Deb wiped a tear away. “We had some good memories here. Amy, thank you so much.” She unwrapped their copy of the photo and smiled. “This will remind us to focus on the good ones.”
Amy let out a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been sure if the photo would just sadden them further.
She took them through every corner of the inn and smiled when they came back down to the main floor and saw, out the window, Ben diligently hosing down the tables. Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen. Amy led Jack and Deb back through the dining room to find Hannah and Nell finishing up the dishes.
“The cavalry has arrived!” Hannah brushed off her hands. “Although, I still think you’re making entirely too much of a fuss.” She marched up to Jack and Deb and introduced herself, then warmed Amy’s heart by giving them both a huge hug.
“I’ve heard so much about you, I feel I know you already,” she declared.
Amy introduced Nell and pointed out Paul, making his way from the shed to the front with an armful of lights to string along the walkway.
Jack rolled up his sleeves. “Put us to work.”
“No, no,” Amy protested. “You’re here to relax.”
“Cooking is relaxing. And, there’s so many of us that we’ll be done with the prep by noon.” Deb elbowed her out of the way. “Jack, help Ben with the tables.”
Soon enough, the sounds of chopping, sautéing and chatter filled the kitchen as Nell and Amy prepared the stuffing. Shannon had promised to bring some stuffing, but Amy wanted to make sure to have a hearty vegetarian version, in case Bliss and her family dropped by as they’d said they might. Hannah and Deb were soon comparing techniques while they worked on their pies—Hannah mixing the filling for her famous pumpkin pie, and Deb slicing up apples for her elegant apple galette.
As Deb had predicted, the kitchen prep work was done by noon, right around the time the men finished with the tables, outside decorations, and other clean up. This time, Ben shooed the women out of the kitchen and corralled the men into preparing a smorgasbord of cheese, smoked meats, pickles, crackers and rye bread, along with gourmet spreads he’d picked up at the deli. They gathered around the dining room table, talking and laughing—Jack and Deb, Amy noticed, seemed to relax more and more each minute.
After lunch, Hannah, Nell and Paul left. Ben disappeared to his room to work on his screenplay, and Amy drove Jack and Deb around the island, so they could see what had changed and how much had remained the same. They stopped by Paul’s market and picked up dinner fixings for Jack’s famous salmon pasta.
Amy and Deb bundled up in sweaters and relaxed on the porch before dinner with some wine while Jack cooked, and Ben entertained him with stories of Hollywood. Every once in a while Jack’s big laugh boomed out the windows, which he’d left cracked open to let the steam out.
Amy noticed Deb’s gaze straying to the weeping willow she’d planted for Kevin, and the older woman was quiet for a long time, the lines in her face stark in the early evening light. Oh, shit, thought Amy. It had seemed like such a good day, but maybe the memories were too much.
Finally, Deb turned to Amy and gripped her hand. “Amy, I want to tell you how much it means to me—to both of us—that you’ve taken on the inn. We would have let it go, would have sold it to someone outside the family. I expected you would do the same. Instead, you took it and made it shine again.”
Deb’s lips trembled, but she bore down and firmed them. “I’ve barely held myself together the past four years, but you honored Kevin’s memory in so many ways. This reminds me of all those summers we spent here, all the laughter, people coming and going. Amelia built a community here, and now you have, too. I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, crap.” Amy sniffed and dug in her pockets for a tissue. “Now you’ve done it. I’m going to blubber all over you.”
Deb laughed and wiped her own tears away. She gripped Amy’s hand, and Amy smiled at her.
“I’m so happy you like On the Sound. I’m glad you came, Deb.”
They both sat quietly and watched the sun set through the branches of the willow tree.
“I am, too, Amy. I am, too.”
Chapter 22
Ben woke up on Thanksgiving morning to the sound of Amy’s shrill scream. He leapt out of bed, instantly wide awake. Remembering they weren’t alone, he took a few precious seconds to tug on his boxers before tearing out of his room, close behind Jack. Both men skidded to a stop in the kitchen doorway to find Amy standing in front of the huge fridge, the interior light off, shaking her head over and over.
