But Nathan said he didn’t have any children.
Not never, she realized. He just said he doesn’t have any now.
She couldn’t read on, feeling as if she had seen something very private, something he wasn’t ready to reveal to her.
She had been so distracted by finding the article, she didn’t notice that the kitchen had gone quiet, and Nathan was walking back into the living room with a tray that held coffee and a dish of cookies. She quickly stacked the pages together again, making it appear as if she hadn’t reached that last one yet. She looked up to find him standing near the chair, looking down at her.
“You’re so quiet out here, Betty. Did my writing put you to sleep?”
“Anything but,” she told him honestly. “I loved the undercover Santa article—and I read a few others,” she admitted. “You’re very talented. You have a real knack for making a person feel as if they’re right there, on the scene of whatever you’re describing. But you see so much more than I would . . . and have so much more insight into these everyday situations,” she tried to explain. “I’m sorry. . . . I’m not really explaining this very well, am I?”
“You’re doing great. I’m amazed you can have so much to say after reading just a few pages.” He sat down nearby and smiled at her. “Writing is a lonely profession. I find I need a lot of peace and quiet to do my work. I don’t really hear much from readers. I hear reactions from editors, of course, but most of them are cranky and rushed. A lot of the time I feel as if I’m sending my writing out into outer space. It’s nice to hear someone’s real reaction.”
He was very modest. She liked that quality. Betty realized she would be happy to read all of his writing and talk to him about it, given the chance.
But it was getting late and she had a big weekend of work ahead of her.
“Well, thank you for letting me read your work. I would love to see more of it sometime. What are you working on now?” she said, handing the folder back.
He placed the folder on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch, across from her. “Oh . . . this and that. I have a pretty ordinary article due soon on unusual family traditions for the holidays. Then I’m just making notes and doing research for other ideas. Nothing specific right now. I have a novel I’ve been fooling around with for years, but I can never seem to get much traction on it. Every time I try to go back and finish it, I end up rewriting the whole darn thing and I’m back to square one again.”
“I bet your novel is pretty good if it’s anything like these articles,” Betty said. “At the risk of sounding like some self-help, armchair psychologist, it sounds like plain old fear of success to me.”
He didn’t seem at all offended by her diagnosis. “You might be right. I’ll have to think about that. Right now helping the pantry is my main focus. I have absolutely no fear of success there. Not with Betty Bowman on the job. That would be impossible.”
Betty was reminded of the real reason for her visit. Funny how little they’d talked about the party. “We really should talk about the event,” she said. “It’s getting late and I need to go soon. A big work weekend,” she explained.
“Right, let’s try to figure this out,” he agreed. “I don’t want to keep you too late.”
Betty took a big pad out of her purse, where she had made a quick inventory of the donations she had received so far. They talked about party details, the number of people that might come, and the food needed.
“You’re so organized,” Nathan commented. “Take a look at my system.” He nodded at his messy desk. “It’s amazing I get anything done.”
“We all have our personal styles,” she said with a small smile. She slipped the pad back in her purse, feeling satisfied that things would come together on time for the event. “Well, I guess that’s it. I’d better go.”
“Right. I’d better empty out the van first, though. We almost forgot about that.”
“Oh . . . right. The van.” Betty had forgotten about it, too. She felt so silly. Where was her mind tonight?
“I can help you. It won’t take long.” She jumped up, slipped her shoes back on, and grabbed her coat.
Nathan put on a down vest and gloves. Rosie got excited, too, seeing the humans about to go out. She ran to the door and wagged her tail wildly.
“Yes, you can come outside awhile,” Nathan told the dog. “But don’t go far. I don’t feel like chasing you through the woods all night.”
The dog gave him a serious look, sitting at complete attention. He opened the door and she flew out.
“Ladies first,” he said, holding the door open for Betty. She smiled as she walked past him out into the frosty night air. It was very dark outside the cottage, except for a small porch light. There seemed to be a million stars twinkling in the velvety dark sky. She tipped her head back to look at them.
“It’s a lovely night. Not too cold,” she said.
“Yes, it would be nice to take a walk in the woods,” Nathan said. “But I guess you don’t have time.”
She would have loved to take a walk in the woods right now with him. But she didn’t dare.
Something was happening here. She wasn’t quite sure what it was . . . or where it was leading her. She looked at her watch and sighed. “I’d love to, but I really have to get going.”
“That’s okay. I have to work tomorrow, too,” he said.
Dressing up as Santa, he meant. Maybe at some parties . . . or at the mall?
That thought brought Betty back to earth. Nathan had already started unloading the van, carrying everything up to his porch. Betty started to help him.
“You don’t have to do anything, Betty. I can handle this. You just supervise. I feel guilty making you do so much.”
“I can supervise and help. Don’t worry. The catering business is a lot of lugging and loading. It keeps me in shape.”
He glanced at her, his arms full of boxes. “I won’t argue with that.”
The way he looked at her made her blush, and Betty was thankful it was so dark he couldn’t see.
The van was unloaded quickly. Nathan slammed the doors closed and turned to her. “Well, I guess that’s it.”
