Sweet Laurel Falls

by RaeAnne Thayne

  His cheerful smile slipped a little. “I lost her some fifteen years back. The cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Aye. So am I. I miss her every single day. But we had seven beautiful children together, and her memory lives on in them and our eight grandchildren.”

  He gestured to the other two menus. “And what about you? Are you meeting your family here, then?”

  He thought of Sage, the daughter he hadn’t known existed a handful of days ago. “Something like that.”

  “I’ll treat you right. Don’t you worry. Our French toast is still legendary around these parts. We still cover it in toasted almonds and dust it with powdered sugar.”

  He usually was a coffee-and-toast kind of guy, but he had fond memories of that French toast. An indulgence once in a while probably wouldn’t kill him. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Dermot smiled at him and headed to the kitchen, probably for his juice. Through the window, Jack watched Main Street bustle to life. The woman who was trying to change the marquee on the little two-theater cinema up the road had to stop about five times to return the wave of someone driving past, and a couple of women in winter workout gear who had dogs on leashes paused at just about every storefront to talk to somebody.

  The scene reminded him of a small village outside Milan where he had rented an apartment for two months during the construction of a hotel and regional conference center a few miles from town. He used to love to grab a cappuccino and sit on the square with a sketchbook and pencil, watching the town wake up to greet the day.

  In his career, Jack had worked on projects across the world, from Riyadh to Rio de Janeiro. He loved the excitement and vitality of a large city. The streets outside his loft in San Francisco bustled with life, and he enjoyed sitting out on the terrace and watching it from time to time, but he had to admit, he always found something appealing about the slower pace of a small town, where neighbors took time to stop their own lives to chat and care about each other.

  Dermot walked out with his juice and a coffeepot. “Still waiting?” he asked as he flipped a cup over and expertly poured.

  “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out, unless you would like me to take your order now.”

  “No. I’ll wait.”

  A few moments later, while he was watching the dog walkers grab a shovel out of an elderly man’s hands in front of a jewelry store and start clearing snow off his store entrance, Maura and Sage came in. Their faces were both flushed from the cold, but he was struck for the first time how alike they looked. Sage was an interesting mix of the both of them, but in the morning light and with her darker, curlier hair covered by a beanie, she looked very much like her mother.

  The women spotted him instantly and hurried over to the booth.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Maura said without explanation, but Sage gave a heavy sigh.

  “It’s my fault,” Sage said. “I was so tired and had a hard time getting moving this morning.”

  “You’re here now. That’s the important thing.” He rose and helped them out of their coats. Sage wore a bulky red sweater under hers, while Maura wore a pale blue turtleneck and a long spill of silver-and-blue beads that reminded him of a waterfall.

  He was struck by how thin she appeared. The shirt bagged at her wrists, and he wondered if she had lost weight in the months since her daughter died.

  “I’ve been enjoying the café,” he said after they slid into the other side of the booth together, with Sage on the inside. “It hasn’t changed much in twenty years.”

  “The food’s still just as good,” Maura said. “Unfortunately, the tourists have figured that out too.”

  “I noticed that. It’s been hopping since I got here.”

  The conversation lagged, and to cover the awkwardness, he picked up their menus from the table and opened them, then handed them to the women. He hadn’t worked his way through college tending bar at a little dive near the Gourmet Ghetto for nothing.

  “So Mr. Caine recommended the French toast.”

  “That’s what I always get when we come here for breakfast,” Sage told him. “It’s sooo good. Like having dessert for breakfast. Mom usually has a poached egg and whole wheat toast. That’s like driving all the way to Disneyland and not riding Space Mountain!”

  “Maybe I’ll try the French toast this morning too,” Maura said, a hint of rebellion in her tone.

  She seemed to be in a prickly mood, probably unhappy at the prospect of sharing a booth and a meal with him.

  “Sorry I didn’t order coffee for either of you. I wasn’t sure of your preferences.”

  “I usually like coffee in the morning,” Sage told him, “but I’m not sure my stomach can handle it today. I’d better go for tea.”

  As if on cue, Dermot Caine headed toward their booth and did an almost comical double take when he saw Maura and Sage sitting with him. Jack wondered at it, until he remembered his comment about waiting for his family, in a manner of speaking.

  Well, if the word wasn’t out around town that he was Sage’s father after the scene at the bookstore the night before, he imagined it wouldn’t take long for the Hope’s Crossing grapevine to start humming.

  “Sage, my darlin’. Home for the holidays, are you?”

  “That’s the plan, Mr. C.” She beamed at the older man, who plainly adored her.

  “And how is school going for you?”

  Sage made a face. “Meh. I had a chemistry and biology class in the same semester. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Well, you’re such a smarty, I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He turned to face Maura. Somehow Jack wasn’t surprised when he reached out and covered her hand with his. “And how are you, my dear?”

  “I’m fine, Dermot. Thanks.” She gave him a smile, but Jack didn’t miss the way she moved her hand back to her lap as soon as Dermot lifted his away, as if she couldn’t bear to hold even a trace of sympathy.

