Riverbend

by Tess Thompson

  “And I have my book too,” he said.

  “My little reader.”

  “Mom, that's so embarrassing when you talk like that.”

  “Sorry.” She pulled up to the gate. She pushed the red button on the speaker and waited for the Master of the House (she'd deemed him such in her head) to answer, but instead there was only a buzz before the gate opened. The driveway was on a steep incline and her cheap compact car slowed like an old woman up a steep staircase. The woods became increasingly dense the farther they climbed.

  “Jeez, Mom, my ears are popping.”

  “I know, mine, too. How far up here does he live?”

  Finally, after what felt like a quarter of an hour but was really only five minutes, she turned a corner and there was the house, nestled between firs on either side. It wasn't a house, really. Not on the scale they were accustomed to in River Valley anyway. It was built in the rustic style of a ski chalet, with triangular beams over the entrance and small windows lining the front of the house. The back of the house faced the river view. There was a separate building to the right of the main house. Some kind of guest quarters, perhaps? She parked the car and took a deep breath, fighting the panic from earlier this morning. Surely there was no reason to worry about Marco showing up at her house today. Still, maybe she should have Tommy go by her house later and make sure he wasn't there waiting. But that would require a lot of explanation and she hadn't had time for that before they left for Drake Webber's house. As close as they were, none of her friends knew about Marco or the past she'd run from all those years ago. To explain it now would take some doing. There was a part of her that wondered, no matter how much they seemed to love her, if this information would be too much for them. Would they still want to be part of her life?

  “Come on,” she said to Alder. “Don't want to keep the Master of the House waiting.”

  “That's not very nice, Mom.”

  “Wait until you meet him before you judge me.” She chuckled.

  The front entrance was a double door with a heavy brass knocker. “Can I do it, Mom?”

  “Sure, honey. Knock yourself out. Get it?”

  Alder rolled his eyes as he made two quick raps with the knocker. “Seriously, Mom, you're so embarrassing.”

  They waited for several seconds before Drake Webber appeared. He wore jeans and another one of those expensive looking T-shirts, which he filled out ever so nicely, despite his foul personality. Pretty is as pretty does, Ellen always said. It would behoove her to remember this, she told herself, and not be charmed by his good looks.

  She peered at his face. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them. Was he a drinker? She tensed, thinking of it. Both the men she'd let into her heart had been drinkers; they were both mean drunks. But he didn't have the haggard appearance so many drinking men had, nor was his face bloated. No, this was something else.

  “Miss Bell.” His eyes skirted to Alder and then back to her. “You're five minutes late.”

  “I'm sorry.” Her stomach clenched. She glanced at her watch. It read two minutes past the hour. “I didn't think it would take so long to get up your driveway.”

  “And I didn't expect you to bring a helper,” said Drake. “I think I mentioned that in the confidentiality agreement.”

  “I know. I'm sorry.” Twice now she had to apologize to this man and she hadn't yet stepped inside his home. “It's just that I, well, something came up and I had to bring him today.”

  “Is this going to be a habit? I'm not running a daycare here.”

  She flushed, stealing a glance at Alder. His big brown eyes were wide and frightened. There was no reason to put up with this awful man. She didn't need this job. There was no amount worth being humiliated. She was a renowned chef deserving of respect. “You know what, Mr. Webber, I don't think this is going to work out. I told you I had a son and this is my only day off to spend with him, so, yes, there will be times he will be with me. And if you can't deal with that then you can kiss my ass.” She grabbed Alder's hand. “Come on, honey, let's go.”

  “Mom, you said ass,” Alder whispered.

  “Shush,” she whispered back.

  “Wait.” Drake Webber's voice was loud, commanding. “Don't go.”

  Feet from the car, they stopped, turning to look back at him. He was striding across the driveway towards them. “It's fine if he's here.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I just need your word, and his, that he isn't going to run all over town talking about me to his little friends.”