“For now, anyway. I’ll probably have another load by Monday,” she predicted. “Thanks for dinner. It was great.”
“Thank you for coming. And for reading my work,” he added.
“Thank you for showing it to me,” she said sincerely.
They just stood looking at each other for what seemed to Betty a very long moment. She knew she should turn to get into the van, but she couldn’t step away. Was he going to kiss her good night? It wasn’t that sort of relationship . . . was it?
Finally, he leaned over and gently hugged her for a moment.
“Drive safely. I’ll talk to you soon,” he said in a gentle tone.
“Okay . . . good night.” Betty felt a little dazed by the small show of affection. She quickly turned and got into the van.
Rosie suddenly ran out of the woods and came to Nathan’s side, panting and wagging her tail. Betty was sorry now she hadn’t said good-bye to her. She was a sweet old girl.
He grabbed the dog’s collar and waved to Betty with his other hand as she drove away.
They made a perfect picture, she thought, Nathan and his dog, standing in front of the little cottage. She held it in her mind, all the way down the dark road home. She still felt his embrace, the nearness of him, their closeness filling her senses for just a moment. A friendly hug that could have easily been more.
The night had turned out very differently from what she’d expected. Betty didn’t know what to think about him now. Or what she wanted this relationship to be.
LUCY COULDN’T POSSIBLY THINK OF A WORSE TIME TO START ZOEY AT THE Clam Box than Saturday morning. Talk about tossing someone in at the deep end. But there was no help for it. She had already worn out her supervisor’s patience, asking for special favors while Zoey had been sick, and this second request was pushing it. But she
did get three days in a row to train the girl—Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Lucy hoped that would do it.
Lucy had found Zoey a uniform and bought her a pair of suitable sneakers. Zoey came downstairs dressed for work and looking miserable.
“This uniform is horrible. I look like a supergeek!” she moaned. “How did you ever stand wearing this for so long?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s so bad. You should have seen these T-shirts Charlie had us wearing for a while. They had a big picture of a dancing clam. Now, that was a fashion disaster,” Lucy said with a laugh.
“Puh-leeze.” Zoey rolled her eyes and quickly ate some cereal. “Let’s not even go there.”
“Yes, let’s not,” Lucy agreed. “You look really cute,” she assured Zoey. “You just need to put your hair up in a ponytail or something.”
Zoey fixed her hair in the car while they drove into town. They reached the diner before eight. There were plenty of customers, but the Saturday morning rush hadn’t quite hit yet.
Trudy was rushing from table to table and also tending the counter customers. Charlie was behind the counter, too, but mostly working at the grill. He glanced over his shoulder as Lucy and Zoey came in.
“Well, well. You finally made it. I hope you both got your beauty sleep.”
“I told you we would be in by eight, Charlie.” Lucy stashed her purse under the counter. “It’s still a quarter to.”
Charlie didn’t reply, just flipped over two fried eggs, then deftly slipped them onto a plate alongside an order of bacon and two slices of toasted rye. “Fried egg platter. Rye dry,” he called out. He glanced at Zoey, who had taken off her jacket, but didn’t know what else to do. “Get it? That was toasted rye bread with nothing on it.”
Zoey gazed back at him. She looked very nervous; her eyes were wide and she seemed to have lost her voice.
Charlie scowled at Lucy. “Do something with her, will you? She can’t just stand around all day.”
Zoey practically jumped at his harsh tone. Lucy bustled her away. “He just gets nervous when he’s behind the grill and there’s a crowd. It doesn’t last long.”
“Him getting nervous—or the crowd?” Zoey asked.
“Good question. A little of each, I’d say,” Lucy replied. She took out two order pads and two sharp pencils. “You stick with me awhile and help me wait on my tables. We won’t give you a station yet.”
“Good,” Zoey said with relief as she followed Lucy out onto the floor. “I’m not so sure this was a good idea after all.”
“Don’t worry. It will be fine. Just watch what I do,” Lucy said calmly.
A couple with two children walked through the door and gazed around for a table.
“Sit anywhere, folks. I think that booth by the window is empty,” Lucy greeted them.
As the family headed toward the table, Lucy took two menus from the stack near the door and two children’s menus, which were printed on place mats that also served as coloring pages.
“When little kids come in, give them these. And we have packs of crayons over there. Keeps them busy for about . . . three minutes.”
Zoey nodded, a serious expression on her face, as if she were memorizing everything Lucy said. Lucy handed her the menus and told her to give them out at the table. She went over to another table where the family looked as if they had been waiting awhile and took their order.
Zoey met her there. “That man with the red baseball cap? He asked me for more coffee.”
“Okay. The coffeemaker is behind the counter at the very far side. See it?” She pointed to the machine. “Just bring the pot over, very carefully, and fill his cup.”
That was an easy assignment. Lucy watched out of the corner of her eye to see how Zoey managed the task. The girl found the pot, carried it carefully, and then began to pour the coffee for the customer, who was talking in a loud voice to another man who sat across from him.
“Whoa, there! Is that regular coffee? I said de-caf. You want to kill me with that stuff? I’ll get a heart attack.”