“Shit, fuck, damn! Shit, fuck, damn,” she repeated, grabbing at the roots of her hair and tugging.
Ben crossed the room in two strides and turned her to face him. “Amy? What’s going on?”
“The fridge is broken. Broken! None of the food is cold. NONE OF IT IS COLD!” she shrieked the last bit, and Ben had to will himself not to back away. She reached in and grabbed a bowl filled with dip and poked at it. “Warm!” She hurled it to the floor, where it broke, dip oozing out.
Ben exchanged a wary glance with Jack. He edged closer to Amy and slipped an arm around her, easing her away from the breakables. Jack came closer and peeked into the fridge. He poked at the turkey.
“Well, it’s a little cold.” He lifted the cover off the stuffing. “Hmmm. Kind of cold. Lots of condensation in here. Honey, I think it’s been out most of the night.”
“Maybe the turkey is still okay.” Amy’s normally calm eyes darted wildly around the room. “We can still eat it right? Or, God, am I going to poison everyone?”
Ben had already pulled out his phone and after a quick check online, shook his head. “It says it needs to be stored at 40 degrees, out at room temperature no longer than two hours. Wait.” He scrolled through to a few other links. “There’s some debate about this, people saying that there wasn’t refrigeration in pioneer days. But, others saying salmonella is definitely present.”
“I can’t serve my two-year-old nephew salmonella turkey.” Amy buried her face in her hands. “Everything is ruined. The stuffing. The turkey. The milk. The cream.”
“The pies are okay,” Ben tried to console her.
Amy grabbed his arms and shook him. “What about the fucking turkey? It’s fucking Thanksgiving!”
“Wow. Okay.” Ben eyed her and wondered how to make not-crazy Amy reappear. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her back and forth. “It’s going to be all right.”
She burst into tears. Oh, shit, wrong move, Ben thought, as Jack shook his head.
“How is it going to be okay? How?” she wailed. “It’s the first Thanksgiving I’m hosting, and my parents are coming, and it’s ruined!”
“What’s going on in here? I could hear you all the way upstairs.” Deb, wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, hair dripping from the shower, strode in. She took in the scene—the darkened fridge, the broken bowl on the floor, Amy weeping in Ben’s arms and made a beeline for Amy. “Oh, honey.”
Amy promptly deserted Ben and collapsed in Deb’s arms instead. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It’s a holiday, sweetie. Holidays aren’t perfect. We’ll figure this out.” Brisk now, Deb guided Amy to one of the stools next to the island and handed her a tissue. “Wipe those tears away, they aren’t doing you any good. Jack, put on some tea. Ben, start the coffee.”
Even just the scent of the coffee grounds was enough to wake up Ben’s brain. “I’ll start calling around. If there’s a fresh turkey in any of the nearby stores, Paul can track it down. It’s still early. I can sail to Anacortes or hell, even drive to town from there and be back in time to get it in the oven.”
He earned a nod of approval from Deb. “It doesn’t need to be a whole turkey. Sometimes stores sell just the breast or just the legs. We might be able to defrost those in time.”
“And don’t forget, folks are bringing side dishes. You’ll have mashed potatoes, stuffing, rolls. We’ll track you down a bird. You wait and see.” Jack ca
me over and rubbed her back.
Ben grabbed Amy’s phone and scrolled through her contacts, landing on Paul. Even as he hit the call button, he winced, realizing it was just shy of 7 a.m.
“I know, I know! Mashed potatoes!” Paul sounded aggravated but wide-awake.
“It’s Ben. There’s a turkey emergency.” Ben explained what had happened.
“Hmm. Most of the suppliers I know carry frozen. I’m expanding into the fresh, organic birds, but I don’t have a lot of contacts there yet, and most of them are family farms that are probably closed today.”
“What about Seattle?” Ben asked, inspired. “Nell could fly up there and back.”
“Maybe.” Paul sounded doubtful. “Let me make some calls. This means I’m off the hook for the potatoes, right?”
Ben looked at Amy, dabbing away her tears and sipping tea. He slipped out of the kitchen into the front parlor.
“Dude. You do not want to fuck this up. Amy’s crying. She threw a bowl on the floor.” Ben lowered his voice even further. “She’s gone crazy, man.”
