“I brought one home from school,” Jamie said, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement. “Printed recipes in a binder will be much easier to read than Lovie’s chicken scratch on those tiny index cards.”
“I think so too.” Sam rested against the counter, spent.
“You’re brilliant, Mom. I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t say that yet. A lot of things need to fall into place before you can be proud of me.”
EIGHT
Faith
Faith white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from dropping Bitsy at school on Monday morning. Her mother sat in the passenger seat beside her, ripping a tissue into tiny shreds. Only the Lord knew what thoughts were crossing Lovie’s mind. Faith had spent the weekend in her own private hell. She didn’t know what to think or what to do, where to go or whom to turn to for advice. Eli would be the obvious choice, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, drag her family into this insanity again. Curtis’s last rampage had driven Sam to become an alcoholic. She would not put her loved ones in harm’s way again. Then again, hadn’t her silence already put her family at risk if he was somehow responsible for starting the fire at the market?
She’d combed through her in-box and found among the plethora of advertisements in her spam file an email from the parole board dated three months earlier, alerting her to her ex-husband’s upcoming parole hearing. She’d gotten slack. She’d become so comfortable in her new life with Mike she’d ignored the potential threat. The authorities had warned her from the beginning that good behavior could earn Curtis a chance for early parole.
She’d contacted the warden and Curtis’s parole officer over the weekend. Both had expressed confidence that her ex-husband had not left the city limits of Columbia since his release on Tuesday.
“I assure you, we are watching him closely,” Emmett Reyes, the parole officer, had said. “We have a system in place, and that system has proven effective time and again.”
“I hope you realize who you’re dealing with, Mr. Reyes. My ex-husband is a slimy snake capable of slithering through the narrowest of cracks.”
Faith wanted to believe that her mother had started the fire, however screwed up it was to wish your demented mother had burned down your family’s business. To an outsider Lovie was the obvious guilty party. She had been on the scene when the fire trucks arrived, and she hadn’t been in her right mind since. But no matter how much Faith tried to convince herself otherwise, or how much the evidence stacked up against her mother, she knew Lovie would never destroy her beloved market regardless of her mental stability.
Curtis was somehow involved. She felt it deep down in her core. The situation reeked of him. That the fire had happened the night after he was released from prison sent a message loud and clear—he was free, and he was coming for her. He was a sneaky little shit with no moral compass and friends every bit as mean as he. Considering the two-and-a-half-hour drive from Columbia to Prospect, he could have slipped out of his halfway house and conned some poor unsuspecting person into giving him a ride. And if he’d managed to elude their system once, he would do it a second and third time. Until he got the revenge he wanted on her family. Faith refused to be victimized again. She had her daughter to think of. And her mother as well. Her mother had also been a victim of Curtis’s last rampage. He’d broken into her house, held her at gunpoint, and robbed her of $500.
She sneaked a glance at Lovie beside her. Her mother wore an expression of innocence, riding alongside Faith without a care in the world. What decade was she reliving in her mind today? The late eighties, Faith’s teenage years, when they’d lived in the waterfront cottage next to Moss Creek Farm? Or the forties, when Lovie had been a young girl living with her parents on their family’s hog farm?
Faith vowed to take whatever measures necessary to protect her family. She considered hiring a hit man. Someone like Earl Sessions, one of Curtis’s low-life buddies who had made more than one pass at her when she was married to Curtis. She would offer him a blow job as payment for killing her husband. She pounded the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. What the hell are you thinking, Faith? Are you losing your mind now too? Providing sexual favors to deadbeat scum is going too far.
“Is something the matter, dear?” Lovie asked.
“No, Mom. Everything’s fine.”
Faith didn’t need Earl or Eli or Emmett Reyes. She had a plan. She would take care of Curtis herself.
Faith took her mother home, fixed her a cup of hot tea, and planted her in front of the TV. The TV Land channel was hosting a Golden Girls marathon that lasted until noon, which should buy her enough time.
“I’ll be back soon, Mom.” Faith kissed the top of Lovie’s head. “Maybe we’ll grab a bite of lunch somewhere and make that trip to the garden center. You can help me pick out some annuals for my planters.”
“That sounds nice, dear,” Lovie said, already engrossed in the show.
Faith double-checked all the doors to make certain they were locked before she left. She drove to the west side of town to Guns and Reels, a locally owned sporting goods store where the men in her family shopped for fishing and hunting gear. At nine thirty on a Monday morning, she was the only customer in the store.
“I’d like to purchase a handgun,” she announced to the fat redneck at the gun counter in the back.
His lips parted into a smile, revealing a half-inch gap between his front teeth. “What does a pretty little thing like you need with a gun?”
“That’s none of your business, now is it?”
He snickered. “I’ve got a little pink number you might be interested in.”
“I don’t want a pink handgun, mister, any more than I want your attitude. Is there someone else in the store who can help me? Preferably a female.”
He spread his flabby arms wide at the empty store. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”
“In that case, I’d like to see a Smith & Wesson Bodyguard and a Ruger LC9s if you have them in stock.” She’d stayed up half the night researching guns online. She was torn between a revolver and a single-stack magazine.
