Mothers of the Year

by Lori Handeland

  Tonight couldn’t have come soon enough. And not just because of Brittany. In the past few days, something had happened to him. After all these years on auto pilot, he felt something stirring, something emotional. Toward Abby.

  He needed to see Mrs. Chappuis again, to prove she wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

  She radiated intelligence and confidence—with such alluring magnetism. And beautiful? It was apparent no one was safe around her. Least of all Rick.

  He decided to walk to the end of the pier and wait until diners began leaving.

  On his way back, he stopped to buy a frozen chocolate banana. Brittany raved about them. After one bite he understood why. As he turned away from the counter, he and the owner of Chez André caught sight of each other at the same time. She’d been chatting with one of the last customers, who was just leaving.

  Rick stayed where he was until she was free. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he called over. “We need to talk.”

  “Has the week been too much for Brittany?” she asked as they walked back into her restaurant together. “Four hours a day doesn’t sound like a lot, but it’s hard work. Maybe too hard?”

  “On the contrary,” he muttered. “She’s never been more alive.”

  “Then—”

  “I’m the one who’s having a problem.”

  Her glance flew to his in puzzlement. “Give me five minutes.”

  Rick nodded before walking over to the fireplace to examine the painting Brittany had described. Someone had turned off the music. Somewhere out of sight he heard employees talking and laughing. They seemed a congenial enough group as they closed up the place for the night. A couple of them eyed him curiously on their way out.

  Little by little the restaurant emptied. The owner eventually reappeared carrying a stack of newly laundered napkins. “Peace at last.” She sat down at one of the tables to fold them.

  He sat opposite her. “I see your work is never done.”

  She reached for another napkin, giving him a knowing smile. “That’s what Brittany says about you.”

  Brittany…The reason he was here.

  “Does my daughter do a lot of that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Talk incessantly about me the way she does about you?”

  Before she could respond, a sandy-haired guy who looked college age came out from the back. He gave Rick a speculative glance.

  “Hey, Abby. I’m leaving now. Anything I can do for you before I go?”

  “No thanks, Chet. See you on Monday.”

  Unsmiling, Chet stared at the two of them a moment longer before he disappeared out the front doors. Rick sensed a certain amount of hostility emanating from the guy.

  “I understand he’s the one training my daughter on the dishwashing machine.”

  “Yes. I don’t know why you’re here, so I didn’t introduce you. He’d tell Brittany you’d been to see me. Under the circumstances I thought it best.”

  “I appreciate that.” Rick cocked his head. “How much has she told you about her mother?”

  Abby blinked but kept folding. “Only that she died when Brittany was one.”

  “Rachel had lymphoma.”

  He read the sadness in her green eyes. “I’m sorry about your wife,” she said. “I know what it’s like to lose a spouse.”

  “My daughter told me about your husband. I’m sorry for your own loss. But as far as Brittany goes…she doesn’t remember her mother. In fact, we’ve been doing fine until now.”

  “When I was her age, I wanted more independence, too,” Abby said. “It goes with the territory of being a teen, I guess.”

  “Now that she’s met you, I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that. Over the years, there’ve been a series of exceptional housekeepers in our lives, but she never bonded with any of them.”

  Abby’s mind made the leap. “You think she has with me. Is that what you’re saying?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know she has.”

  The unexpected news thrilled Abby, who’d been inexplicably drawn to the girl from the first day she’d met her. Get a grip, she told herself. You have no right to get too caught up in Brittany’s life.

  “My daughter’s young and impressionable,” he continued. “Whether you’re aware of it or not, you’ve taken on more than an employee. I came here to warn you.”

  She seemed to be getting mixed signals from him. Was he angry with her? Or his daughter? Or both?

  Abby sat back in the chair, refusing to feel guilty about extending the opportunity to Brittany. Many sixteen-year-olds held jobs. Abby had herself.

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  While she attempted to digest what he’d just said, he pushed himself away from the table and stood. “Funny—when she first told me about Chet, I thought I was going to hear she had a crush on him.”

  Years of love and nuturing lay behind that remark. Brittany’s father was hurt, and that hurt Abby. “Did you ever admire another man besides your father?” she asked.

  He gave a slow nod. “But that’s all it was. I didn’t see any of them as a replacement.”

  Replacement? His comment touched a chord.

  They were getting into deeper water. He wasn’t the only who didn’t know what to do about the situation. Abby more than liked Brittany. The girl was very precious. Already she couldn’t imagine not having her around.

  Anxiously, she gathered the napkins and got to her feet. “If you feel that strongly, perhaps you should tell her you’ve changed your mind about her taking a summer job after all. I’m sure you could come up with a valid reason. I would back you up if it came to that.”

  Lines formed grooves around his mouth. “Surely I don’t have to tell you that it would cause a breach with my daughter I could never repair.”

  “You’re her hero, you know,” she said under her breath, but he heard her.

  “If I intervened, I’d lose that coveted title.”

  Hardly able to breathe, she said, “Is there a woman in your life right now?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Abby did ask. “How does Brittany feel about her?”