“Seriously? She threw a bowl on the floor?”
“Didn’t even blink an eye.”
“Wow.” Paul was silent for a moment. “I’ve never seen her like that. She’s so calm and collected.”
“I know!” Ben said, relieved to have found an ally. “We gotta fix it.”
“Let me make some calls. Call Hannah. She might be able to help. What else was ruined?”
“Not that much, really. I think someone is bringing stuffing, but she’d made a vegetarian kind for Bliss and her family, and that’s toast.”
“Call Adrian, too.” Paul rattled off the number. “He’s a fantastic cook.”
They hung up, and Ben called Hannah, who made sympathetic sounds and agreed to rush over immediately, saying Tom could try to fix the fridge. Adrian offered to make his mother’s traditional stuffing without the chorizo.
Ben squared his shoulders and prepared to go back into battle. He’d dealt with his share of dramatic women, he reminded himself. And, Amy had every right to be upset. But, when he got back into the kitchen, he found Deb had swept up the broken bowl, Jack was mopping up the spilled dip, and Amy scrambled eggs while bacon sizzled.
“It’s under control,” Ben said with more confidence than he felt. “Paul’s on the hunt for a turkey, Adrian’s making stuffing, and Hannah’s on her way with Tom, who can hopefully fix the fridge.”
Amy turned and, setting the bowl of eggs on the counter, came to him and stood on her toes to brush her lips over his. “My hero. Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he relaxed, hugging her and resting his chin on top of her head.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“We don’t need turkey,” she said, pulling back with a smile. It wobbled at the corners. “Someone can track down a chicken or five, right?”
“We’ll find one,” Ben assured her. “Nell can fly to Seattle if need be.”
“I’m sorry I went crazy.”
“Hey.” He titled up her face and cupped her cheek. “This means a lot to you. You’re entitled to go crazy. Even though it totally freaked me the hell out.”
When she laughed, he felt like he’d won a prize. He couldn’t care less what they ate—the homemade side dishes would be way better than the greasy chow mein he usually had on Thanksgiving. But, for Amy’s sake, he wanted to fix it, to make it the best Thanksgiving she’d ever had.
An hour later, he was forced to admit that while he may have once scored an Oscar nomination, he couldn’t manage to track down a damn turkey. Hannah had arrived with Tom, who was tinkering with the fridge. Paul showed up with milk and cream and then headed back out to collect coolers for the food that people would bring, as well as for the drinks. He’d pulled Ben aside to admit he wasn’t having much luck finding a turkey. Everyone was closed, except for the chain supermarkets, who only had frozen.
“You did your best.” At around 10 a.m., Amy laid a hand over his and sighed. “My folks are going to be here before I know it, and we’re running out of time. Let’s just get some chickens and call it good.”
Just then, Ben’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the local number.
“Ben, it’s Bliss. Is a 30-pound turkey enough?”
“Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me?” Ben actually felt his heartbeat pick up and as one, Amy, Deb, Jack and Hannah swiveled to stare at him. Amy’s hands came up to her mouth.
“No. It’s fresh, and my friend just delivered it. I’m on my way.”
“Bliss! You’re amazing!”
Her laugh rolled over the phone. “We vegetarians can sniff out meat miles away.”
Ben disconnected and pumped his fist in the air. “We have achieved turkey!” He grabbed Amy and whirled her around as everyone cheered.
Within minutes, Bliss arrived with the turkey, a giant bird from Down to Earth farms on San Juan Island nestled in a box that dwarfed her 5’4” frame.
Hannah laughed, grabbing the box from her and kissing her cheek. “How on earth did you get a hold of this?”
Paul walked in the door at that moment and did a comical double take at the sight of the turkey, which Amy and Deb had already unpacked and were washing off in the sink.
“Where the hell did that come from?”
“Bliss saved the day,” said Amy. “Between you and Ben, you called everyone on the island, and it paid off.”
Ben followed Paul out to his truck to help him unload the coolers and bags of ice. Paul stopped, his hand resting on top of a battered green steel cooler.
“Did you call Bliss?”
