For Cheddar or Worse

by Avery Aames

  If only I had the same self-control.

  We wrapped up the session close to noon, tossed our hairnets into a garbage can on the way out—Kandice lost one of her pink dangling earrings in the process and scrounged to locate it; Shayna and Ryan helped her look; Ryan was the hero who found it—and we headed to lunch. No more bickering, the good humor of the group intact.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Jordan and I followed the crowd to the cheery room where we had eaten breakfast. Guests were mingling as we entered. Two waitresses—Erin had employed twins who normally worked at The Country Kitchen; they were forty-something and identical in all aspects except for their hairstyles; one wore hers short and blunt, the other sported a long ponytail—roamed the room pouring glasses of water or iced tea. Usually when the inn entertained guests, Erin did all the waitressing duties. I was glad to see she had hired help.

  Shayna stood in the far corner, worrying the seam of her sack-style dress while talking to Lara. No, not talking. She was poking a finger in Lara’s direction, making a point. Lara batted Shayna’s finger away and said something, her mouth curled up in a smirk.

  The waitress with the ponytail did a U-turn as she neared them. So did Erin.

  After a moment, Lara grinned triumphantly. She patted Shayna on the arm. Shayna brushed Lara’s hand away and mustered a smile. I wondered what they had discussed. The differences in styles of making Cheddar cheese? Men trouble? Their past? Whatever the debate had been about, they appeared to have put it behind them. They had let bygones be, as Ryan’s mother would say.

  Movement to my right made me turn. Kandice halted in the doorway. She was staring at Lara and Shayna longingly, almost in a teenager way, looking like an outcast, the quirky comedienne not good enough for the hot girls. Her head was tilted as if she were trying to listen in. After a moment, she shook off whatever was going through her mind, fluffed her feathery hair, and crossed the room to sit with Ryan. She tapped one of his books, which was still sitting in a short stack on the table, and said something.

  Jordan nudged me with his elbow. “What are you doing?”

  “Studying room dynamics.”

  Jordan and I often played a game when we went out to dinner. We watched people and made up their life stories. On our honeymoon, we must have dreamed up scenarios for at least twenty people. Most were running away from a dark and dastardly past.

  “There are lots of egos in here,” he said.

  “You think?” I joked.

  “Lara and Shayna seem to have made up, though.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Although Shayna had offered a smile at the end of the argument, she still looked teary. Was there something going on in her personal life?

  Lara now stood near a window, a cell phone pressed to her ear. Her mouth was moving. Was she spilling some secret Shayna had imparted? To a tabloid magazine? To a supplier?

  A prickle of irritation nicked my insides. I said to Jordan, “Why does Lara feel compelled to belittle others?”

  “Some people get a tremendous sense of power from that kind of behavior. I think it’s a coping mechanism.”

  “Wow, Dr. Pace,” I teased. “Have you been boning up on psychology again?”

  “Maybe.” Jordan winked. “Hmm, let’s see. Have you heard this one? ‘The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.’”

  “William Camden,” I said. “1605.” I wasn’t super smart. I’d been studying up on cheese sayings, thinking I might use a few in my marketing strategy, and Jordan knew it. The Internet is a wonder when it comes to tracking down obscure things. Type in cheese > quotes and all sorts of witty sayings come up, like, “Age is something that doesn’t matter, unless you are a cheese.” Luis Buñuel Portolés, a Spanish filmmaker.

  “Lara, over here,” Erin called from the table by the window. She wasn’t serving lunch. She intended to enjoy the meal with the rest of us.

  Lara joined Erin, and the two immediately launched into a lively conversation about something. Erin laughed; so did Lara.

  Victor entered after us, his cell phone in his left hand, his right hand furiously typing a message. He paused and observed Lara and Erin for a second. A cloud passed over his face. Was he, like Kandice, irked not to be included? Quickly he tagged Shayna and invited her to sit with him at a separate table. How could she refuse? Feeling she might need backup with Victor, I steered Jordan in that direction.