Lucy saw Zoey’s eyes narrow as she turned and headed back with the coffeepot.
“What an idiot,” Zoey mumbled as she walked by Lucy.
“Yeah, he is,” Lucy agreed. “But just bring him his coffee. Ours is not to reason why,” she reminded her trainee.
Zoey sighed dramatically and returned to the table with the pot of decaf. Lucy watched from a distance. She didn’t want to be right on top of the kid all day. She’d never get any confidence that way.
“Here you are, decaffeinated coffee.” Zoey’s tone was a bit sarcastic, but the man was so intent on his conversation, he didn’t even glance at her.
Zoey leaned over to pour the coffee, and the man suddenly seemed to notice her. “Did you bring the right coffee this time? You’re sure now?”
“Yeah, I did. . . . Just chill.” Zoey made a face and started pouring the coffee.
But her customer was not convinced. He reached out and pulled his cup away to make sure. It was too late. The hot coffee kept falling, now without a cup beneath to catch it.
“You idiot! For crying out loud ...” He jumped up as if the diner were on fire. “Are you trying to kill me or something?”
Zoey shrank back, cowering as if the man might hit her. “Why did you move your stupid cup? That’s not my fault!”
“Hey, I didn’t come here to take smart talk from a waitress. Where’s the manager? I want to see the manager,” he insisted
Lucy ran over and started cleaning up the coffee with a towel. The man was red in the face and looked totally incensed, though Lucy noticed that the spilled coffee hadn’t even touched him. Most of it trickled down off the table onto the floor.
“I am so sorry, sir,” Lucy said, making sympathetic little sounds. “Here, let me take your check. This is on the house. Did you get coffee anywhere on that nice sweatshirt?” she asked, though the dark green sweatshirt decorated with a picture of a deer with massive antlers would have been improved by a stain or two, she thought.
He looked down at his large stomach, about to complain, but couldn’t find a drop. “I think she got a little on my new boots” he said instead.
Lucy and the man’s friend both looked down at the boots.
“That’s just some mud or car oil,” his friend said helpfully. “That’s not coffee.”
Lucy looked up and smiled. “I think you’re right.”
Charlie had come out from behind the counter to see what all the fuss was about. “What’s going on here?” he asked sternly.
“We had a little spill,” Lucy explained. “It’s all cleaned up. But I’m buying these nice folks breakfast.”
She graced the two men with her sweetest smile. By their softening expressions, she could tell she was getting away with it.
Charlie frowned. “I can guess how that happened.” He looked around for Zoey, and Lucy did, too. The girl had retreated to the coffee station and remained there. Trudy was chatting with her, hopefully telling her not to pay any attention to the hotheaded customer.
But Zoey looked shaken, and Lucy felt sorry for her. She walked over to commiserate.
“That was unfortunate, getting such a big grouch the first time out. People usually don’t overreact like that, even if you drop their whole order.”
“He moved his cup right while I was pouring. What was I supposed to do?”
“I believe you. I saw him.” Of course, an experienced waitress waits until all the action at the table stops before pouring coffee, but Lucy would explain that later. She patted Zoey’s arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It will get better.”
“I told you I couldn’t do this. Who wants to be a stupid waitress anyway? Wear this dumb uniform . . . get yelled at by stupid men wearing moose-head sweatshirts?”
Lucy sighed. The girl did have a point. Lucy had come to the same conclusion about waitressing herself. Only it had taken her almost twenty years, not twenty minutes.
That was the problem when yo
u didn’t even have a high school diploma. Maybe this experience would open Zoey’s eyes to how limited her opportunities would be if she didn’t go back to school.
“Just give it another try—an hour or two? If you still hate it, I’ll take you home, no questions asked,” Lucy promised. Zoey didn’t answer but after a moment sighed and nodded her head.
“Hey, was that a moose? I thought it was just a big buck,” Lucy said as she cleared the table. “It was ugly, no question. I’d be tempted to pour coffee on that sweatshirt on purpose,” she said, making Zoey laugh.
Zoey stuck by Lucy as she made the rounds of her tables. Lucy didn’t let her do much more than give out menus or clear for a while. A few hours later she advanced her to serving the orders when Charlie called them out at the service bar. She saw Charlie bark at the girl once or twice as she was collecting the food. Lucy sighed. She and Charlie had already discussed this—how he was supposed to be patient and encouraging. But Charlie didn’t do patient and encouraging very well. The best Lucy could hope for was Charlie holding on to his temper.
The morning rush flew by. Zoey continued to make mistakes, mixing up orders, getting rattled and distracted when customers would call out to her as she passed by—“More coffee, please?” “More water?” “Some ketchup over here, miss?”
Lucy could see she had trouble focusing. She was easily distracted. Was that part of the learning problem Rita Schuman had mentioned? Lucy didn’t want to bring it up with Zoey. She knew the girl would be self-conscious about it. Instead, she tried to gently address it on her own with a few small tips, the things every waitress had to keep in mind to keep organized.
On Christmas Eve Page 15
