Losing Penny (13 page)

Trevor looked bored as girls with trays of
food samples approached him. He must be used to girls offering him
things, Penny decided. She watched him bite into a slice of
mango.

“Hmm, fresh fruit.” He grinned at her.

She laughed and snagged a piece of mango for
herself. “Not so fresh.”

“What are you talking about? This mango was
locally grown!”

She shook her head.

“It must be—it’s at the greenmarket, isn’t
it?”

“Yeah, Washington had a bumper crop of mangos
and bananas this year.”

“But ultra-fresh produce is why we’re here,
right?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m here for the
free samples. Gluttony, remember?” Penny looked over the eggplants.
They were giant with deep purple skin and dark green stems—as
beautiful as any work of art. She needed two for her trip to Italy
which included eggplant parmesan. She reached for her purse then
turned to Trevor with a stricken look.

“Want one, Glutton Girl?” he asked, holding
out a cube of pepper jack on a toothpick to her.

She shook her head and held up an eggplant.
“I left my purse in the car.”

“Eggplant?” He looked disappointed in her.
“You want me to go back to the car for an eggplant?”

“I’ll go, but I’ll need your key.”

He sighed. “Don’t be silly. You can barely
walk. It’s just if I’m going to make that sacrifice you have to get
something better than an eggplant.”

“How about basil, tomatoes, fresh mozzarella
and Parmesan cheese? Is that worth your sacrifice?”

Trevor shook his head. “I need baked
goods.”

She held out her hand for his key.

He turned as if disgusted. “And you call
yourself a glutton,” he said over his shoulder.

Penny watched him walk away. A woman,
slightly younger than Penny, caught her eye. She stood in front of
a tent selling home-baked crackers. She was petite with dark, curly
hair, and her large, silver hoop earrings made her look like a
gypsy. She also looked like she was battling tears while trying to
decide on a cracker purchase.

Penny edged closer.

“Samples, Miss?” a girl in a red paisley top
asked, holding out a try with a dozen bite size crackers in a
variety of shapes and sizes. Penny wondered if crackers counted as
baked goods by Trevor’s standards.

“What kind of crackers are there?” the gypsy
woman asked.

The girl pointed out the different types.
“Cracked wheat, rosemary, olive and garlic, and graham.”

The gypsy burst into tears.

The girl with the tray looked horrified as
the gypsy mumbled an apology and searched her purse for a
tissue.

Penny took a cracker and bit into it.
“They’re really not that bad.” She picked up a cracked wheat and
held it out to the gypsy. “You should try one. It might make you
feel better.”

The gypsy sniffed into her tissue and shook
her head. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m such a boob.”

“Not really,” Penny said, cracker still
extended. She leaned close and whispered, “Boobs hang out in bras,
not at farmers’ markets.”

The gypsy smiled, and wiped away her tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Stop apologizing,” Penny said. “It’s not
your fault you’re sentimental about crackers. Isn’t everyone?”

The gypsy shook her head, her dark curls
bouncing. “It’s not the crackers. It’s everything else.”

“Everything?” Penny asked.

The gypsy studied the sawdust as if trying to
find something in the shredded bark. “Everything. My café is going
down the toilet. My boyfriend, whose name is Graham, by the
way—”

“Ah, the hateful cracker.”

The gypsy raised her watery green eyes to
meet Penny’s. “Yes, that’s exactly what he is. He’s a hateful
cracker. Although he’s not really my boyfriend anymore.” Her eyes
welled with fresh tears.

Penny put her arms around the gypsy and held
on tight while she cried. “Shh,” Penny said, patting the gypsy’s
head the way she patted Wolfgang. “If he’s not a friend then he
can’t hurt you.”

The gypsy sniffed and tried to compose
herself. “We were best friends since kindergarten.”

Penny didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t
say anything. Instead, she held this near stranger and felt her
pain.

The gypsy pulled away and wiped at her tears
with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not like this.”
Her lip quivered.

“Trouble always comes in packs of threes,”
Penny said quickly, trying to stem the oncoming emotional spill.
“There are so many of these crackers that they put you over your
limit.”

The gypsy looked up at her surprised. “My
friend always says that, too. Trouble comes in a pack of three and
I’m not including crackers in my three.”

