Back to McGuffey's

by Liz Flaherty

  Ben missed her. Every time he went back to Boston to work for a few days, it felt like a week because she wasn’t there. Nights in the tavern when she wasn’t working with him went on forever. He didn’t even enjoy breakfast at the inn if she didn’t take the time to sit down and eat with him.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to check the text message.

  Got any soup?

  He laughed and punched Reply, then typed, Where are you?

  At the back door of the tavern. I’m hungry.

  Hold on.

  He sprinted through the kitchen to unlock the door for her, then scolded, “Why didn’t you come to the front? I don’t care how safe we think Fionnegan is, walking around alone in dark alleys isn’t a great idea.”

  “I just walked Jayson to the Bagel Stop.”

  He frowned. “Debby didn’t go home after the ride? I thought Jayson was with her neighbor.”

  “Debby had to go in to work and the neighbor was gone.”

  “You were on a late date with the guy with great hair, weren’t you?” Ben stopped himself from grinning just in time. “Where did you go?”

  “The Wish Mountain Pub. We just went out for a drink.”

  Ben hiked an eyebrow at her. “I’ve known you since I knocked your first tooth out with my elbow when you were in first grade, and you don’t go out for drinks. You might have a drink with friends when you have those girls-only party things, but you don’t go out just to have a drink.”

  “I do when I want to get to know somebody better.” She stepped past him. “And I just had a glass of wine. I didn’t go on a binge.” She looked at the potato soup. “Are you going to share this with me? We intended to have dinner, but the pub wasn’t serving food.”

  “Yeah. Dip it out while I slice the bread. You want some coffee with it? I think there’s a cup left.”

  “Sure.” She ladled the soup and poured the coffee, warming his up in the process. “What will we do if we ever get to where caffeine keeps us awake?” She set the bowls on the table by the window where Tim and Maeve McGuffey had been eating meals together as long as the tavern had been there.

  “I’m a doctor. There’s no way I could practice without caffeine.”

  Her gaze met his, and he thought he could get lost in those brown eyes. The little flecks of gold in them looked like stars. “Are you feeling better about being a doctor now?” she asked.

  He took a spoonful of soup and thought about that a minute, enjoying both the flavor and the realization that he liked what he was doing these days. “I am. Sometimes.”

  “Good.” Her smile was faint. “Sometimes.”

  “So,” he said. It looked like he was going to have to drag every word out of her. Whatever happened to women wanting to talk about their feelings? When he’d married Nerissa, he’d called Kate to tell her, girding himself for what he expected to be a short, cold conversation. Instead, they’d talked for an hour and a half. As soon as they’d hung up, Kate had called Nerissa to offer her condolences and they’d talked for an hour, too.

  He didn’t think he wanted to spend an hour talking to Colby What’s-his-name. “So,” he said again, “how was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “The date.”

  She set down her spoon and glared at him. “Do I ask you about your dates?”

  “No.” He thought about that, buttering the last piece of the crusty bread. “But you would if you knew about them.” He cut the bread in two and laid half of it on her plate. He wasn’t going to tell her he hadn’t had any dates this summer. There was only so much pride a guy could swallow before he choked on it.

  “No, I wou—” She stopped and stared down at the bread. “Maybe.”

  “Did you like him?”

  “Yes. He was nice. And funny.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Forty-three.”

  He won’t want kids, either, Kate. He’s already done all the diapers and chickenpox and curfew stuff. He’s already sat in those little chairs at the elementary school and grounded kids and all those things you want someone to do. It’s not going to happen with him.

  “Are you going to see him again?” Surely not. The man was just a guest at the B and B. Granted, he had really good hair and drove the kind of car Nerissa’s husband used to have before their kids took to getting carsick. This guy would think Kate’s fondness for minivans, old-fashioned blue-and-white dishes and handmade quilts was cute and something he could talk her out of.

  “I think so.”

  Oh. “Does he ski?”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about that.”

