Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  She sat down. “I can see it isn’t. I’d hate to know when was the last time they cleaned that mural, not to mention these phony flowers.” Casey picked up the menu and regarded it nostalgically.

  “What are you having?” Bonnie refolded her menu.

  “It says here they have farm-raised redfish, blackened in the true Cajun manner. We’ll see.” Casey folded the menu and laid it down to twist in her chair and stare meaningfully at the window opening to the kitchen.

  “Captain Bob had to retire a couple of years ago. Bad health, or so they say. Joe is running the business now.” Bonnie wiggled her eyebrows. “Joe just doesn’t have the personality his dad had. In fact, people say Joe is gone more than he’s here.”

  “A girl, no doubt.” Casey recalled the time Joe Kerns had fought Kalin one night in the parking lot when Kalin first started taking her out.

  Joe had adored Casey from afar for several years but never asked her out until Kalin appeared on the scene. Then his resentment of the situation overcame his judgment, and Kalin had taken pleasure in pointing out the errors in Joe’s ways.

  “When the owner of a business is in love, the help follows suit,” she added. Her gaze focused on the small window that opened into the kitchen, where a lanky youth in a white smock and chef’s hat exchanged views with a waitress.

  By the time their waitress arrived, Casey had subjected the entire restaurant to an expert’s scrutiny and reached a conclusion. “Captain Bob was the soul of this place,” she told Bonnie. “Joe needs to do something fast. I remember when this restaurant had standing room only on Sundays after church.”

  The waitress stood beside their table, chewing gum and tapping her pencil on her pad. She eyed Casey’s creamy silk blouse and tailored suit admiringly. “You used to work here?”

  “I was the evening cook,” Casey said. “Captain Bob ran this place the way he ran his tugboat crew. Everything was in place and polished.”

  “I never met him,” the waitress said. “Take your order?”

  Bonnie didn’t laugh until the girl had returned to the kitchen window. “I’m glad I thought of asking you here. It’s been worth it, seeing you in action.”

  “Oh, I’m not in action, Bonnie. If I were, this place would be straightened out by this afternoon.”

  Bonnie grinned. “I believe you.” She paused. “It looks like old Kalin McBryde would like you to straighten him out, too.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Kalin that I’m able to help.” Casey squashed the image of Kalin’s lean, muscular body as he stood beside his vehicle.

  Bonnie sipped water. “You realize he still cares for you, don’t you?”

  Casey gasped inwardly and tried to keep her poise. “He can’t possibly. He hasn’t even seen me in five years. The things he said … ,” she trailed off.

  “Don’t you think you might be dwelling too much on what he said? Whatever it was, he probably didn’t mean it, you know. You should give him another chance, Casey. You might be surprised.”

  “I can guarantee you, I’d be surprised. I couldn’t think about that scene for years afterward without wanting to die.”

  “You can have the benefit of my reasonably unbiased opinion if you care to tell all.” Bonnie propped her chin on her hand and looked across the table invitingly. “What did he say that you find so hard to forgive and forget?”

  Casey had never told anyone what Kalin had said during the two-week period their relationship had been lurching toward its finale. She still cringed with shame whenever she thought of them, and found it difficult to contemplate developing a relationship with another man because of them.

  Deep within her, a voice warned that the real reason she couldn’t develop an interest in other men was because they weren’t Kalin, but Casey knew that was ridiculous. Now that she had faced him successfully, she could get on with her life.

  Bonnie added, “I know he said you were trying to trap him into marriage the way your mother tried to trap your father, but that wasn’t what made you run. You’re still running, if you want my opinion.”

  Casey flushed and kept her eyes on her water glass. If she talked about it, the hurt would drain away and she could begin to heal. Or so they said.

  Why was it so difficult to begin?

  “Well, he did say I was trying to trick him into making love to me,” she said at last. “Which was true enough. I used to think I’d die if he didn’t, I wanted him so badly. What hurt was that he made fun of the way I responded when he touched me. He said I behaved like a bitch in heat.”

  “Kalin said that?” Bonnie stared.

  “Yes, he did.” Stated flatly, it sounded silly, and it sounded incredible to anyone who knew Kalin. “I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t out-talk him, with his talent for using words, so I cried and begged him to … ” She trailed off and shrugged. “Well, you know about that. He was so angry. So disgusted and fed up with me. And suddenly, everything I felt seemed cheap. What made me feel so ashamed was the way I begged him — in public, the way my mother had begged my father.”

  She was still ashamed, Casey realized, and she was frightened to sense that her physical response to Kalin would be the same if she allowed him to get too close.

  “Casey Gray, you’ve blown this whole thing all out of proportion,” Bonnie said. “You know good and well he didn’t mean all that. I don’t know what got into him then, but I do know he regrets it now.”

  “Probably,” Casey agreed. “Who wants to have to remember saying things like that to someone whose major crime was loving you too much?”

  She connected two drops of water that had formed on her water glass with her finger. The humiliation had gone so deep, she still found it difficult to think about. She had never connected the way she responded to Kalin with her mother’s pregnancy and public pleas — until Kalin had pointed it out in scathing tones.