“I would, otherwise something else will walk
in the door.”

The gypsy shook her head. “My parents are
talking about getting a divorce, and I think that’s the worst. My
café can go down the toilet. Graham can run away and join the
Marines, but I can’t imagine my life without my parents. They’re
like the fence that keeps my world safe. Do you know what I
mean?”

Penny nodded, even though she didn’t know
what that meant. Her fence had been knocked down a long time ago.
Penny took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t help you with your
Marine—I have zero skills when it comes to men—or with your
parents, but I can help with your café.”

“I doubt that,” the gypsy said.

“Why won’t anyone believe that I’m a food
master? I’m a graduate from the Haute Cuisine cooking school!”

The gypsy gave her a wavering, half smile.
“Maybe you’re good with food—although you honestly don’t look like
someone who has a relationship with food.”

“Thank you,” Penny sniffed.

“But that whole zero skills with men is
impossible to believe, because you’re gorgeous and you’re with
him.” The girl nodded her head and Penny turned to see Trevor
standing behind her, holding her purse.

Penny flushed. Trevor out-gorgeoused her a
hundred times over. “Oh, I’m not with him.”

Trevor gave an exaggerated, long-suffering
sigh. “I just hang around for purse-holding and eggplant-carrying
privileges. I’m hoping that maybe later she’ll let me buy her some
mushrooms.”

Penny placed her hand on his chest. “If
you’re good, I’ll get you a treat.”

“There’s no bigger treat than fetching your
stuff,” Trevor said with mock sincerity.

The gypsy watched, her lip caught between her
teeth. “Wow, you really have him trained.”

“Actually, I didn’t train him. He came this
way. We just met yesterday. Would you like to borrow him?”

Trevor backed away. “I’m sorry, I’m taken.
I’m a strictly monogamous purse holder.”

Penny rolled her eyes, but the gypsy smiled.
Penny’s heart warmed toward Trevor. She liked that he could be
sensitive and funny enough to make a sad girl smile.

“I am a really good cook,” Penny said.

“She’s also extremely humble and modest,”
Trevor said.

Penny hit his shin with her cane. “I’m
serious. Haute Cuisine is the Ivy League of cooking schools! Maybe
I could come with some ideas on revamping your menu. What kind of
food do you serve?”

“Why would you help me?” the gypsy asked.
“You don’t even know my name.”

“My name is P—” Penny corrected herself.
“Maggie.”

“Short for Magdalena,” Trevor added, raising
his eyebrows as if to say, “Isn’t that ridiculous name for a
ginger?”

Penny paused again. Supposedly she and Drake
were divorced, but how stupid that she didn’t even know, or
remember his last name! She didn’t want to give her real last name,
so she added, “And this is Trevor Marx.”

“I can see why you’re not with him. It would
be too silly to be named Maggie Marx.”

Trevor gave another long, sad, sigh, but both
women ignored him.

“I’m Andrea Grayson of the failing Bluebird
Café. I did not go to a prestigious cooking school.” The gypsy’s
face blanched. “I only sell traditional American fare—hamburgers,
French fries, and milk shakes.”

Penny waited for Andrea to continue, but when
she didn’t Penny said, “Well, maybe that’s an easy fix. A lot of
people are more health conscious now. What if you added a few
healthier choices to your menu?”

“I think healthy choices are my problem.
There’s a new restaurant in town and she’s taking all my business!
Maybe Rose Arbor can’t handle two cafes.”

Penny scratched her head. “What does that
have to do with healthy choices?”

“That’s the asinine part. The owner claims
she can diagnosis and—” she brought both of hands up to make air
quotation marks “heal people with her food.” Andrea snorted.

“Oh yeah!” Trevor exclaimed. “I heard about
her. She got rave reviews in the
Seattle Times
.”

“Please don’t underestimate the power of
food,” Penny said, frowning at Trevor. “I
know
food,” Penny
said. “I can help.”

“Why would you?”

“Why not?” Penny asked. “It’ll be fun.”