  “Doesn’t the fact that I’m talking to you answer that question?”

  Troubled, Abby shifted her weight. “I think you’re making too much of this. She’s excited about the job, but the novelty will wear off.”

  “One can only hope.” She heard no levity in his voice.

  “I like your daughter. I want to see her succeed. I’ll make a conscious effort to keep the relationship professional.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t ask for more than that, but I’m left with another dilemma.”

  “What is that?”

  “While we were out sailing this afternoon, she made me promise to come here after she gets off work on Friday. She wants the two of us to have dinner together, no doubt to impress me with her knowledge of fondue au fromage. And the proper wine to drink with it,” he added.

  Hoping her voice sounded steady, she said, “Cheryl’s one of my best waitresses. I’ll ask her to wait on you.” Abby would make herself scarce. “I’ll tell her to bring a bottle of Grapillon for Brittany.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Grapillon?”

  “A nonalcoholic grape drink from Switzerland that goes well with the cheese.”

  He studied her features for a moment. “That’s probably the only thing she hasn’t told me about yet.”

  Long after he’d left, Abby stood alone in the dim light of the empty dining room. There was a dark side to this man. He was complicated. She’d have to watch every step with his daughter.

  When he said he’d come to warn her, he’d meant he didn’t want her to enable his daughter any more than she already had. The last thing she wanted was for Brittany to get hurt.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ON FRIDAY EVENING, Rick walked to the restaurant. It was the second time in a week. Af
ter negotiating for a new commercial property for Oceanside, he’d left his office an hour early to shower and shave.

  He’d been tempted to phone Liz and ask her to come, but decided against it. She would see it as an encouraging sign. It wouldn’t be fair to her or Brittany.

  This evening, they’d given sailing a miss because his daughter was too eager to share her new world with him. Of course that world included her boss who’d be on the premises throughout the evening.

  He’d been too intense with Mrs. Chappuis earlier. He had a suspicion she wasn’t happy about him coming here tonight. In truth, he was surprised she hadn’t reconsidered keeping Brittany on staff.

  Knowing she had access to the job application his daughter had filled out, he’d half been expecting a phone call at his office telling him this wasn’t going to work. As a result, his week had been a complete wash.

  The only good thing to come out of it was that he’d figured out what had caused his unwarranted behavior. He was jealous of his daughter’s attachment to Abby.

  Before now no one had given him reason to believe. So it had come as a shock, one he hadn’t handled well because the object of Brittany’s unprecedented affection was a formidable foe.

  Charming, warm, compassionate, utterably desirable….

  He intended to apologize to Abby. If at all possible, he’d take her aside tonight.

  “Dad—”

  He jerked his head toward his daughter, who was waving to him from one of the restaurant’s outside tables bordering the pier. She was wearing her school clothes. He wondered how long she’d been trying to get his attention.

  “I thought you’d never notice me,” she complained, as he reached her.

  He sat down next to her. “You were right about this place. I feel like we’ve been transported to Switzerland. How did things go today?”

  “I learned how to set up the tables.” She handed him the drink list fashioned in wood. It gave the background of the two drinks served: nonalcoholic Grapillon, and fendant, their white Swiss wine made from Chasselas, an old varietal.

  “Abby hand-painted all these flowers. They match the ones on the leather straps holding those huge cowbells.”

  Rick had seen them hanging from the rafters. “She does beautiful work.”

  “If you read on the back, it tells you about fondue.” She turned it for him. “Fondue comes from the French word, fonder, which means ‘to melt.’ It refers to cheese being cooked at the table with its own heat source.”

  He was trying to pay attention, but he couldn’t stop looking around for Abby.

  “Traditionally if you drop the bread off the fork and into the pot, you have to kiss the person next to you. Gross, hmm?”

  Loving this daughter of his, he kissed her cheek, as she tried to squirm away. He couldn’t help wondering how many times Abby’s husband had used that ploy.

  “Dad—you’re not supposed to kiss me yet.”

  “I felt like it, kiddo.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Guess what else? Tonight I arranged the chocolate truffles on the dessert plates with the doilies. You have to use special gloves to handle them.”

  Rick was half listening as he unfolded the cloth napkin and smoothed it over his lap.

  “They’re made in Switzerland, too. Abby let me eat a couple. You won’t believe how good they are.”

  He could believe it. Anything to do with Abby was out of the ordinary.

  He stifled a groan. Now he was starting to think of her as Abby.

  “Good evening, Brittany,” a voice broke in on them.

  “Hi, Cheryl. This is my dad, Richard Jakeman.”

  “Welcome to Chez André, Mr. Jakeman. Your daughter is such a treat to work with.”

  Rick glanced at the good-looking, auburn-haired waitress who put two plates with French bread on the table.

  “Thank you. Everyone’s made her feel welcome.”

  “I’ve been here three years, which tells you I wouldn’t want to work anywhere else. Have you decided if you want wine or Grapillon?”

  “We’ll have one of each.”

