by Gina Ardito
Chapter 4
Terri
Monday’s crowd wasn’t as dense as Sunday’s, but we still did a brisk business throughout the afternoon, including a few tourists—which, for a rainy November, was an unexpected bonus.
At Table Six, three such ladies had finished up their pots of tea (no pastries—dieting, you know) when one of them asked me, “Do you host birthday parties here?”
I thought about the possibility. Why not? How hard could it be? “I’m sure we could,” I replied.
“Wonderful.” The woman turned to her friends. “I’m looking for something different for Halston’s seventh birthday this year.”
“Oh, a tea party would be lovely,” one of the other ladies enthused.
I thought so, too. In my mind, I pictured half a dozen little girls in fancy hats and pretty floral dresses with shiny black shoes, sipping tea and nibbling on dainty French sweets. This could be a great way to drum up business in the slower months. And in the summer, if it was too hot for tea, we could do lemonade parties. A new flame of hope burst to life inside me. Things were definitely looking up.
“Of course, I’ll have to make sure Halston likes the idea first. Do you have a card or brochure?”
“Umm…” Did I? “Hang on. I’ll check.” I threaded my way around the chairs and tables to the front counter where Paige took another patron’s bill and charge card. “Hey,” I greeted her with a subtle nod.
Paige nodded in return, but her focus remained on the paying customer. “Thanks for visiting,” she said as he scrawled his signature on the credit receipt. “I hope you’ll come back soon.” Once the gentleman and his companions left, she turned to me. “What’s up?”
“Do I have business cards?” I whispered through a tight smile for the benefit of the customers milling nearby. How could the owner of the place not know if she had marketing material? Quite easily, in fact, if she’d just come home from a stint in rehab to find herself the owner of the place.
“Of course.” Paige reached into a Lucite holder near the cash register and picked up a small ivory-colored card. “Here.”
I flipped it around, took in the lacy design and the gold script. Tea and Tidbits. Terri O’Mara, Proprietor. “Nice.”
“Glad you like it.” Back to business, Paige looked out at the small crowd. “Cabot? Party of four?”
I returned to Table Six where the three women waited. “Here you go,” I said, handing over the card.
The woman took it without looking at it and tossed it in her slim purse. I swallowed my disappointment and offered the trio a smile.
“By the way, Halston is on a gluten-free, lactose-free diet. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
I had no idea, but I smiled even wider. “Not at all. I’ll look forward to hearing from you and Halston.”
I left their table and soon forgot all about them as I served other customers. Time flew. Sometime near closing, two college-aged girls approached me, looking for jobs. After a quick conversation regarding experience and availability, I hired them to bus tables, freeing Sam and Josh to return to their regular routine. Both would start tomorrow. I still had to replace half a dozen people, including my aunt and uncle, but I’d made some progress.
At the end of the day, I sent everyone home and sank into the nearest chair, exhausted but happy.
From behind me, china clinked. I whirled to spot Gary with a tray in his hands.
“Here. You haven’t eaten anything all day.” He set the tray down on the table in front of me. “Grilled cheese with gruyere and tomato aioli, a pot of green tea with honey, and an apple fritter.”
“Wow. Thanks. This smells awesome!” And it did. On cue, my appetite woke up and growled its presence.
“Judging by how busy I was in the kitchen, I’m guessing we had another good-sized crowd all day today, huh?”
“It’s been crazy busy,” I said and sat back to sip my tea. “We can barely keep up. And here’s more good news. I hired two local college students. Chelsea and Rachel will bus tables. With luck, in a few months, we can move them up to waitressing. In the meantime, with them on board, I can let Josh and Sam go. Isn’t that great?”
Gary’s eyes narrowed, and his posture stiffened. “Great. Except maybe next time, you might want to discuss it with your partner first? I might have liked some say on who’s working with us, doncha think?”
The edge in his tone snapped me from my dream state. Crap. I’d screwed up. And it was only Day Two. I put the teacup on its saucer and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having a partner. I’ve always been a solo act. Only child, only orphan, only drunken loser in town…” I offered him a self-deprecating goofball face, but instead of lightening the mood, my feeble poke at my own soft underbelly only seemed to anger him more.
“Stop doing that!”
His outburst forced me to cower in my chair, backpedaling for some easier ground between us. “What? It was a joke.”
“At your own expense. You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to be the first one to insult you. And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not alone anymore—you never really have been. You’ve just always held yourself apart from everybody else.” I started to argue, but he held up a hand. “Think about it. If you were truly alone and no one cared about you, would you have any of this right now?”
Effectively chastised, I sucked at my teeth. “No. I guess not.”
“You’ve got friends, family, and a partner, who all care about you. That’s more than a lot of people have. That’s more than I have.”
Well, double-crap. Way to make me feel lower than swamp mud. “You’ve got friends,” I replied, my tone a whisper roughened by emotions I didn’t recognize. “And a partner. And we all care about you. And your son. I’m sorry I left you out of the loop with the hiring thing. You’re absolutely right. I was just feeling so guilty about everyone who’s working here as a favor to me—to us—I grabbed at the first opportunity to relieve two of them.” I inwardly cringed as I remembered the other executive decision I made. “I suppose I should also tell you that a woman asked if we could do a kid’s birthday party and I said yes. I got swept up in the excitement of having a new idea and totally forgot to run it past you. I won’t make that mistake again. I promise.”