  They were on the side of a mountain in Vermont and hadn’t talked about skiing. Right. They probably hadn’t discussed maple syrup or flatlanders, either. Ben wondered what they did talk about, but since she didn’t offer any further information, he desisted.

  “Have you made any plans yet?” he asked instead. “For the end of summer, I mean.”

  “Nothing certain. I’ve thought about opening a special-needs day care, but the truth is that I’m probably not qualified. Then I considered building on the land where my house was and opening a regular day care, but the truth about that is I don’t really want to.” She sipped the last of her coffee and grinned at him, fluttering her lashes. “Pretend you’re my eighth-grade guidance counselor and tell me what I should be when I grow up.”

  “Eighth grade, huh?” He deepened his voice. “Well, Miss Rafael, the first thing you need to do is stop hanging around the McGuffey boys. All they’ll do is lead you astray. Especially that Dylan. Ben, now, he’s the good one.”

  She frowned at him over her coffee mug, but her eyes were laughing. “You’re not helping.”

  “What do you want to do, Kate?” He got up and went to the commercial refrigerator. “Pie? Lemon meringue?” Not only was it her favorite, it looked like the only kind that was left.

  “Yes, please.” She gathered their dishes and took them to the sink, making quick work of washing and drying them. “I don’t know. I liked what I did at the law office. I like taking care of the inn. I like cooking. I like keeping an eye on Jayson and helping Penny with her kids and her catering business. But the truth is, I don’t feel passionate about any of it—I just like it.”

  “Then why don’t you do that?” He understood lack of passion in a job—he’d been working with it for years, even before his father’s illness. He followed her back to the table, carrying both pieces of the mile-high pie Penny baked for McGuffey’s. “Open your own temp business. There isn’t one in Fionnegan. You could keep yourself busy every day. You have enough friends with small businesses that setting one up wouldn’t be prohibitive—they can advise you all the way through it. Plus, you already own property on a street that’s as much business as residential.”

  She sat down, her gaze thoughtful as she speared her pie. “It wouldn’t have to be big, would it? More like a registry. There are plenty of people in town, not to mention college students, who would like to work part-time or even occasionally.” Her eyes rolled in bliss when the pie hit her tongue, then she set down her fork. “It grieves me to admit it, McGuffey, but I think you have a good idea there.”

  * * *

  “I BELIEVE I created a monster.” Ben stood in the doorway between Kingdom Comer’s kitchen and dining room. “I haven’t seen the top of the table since we first talked about you going into business two weeks ago. I haven’t seen much of you, either,” he added, sounding disgruntled.

  Kate aimed a secret smile down at the drawings and photographs in front of her. She didn’t mind at all that he’d missed seeing her. “Come sit down and I’ll tell you what’s happening.”

  He brought coffee for them both and sat beside her, picking up the first of the photographs on the table. “Whoa. This looks like it belongs on Alcott Street.”

  “I think so, too.” She beamed at him. “They’re prefab, but they’re built right here in Vermont, so acclimatizing w
on’t be an issue. I can save thousands by getting this one.” She shuffled through the pictures to come up with a green-shuttered white Cape Cod. “It’s already been built, but the person it was built for can’t take delivery on it after all. I admit, it’s not perfect. Living quarters will be on the closet side of cramped, but I can live with it. For a while, anyway, until my ship comes in and I can have a house again.”

  Thinking of the fire still made her feel as though she would hyperventilate. She had to stop and breathe for a little space in time, then take a long drink of her coffee. “Especially since I don’t have much stuff anyway. No furniture, though I’ll have to furnish the office. I have enough insurance money for the building, and I can get a small business mortgage on it for whatever else is an absolutely-must-have. I already talked to the bank and offered up my IRA, pathetic though it is.” She flipped through the drawings, pulling out a sheet of sketching paper. “Look at this sign Samantha and Mary Kate designed. Isn’t it beautiful? I’ll be able to add the website, address and phone number to it and make it into a business card.”