“Whoa now. You’re talking about a lot of gun for a little lady. Do you even know how to shoot it?”
“My father taught me how to shoot, thank you very much. Rifles and shotguns and pistols. I could take you out in a single shot from a mile away.”
He winked one of his beady brown eyes at her. “Feisty little thing, now ain’t you?”
Faith felt a surge of anger. She knew his type. She’d been married to his type. She planted her palms on the counter. “You are wasting my time. I came here to make a purchase. Are you going to help me, or should I take my business elsewhere?”
He dropped his smile and straightened. “Nah, no need to go anywhere else. Let me fetch those guns for you outta the back. We have both in stock.” He disappeared through a swinging door and returned with the two handguns. Much to her relief, he discussed the pros and cons of each in a professional manner.
Deciding on the Ruger, she also purchased two boxes of ammo and a gun safe big enough to house the gun but manageable enough to carry in her bag. He gave her the names of several instructors she could call for the training necessary to apply for the concealed weapons permit. The application process could take up to ninety days, but she felt comfort in knowing she could at least protect herself in her home until then.
Faith left the sporting goods store and drove three miles farther west to the shooting range the redneck had recommended. She was grateful to find a young woman behind the counter who didn’t sneer or leer at her. Faith filled out the paperwork and paid the fee for the membership.
“I’m a bit rusty,” Faith admitted. “I haven’t shot a gun in years. Is there someone here who can give me instruction?”
She’d expected to be told to come back later in the week, but the woman said, “Sure. Mondays are slow. Ronnie’s in the back.” She motioned Faith to the inside range.
To her surprise her ai
m wasn’t as bad as she’d anticipated. Ronnie complimented her on her form and agreed to give her another lesson on Wednesday. She drove home feeling proud of herself for taking matters into her own hands and feeling confident that she could take care of herself. She’d matured a lot since her divorce from Curtis. The old Faith would’ve dragged her family into her problems. This new Faith, the one she barely recognized, was learning to stand on her own two feet.
When she got home, she headed straight to the master bedroom at the end of the hall and hid the gun pouch in an empty shoebox on the shelf at the top of her closet.
“Mom, I’m home,” she called on her way to the family room. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the empty chair. Betty White was still babbling on the television, and the cup of tea she’d fixed for her mother before she left remained untouched on the table beside the chair. Faith’s heart raced as she frantically searched the house and the yard, but there was no sign of her mother anywhere. She knew it was common for dementia patients to disappear. She should never have left Lovie home alone. She called the neighbors on either side of her, but neither had seen or heard from Lovie. She grabbed her car keys, and for the next thirty minutes, she drove up and down Creekside hoping to spot her mother walking along the side of the road. It was almost noon, and the thermometer on her dash registered eighty-three. Her mother would be parched and hungry. She returned home praying she’d find her mother back in front of the TV. But the chair was still empty, as was her house.
With a heavy heart, she called her sister. “Sam, get over here fast. I lost Mom.”
NINE
Jamie
Annie called Jamie early Monday morning to ask if he could meet earlier for lunch. “Does eleven work for you? I have to be back in Charleston late afternoon for a party I’m catering tonight, and I want to see Faith and your mom while I’m in town. Lovie too, if I have time.”
Jamie blinked the film off his eyes. Her call had woken him from a deep, peaceful sleep. It dawned on him through his haze that Annie had failed to include Jackie on her list of family members she wanted to visit. He didn’t blame her, considering the way Jackie had treated her. Annie wasn’t one to hold grudges, but Jamie suspected his sister would always hold his aunt partially responsible for her losing the baby.
“Eleven is fine,” Jamie said. “I have to warn you, though. I went to see Gran yesterday. She’s not doing so well. She’s been confused since the fire.”
“Aw, poor Lovie. I’m sorry to hear that.” Annie had worked at Sweeney’s during the brief time she lived in Prospect. Despite the age difference, she’d really hit it off with his grandmother.
“I know, right?” Jamie said. “We’re all hoping she’ll snap out of it.”
“By the way, I’m bringing a friend with me,” Annie said and hung up before he could interrogate her.
Jamie assumed this so-called friend was a new guy Annie was dating. He’d always hoped their individual journeys of discovery would eventually lead his cousin and his sister back together. But maybe it wasn’t meant to be for Cooper and Annie after all. Which was a shame since they were perfectly suited.
When they met outside the Pelican’s Roost at eleven sharp, he discovered that Annie’s friend wasn’t a guy but a serious babe. Lizbet Horne was not hot the way most guys he knew considered a girl hot. She was a classic beauty with reddish-brown hair and petite facial features.
“Lizbet works with us at Tasty Provisions,” Annie explained. “She’s a whiz in the kitchen. She’s been accepted at the culinary institute and will be moving to New York next fall.”
His heart sank. He’d only just met this girl. Why did he care if she moved to New York? He was sure she already had a boyfriend anyway. Nice girls like Lizbet were always in serious relationships. “Do you plan to come back to Charleston when you finish?” he asked, feeling the heat rise in his face.
“Without question,” Lizbet said. “I’m excited to experience New York, but I’m not a big-city girl at heart. Even Charleston feels too big for me at times.”
