Viv is at the sink filling the burnt pan with hot soapy water.
“Would you care for some help?” I ask.
“Do you know how to make scrambled eggs?”
“I can handle that.”
Viv takes out a pan from the bottom cupboard. It’s a darned good skillet designed for making omelets and I wonder why she didn’t choose this pan at the start. She hands me the metal spatula.
“Thanks,” I say, picking up a clean wooden spoon from the dish drain instead. “I think I’ll do better with this.”
I wash my hands, then open the fridge and spot a two-dozen pack of eggs. I take another second to snoop.
“Can I use the tomato?”
“Sure. For the eggs?”
I nod. “Yep. And a dash of soy sauce and sugar.”
“Ech.”
“You’ll be amazed,” I tell her. “You want to chop the tomatoes for me? Coarse.”
Viv grabs a cutting board and knife. “Coarse,” she repeats. “As opposed to…”
“Fine,” I say and chuckle.
“It’s nice to see my ignorance in the kitchen amuses you as much as it does my husband,” she says cheerfully and begins to chop. She does a decent job at it, too.
I decide to make a couple batches of eggs, in case some prefer tried-and-true plain scrambled eggs.
In five minutes, Viv calls the guys back into the house and I set out two bowls at the table with the eggs, one plain batch and the other with the tomatoes. By then, another couple has joined us at the table. Jeff sets out the muffins and cupcakes. While everyone fills their plates and coffee mugs, I peek at Grayson sitting beside me. He’s typing something into his phone. Suddenly he looks up at me and winks. “Work.”
Grayson sets the phone down when he’s done, and he and Jeff resume their conversation about local politics while Viv and I chat about the B&B. She’s owned it for two years. It was an inheritance from her mother, who had owned it for twenty years. In turn, she’d inherited it from her parents.
“So this place has been in your family for generations?”
“Yep,” Viv says. “And I’m doing my best to keep it going. I love this place but running a business is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Viv takes a hearty bite into a cupcake and rolls her eyes up. “This is delicious.”
Others at the table concur.
“So are the eggs,” the female part of the lovebirds says. “Soy sauce and tomatoes. Who would’ve thought?”
“Where did you get these?” an older female guest sitting next to Viv asks about the cupcakes. “I’d like to take some back home with me.”
Viv looks at me and I swear I can see the synapses behind her silver eyes firing up ideas.
“Callia sells them,” she says. “Callia? When are we going to have more for the guests to purchase?”
Grayson stops talking mid-sentence and I feel his eyes burning through the side of my face. Beneath the table, he slides his hand onto mine.
“Well, Viv, I’ve had some issues with our supplier so I wouldn’t be able to get you any more before Friday.”
“That’s too bad,” the older woman says. “I leave tomorrow.” Whew. Off the hook. I’m sure Viv means well but there’s no way I’m ready to sell my creations. I wouldn’t even know how much these things are worth. Then the woman says, “Perhaps you can mail them to me. They’ll be perfect for my bridge meetings, provided they freeze well. When can you send me three-dozen cupcakes?”
Chapter 27
“What was that?” I ask Grayson when we leave the B&B with our empty dishes.
“I think it was your first official sale.”
“I have no idea what I’m getting myself into,” I say, getting into the passenger seat.
When Grayson gets into the car, he looks at me. “Are you sulking?”
“I’m worrying.”
“Why? All you have to do is do what you do.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple.”
“I haven’t dealt with balance sheets or P&L statements since college. I have to refresh my memory. And I’ve never had to keep track of sales, inventory.”
Grayson chuckles. “With the right accounting software it won’t be all that hard to learn. And if I’m not mistaken…” Grayson looks beyond me and I see Viv waving goodbye. “I think you just met a friend who could help you get your business off the ground.”
Maybe I am being an insecure jerk. I wave goodbye to Viv and turn to Grayson. “Thank you for being so supportive.”