  “‘A Day at a Time,’” he read aloud, “‘for your temporary staffing needs.’”

  “That means if you decide to stay a doctor and actually open an office here instead of Boston and your office manager calls in sick, I can come in and schedule appointments and answer the phone for you. I can give shots, too—remember my mom is insulin-dependent so we learned how to give them—but hardly anyone wants me to do that.”

  He laughed, squeezing her shoulders. “Your little fainting habit could hurt your credibility as a shot-giver.”

  “It’s not really a habit. I haven’t done it in a long time.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Given a shot or fainted?”

  She shrugged, liking the feel of his arm around her shoulders. “Either. I get a little woozy when I give blood, but that’s because I’m delicate.”

  His snicker turned into a completely unconvincing cough. “Do you have to have a permit? Everything else in that block is stick-built.” He picked up the picture of the Cape Cod, then opened the brochure to scan the drawings of its interior, his brows knitting as he read.

  He was, bar none, the handsomest man she’d ever known. She breathed deep again. Hyperventilation could yet happen.

  “Already applied for. I should be able to open for business about the same time as Marce gets back. I’m excited.” Not passionate, but excited. She shuffled the papers into a stack and left the table, going to unload the dishwasher. “There are worse things, aren’t there?”

  She hadn’t meant to say that.

  “Worse than what?” He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, his gaze concerned.

  “Than not having passion.” She kept her back to him—that concern in his eyes could easily be her undoing. “I’m not talking about girl-and-guy passion. Exactly.”

  She wanted to have someone in her life who could finish her sentences, who started and ended his days with her. She wanted someone’s hand to rest on her hip the way Dan’s always did on Penny’s. She wanted to do someone else’s laundry not because it was “woman’s work” but because she’d like taking care of somebody that way. It was a good way to say she loved him. She wanted someone else to empty her mousetraps and listen when her car made a funny noise. Not because she couldn’t but because it would be a good way for him to say he loved her. Especially the mousetrap part.

  “I remember my mom hanging up my dad’s clothes when they came out of the dryer.” She stood still, looking into the backyard through the windows over the inn’s big kitchen sinks. “She’d stand there sometimes, and stroke her hand over and over the shirts. Getting the wrinkles out of the flannel, she said, but then she’d sniff the collar a little bit, and we knew she was just keeping in touch with Dad.” She smiled over her shoulder at Ben, even though she felt more like weeping. “That’s what I’d like to have someday. I don’t need passion.”

  Ben’s eyes were dark in his lean face. He didn’t smile back at her, though his expression felt like a touch. A tender one. “That sounds like passion to me.”

  It probably did to her, too, but she didn’t want to talk about that with him. Not now, at least, and maybe not ever.

  “What I’m talking about is passion for something, not someone. You know—” She stopped, her heart softening. When she went on, her voice was softer, too, as if there were tears behind it. “Like Jayson and the garden. He’s in it every single day. He weeds, he talks to the plants, he worries about the rows that aren’t straight enough.” She cleared her throat and laughed, though it came out wimpy. “He says those are the ones I planted. It’s the best garden I’ve had since I moved to Alcott Street. But it isn’t because of anything I did—it’s because Jayson loves every leaf in it.”

  Ben nodded. He got up from the table and came to where she stood, putting his arms around her and stepping into a hug-and-sway slow dance. “Maybe you’re looking too hard,” he suggested.

  “For what?” It was amazing how they didn’t need music. Their steps matched and wove perfectly. Even with Dylan, the best dancer of the McGuffeys, Kate needed music and hand signals and silent counts. But not with Ben. Never with Ben.

  “Passion. I know you say there are worse things than not having it, but you’re still looking for it.”

  “No, I—” But she was. She knew that as well as he did.