  “I’m guessing you’ll be wanting water for tea.”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Make that two,” Sage said.

  “Sure thing. And what else can I bring you? Have you had time to decide?”

  They all settled on French toast, which seemed to delight Dermot Caine to no end. “I’ll add an extra dollop of fresh cream on the side for you. No charge,” he promised.

  After he left, awkwardness returned to the booth. What strange dynamics between the three of them, he thought. Twenty years ago, Maura had been his best friend. They could never seem to stop talking—about politics, about religion, about their hopes and dreams for the future.

  Over the past few days, he had seen Sage several times, and their conversation had been easy and wide-changing. He had years of her life to catch up on, and she seemed fascinated with his career, asking him questions nonstop about his life since he’d left Hope’s Crossing and about some of the projects he had designed.

  Maura and Sage seemed very close as mother and daughter, and he would have expected them to have plenty to talk about.

  So why did these jerky silences seem to strangle the conversation when the three of them were together?

  “I guess you found a hotel room,” Sage finally said after Dermot returned with cups of hot water and the two women busied themselves selecting their tea bags.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “I ended up stopping at a couple different places and finally found a room at the Blue Columbine.”

  “That’s a really nice place,” Sage said. “My mom’s friend Lucy owns it.”

  Good to know. He would have to take a careful look at the basket of muffins that had been left outside his door that morning to make sure nobody had slipped rat poison into it. “The bed was comfortable. That’s usually what matters most to me.”

  “You didn’t want to stay up at the Silver Strike?” Maura asked with a sharp smile that seemed at odds with her lovely features. “I’ve never seen the ro
oms there, but I’ve heard they’re spectacular. Fodor’s gives the place a glowing review.”

  His mouth tightened. She really thought she had the right to taunt him about that damn ski resort, after everything? Did she not understand she was on shaky ground here? He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forgive her for keeping Sage from him all these years. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with her prickly mood or veiled taunts about his father’s ski resort.

  “I’ll pass. A B and B in town is fine with me for now.”

  “For now? How long are you planning to stay in Hope’s Crossing?” she asked bluntly.

  Sage sat forward, eyes focused on him with bright intensity as she awaited his answer. He chose his words carefully. “I’m not sure yet. I was thinking about sticking around for a week or two, until after the holidays.”

  For all their surface resemblance, the two women had completely disparate reactions. Sage grinned at him with delight, while Maura looked as if Dermot had just fed her a teaspoon full of alum with her tea.

  “That’s great. Really great!” Sage enthused. “I was afraid you were leaving today.”

  “How can you spare the time?” Maura asked woodenly. “You’re a big-shot architect, just as you always dreamed.”

  “It’s a slow time of year for me, which is why I was able to accept the lecture invitation. After the holidays, things will heat up. I’ve got a couple of projects in the region, actually, one in Denver and one in Montana, and a big one overseas in Singapore coming up, but my schedule is a little looser than normal this month.”

  Maura stirred her tea, then took a cautious sip before speaking in a polite tone that belied the shadow of dismay he could see in her eyes. “Do you really want to spend that much time in Hope’s Crossing?”

  He shrugged. No doubt she was thinking his presence would ruin her whole holiday. He didn’t care. He wasn’t really in the mood to play nice, not after she had kept his daughter from him for nineteen Christmases. “I was thinking maybe Sage and I could take off for a few days to Denver to study some of the architectural styles.”

  “Really?” Sage’s eyes lit up as if he had just handed her keys to a brand-new car. “That would be fantastic! I would love it.”

  Maura avoided his gaze to look out the window, and he could almost taste her resentment, as thick and bitter as bad coffee. When she finally looked back at the pair of them, she offered up a small, tense smile.

  “That would provide a good chance for the two of you to spend some time together. If you do stick around, there are plenty of things to do around here as well. Art galleries, restaurants, hundreds of miles of cross-country ski trails. I’m sure you remember how lovely the canyon can be when it has fresh powder. Of course, that’s what all the skiers love too, and what brings them here in droves.”

  It was another caustic dig, another reminder of what had finally forced him to turn his back on Hope’s Crossing—his father’s final, vicious betrayal and the gross misuse of land his mother had intended to leave to him.

  Eventually he would probably have to drive up to the ski resort to see for himself how greed had destroyed his mother’s legacy. But not today.

  “We should go up for the Christmas Eve candlelight ski,” Sage exclaimed. “We haven’t done that in a few years, have we, Mom? It’s so beautiful to watch all the little flames dancing down the mountainside.”

  “That sounds great,” Maura said.

  Not to Jack. The last place he wanted to be on Christmas Eve was up at the ski resort. He started to give some polite answer when his attention was caught by someone else coming into the café. He couldn’t see the man’s features from here when he turned away to speak to Dermot, but something inside Jack froze.

  He didn’t need to see him clearly to know who was currently trying to push around the restaurant owner, despite the futility of anyone thinking they could intimidate Dermot Caine.

  His father.

  The biggest son of a bitch who had ever lived.