  “I can’t wait to be a waitress,” Brittany confided after the other woman walked away.

  “You’re kidding,” he teased.

  “Dad—” She kept looking around. “I wonder where Abby is? I was hoping she’d come out and sit with us.”

  After his talk with Abby earlier, it was evident she’d decided to leave the father and daughter alone. “With a crowd like this, I imagine she’s too busy.” Brittany frowned.

  The drinks arrived just before a pot of bubbling fondue. He could smell the distinctive odor of the cherry wine mixed with the garlic.

  “Bon appétit,” Cheryl told them.

  “Thank you,” he said, but he was afraid his appetite was gone.

  Brittany took over. “You break your bread into quarter-size pieces and put one on the end of your fork. Then you dip it in the cheese like this.”

  He copied her example. The first bite told him all he needed to know.

  “This is incredible,” he muttered.

  “Abby’ll have to come out here sometime. Let’s save a little for her.” His daughter was still convinced she’d be joining them.

  Brittany had no idea he’d eaten fondue before since it wasn’t commonly served. But he had to admit he’d never tasted anything this good. A few more bites and he said, “Excuse me, honey. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay. Don’t be long.” She always said that.

  He made his way through the restaurant to the restroom area. En route, he searched for Abby. She was nowhere to be found. His gut tightened. By sheer strength of will he didn’t go into the kitchen.

  “Mr. Jakeman?” Cheryl called when he was on his way back to Brittany.

  He turned.

  “Brittany asked me if I’d find Abby and tell her to come to your table,” the waitress said, shifting her hold on two trays of food. “But one of the girls just told me Abby took the night off. Will you please let your daughter know? I’ve got tables waiting.”

  It felt as if a tight band constricted his lungs. “No problem.”

  So that was that. But his daughter wasn’t going to like it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ABBY’S BEDROOM window overlooked the harbor. An hour ago she’d seen Brittany’s father taking long strides toward the restaurant. Like a stallion in a herd of geldings, he’d been easy to pick out of the crowd. No other man compared.

  Just watching him sent a yearning through her body.

  At one point during the evening she’d thought she’d at least go outside and say hello to Brittany and her father to be friendly.

  Bad idea. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not after he’d come expressly on Monday night to warn her off. The things he’d confided had tormented her all week. But she had to admit she would have liked to eat dinner with them.

  Her adrenaline kicked in again when she looked and saw the two of them leave the restaurant. Brittany turned frequently to her father to say something. He didn’t pause or take time to enjoy the harbor. If he did any talking at all, Abby couldn’t tell.

  She pressed her forehead against the pane. What would it have been like to get to know him if they’d met under different circumstances? She longed for him to treat her like a woman who interested him—without issues or complications.

  In two short weeks, the man and his daughter had worked their way beneath her skin. Since he’d told her he would be coming this evening for dinner with Brittany, he’d never been out of her mind.

  Abruptly, she turned away—to be confronted by a photo of her husband propped on the bedside table. André seemed to be staring at her with accusation in his eyes.

  She felt consumed by guilt. A part of her wanted to run after those two people moving farther and farther away. Brittany’s father made her feel things she hadn’t felt for so long….

  “Forgive me, André. Please forgive me.”

  Disturbed by thoughts she
shouldn’t be having, she wheeled around and went into the bathroom. Removing her “Heidi” dress—as Brittany called it, which was how Abby would always think of it now—she took a long shower and washed her hair. Afterward she put on a robe and wandered into the living room.

  Nothing on TV interested her. She turned it off and lay on the couch with her feet up while she worked on a crossword puzzle. Normally it helped her to relax before bed. Not tonight. She felt wound up like a top.

  Dropping the crossword magazine on the floor, she happened to see another photo of her husband on the end table next to her begonia. She sat up and reached for his picture.

  His friends and family back in Lausanne thought he could pass for Switzerland’s ski champion Didier Cuche, and she could concede there was a superficial resemblance to the blond downhill skier.

  Chez André was his baby. André had been a restaurateur like his father and grandfather before him.

  She’d gotten caught up in the business with him. First at a strip mall farther inland. After his death she had taken a huge financial risk and moved to this coveted spot by the pier.

  If André were alive, he’d be thrilled to see that his dream was materializing.

  If the car crash hadn’t happened, their unborn child would be six years old…. Abby couldn’t help but wonder what her little boy would have looked like by now. He’d be a first-grader. Probably a towhead like André. Maybe green-eyed like herself?

  Brittany had inherited her father’s blue eyes. Yet where his were dark and intense, hers were full of sunshine. If Abby had a daughter, she would want her to be just like Brittany. Something about the girl wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Abby delighted in their conversations. Though Brittany expressed the usual amount of teenage angst, it was her father she ended up talking about the most. As she was leaving the restaurant earlier today she’d said, “My dad would live at his work if he could. But he’s got me so he has to come home.”

  With a smile Abby had said, “I’m sure that’s no penance. He’s a fortunate man to have you waiting for him. Are you on your way home now?”

  “Yes. I have to let Buddy out.”