  “No offense, sir, but why do you care?” asked Alder, his young voice soft and genuinely curious.

  Drake's eyes sparked and flamed. “It's my business why.”

  Alder shrugged, meeting his gaze with a proud lift of his chin. “All you have to do is ask politely. My mom and me, well, we're not the type to talk bad about people. She taught me never to do that, even if sometimes people deserve it.” Her little son straightened his shoulders, trying to appear more grown-up. “And you have to treat my mother with respect, sir, or there's no way we're staying.” Despite his brave words, she knew he was afraid by the way his voice quavered.

  Drake flinched, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. He looked at the ground and then back up at Alder. “I run things the way I want in my own home. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Alder's face was stony. “But you get my point.”

  “I get your point,” said Drake Webber, his mouth set in a firm line and his eyes cold. “And I'll double your mother's pay as an act of good faith.”

  Alder's mouth dropped open. He moved closer to Annie. “Mom, can we talk alone for a minute?”

  Drake shook his head in a vigorous manner, appearing disgusted. “I'm not going to negotiate with a ten-year-old. Take it or leave it.”

  Ten thousand dollars a month. That amount of money was almost unfathomable to her. What it could do for them over time was staggering. “I'll do it,” she said.

  Alder's expression moved to resignation. As much attitude as he'd just displayed, he knew not to argue with his mother in front of a stranger, especially one like Drake Webber. “Mom, I'm going to wait out here for you.”

  Annie hesitated. She didn't want him outside all day. “But it's so warm.”

  Alder shrugged. “I'll sit in the shade. And I have something to read.” With that, he opened the car door, grabbed his book, and plopped under the large fir on the right side of the driveway.

  “I'll cook quickly.” Regardless of either of their feelings about Drake Webber, the facts remained. They were safe here. And ten thousand dollars a month would ensure a future for Alder, no matter what happened to her.

  “Come inside. I'll show you the kitchen,” said Drake, without expression.

  Annie followed Drake Webber into the house.

  The beauty of the front room hit her in a visceral way, making her forget for a moment the exchange they'd just had with Drake Webber. Pine paneling framed massive windows that looked out onto the deck and beyond to the yard. In front of a large moss rock fireplace were two tan couches and two red leather chairs, all arranged around a rectangular coffee table. Almost in juxtaposition to the rustic décor were two iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The floor was a dark hardwood, perhaps cherry, but Annie couldn't be sure. The same moss rock of the fireplace made a column next to the windows. There were art books and Architectural Digest magazines neatly stacked on several side tables, accented with pieces of pottery and intricate carvings.

  Her gaze moved to what appeared to be the dining room. But was it a dining room or a library? On the south side of the big front room was a dining room, separated by large wooden beams. There was a long table, surrounded with a dozen chairs, and on the wall next to the table was floor-to-ceiling shelving. Every space was filled with books.

  By the looks of this gigantic home, he did not seem like a man who would live as a hermit. For one thing, why did he have so many chairs around his dining room table if he di
dn't plan on having anyone visit him?

  “Done gawking?”

  “What? Yes. Sorry,” she mumbled.

  Drake motioned to her. “Follow me. I'll show you the kitchen.”

  The kitchen could not be described as anything but a chef's dream. It had a cook's island in the middle, two sinks, a double gas range, and two ovens. Four bar stools were lined up in front of a raised counter that looked into the kitchen. There was a table with eight chairs near three large windows that looked out on the south side of the deck.

  She stood near the range, running her fingers over the glimmering stainless steel. Never in her life had she been in a kitchen as nice.

  “It's wonderful,” she said.

  “One of the finest architects in the country designed this house,” he said. “We had very specific wishes.”

  “We?” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  He acted as if he hadn't heard her question but not before she saw the twinge of pain on his face.

  “I'll leave you to it,” he said, turning to go.

  “I just have to run out to the car to get the groceries. I have a cooler for the perishables, in case you were wondering.”