  Dermot cast a quick look in their direction and grabbed Harry’s arm, obviously intent on steering him the opposite way.

  “Hold your horses. Let me at least take my coat off, you daft Irish fool.”

  Those were the first words he had heard his father speak in nearly two decades. He was taken completely by surprise at the twisted, complex mix of emotions that washed over him like flood waters through a rain-parched arroyo.

  At the overloud voice, Maura turned around to follow the sound of the commotion. When she turned around, he didn’t detect any hint of surprise in her expression.

  Was his father a regular at the cafe? He must be. He suddenly remembered Maura’s reaction the night before when he had suggested they meet here for breakfast, her initial hesitation and then the too-quick agreement. She must have expected Harry to show up eventually.

  This was a damn setup. He should have known.

  What happened to her? When they were wild teenagers in love, Maura had been his anchor, the only bright spot in a world that had never been all that great but had completely fallen apart after his mother’s suicide. It was obvious that sweet and loving girl had disappeared twenty years ago.

  “Low,” he murmured.

  She sipped at her tea again and gave him an innocent look that didn’t fool him for a second. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a liar now too?”

  Sage looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to interpret the simmer of tension, but Maura quickly distracted her. “The Christmas Eve ski is always fun. What else would you like to do this year?”

  “I always love the wagon rides they have through Snowflake Canyon to look at the lights.”

  “We can add that to the schedule,” Maura assured her.

  They talked about other traditions, leaving Jack to simmer in his frustration. He had known he would eventually have to see his father. He just hadn’t expected it to be twelve hours after he arrived in town.

  Dermot must have remembered the vast rift between him and his father. To Jack’s relief, he had seated Harry in an area of the restaurant that angled away from them, out of sight of their booth. At least he wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with the man. Even so, any culinary anticipation for the cafe’s much-vaunted French toast had turned to ashes in his gut.

  A bleached-blond college-age kid with the slouchy dress and manner of a ski bum brought their food over a few moments later, three plates brimming with golden French toast with little crackly pieces of sugar-coated fried dough and sliced almonds on top.

  “Hey, Sage, Maura. Stranger Dude. Dermot’s tied up in the kitchen for a while,” he explained. “He asked me to take care of you. So if you need anything else, give me a shout-out.”

  “Thanks, Logan.”

  “How’s school?” Sage asked.

  “Good. I think I made the dean’s list. I had a killer final in statistics, but I think I aced it. You?”

  “Pretty good. Not dean’s-list good, but I was happy with it. Did you have Professor Lee for stats? I’ve got him next semester.”

  “He’s brutal, man.”

  “Hey, I might need a ride back to Boulder after the break. When are you taking off?”

  “Haven’t thought that far in advance. My first class isn’t until ten-thirty the Monday school starts, so I might get in a few runs as soon as the lifts open before I head back.”

  “I’ll text you after New Year’s to figure things out.”

  “Okay. Like I said, if you need anything, let me know.”

  The conversation between the young people gave Jack a chance to regain his perspective. It wasn’t Maura’s fault Harry ate breakfast at the café. He had sensed something off in her reaction when he’d made the suggestion to eat here the night before and should have pursued it.

  Besides, he was an adult. He could certainly spend a few minutes in the same restaurant with the man he despised. Yes, it had been petty of her to set him up like that, but if
he were going to hold a grudge, he had bigger grievances against her. As far as he could see, there was no reason to let Harry ruin a perfectly delicious breakfast.

  “So we talked about cross-country skiing and sleigh rides and Christmas Eve candlelight skis. What else do I need to see in Hope’s Crossing while I’m here?” he asked Sage.

  She launched into a long list of her favorite things to do in town. By the time she finished, even he was thinking maybe Hope’s Crossing wasn’t the purgatory he remembered.

  “Sounds like you two have plenty to keep you busy until school starts up again,” Maura said. She had only eaten about four or five bites of her French toast and one nibble of the crispy bacon that accompanied it.

  Sage suddenly looked stricken, as if she had only just remembered that her mother might have expected to spend some of the holiday break with her. “We could do a lot of this together, the three of us.”

  There was no “three of us.” Just two people who had once loved each other and the child they had created together.

  “No, this will be good,” Maura assured her with a smile that only looked slightly forced. “You know how busy I’m going to be up until Christmas Eve and then the week after with all the holiday returns. This way I won’t have to worry about you being bored while I’m stuck at the store.”

  She checked her watch and set down her napkin. “Speaking of busy, I probably need to run. Mornings are hectic in December. It seems like everyone in town decides to take a coffee break at the same time and fit in a little shopping too.”

  The purpose of suggesting they meet for breakfast had been to come to some sort of agreement on how their tangled relationship would proceed from here. He wasn’t sure they had accomplished that particular goal, but they seemed to have reached an accord of some sort, Harry’s unexpected presence notwithstanding.

  “Do you need some extra help with the rush?” Sage asked.

  “You don’t need to come in,” Maura assured her. “You should spend the day with your, er…with Jack while you have a chance.”