Ingrid’s goats grazed upon the hill, their
eyes wandering to their mistress. Hans knew they distrusted him. He
did not care. He paid the creatures little heed as he led the fair
Ingrid to the softness of the long, tall grass. One of his father’s
men interrupted what surely would have been the world’s finest
kiss.

From
Hans and the Sunstone

After a long and
boring bout in a boat with crab cages, followed an even longer and
more boring round of golf, Drake returned to the beach and found
Penny sitting on the sofa, cradling the phone receiver. The cord
hung to the floor looking like an unused jump rope. The phone line
hummed.

“Are you making or taking a call?” Drake
said, standing in the doorway.

Penny started and came out of her trance.
“Neither,” she said. Replacing the receiver in the cradle, she
said, “I’m making eggplant parmesan.”

“Huh. Your lies become more skilled every
day. I could swear that you’re sitting on the sofa.”

Drake headed for the kitchen and a snack. He
always needed a reward after spending time with Don Marx and
Melinda. He frowned at the bags of groceries on the counter.

Penny twisted around to watch him empty the
bags of groceries into the fridge. “You don’t need to put those
away. I’m going to use them.”

Drake heard his mother’s voice in his ear, “A
place for everything and everything in its place.”

“Benjamin Franklin said that, right?” Penny
asked.

He didn’t think he had he spoken out loud. He
looked at Penny and wondered how she felt. Her hair was a curly
mess, and her face looked especially pale. Then he considered the
eggplant in his hand. “Did you go to the market?”

She nodded. “Trevor took me.”

A flash of sudden and irrational frustration
tingled through him that had nothing to do with the loss of his
golf game. It made sense to let Don Marx win. Winning made Marx
happy and losing made him cranky. Crankiness led to swearing and
embarrassing golf behavior including hacking up divots, marring
greens, and riding the cart off the paths. Drake’s dad hadn’t
taught him very much, but he had instilled in him a rigid sense of
golf etiquette, and it irked him that Don Marx’s golf course rants
always ramped-up in equal proportions to his score. “I thought
we
were going to go to the market,” Drake said through tight
lips.

“Oh, did you want to? I should have asked if
you wanted me to pick up anything.”

Drake didn’t reply, but looked at the
mozzarella ball on the counter. “This should be refrigerated.”
Every moment his situation with Penny became more and more
difficult. She was too…he couldn’t put his finger on what set him
on edge.

Drake stifled his frustration and put the
cheese in the fridge.

“My neighbor from Laguna called,” Penny said,
easing off the sofa and stabilizing on the rhinestone studded cane.
Where did that come from? Drake would bet that she hadn’t bought
it. It was garish and Penny was casual chic.

“Someone had been in my apartment.”

Damn. Drake stopped rearranging the produce
drawer, stood up straight, and frowned at Penny. She had her face
turned from him, but he saw her quivering lip.

“Eggplant parmesan, huh?” He laid the
eggplant on the cutting board and selected a knife from the
block.

“Careful, that’s a thousand dollar knife,”
Penny told him.

Drake held it up if front of him. How many
textbooks would he have to sell to buy a thousand dollar knife?
Five hundred. A five hundred textbook knife. He gently laid it down
on the counter and began rummaging through the fridge, removing the
items he’d just put away.

“How did your neighbor know that someone was
in your apartment?”

“The other day my friend Kayla was checking
on my apartment, you know, watering my plants and getting the mail.
She said my apartment smelled of coffee. I don’t even own a
coffeemaker.” Penny stopped in the kitchen doorway. “So Kayla laid
a trap.”

Penny pointed at the eggplant in his hand—he
didn’t remember picking it up, and yet there it was, a symbol of
the confusion he felt when he was around Penny. He wanted her stay.
He needed her to go. “Are you going to cut that or put it away?”
Penny asked.

Drake stared at the large, purple eggplant in
his hand, as foreign to him as a hedgehog. “What do you want me to
do with it?”

“Cut it into about a quarter inch
slices.”

Drake picked up the thousand-dollar knife and
sliced into the eggplant. “So, did your friend plant a video
camera?”

“
That
would have been smart.” Penny
retrieved the mozzarella ball and a cheese grater. After settling
down at the kitchen table, she asked, “Although, would it have to
run all the time?”

“I bet you could buy a surveillance
camera.”