  “Did you ever think maybe passion has less to do with the earth moving and thunder crashing than it does with sunrises and sunsets and laughing out loud? Jayson’s passion for the garden isn’t in his excitement—although he’s always excited,” he interjected with a grin. He swooped her into a dip that had her ponytail brushing the floor. “It’s in how happy he is when he’s there.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “BUT I WANT a professional gardener.” Mrs. Hylton-Wise’s finely plucked eyebrows rose into her side-swept silver bangs. “I’m preparing the property to sell and the landscaping needs to be perfect. I know you’re new at having your own business, Ms. Rafael, but surely you realize your first responsibility is to please the customer.”

  As strange as it seemed, Kate had grown to like the snippy woman. The ice between them had melted considerably the first time she’d carried the morning coffee into the dining room and found Mrs. Hylton-Wise reading the cartoons from the Sunday paper to Jayson.

  “The business isn’t even open yet, though we’re building up our registry. I have handymen and housewives who will work in gardens and lawns, but if you want a professional you’ll need to find a landscaper. There isn’t one in Fionnegan, but maybe someone from the nursery out on Ridge Road would be good.” She ran the feather duster carefully around the glass cases that shelved Marce’s Hummel collection.

  “I already tried there. They’re far too expensive.” The woman gazed thoughtfully at the front lawn of Kingdom Comer. “Who takes care of this lawn?”

  “I do. When she’s here, Marce does. Ben and Jayson help a lot.”

  As though he’d heard his name mentioned, Jayson came into the inn, waving happily. “Hi, Mrs. Hilly-Wy.”

  The older woman’s eyes warmed, and Kate marveled at the difference a month had made. “Hello, Jayson. How are you today?”

  “I turned four corners on my bicycle and didn’t fall over one time. Ben said I was awful applesauce. Got juice boxes, Kate?” He hugged her.

  “You know where they are.” Kate kissed his cheek. “That’s awesome applesauce, remember?”

  “That’s what I said.” He went into the kitchen, his gait as ungainly as ever, then stuck his head back into the foyer. “Debby says I should ask if anybody else wants some even if I don’t want to share. You don’t want a juice box, do you?”

  “No, thank you,” said both women. Kate turned back to Mrs. Hylton-Wise when Jayson withdrew behind the swinging door. “He likes you, you know, and he’d be happy to help you with the landscaping. He’s good at it.”

  “But he’s Down syndrome. I’ve lear
ned to care for him, I must admit, but I just don’t think that would work out. I’ve passed the point in my life of wanting the kind of responsibility looking after him entails.”

  Kate laughed. “When you’re gardening or working in the yard, he tells you what to do, and when you’re doing it wrong.”

  “But he needs someone there with him. All the time.”

  It was a point Kate couldn’t argue. Although Jayson didn’t require much watching, leaving him alone wasn’t an option.

  “Where do they live? Debby and Jayson, I mean.”

  “On Alcott Street beside the candle shop.” In a duplex their landlord was just itching to tear down. But Kate didn’t say that. Debby worked hard to provide for Jayson and herself. The Alcott Street house might be shabby, but it wasn’t through any fault of hers.

  “Do they have a car?”

  “Some of the time. It’s temperamental. Debby rides her bike nearly everywhere.”

  Mrs. Hylton-Wise looked thoughtful as she walked toward the elevator.

  “How about Mr. Hayes?” Kate blurted. “He tills everyone’s gardens for them and was a nurseryman before he retired. He helps with the yard here when we get behind. He’s very good with Jayson, too.”

  Mrs. Hylton-Wise turned. “Doesn’t he smoke those dreadful cigars?”

  Kate grinned. “Not inside, and I’m not sure he ever really lights them—it’s more like he chews them to death. Would you like me to talk to him?”

  The other woman hesitated, holding the elevator door open. “Yes,” she said finally. “Thank you.” Her smile was faint, but it was there. “I think I was just A Day at a Time’s first customer. I must owe you a fee.”

  Kate shook her head, giving the display case a final ostrich-feather swish. “It’s on the house, but if it works out, tell everybody where you got him. And call me Kate.”