. Choose what you love, even if it's difficult. Even if no one understands but you. “What will you do with it now?”

  “I don't know. My instructor said I can use his helicopter if I wanted to take friends out and things. Or maybe I'll volunteer during fire season to search for fires or something.”

  “That's even more butch,” she said. “Proud of you, honey.” She took the magazine from under her arm and set in on his desk. “Page 56.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  Linus read it in silence, shaking his head as if in disbelief. After he finished, there were tears in his eyes. “We've made it, babe. Like really made it.”

  “Food and Wine!” She clapped her hands together and squealed. “Food and Wine. It's not like we haven't had good press before but this is just beyond.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man coming down the stairs. She moved to the side of the desk, not wanting to be in the way.

  “Mr. Webber, how are you this morning?” asked Linus.

  Webber? Oh yes, he'd eaten at the restaurant every night for two weeks. Drake Webber. You can tell he's rich, Billy, her assistant chef, had said. Just by his name. She turned to get a good look at him. He was handsome. Quite handsome, in a dark and brooding kind of way, like a character from one of those British miniseries Lee and her grandmother Ellen devoured. He wasn't particularly tall, but was slender, with a sophisticated carriage. He wore a pair of tan linen slacks and a silky looking T-shirt that draped over his muscular chest perfectly. Expensive. Probably some designer she'd never heard of. Linus would know, of course. His hair was dark and freshly washed, slicked back from his forehead. He smelled wonderful, too, just a hint of cologne and shaving cream. And here she was, without makeup or a shower. Her gym clothes were wet and clinging. Not to mention she probably smelled.

  “I'm fine,” he said to Linus. “I came to ask you for some information.” His voice was subdued. And his eyes were sad, although a beautiful light blue. Unusual, she thought, for someone with such a dark complexion.

  “What can I help you with?” asked Linus.

  “My house is finally finished,” said Drake. “And I'm in need of staff. Do you know any good housekeepers and gardeners?”

  “Certainly,” said Linus. “I have several recommendations.” He pulled his phone out of his suit jacket pocket. “Let me look up the numbers for you.”

  “Wait,” said Annie, before she could stop herself. “Are you the one building the big house up on the hill overlooking the river?”

  He stared at her for a moment. She felt herself blush. Why did she talk so much? She needed to learn to keep her mouth shut, she thought, pulling on a coil of hair next to her ear. Her mother always told her she asked too many questions.

  “That's right,” he said, in a tone that implied that it was none of her business.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean to pry,” said Annie. “It's just been the talk of the town. You know, who was the mystery family moving in there?”

  “It's not a family,” he said, his face twisting as if something pained him. “Just me. Excuse me.” He turned back to Linus. “I need the number for the chef at Riversong.”

  “That's me,” said Annie, surprised.

  Drake Webber's eyes moved down the length of her. “But you're so small. And young.”

  “Not that young,” she said. “Thirty.”

  “That's young,” he said, with a smile more like a grimace.

  She shrugged, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “Why do you want my number?”

  “I've enjoyed my meals there more than I can say. I've tried almost everything on the menu, as a matter of fact.” When giving someone a compliment, thought Annie, a person might smile or give some indication of pleasure. But this man's face was stone cold.

  “I'm glad to hear that,” she said. “I try my best.”

  “Best restaurant I've eaten at in a long time. And I eat out a lot in Seattle.”

  “Oh, you do?” she said, already forgetting her vow to squelch her natural curiosity. “You're from Seattle?”

  “I was.” He paused, glancing towards the window. “But now I'm from here.”

&
nbsp; “Why here?” asked Linus. Apparently curiosity had gotten to him, too. Normally he would not have asked a personal question of one of his guests, especially a guest like Drake Webber.

  “I've retired,” said Drake.

  Retired? This man couldn't be more than thirty-five. It must be some kind of high tech career. Figures, she thought. He was the type of man who had everything: good looks, intelligence, and money.

  Drake looked over at Annie. “I want to offer you a job.”

  “A job?”

  “Yes, a job.” He said it slowly, as if she were a child.

  “I have a job.”

  “I'm quite aware of that.”

  “The best job.”

  “How sweet.” He obviously didn't mean what he said by the sour and mocking expression on his face.

  “Sweet?”

  “Yes, very provincial. Like this town.”

  “I'm from Los Angeles, actually.” Why did she feel the need to explain that to him? She glanced over at Linus. His face was flushed and his eyes piercing, almost glaring at this rude guest.

  “I couldn't care less where you're from, actually.” Drake emphasized the word actually, mocking her. Despite her tired muscles from earlier, her body tensed. What a jerk.

  Drake Webber went on, seemingly unperturbed. “Anyway, it's not a full-time gig. I just need someone to come by my home once a week and make meals to put in my freezer.”

  She flinched, uncertain what to say. “Like I said, I have a job.”

  “I'll make it worth your while.”

  “I have a son. I'm not really available for a second job.”

  “How hard could it be? Come to my house on Mondays when the restaurant is closed and make meals for the week. My kitchen is quite adequate—now that it's finally finished. Apparently the contractor and his workers keep a slower pace than we do in Seattle.” He said this with more than a small hint of disdain in his voice.

  There was no way she would work for this rude and inconsiderate man. She couldn't put love in anything she made for this man.

  “Monday's my only day off and I like to spend it doing things with my son.” Why didn't he just come eat at the restaurant if he liked her food so much? He could obviously afford it. “But you're always welcome in our restaurant.”