“I thought you did.” Ben slid a cooler to the edge of the truck bed.
“I didn’t call her. How did she know we needed one?”
Ben shrugged. “Word gets round, right?”
“Thing is, that’s a small farm. They only breed maybe 15-20 turkeys tops. And only two or three of them that size—usually the heritage birds are a bit smaller. You have to get on the waiting list back in August to snag one.”
“What are you saying?” Ben sat back on his heels. “Dude, you saying she stole it?”
“No!” Paul ran his hands through his hair, left it standing in tousled spikes. “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s almost like she knew we’d need it…”
“So, she’s a turkey psychic?” Ben snorted and elbowed Paul out of the way to begin hauling the cooler up to On the Sound. “You think she had a vision and reserved the turkey back in August?” He stopped, looked over his shoulder. “You do! That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
Paul rolled his shoulders, shook it off. “I don’t know what I think. You know what, it’s not important. What’s important is that Thanksgiving isn’t ruined.”
Ben rolled his eyes as he carted the cooler into the kitchen. And people said Hollywood was woo-woo. Still, he snuck a glance at Bliss, who stood, serene in the bustle of the kitchen, tan, blonde and blue eyed like a California surfer girl, except for the studious air the black-framed glasses lent her. As if sensing his gaze, she met his eyes, cocked her brow and gave a little smile. He grinned at her.
“So how does a vegetarian track down a 30-pound turkey in the nick of time?”
“Oh, I have my ways.” She turned and began helping break the ice out of plastic bags and scatter it into the coolers. Almost, Ben thought, as if avoiding the question.
He shrugged it off and went outside to bring in more coolers. A giant minivan was now parked in the driveway, and as he watched, three boys popped out in quick succession, a tall, gangly kid with curly red hair, a slightly shorter one with strawberry blonde hair and finally a pudgy toddler with curly blonde hair who ran at full speed on his little legs, determined to keep up.
“Auntie Amy, Auntie Amy!” all three screamed at the top of their lungs, nearly plowing Ben over as they raced to the door.
“Boys!” A slightly taller and older version of Amy, her hair flaming red, followed behind them. “Slow down. And, dibs on
the bathroom.”
This was likely Tricia, Amy’s sister, Ben judged, and the tall blonde guy pulling out suitcase after suitcase was her husband…what was his name? Ethan, he thought.
Finally, an older couple stepped out of the minivan—Amy’s parents, Ben thought, unexpected nerves dancing through his stomach.
“We are never, ever doing that again,” announced the woman, who, like Amy, topped out at around 5’5” and had the same big brown eyes. She had the same bright red hair as Tricia, except streaked liberally with gray. “Ethan, I love those kids, but damn. Between them and Tricia’s morning sickness, kill me now before we drive all the way back home together.”
“That’s why we stopped and spent the night in Tacoma. Split up the drive,” pointed out the older man, who was maybe an inch taller than his wife. His curly gray hair was cropped close, and blue eyes twinkled between deep laugh lines.
The woman poked a finger in his chest. “We will be flying back, you cheapskate.” She spotted Ben. “You must be Ben!”
In a few strides, she reached him and wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace. Ben hugged her back, thinking this group of people was more into hugs than anyone he knew.
“I’m Claire, Amy’s mom.” Her hand flew up to her mouth, brown eyes wide. “Oh, shit. You heard me blab about Tricia—Amy doesn’t know she’s pregnant.”
Ben held up a finger to his lips. “Mum’s the word. And, congratulations,” he said as Ethan drew near, pulling two suitcases, three duffel bags slung over his shoulders. “Can I give you a hand with that?”
“Oh, there’s more in the back.” The older man rolled his eyes behind Claire’s back and then quickly switched to an innocent smile when she turned around. “I’m Caleb, Amy’s dad. I enjoyed your work in New Americans. I wasn’t sure if it was okay to say that but then I figured, you’re dating my daughter, so I’ll say whatever I want.” While Caleb’s tone was pleasant enough, his eyes held steady on Ben’s, and he rocked back on the balls of his feet as if he wouldn’t be adverse to punching Ben in the nose if he didn’t like what he saw.
Love on the Sound Page 30