He sat in the chair opposite me and leaned over to pat my hand. A warm tingle rippled through me at the contact. “It’s okay. I imagine you’re facing a lot more changes than you should right now. But try to remember you have not only a business partner, but a friend in that kitchen. Feel free to run things by me, always when they have to do with this place, but at any other times, too. I want you to trust me. I won’t bite.”
Okay, this was getting seriously weird. Not uncomfortable weird, just, like old-married-couple weird. Gary’s face was so close to mine, I swore he could stretch his lips and kiss me. And that was not a good idea!
I picked up a triangle of the sandwich and bit into it, creating an effective barrier between us. The creamy cheese and tangy aioli harmonized in my mouth, a symphony of flavors. No wonder my tearoom—our tearoom—drew such crowds. Gary Sullivan was an epicurean genius.
“Good?” he asked.
“Phenomenal. The Lookout’s loss is definitely my gain.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” He stood. “I should go. I hafta pick up Chris from his afterschool program. You okay here?”
With a wave of my arm, I gestured around the tearoom, empty but for the furniture and the two of us. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“Just checking. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Enjoy your lunch.”
He started to return to the kitchen, pulling his apron up over his head as he strode away.
I called him back. “Hey. Gary?” When he turned around again, I held up a triangle of grilled cheese. “You wanna share some of this feast with me?”
His smile hit me right in the heart. “No, thanks, ma puce,” he drawled. “You need the sustenance. Lock up after I’m gone. I don’t want
anything happening to my partner. Have a good night.” With that, he disappeared through the kitchen door. A minute later, I heard the back door open and close again.
The man’s behavior confused me. Part flirt, part nursemaid, part growling dog, Gary had more facets than a diamond—some of them just as sharp, others just as brilliant.
At least, I considered as I munched on the sandwich and sipped my tea, he’d make this partnership interesting.
Once I finished my meal, I brought the tray of dishes into the kitchen, cleaned up, and then returned to the front to make sure everything was locked up tight ‘til tomorrow. A square of white paper lay on the tile floor near the front door, and I bent to retrieve it. I assumed it was a flyer for one of the other local businesses. The image that met my eyes chilled my blood and pitched my stomach. A grainy photo of me, passed out on someone’s lawn, face-down in a garden of azaleas, sat beneath the headline, Is This The Kind of Business Owner We Want in Snug Harbor?
♥♥♥♥
Jayne
My phone was ringing when I struggled to unlock my front door, a bag of groceries in my grasp. “Get that for me, would you, Midnight?”
The cat didn’t move from his perch on the windowsill.
“You’re a big help,” I grumbled and managed to get inside and drop the bag to grab the receiver before the answering machine clicked on. “Hello?”
“Hello? Is this Dr. Jayne Herrera?”
The question, paired with the unfamiliar voice, rang alarm bells in my head. “Who is this?”
“My name is Tanya Carter. I’m with the Akron Register. By now, I’m sure you’ve heard about the death of Mr. Pittman. We’re doing a retrospective—”
“You have the wrong number.” I hung up and stood in the darkened living room, staring at the phone. The tremors rippled through me, and my teeth chattered. Even knowing what would happen next, I wished there was a way to escape, to avoid the inevitable.
Sure enough, the ringing began before I’d caught my breath. This time, I let it go to voicemail. Thank God, my recorded message was automated with no personalization of any kind: no name, no number. Just the basic male robotic voice saying, “Hello. No one is available to take your call.”
I took a shaky breath, let it out while my brain raced into panicked recriminations. They’d found me, the vultures. I knew I’d taken a big chance by not changing my name when I moved here, but at the time, I feared going through the legal channels would leave a clearer paper trail for the unsavory to follow. Nor had I wanted to give up the degrees and licenses of the vocation I loved: veterinary medicine. Stupid, stupid, stupid. They would never leave me alone, no matter how much time passed.
When Tanya Carter’s voice came out of the speaker with the spiel she’d started on the phone with me, I turned the volume all the way down. Despite the silence, I could almost hear the script she’d recite from. How many times had reporters tried to wheedle me into providing my side of the story? Now that one of these muckrakers had found me, they’d all circle my carcass soon. They’d camp on my sidewalk outside the house, follow me to work, shove microphones at my neighbors, and delight in finding any individual who’d say, “I always knew she was weird,” for the benefit of cameras and fifteen minutes of fame.
I sighed. Time to go on the defensive. Again. First, I had a few people to warn. Since Tanya and her ilk would no doubt blow up my house phone with calls and messages for exclusives, I dug my cell out of my jacket pocket and hit the number for Dom, who was working the later shift tonight at the vet’s office.
Desiree, our evening receptionist, answered almost immediately. “Hello and thank you for calling Snug Harbor Veterinary. How can I help you this evening?”
I forced a calm I didn’t feel. “Hi, Desiree, it’s Dr. Herrera. Could you tell Dr. Bautista I’m on the phone? It’s important.”