  Drake Webber surprised her then by insisting he bring in the heavy cooler while she carried the two bags of other items. “I took the liberty of stocking up on all the items I'll need on a weekly basis,” she said when they were back in the kitchen.

  “Good thinking,” he said, walking over to a closed door near the breakfast table. He opened the door and stepped aside. “You should have more than enough room in here.”

  The pantry was as big as Alder's bedroom at home, with spaces of every size and shape, sliding drawers, pullout wire drawers, and a wine rack, all impeccably finished in the same red cabinetry of the kitchen. She pulled open a drawer and then let go. It immediately sprung back into place. Magnetic drawers—was there anything better? But every space was empty. She had an image, suddenly, of a tuft of tumbleweed blowing through a ghost town.

  “How did your architect figure this out?” she asked. “It's perfect.”

  “We had one of those closet places design it, along with every other closet in the house.”

  Again, we. What happened to the we? “How many people am I cooking for?”

  He stared at her for a moment, as if he hadn't understood the question. “One.”

  “Oh, okay. I wasn't sure.”

  “I'll go out and get the rest of the groceries,” he said. “You go ahead and start unpacking all this.”

  “It's not necessary. For what you're paying me, I can certainly fetch the groceries.”

  “No, I'll do it,” he said. “A tiny woman like you shouldn't be lugging heavy things around.”

  Tell that to Tommy, she thought, stifling a smile.

  After everything was unpacked, Annie took a notepad out of her purse and wrote the menu for the week.

  Monday: Ricotta and Fontina Stuffed Shells with Fennel and Radicchio

  Tuesday: Zinfandel Braised Lamb Chops

  Wednesday: Chardonnay Braised Chicken Thighs with Parsnips

  Thursday: Grilled Skirt Steak with Poblano-Corn Sauce and Salsa

  Friday: Pork and Green Chile Stew

  Saturday: Beef Tenderloin with Parmesan-Prosciutto Crisps

  Sunday: Chicken Enchiladas

  Before she started cooking, she made two turkey sandwiches and filled a water bottle she found in one of the drawers with ice water and went out to check on Alder. He remained under the tree, reading. However, instead of being sprawled out on the ground, he was sitting in a lawn chair—the exact same as she'd seen on the deck. Had Alder dragged that out here? What would Drake Webber think of that?

  She handed Alder the food and drink. “Where did the chair come from?”

  “The Master of the House brought it for me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I know. Weird.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “No. Just set it down next to me and left.” He lifted the bread to look inside the sandwich. “Looks great, Mom.” With both hands, he brought it to his mouth, but then stopped. “You know, there's something about the Master that isn't all bad.”

  “I don't know. I can't see anything redeemable there.”

  “That's not like you, Mom.”

  “I suppose not.” But sometimes a bastard is just a bastard.

  Three hours later, Annie packaged the last of the meals and put them in the freezer before going outside to look at the view from the back deck. It overlooked the river below, which looked like a snake from this distance, green and winding, the house centered over a particularly sharp bend of the river. This part of the river she'd never seen, as it was unreachable by car or foot.

  She stretched, grimacing, her muscles sore from Saturday's workout. Saturday. Before her world collapsed. She heard Marco's voice in her head again. I'm coming to town, bitch. Her stomach clenched.

  She wandered down the stairs and into the yard, past the rose garden and around the side of the house. There was a large oak with a wooden swing tied to it. And there, sitting on the swing, was Drake Webber. At first, she thought he was ill, as he was crouched over from the waist, his face buried in his hands. But then she noticed his shoulders were shaking. Was he crying? Yes, it was unmistakable. For a moment, she stood, silent, as if watching a rare animal one didn't want to spook. Her instinct was to reach out to him, to comfort him as she might if Alder were upset. But, no, she must not let Drake know she was there. Any man would be mortified to know a woman, an employee especially, had seen them cry. She retreated backwards, without sound, until she reached the steps to the deck.