  With deft speed, the twin waitresses delivered a meal that consisted of tasty grilled cheese sandwiches made with thin slices of Granny Smith apples, red onions, mustard, and Prairie Breeze Cheddar from Milton Creamery, an artisan cheese maker in Southeast Iowa. In addition, there was a daring fruit salad laced with wine and nutmeg. The staff offered a selection of white wines, but not everyone imbibed. Shayna didn’t. Neither did I. A glass of wine at lunch could put me right to sleep.

  Surprisingly, conversation during the meal didn’t revolve around the cheese-making process. It gravitated toward regular life.

  Victor speared a piece of mango. “My dear Shayna, have you ever visited France?”

  She hadn’t.

  “You are missing something special. The flowers at this time of year”—Victor inserted the fruit into his mouth and chewed as he spoke—“are definitely the most beautiful in the world.”

  “Are there tulips?” Shayna asked. “I love tulips.” She dragged the word out while pursing her lips. I got the feeling she was putting him on, tempting him to make a pass at her.

  “Tulips? Of course there are tulips. Gorgeous tulips.” Victor pitched toward Shayna, as if ready to steal a kiss. Was he calling her bluff? She recoiled; Victor smirked.

  “I don’t know, Victor,” I said, rushing to Shayna’s aid. “The irises and daffodils in Ohio”—I stressed the word—“are spectacular in May. And the grass?” Out a nearby window, I spied the beautiful rolling hills, blanketed with long grass speckled with white clover. The view made me whelm up. “How can you top this? Honestly, Ohio has France beat, hands down.”

  “You’re wrong,” Victor said. “America can’t compare. The hillsides of France are greener and more expansive.”

  “I disagree.”

  Jordan nudged my foot under the table. He knew I was baiting Victor. “Sure you want to fight this battle?” he whispered.

  I winked. “It’s fun to rile him.”

  “You’re on your own.” Jordan pecked me on the cheek and excused himself to go to the restroom.

  Victor didn’t accept my bait. He swiveled to talk to Shayna exclusively. Fine. I tuned him out and bit into my sandwich. The grilled onions paired with apple and cheese was intoxicating. While doing my best not to swoon, I listened in on Ryan and Kandice’s conversation at the next table.

  “I’m made of rubber, I’m pretty sure.” Kandice set down her wineglass and assessed her arm. “This is where I took the brunt of the fall, I think; honestly I don’t know. It seems whenever I have an accident, I sort of—”

  “Black out?”

  “No, that’s not it.” She wagged a finger. “I go blank.”

  “You’ve had a few spills?”

  “More than a few in my lifetime.” She tittered.

  “Do you think the ficus tree falling on you was an accident?” Ryan asked.

  “Of course. What else . . . You don’t mean . . .” Kandice’s eyes grew wide with awareness. “No way. No one here wants to hurt me. Well, maybe Lara would like to take a swipe at me. She was certainly ticked off about the travel plans. But nah.” Kandice sipped her wine. “I was voted the funniest and most popular girl in high school.”

  But was she popular now? Had the tree fallen accidentally?

  Erin whooped out a laugh. I glimpsed her sitting beside Lara, and I was struck by the similarities between them: their hair color and vibrant green eyes, the tilt of the
ir noses, their bone structure. After that, the similarities ended. Lara was a head taller than Erin, and Erin was animated, while Lara was stiff. Erin was talking about her brother, Andrew. She hummed a tune he had written; it reminded me of the quick-paced “Flight of the Bumblebee.” I was pleased to hear she wasn’t keeping his presence a secret any longer.

  Lara nodded in sympathy. “My nephew suffers from attention-deficit disorder. Medication works for him. Is Andrew on any?”

  Erin shook her head. “Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of options. Andrew really can’t tolerate the two main ones. Besides, the meds don’t treat the core characteristics, only the irritability.”

  “Some selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors are better than others, I hear.” The medical term rolled off Lara’s tongue like she was an expert.

  “We’ve tried them all,” Erin said. “Repetition works the best. Andrew is very bright. He appreciates schedules.”

  “I’ll bet.” Lara swirled the wine in her glass and polished off the remaining liquid.