He flashed her a smile. “You’ve come to the right place then, if you like small towns.”
Lizbet gazed out across the marina. “Even better if the small town is located on a body of water. If we have time, I’d love to walk down on the boardwalk.”
The main building at the Inlet View Marina, including the marina store and the restaurant above it, served as the north anchor for the waterfront complex, which featured an ice cream parlor, hot dog hut, and small gift shop. The wooden boardwalk extended another quarter mile to the south, offering plenty of opportunity for development. He wondered why no one was taking advantage of the prime real estate. Prospect was growing at a rapid pace, with young families and retired northerners moving to the area every day.
“We’ll make time,” Jamie said, holding the door open for them to enter the restaurant.
The Roost was empty of employees and patrons. They stood at the hostess stand, waiting for someone to seat them. He was starting work here tonight, but he’d yet to meet any of the other employees. “Looks like we get to pick our own table,” Jamie said finally. “Let’s sit by the water.”
As he was ushering them to the row of booths overlooking the inlet, a heavyset waitress he’d never seen before waddled toward them from the back. “Sorry, y’all. The waitress in charge of this station is late to work. You’ll have to sit on the other side.”
Overlooking the market, he thought.
Annie cast him an uncertain glance. “Are you all right with that?”
“It’s fine,” he lied. He’d driven past the market several times since arriving home, but he couldn’t stomach more than a quick glance at the pit of charred rubble.
They settled themselves in the booth with Jamie on one side, opposite the girls. The waitress handed them laminated menus, took their drink orders, and disappeared into the back.
“What are their specialties?” Lizbet’s pale-gray eyes narrowed as she studied the menu. “It looks heart unhealthy.”
Annie giggled. “I should have warned you. The food is not what you’re used to, but it’s the best place in town.”
Jamie let his menu fall to the table. “What do you mean the best place in town? Since the Main Street Grill closed, it’s the only place in town. Aside from the Island Bakery, whose bread is as stale as their menu options.”
“What happened to the Main Street Grill?” Annie asked. “I loved their burgers.”
“The owner died in his sleep of a heart attack six months ago,” Jamie said. “He closed the restaurant on a Thursday night and never showed up for work the next day. He didn’t have any family to leave the business to.”
Annie crinkled her nose. “That’s so sad.”
Jamie pointed at an item on Lizbet’s menu. “You can’t go wrong with the fish and chips.”
“Fish and chips it is,” Lizbet said, her lips parting to reveal gleaming white teeth.
Jamie shook his head to clear his mind of the image of her succulent lips on his.
All three ordered the fish and chips when the waitress brought their drinks—sweet tea for Jamie and Lizbet and a Diet Coke for Annie. She collected the menus and disappeared into the back.
“It’s hard to believe it’s gone,” Annie said, staring out the window at the burned-out building. “When do you think they’ll start construction?”
“Mom’s interviewing architects this week. She’s hoping to get the rubble cleared by next weekend. Summer’s still a month away, but some folks have already started traveling to the beach on the weekends. We’d rather our clients see an empty lot than that mess.” Jamie forced himself to look across the street. He’d grown up helping his mother and grandmother at the market. As a child he’d stocked shelves, emptied the trash, and mopped the floors. As he grew older, his passion for experimenting in the kitchen had inspired him to seek a degree in hospitality management. “If we incorporate all the changes Mom is planning, the building will take up the whole
lot, including the parking area.”
Annie squinted. “I see a sign on that building behind the market. Is it for sale?”
Jamie couldn’t see the front of the building from his side of the booth. “What are you talking about? The stationery store?”
Annie accessed the camera app on her phone and zoomed in on the building. She studied the photo before handing him the phone. “Yes, Paper to Pen. The sign says it’s for sale. I’m not surprised. No one sends paper invitations or handwritten notes anymore. You should consider buying the property. It would give you more flexibility in the building you design and plenty of room for parking.”
“Leave it to you to figure out a solution to our problem.” Her resourcefulness was only one of the many things he admired about his half sister.
Annie beamed. “I’m full of advice.” She elbowed her friend. “Lizbet gets sick of listening to all my ideas.”
Lizbet elbowed her back. “That’s not true at all, and you know it.”
“Speaking of your amazing creativity . . . Mom has come up with a new concept for the new market. Her goal is to reinterpret traditional southern cuisine. Would you be interested in helping us?”
Annie’s brown eyes grew as large as his gran’s double-chocolate-chip cookies. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to brainstorm some ideas.”
The waitress delivered steaming baskets of fried flounder fillets and round homemade potato chips. Annie and Lizbet followed his lead when Jamie doused his food with vinegar. The women talked about the catering business while they ate, their faces lighting up as they discussed recipes, cooking techniques, and wine pairings. They had a clear understanding of the types of cuisine and level of service food snobs expected in today’s highly competitive restaurant and catering industry. Listening to their discussion brought what he’d studied at Carolina to life. Suddenly he could hardly wait to get out in the real world. Construction on the market could take twelve to eighteen months. Maybe he should look for a job in Charleston, if only for a little while.
Saturdays at Sweeney's Page 7