  Casey had been on her cell phone at the time, begging Kalin to please just listen to her. When he’d hung up in her ear after speaking his mind on the subject, she had immediately ended her cell phone service and donated the phone to a battered women’s charity.

  After that, she’d rather have died than speak to Kalin McBryde for any reason. She never wanted to look him in the face again. She didn’t buy another cell phone until several weeks after she arrived at her culinary school, and she had instructed her grandparents not to give the number to Kalin, even if by some miracle he asked for it.

  “I expect his father’s death was rough on him.” Bonnie regarded her with sympathy. “I don’t know what went wrong when old Walter McBryde died, but you can bet it was strictly bad news for Kalin. For the McBrydes to go from rich to ordinary within a span of a few months, something bad must have happened. You were still going with Kalin then — didn’t he ever say anything?”

  Casey shook her head. Memories surfaced, of Kalin’s stunned blue eyes and the way he had wanted to spend hours just holding her after his father’s funeral.

  All she knew was that Walter McBryde had died suddenly of a massive heart attack. Kalin had supposedly inherited great wealth, but it seemed, from the little he’d said, that what he really inherited was trouble.

  “All the same, you should let him explain if he wants to,” Bonnie said.

  Casey kept her eyes on the design she was drawing in the condensation on her water glass. “I don’t want his explanations.”

  “Casey, listen to me. What can it hurt to hear his side of the story? The trouble with you is you’re judging yourself by what Kalin said without considering how rational his judgment was at the time.” Bonnie waited a moment to let this digest, then added, “Do you remember how mad Kalin used to get because you wouldn’t take a day off from work every now and then to go places with him?”

  “Rich kids have a hard time understanding what it’s like for us poor kid
s who have to work.”

  “Kalin wasn’t like that, and you know it. What made him mad was your attitude about it. You always gave the impression that the world would end if you didn’t earn every possible dollar.”

  “I had to save for culinary school,” Casey defended herself. “Grandpa couldn’t afford to send me.”

  “I’m just pointing out that Kalin could have gotten fed up because of other things, chiefly that attitude of yours about working yourself half to death. It used to worry him. Do you know, you were the only girl in our class who never in her life had a tan? The rest of us were religious about hitting the beach. Not you. You were either at Cap’n Bob’s or baking in your own kitchen for anyone in town who’d lost a relative.”

  Casey sat in silence a moment then said, “You’re probably right, Bonnie. I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that. And don’t, for God’s sake, fall for Clayton Rowe. The only thing he’s really interested in is getting one up on Kalin.” She paused for impact. “Kalin was the only person at the party last night who tried to help you with the unglamorous part of your cooking — the dishes. You should pay some attention to that instead of a temporary aberration on his part.”

  Casey broke into helpless laughter. “I love it when you start laying down the law to me. A temporary aberration. That’s good. Did you learn that at the beauty school?”

  “I wish you could have seen the way he looked at you last night before you knew he was standing there. He was literally feasting on you with his eyes.”

  “That conjures up an unfortunate mental image to a cook,” Casey said, still chuckling.

  “I’m your best friend, remember? Your interests are my interests. You still care about Kalin, don’t you.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

  “No way,” Casey said swiftly. “I still have a lot of feelings tied up with him that I need to sort out. My pride seems to be the main thing involved at the moment.”

  “Yeah, you always did have lots of pride,” Bonnie agreed. “Too much. Do you think you could sink it just once so he can get close enough to apologize?”

  “He apologized years ago,” Casey said, recalling the letter Kalin had written her within a few weeks of her departure. “I accepted. That’s all there was to it.”

  “You never told me that,” Bonnie accused. “You never told me you send him Christmas cards, either.”

  “There was nothing to tell. He sends me Christmas cards and Valentine cards and St. Patrick’s Day cards. So every now and then I send him one.”

  “To make him think you aren’t holding a grudge,” Bonnie said, with shrewd insight.

  “I’m not holding a grudge. I just don’t feel the need to stay in touch with him, that’s all. I have nothing to say to him.” Her water tasted like soap. She set it down and glared at the glass. “Can you blame me? Anything I’d written in any card would have been broadcast all over town by now.”

  Bonnie laughed. “Good old Merrick. Casey, you’ve got to talk to Kalin. It’s the only way you’ll be able to let it go.”

  “I have let go.” Casey smiled. “I think you’re trying to get me to move back to Winnie.”

  “Can you blame me? I miss you, Casey. If I thought you were having a good time in New York, I’d say more power to you. But you aren’t. I’ve never gotten the impression that you liked anything about it. The truth is, you’re a small town Southeast Texas girl trapped in the big city, and it’s eating you alive. When Dr. Johnson sees you — ”

  “I saw him this morning,” Casey said, grinning. “He’s taking me fishing Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Hah. That means the condition is life-threatening.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Dr. Johnson just likes to fish.”

  “He cures people on those fishing trips,” Bonnie said darkly. “Even tough cases like yours.”

  Casey grinned. “I can’t wait.” She looked around the restaurant. “I’m going to speak to the manager if we don’t get some food pretty soon. This is ridiculous.”