  “Andrew can do all sorts of math in his head,” Erin went on. “Rapid calculations. He’s what is known as a calendrical savant. He can calculate the day of the week with accuracy. Ask him when November 12th, 1979, was, and he’ll tell you.”

  “Like I would know if he was wrong.” Lara laughed. It was the first heartfelt sound I had heard from her.

  “He also has a brilliant ear. He knows what any note is. And he can repeat musical patterns, just like”—Erin snapped her fingers—“that.”

  “Sweet.” Lara offered a supportive smile. “As for your farm, I gather you’re struggling. Are you looking for a buyer?”

  Whoa. Major conversation twist, I noted.

  Erin stammered, “Why . . . No. We . . . I . . .”

  “Hey, everyone!” Quigley shouted as he entered the room. His hair was mussed, his linen suit rumpled. “Am I late?”

  Kandice barked out a laugh. “You’d be tardy for your own funeral, Pressman. Where have you been?”

  “Posting notes about this illustrious event on all my social media sites. Keeping the world current.” Quigley swaggered toward our table and slid onto the bench beside Shayna. “Do you all mind if I join you? Of course you don’t. It’s me. The storyteller.”

  Victor didn’t look pleased. Shayna offered Quigley a smile of gratitude. Victor and his Francophile chatter had to be boring her to tears. Even cocky Quigley would make a better conversationalist.

  Quigley set a napkin on his lap then waggled his tape recorder. “Never thought I’d learn so much about cheese.” He tossed the recorder onto the table. “I mean, sure, Charlotte, you’ve talked my ear off about cheese at the shop, and that’s cool.” Rebecca had done more of the ear talking. At one time she had been interested in Quigley until she found out that he enjoyed dating older, wealthy women. “But this,” Quigley continued. “I’m learning about cultures and what to feed the cows and, well, everything. I thought you shook milk to make the cheese.”

  “That only makes a milkshake, silly.” Shayna pinged Quigley’s arm with her fingernail. Was she flirting with him to aggravate Victor? If so, her ploy seemed to be working.

  Victor grunted and rose from the table. “Don’t mind me.” He jerked a thumb. “I’ve got a few business things to take care of.”

  Shayna wiggled her fingers. “Nice talking to you.” She rolled her eyes at me as he strutted away.

  I bit back a laugh.

  Jordan returned and whispered, “What did I miss?”

  “Dessert,” I quipped.

  ***

  When the group was once again reinstated in the cheese facility, the afternoon came and went in a blur. By five o’clock, I could only imagine how the others felt. I was accustomed to spending the day on my feet, and mine were aching with a vengeance.

  Jordan and I retired to our room, freshened up, shared a kiss or two, and within an hour, headed downstairs for cocktails and dinner. We both looked sharp. Jordan wore a blazer and white shirt, open at the collar. I had donned a cream-colored sheath with a pair of gold sandals. My mother’s pearl earrings finished off the ensemble.

  The gathering once again consisted of the core group; the others were enjoying a special dinner that Lois had prepared at Lavender and Lace.

  Ryan and Victor stood at the far end of the living room, bent over the chessboard by the window. Their match was heated. The group of war veterans who played chess on Sundays in the Village Green couldn’t have repositioned their men faster. I heard Victor say, “Your sister!” as Ryan took a bishop.

  Kandice lingered in the far corner by herself, speaking into her cell phone. Shayna hovered beside the bar. She was sniffing an opened bottle of cabernet and admiring its label.

  Lara entered the room and marched to Shayna. She snatched the bottle from her hands. “Mine,” she said. “It’s not for you.”

  Shayna lasered Lara with a peeved look and threw both hands up in the air. “Fine.” She pivoted and spotted Jordan and me. Her face relaxed. Joining us, she greeted me with a hug. “Have you had a good day?”

  “Excellent,” I said. “I’m learning so much.” Nothing I could use in practicality, of course, but it was interesting information I could share with my customers.

  When the ponytailed waitress announced dinner, we migrated to the formal dining room. Erin and the staff had elaborately draped the table with a white linen tablecloth and set it with Towle “King Richard” sterling silver flatware and Wedgwood white bone china. Light from a candle-style chandelier glittered on the gold walls and off the crystal goblets.