“That’s what boyfriends are for,” Grayson turns on the car and opens the sunroof.
“I never said you were my boyfriend, Mr. Lane.”
“That’s too bad, Ms. Cole.” He runs a finger up my knee. My linen pants might as well be nonexistent for all the shield it gives me against the heat of his finger. “I was hoping I could escort my girlfriend to our upcoming class reunion.”
“Is that a fact?”
“But seeing as I don’t have a girlfriend, I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to ask.”
Grayson guides the car onto the street.
“Because going by yourself is not an option?”
“Because going by myself is not a desirable option. So what do you say? You’ll come with me?”
“I never RSVP’d.”
“It doesn’t matter. I RSVP’d for two, just in case.”
“When is it again?”
“It’s coming up soon. Why? Is your calendar crowded?”
“You have a smart mouth, Mr. Lane.”
“You have a delicious mouth, Ms. Cole.”
“Yes, I’ll accompany you to our reunion. It’s hard to resist such a flattering man.”
I lean back in the plush leather seat, my heart as full as my belly.
* * *
Mom and I arrive at the train station fifteen minutes early. I purchase our tickets and have a seat on the wooden bench next to her.
“Did you have fun at the rec center this morning?”
“Yes, I did,” she tells me. “They have a big TV screen on the wall and we each take turns bowling using a video game. Talk about a good time.”
“I’m glad you’re getting out and having fun.”
“And the people are quite lovely.” All of sudden Mom starts to giggle to herself. I wait for her to give the story behind the giggle and when I realize that one isn’t forthcoming, I let my suspicions drop. She’ll tell me about him when she’s ready.
“I hope Carmen isn’t going to be late,” I say and look toward the entrance.
“She didn’t call you?” I shake my head. Mom says, “She called me this morning and said she wouldn’t be able to make it. She said something came up. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”
That little conniving sneak.
“What came up?”
“I have no idea.”
I dig my cell out of my cross-body purse and walk out of Mom’s hearing range. Carmen doesn’t pick up. I get her voicemail.
“Carmen, Mom just said you’re not coming into the city with us. May I remind you that this girl’s trip was your idea? Why aren’t you here? Call me back.”
I miss the days when I could slam down a phone. Now the best I can do is toss it back into my purse and hear the less-than-satisfying clink of my phone hitting my keys.
“I got her voicemail. C’mon, let’s go home. We can do this some other time.”
“What do mean?” Mom says. Deep frown lines form between her brows. “We can go without her. Besides, she said our tickets are waiting at will call.”
“You want to go without her?”
“I surely do. I haven’t seen a Broadway show in years.”
Fine, I think and sink back down on the bench. I guess there’s no sense in cheating Mom out of a day in the city just because Carmen decided to ditch us. Ditch us? Had she ever even planned to go in the first place?
“How was breakfast?” Mom asks despite my frosty disposition.
She’s always been a peacemaker. “Were your cupcakes the talk of the party?”
Part of me wants to hold onto my irritation at Carmen, but that isn’t fair to Mom, so I try to get my head back in the game. “There was a guest there that wants me to sell her some cupcakes.”
“No!”
The look on Mom’s face reminds me what a big deal this is. “Yeah. Can you believe it? All those times you made me read from a recipe book turned out to work for my benefit.”
“Naturally. I knew what I was doing.”
I look at her. “Did you?”
Mom nudges me with her elbow. “No. I was hoping if you read from them long enough I’d be able to make sense of the fool things and be able to put something edible on the table.”
“That didn’t work out too well,” I say.
Mom pinches my arm. “You’ve got a customer, so I think it’s worked out pretty darned well. Will you be able to balance having a side business with your work at the school?”
If ever there was a time to tell Mom that I’m unemployed, this is that time. But I can’t. She’d think I am a directionless loser who made a major mistake by leaving the military on the flimsy word of a so-called friend who promised me a job at a dubious college that I didn’t research thoroughly. Who needs the judgment?