  “That’s why Cap’n Bob’s has lost business.” Bonnie’s gaze focused on something outside the window. “It’s like this all the time. Well, well. Look who’s here.”

  Casey followed Bonnie’s line of vision and saw Kalin slam the door of his SUV and head toward the front entrance.

  Immediately her heart shifted into overdrive at the sight of his tall, masculine form, and she wondered if pride alone could cause the upheaval in her nervous system.

  Aloud, she said, “It’s a good thing we chose a table for two. He’ll have to sit somewhere else.”

  But Kalin, who spotted them at once, dragged up a chair from another table and seated himself at the edge of their table.

  “Since I’m probably the topic of conversation,” he said, eyes gleaming, “I thought I’d come help you two discuss me better.”

  “No such luck,” Bonnie said. “Casey is giving me a blow-by-blow description of what’s wrong with this place and what should be done to fix it.”

  Kalin glanced around, folding his arms on the table. “I haven’t been in here since the last time I picked Casey up here. It looks more or less the same. A little dingier, perhaps.”

  “A lot dingier.” Casey studied the floor in an attempt to block out the sight of Kalin’s arms. “That’s part of what’s wrong with it. Take that floor, for instance.”

  “Ugh,” Bonnie said. “Let’s talk about something pleasant, like the fact that Christmas will be here in a few days.”

  “Who could forget it, with that ghastly Christmas music playing in the background?” Casey looked for their waitress. “It should either be turned off or switched to a decent station.”

  “Stop giving the evil eye to the employees.” Kalin reached out to tap her hand. “What do you want for Christmas?”

  Casey blinked. No one had asked her that question in years. “I want Granny to get well and come home.” She refused to let Bonnie catch her eye. “Besides, we never celebrated Christmas, or even had a Christmas tree. Grandpa thought it had lost all its proper meaning.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Kalin said. “You and your grandmother used to celebrate Old Christmas on January sixth.”

  Casey recalled spending Old Christmas Eve with Kalin in the barn, waiting until midnight to see if the animals would kneel out of respect for the Christ child. The hour of midnight passed them by entirely, so engrossed they had been in each other.

  She glanced fleetingly at Kalin then shifted her gaze once more to their waitress. He remembered also, if the taut expression on his face was anything to go by.

  “Casey Gray,” a male voice exclaimed. “I can’t believe it.”

  Kalin glanced back, then at Casey with narrowed eyes.

  Casey smiled brilliantly at her former co-worker, Joe Kerns. “Hi, Joe. I was going to see if you were in before I left. You remember Bonnie and Kalin, don’t you? How is your father?”

  Joe smiled at Bonnie, nodded with bare politeness at Kalin, and said, “Not too well, I’m afraid. He had to move to Arizona. His lungs, you know. Say, Casey, do you have a minute?”

  “It looks like it,” Casey said. “The service is a little slow this morning. Do you mind, Bonnie?”

  Kalin said nothing but his face made his feelings plain even to Joe, who flushed with embarrassment.

  Casey found it hard to credit the changes in Joe. When she left, he had been a big, clumsy boy with an ingenuous face, untamed sandy hair, and plain clothes. He’d ridden bulls and broncos and dreamed of going on the rodeo circuit someday.

  Now he sported full Western gear, including an enormous gold nugget belt buckle, and his hair had been professionally styled. She had no doubt that Joe owned the black pickup she had seen parked outside.

  Joe led the way to his office, a small, crowded room near the end of a
short hallway that also housed the restrooms.

  “Actually, the service is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “Do you need a job while you’re in town?”

  Casey studied the untidy stacks of bills on Joe’s desk, mixed with packing slips, newspapers, and magazines. Captain Bob Kerns had kept that desk in strict order.

  “What did you have in mind, Joe? Do you need another cook?”

  Joe watched her with a hopeful expression. “Actually, I need someone to run the place for a while. Could you do that?”

  “My grandmother — ”

  “I understand,” Joe cut in. “You wouldn’t have to be here every minute. I never am. The employees know what to do, so you’d just need to oversee things.”

  Casey had her own ideas about that, but she kept them to herself. “I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Granny.”

  Alice Gray had already made her thoughts plain. She flatly refused to have Casey spending every minute at the hospital. It annoyed her, and Casey’s constant presence would interfere with the long afternoon visits of Alice’s friends.

  To Casey, accustomed to working twelve to sixteen hour days, the prospect of empty afternoons was appalling.

  Another thought struck her: the job would give her the perfect excuse to avoid Kalin McBryde until she could sort out the tangled maze of emotions she felt in his presence.

  “On second thought, I’ll do it,” she said. “So long as you understand why I can’t be here at all times. We can discuss it further this afternoon. I need to get back to my friends.”

  “I was surprised to see that McBryde fellow with you,” Joe said, eyes on his desk. “I heard he was pretty rough on you back before you left town.”

  Casey shrugged and said nothing.

  Joe grinned and added, “Heck, when I remember how he threatened me, I was surprised to hear the way he dumped you. Is he really going to marry Sunny Cansler?”