  Once inside, she finished cleaning, wiping the counters, and washing the remaining pans. She was about to leave Drake a note that she'd see him next week when he came in through the kitchen door. “You finished?” he asked. His face was blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed.

  “Yes. Everything's in the freezer.”

  “Next week, then?”

  “Next week.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “This is the code to my gate. You won't need me to buzz you in if you have it.”

  The number 0336 was written in messy handwriting. She opened her mouth to say thank you but Drake Webber was already gone.

  Chapter Five

  ALMOST A WEEK WENT BY with no word from Marco. Annie did not say anything to any of her friends, convincing herself that Marco's phone call was merely meant to frighten her. She allowed Alder to stay with Ellen and she went about her daily routines as if it never happened. He was on probation, after all, she reminded herself. There was no way he could leave the state of California. Her initial reaction had been ridiculous.

  On Sunday night, she was in Riversong's kitchen prepping for the special, a blackberry reduction over grilled salmon, when she heard the phone ringing from the front of the restaurant. She called out to Lee but there was no answer, so she wiped her hands on her apron and answered the phone that hung on the wall near the walk-in cooler.

  “Riversong, this is Annie.” Linus had taught them to always give their names when they answered.

  “Annie. It's me.” Marco. “I'm here. Did you miss me?” His voice was singsong, almost playful. Like a cat playing with a mouse.

  “What do you want?” she whispered.

  “You know what I want. I saw you walk into the restaurant this afternoon. I could've grabbed you then but I decided it was best to scare you for a while longer. Let you suffer like I have. But don't worry, I'm coming soon.”

  The phone went silent. She held the receiver in her hand, until sweat made it too slippery and it dropped to the floor. I'm here.

  She slid down the wall and onto the floor.

  I'm here.

  On Monday morning, Annie and Alder drove to Drake Webber's home for her second stint as his private cook. As she turned into the driveway, she made eye contact with Alder through the rearview mirror. “Y
ou all right coming here?”

  “I just don't understand why I can't stay with Momo.”

  She moved her eyes from his and back to the driveway. “I have my reasons.”

  “Are you mad at Momo?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then I don't get it.”

  “I know, but you have to trust me. I want you with me today. And you have to come inside. It's supposed to be ninety-five degrees today.”

  “Fine.”

  “And you need to be polite to Mr. Webber.”

  “The Master?”

  Annie laughed, in spite of the fear that had kept her up most of the night. “I should never have told you that.”

  “I will, Mom. As long as he's respectful to you, I'll be respectful of him.”

  “That's my baby.”

  “Mom. Really?”

  Drake met them at the door. Alder shuffled his feet and stared at his shoes but mumbled, “Hello, sir.”

  “Hello, Alder.” Drake surprised her when he held out his hand to Alder. Her son hesitated only a moment before shaking Drake's hand, like a man might. Did she imagine it or did Drake's stern eyes soften when he touched her little boy?

  “Sorry we got off on the wrong foot last week,” said Drake. “Sometimes I say things I don't mean. Or they just come out wrong.”

  Alder nodded, his brown eyes compassionate. “Yeah, that happens to me, too.”

  “Does it?” asked Drake.

  “Sure. Especially if something's bugging me. Makes so I can't think straight.”

  “Same here.”

  There was a moment of silence. Drake stuffed his hands in his pockets. Alder shuffled his feet. Annie hugged her purse to her chest.

  “Well, Mom says I can't stay outside today,” said Alder.

  “You want to come in then?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Alder, shrugging as if he didn't care one way or the other.

  As they entered the front room, Alder pointed to the dining room and the shelves full of books. “Wow. That's like a library or something.”

  “Books are a bit of an obsession of mine,” said Drake. “Can't ever seem to part with them once I have them in my hands. So when I built this house I put a bookshelf in almost every room.”