“I’ll balance it fine,” I say.
“If you need any help, just let me know.”
I give Mom a doubtful look. “I can measure with relative accuracy,” she says.
“Mom, when it comes to baking,” I say shaking my head at her hopelessness in the kitchen, “relative accuracy is the equivalent of a sunken cake.”
“Child, don’t I know it.”
Chapter 28
Mom and I return home from the city at close to eleven at night. We had a blast. For a woman in her sixties, Mom can out-walk women half her age. There wasn’t an inch of Times Square that we left untraveled. And once we were done eating roasted almonds from street vendors, watching young teens break-dance in the street, and dodging tour buses making wide turns, we headed over to 5th Avenue to do some wishful window-shopping. I noticed a male mannequin in one of the stores wearing a similar pair of jeans that Grayson had burned. I went in and bought him a pair, having peeped his size tag. Mom’s brow rose so high they nearly disappeared behind her Diana Ross and The Supremes wig. Still, she didn’t ask and I didn’t say. The jeans, with a $150 price tag, were an exorbitant splurge that I’d never spend on myself. But I want to make him feel as good as he’s made me feel about myself lately.
Every now and then I looked over at Mom and she’d be blushing for no apparent reason that I could tell. I didn’t ask and she didn’t say. I guess every woman is entitled to her secrets.
Lights are on at the house and even from the front we can hear reggae music blasting.
Mom asks, “Do you think his dinner guests are still here?”
“I don’t know,” I say, excited at the prospect of finally being able to spend time with him this evening.
We get out of the car with our shopping bags—Mom stumbled upon a wig shop that she couldn’t pass up—and enter the house. The party was out back.
“Oh, boy,” Mom says. “I’m too tired to meet his friends. Will you say goodnight to Grayson for me?”
“Sure. You need help getting upstairs?”
“Do I look like an old woman to you?”
I bite my tongue as Mom heads up the steps, making liberal use of the banister. I decide to follow the music. A few guys are at a table, drinking and playing a card game. They are shirtless, so I take it a dinner among friends has turned into a pool party. A couple of women sit with their feet dangling in the water as they laugh at something another woman in the pool has said to them. The whole scene reminds me of my going-away party and my heart aches for my own lack of female companionship.
I step out back and ask the guys playing cards, “Hey fellas. Have you seen Grayson?”
A couple of them point to the cabana. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” one says, with a smile to the others.
The cabana’s illuminated from within, but I can’t see a thing. I thank the guys and head over anyway. My legs are unsure and quivering. A thousand images go through my head as to what’s happening on the other side of that door and all of them involve Grayson, naked and drunk and entwined with some lovely little thing. My feet move as though I’m trudging through thick snow in ski boots. I recall how Grayson blushed in Viv’s presence. She was lovely and blonde and tempting to the most faithful of men. And Grayson isn’t the most faithful of men.
Suddenly, the door bursts open and I stop. My heart is beating like a drum. First I hear an indulgent laugh and then I see her. Dressed in a strapless pink mini-dress, high-heeled sandals, and holding an empty martini glass, my sister stumbles out of the cabana and practically falls into my arms.
Chapter 29
“Callia?” she says and feels my face with her fingers like she’s a blind woman. It’s dark outside, but it isn’t that dark, especially considering this area is well lit. “Is that you, C.C.?”
“You don’t recognize your own sister?” I say. “What are you doing here?” I ask this of Carmen but my eyes are on Grayson, who’s emerged from the cabana looking everywhere but at me.
“How was the city?” she asks. “Did you girls have a good time?”
“Carmen. I asked you a question.” I take a step back from her busy fingers. “Are you drunk?”
She turns back to Grayson, then to me and says, “A little bit. Just a wee tad. Desiree makes a kick-ass drink. What was the name of it? You’ve got to try it.”
She grabs me by the wrist and starts to lead me to the other side of the pool.