“Sure, Dr. H. I think he’s just finishing up with a patient. Hold on.”
While the recorded hold message advised me that flea and tick medication was just as important in the fall as it was in the summer months for my pet, I walked around the first floor, turning on all the lights. Nothing worse than a gloomy atmosphere when discussing my checkered past.
“Hello, sunshine.” Dom’s cheery voice suddenly interrupted the recorded reminder that Halloween chocolate was dangerous for dogs. “Did you forget something?”
“They found me,” I replied without preamble.
“We kinda knew they would, didn’t we?” The happy tone didn’t dissipate.
“You don’t understand, Dom,” I whispered with urgency in the misguided hope he’d understand the gravity of the situation. “This is going to get ugly. They’ll invade the office, your home, any place that has any link to me. And they don’t play nice. They’ll dig up all kinds of unsavory stuff, put all your skeletons under a gigantic microscope. Yours, and probably Evan’s, too.”
“Hold on a sec.” He must’ve muffled the phone’s speaker with his palm while he said something to someone with him. As I waited for him to gain some privacy for our conversation, probably in his office, I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it on the couch. Midnight twined in and out of my legs, meowing for dinner and his nightly affection routine.
“Okay, okay,” I told the cat. “Come in the kitchen.” I picked up my bag of groceries, cradling my phone between my shoulder and ear.
By the time Dom said, “You there?” I’d managed to fill Midnight’s dish with kibble and stow the cold stuff in my fridge.
“Yes,” I said.
“Okay, then,” Dom said. “First of all, we knew this would happen eventually. Second, let them dig. Evan and I have nothing to hide.”
“You don’t think you have anything to hide. Once they start digging, they can make a crime out of your fondness for red over white wine or the stitches you prefer to use in surgery. They’ll rip apart the most minute flaw until it’s all you see whenever you look in a mirror.”
“Oh, the horrors! How will anyone in town ever look at us with respect again?” He chuckled. “Jayne, take a breath. Take two. Take a dozen if it helps you cool your jets. Everything’s going to be all right.”
A bitter laugh escaped while I was doing all that breathing. “You have no idea.”
“Neither do you. Regardless of what happened to you back home. No one here is going to pay attention to a bunch of dirt-digging reporters scrambling after some old story about a guy they didn’t know and the ravings of his killer who was trying to wriggle out from his just punishment by throwing shade your way.”
Yeah, I used to think so, too. Before the lynch mob came to town. “We’ll see.”
“This isn’t Ohio.”
“One small town’s the same as another.”
“Listen to Dr. Dom. You make yourself a decent dinner, watch a rom-com, and soak in a nice hot bubble bath with a glass of wine—red or white, your choice. That’s my prescription for what’s really ailing you.”
“I could swear I heard you give that same prescription to Kristen Boggs for her broken heart at last month’s Halloween shindig.”
“I hate to have to tell you this, sunshine,” he replied, “but there’s a very good reason for that. A broken heart’s exactly what you’re suffering from, too. You’ve been ignoring the ailment for years.”
He had a point. The cracks had first appeared when David started pulling away from me, emotionally and physically, sometime during our third year of marriage. I knew the business wasn’t doing well, and he was having difficulties meeting the needs of his clients, but I never realized how desperate he’d become. His murder nearly destroyed me. The arrest and subsequent trial of his killer exhausted me to the point I had to be hospitalized. And then the defense attorney had spun his tale, and a black cloud of doubt formed over me where it still hovered to this day. Of course all the horrors I’d endured had broken my heart. Or perhaps, frozen it, since for some reason the damn organ still worked—just at a much slower pace these days.
I ro
lled my shoulders to release some tension, forced a smile to brighten my tone of voice. “Okay, Doc. I’ll give it a try.”
“Atta girl. See you tomorrow. And don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
I knew better, but what was the point of arguing? He’d find out for himself soon enough. “If you say so. Goodnight, Dom.”
“Goodnight, Jayne.”
I hung up, put away the rest of my groceries and called my mother.
After the usual chitchat, I asked, “Did you and Dad decide on a place to go for the month?”
“Your father wants to stay here. Honestly, I can’t blame him. It’s not fair that we should have to interrupt our lives just because they can’t find you.”
I bit my tongue. Our relationship had been frayed to mere threads by now. One sharp word could sever contact for good. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. They found me. I have a feeling your month is going to get a whole lot more relaxed now.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean—”
“I know. Me, too. If they’re still pestering you after tomorrow and you decide you do want to go away, call me. My offer stands until this blows over again.”
I hung up and proceeded to follow doctor’s orders by filling the tub with a rose and pomegranate bath bomb and pouring an enormous glass of chilled white wine. The phone rang an additional half dozen times while I soaked, but I refused to move, letting the callers go straight to voicemail, grateful I’d turned down the volume during that first contact from Tanya Carter.
A short time later, garbed in my softest pajamas, with Midnight slumbering on my lap, I sipped my wine, watched Meg Ryan try to win over Tom Hanks sometime in the nineties, and forced myself to ignore the flower of anxiety blooming inside me.
Let the good times roll.