  Lara positioned herself at one head of the table. Erin faced her, at the opposite end. Jordan, Shayna, and I sat on one side. Victor, Ryan, and Kandice on the other.

  The dinner, which included a choice of two salads, each constructed from the farm’s sustainable garden, as well as a beef dish served with a potato galette or an herb-baked spring chicken accompanied by chanterelle mushroom–Parmesan risotto, was a wonderful wealth of flavors.

  Conversation about the day’s event continued nonstop until Victor, who occupied the chair to Lara’s right, stood and reached for the bottle of cabernet, which Lara had placed on a wine coaster near her.

  Lara slapped his hand. “Uh-uh, Victor.”

  “I would like a taste.”

  “Stick to the white, like the others,” she said. The remaining guests, excluding Shayna and Ryan, had opted for a local chenin blanc. “It’s a much better match for the chicken.”

  I watched Victor and Lara intently, wondering what power play was under way between the two of them. Did she always need the upper hand? Victor glanced from the bottle to Lara. She didn’t blink. Resigned, Victor slunk into his chair. He whipped out his cell phone and opened his text message app. As he typed, his gaze swung right and left, like a prairie dog alert for danger.

  “Victor.” Lara threw him a peeved look. “Care to put that away?”

  “Not unless you care to share the red wine.”

  “Ha-ha. You are too funny.” Lara poured herself more wine and slugged down a big gulp. “So, Shayna.” She turned to her ex-partner. “How’s business, darling?”

  The ponytailed waitress appeared and asked if anyone would like a refill of wine. She lifted the bottle of cabernet.

  Lara thrust her wineglass at the woman although she hadn’t finished what was in it. “Yes, please.”

  The waitress poured a small amount. Lara waved for her to add more then indicated Shayna’s glass. “Pour a little wine for my friend.”

  “I’ll take some of that,” Victor said.

  “No, you won’t.” Lara eagle-eyed Shayna. “Darling, I asked you a question.”

  Shayna put her hand over the top of her glass. “No, thanks,” she said to the waitress. Was she making a stand to support Victor, who was glaring at Lara? The waitress looked flummox
ed. She set the wine back on its coaster.

  “Aw, you’re no fun.” Lara’s words were slightly slurred. How much had she had to drink? The bottle of cabernet looked about one-third full. She flitted her fingers at Shayna and took a long swallow of wine. “Business, Shayna.”

  Shayna answered, “Business is good.”

  “Is it thriving despite the blandness of your overrated cheese?”

  Kandice warned, “Lara, don’t.”

  Lara cut her a look. “Don’t yourself. Keep out of my affairs, and I’ll keep out of yours.”

  “As if,” Kandice said.

  Lara tapped her chest with a thumb. “I know cheese.”

  “Not as well as you think,” Ryan retorted. “I’ve been reading your latest book.”

  I had, too. Rereading. During our breaks. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the poetic words she chose to describe cheese: chewy, pillowy, velvety. They were words I used on a daily basis.

  Lara arched an eyebrow and did a slow burn to Ryan. “Is that so? This from a—”

  “Don’t say it.” Ryan brandished a finger.

  “Hack!” Lara spit out the word.

  I gulped. Jordan clasped my hand.

  “I have credits,” Ryan said.

  “You know squat, Mr. Harris,” Lara said. “Shayna’s cheese is bland. Her farm is inadequately run.”

  Shayna’s face tinged fuchsia. She fingered the knife on her table mat.

  Lara tilted her head and threw Shayna a patronizing look. “Tell them, darling. I’m not lying.”

  “Lara, please,” Shayna whispered.

  But Lara didn’t quit. “You have no finesse. You have nothing new to add to the market. Your cheese has always been bland. It didn’t become popular until I showed up. I made people sit up and take notice. It’s all about labeling. Underhill cheese. Really?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “How boring. But Underhill Sizzling Summer cheese. Now that’s tantalizing. Tell them, Shayna.”