“No, Carmen, I don’t want a drink. I want to know what you two are up to. Grayson?”
“She invited herself over. Callia, I didn’t know she was still coming over.”
“What do you mean you didn’t know I was coming?” Carmen says. “I asked you and you said fine.”
“That’s when you were standing at the front door an hour ago.” He looks at me and shrugs like he has no idea what’s going on. I’m not buying it. This whole deal about a girl’s day felt like a setup from the second it came out of Carmen’s mouth.
“Whatever,” I say and turn to leave. “You guys have fun.”
“You have to have a drink,” Carmen insists. She sways on her feet like a pole blowing during high winds. “The bar is over here. Desiree has a batch chilling in the fridge.”
“I don’t want a drink, all right? I just want to go to bed.”
“Carmen, we need to get you home,” Grayson says.
“No, no, no,” she says and wags a finger. “I’m far too tipsy to go home. This is my home tonight, Grayson. Who’s bed should I sleep in?” She attempts to wrap her arms around his waist but he pushes her away. “You and I, Grayson. We have a history. We have a history, Grayson Lane.” A silent message passes between them before she turns to me. “No drink?”
“No,” I say and start to leave again.
“Well, at least let us know what’s in the bag,” Carmen says.
“No,” I say and keep walking. I’m embarrassed that I’ve bought these jeans for Grayson and I don’t want anyone to know, especially Carmen. I’ve already been made a fool of tonight. What were they doing in that cabana by themselves? How long had they been in there? We have a history, Grayson Lane…
By this time, we’ve got an audience watching us, even though the music is too loud for anyone to hear what’s being said at this distance.
“C’mon,” Carmen says in a playful tone. “Let’s have a look.”
I feel Carmen tug on the bag. I back away. “I said no.” I use too much force to jerk my arm from her and know instantly that I’ve overcompensated. My foot slips and I struggle to keep my balance. In that second before I go down, I see Carmen’s hand cover her mouth, and I see Grayson take a step to reach for me. But it is too late.
My back
slams into the warm water just as I start to gasp. The water feels like a liquid pillow around me and wherever I move, there it is, holding firm against my nose, my mouth. I close my eyes and claw at the water with my fingers. My bent legs kick like a wild animal. Help me! my mind screams. I claw and kick but I’m getting nowhere fast and the longer I’m swallowed by the water, the more frightened I become. The beating of my heart rings loud in my ear, along with the certain knowledge that I am drowning.
* * *
My eyes are closed when I feel an arm wrap around my waist. I cannot tell who it is and I don’t care. My finger clutch at a sleeve as I am dragged into the cool night air.
“Get back,” Grayson commands.
Strong hands pump at my chest. I’m too afraid to open my eyes. What if this isn’t real? What if I’m already dead?
“I don’t think she can swim.” This revelatory statement is from Carmen. That’s how I know I haven’t died and gone to heaven.
Sharp pumps on my chest again. I begin to cough up water and maybe even a little of the chocolate shake Mom and I shared at Serendipity 3.
“Callia,” Grayson says. “Are you with me?”
I look up at his hazel eyes. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. My water-soaked clothes pale in comparison to how drenched in embarrassment I am. A tear falls from my eye, but my face is so wet I doubt anyone but Grayson can tell.
“Get me out of here,” I plea to him.
Grayson lifts me from the ground and I bury my head in his shoulder as he carries me away.
Chapter 30
“Do you want to sit by the fire?” he asks when we are inside the house. I can’t look at him. I shake my head.
“You’re trembling,” he says.
I was shaking more from the terror I’d just endured than from any cold. But I didn’t want to talk about it; I didn’t want to talk about anything.
We ascend the stairs and Grayson pauses, presumably deciding which way to go: his room or mine. He makes the right call.
When I inhale the familiar freesia scent of my room—I’d never been able to locate the source of the scent—Grayson releases me.
Sweet Secrets Page 15
