Riverbend (4 page)

At the river that afternoon she fed Ellen and Alder tuna sandwiches, made with celery and pickles and fresh dill between slices of thick, crusty French bread. Ellen, her neighbor and friend, was Lee's grandmother. She looked after Alder and Lee's little girl, Ellie-Rose. The kids called her Momo—Ellie-Rose's version of grandma. Ellen, a retired high school English teacher, was in her late seventies but looked younger because of her sinewy strength and feisty attitude. Ellen had lost Lee's father in a car accident when he was a young man, and although she didn't talk about it often, Annie knew that both Alder and Ellie-Rose were sources of joy to her after
such a devastating loss. “Never a replacement for my boy, mind you,” she said to Annie once. “But it softens it some, having these two to love.”

Now, Alder and Ellen's dog, Goldie, both dripping wet from the river, plopped next to Annie onto a beach towel. “Can I have another sandwich?” asked Alder.

Annie handed Alder another tuna sandwich. Goldie looked at her, wagging his tail, ever hopeful that this would be the day he received a sandwich. “None for you, Goldie,” she said. “This would make you very sick.”

Alder gobbled his sandwich in five big bites, washing it down with chocolate milk that left a brown mustache on his upper lip. She handed him a napkin. “Where does all this food go exactly?” Her son was newly ten and growing taller every day but his width hadn't caught up with his height. His ribs pressed against his skin and his legs were skinny with knobby legs.

He looked at her, his round, brown eyes serious. “Momo says it goes to my brain.”

She smiled. “That must be it.”

“Darn right,” said Ellen.

Later, crossing the valley towards town, arcs of water from the industrial sprinklers in the hay fields sparkled in the late afternoon sun. The mountains on each side of the valley were a rich green against the late June sky. Although the air conditioner was on, Annie opened her car window several inches to let in the scent of grasses and hay and dry summer heat. The wind blew her hair about her face.

Once in town, she turned down the alley behind the restaurant and parked in her usual spot nearest the door, glancing at herself in the car's rearview mirror to check her teeth for lipstick before spotting Otis, their resident homeless man asleep at the bottom of the backdoor steps. Despite the late afternoon heat, he wore a thick,
long jacket, stained with dirt and spilled whiskey. His hair was long and greasy, his full beard matted. She knew if she came closer she would smell body odor and filth. He opened one bloodshot eye as she passed by him. “Afternoon, Otis.”

“Afternoon, Miss Annie.” She had no idea where he hailed from originally but it was a southern state, given his accent. Maybe Alabama?

“You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“I'll bring you out something in a bit, okay?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” She smiled at him before going inside to the kitchen. Always the same conversation, no matter the time of year, although in the winter she stored a blanket and plastic tarp for him under the steps so that he might wrap up in it if the afternoon was wet and cold. Tonight, as usual, she would bring him food before the restaurant opened and by the time she ended her shift, he would be gone, only to return the next afternoon. She had no idea where he went but only hoped it was safe and warm, as the nights were chilly here, regardless of the day's heat.

The restaurant's kitchen was empty, spotless and shining and gleaming silver, waiting for the controlled chaos that would come that evening with a packed reservation list. Hearing voices in Lee's office, Annie set her purse on the chef's island to say hello. Lee sat side by side at the desk with a young blond woman, going over how the seating chart was broken into tables of five, with each server assigned a number and section. This must be the new hostess, Annie thought, hired to give Lee some additional nights off from the restaurant.

“Don't give the servers new tables all at once,” Lee was saying to the girl. “Spread them out evenly amongst each server, otherwise they can't give the kind of service we expect here.”

“All right.” The young woman's eyes were wide, almost terrified. Could she handle the pace here? Lee made it look easy but keeping all the guests happy and satisfied was all about stellar service. It wasn't just the food that mattered. They'd learned that from Linus two years ago and passed it to all their employees.

“Annie,” said Lee, glancing up. “This is Amanda. Our new hostess.”

“Nice to meet you, Amanda,” said Annie. “You new to town?”

“Yeah, I'm from Portland, and, well, I had a bad breakup and decided to try something new for a bit. My grandmother lives here.” Amanda's eyes were big and brown, with the innocence of a baby deer.

“I'm sorry to hear about the breakup, but from what people tell me, this place can cure you of broken hearts. Something about the river, according to Lee and Tommy.”

“The river?” asked Amanda, with a blank expression.

“Never mind, you'll learn soon enough,” replied Annie, with a slight smile. Looking at this girl, with her manicured nails and highlighted hair and silk blouse, it was obvious she came from money. Had she had a real job before? Would she be able to handle the pace of Riversong? And then there was the lack of nightlife and clubs. It wasn't exactly the hub of culture or action, as most people were home in their beds by ten. Her prediction? She suspected this Amanda wouldn't last a month. But Lee had instincts about staff, so if she thought the girl could do the job, Annie wasn't about to argue.

Lee handed Annie an envelope. “Almost forgot. This came for you today.”

The non-disclosure from Drake Webber. She tugged on her unruly ponytail, the annoyance she'd felt for the rude man coming again like a wave. What did he have to hide that she was required to sign something like this? Ridiculous man.

She wandered out to the dining area, knowing Cindi would have double shots of espresso for her and Billy. They had a ritual now before every shift: espresso for all of them before, and afterwards a glass of wine for her, a beer for Billy, and a martini for Cindi. On the nights Tommy's band played, they enjoyed the music. Other nights, they listened to Cindi's stories of customers’ antics.

The restaurant was set for the night, with small candles, napkins folded in fans, and single pink roses in the slender glass vases. Before they opened, Lee would light the candles on each table. Billy was at the empty counter, sipping his espresso and reading the comics section of the newspaper, his apron in a heap on the stool
next to him. Cindi was unpacking a case of wine into the cooler under the bar. The aroma of espresso filled the room.
The smell of home
, thought Annie. Her home being here, with these people, doing what she loved.

“Hey guys,” she said, giving Billy a quick squeeze around his large, sloped shoulders. He wore his usual white T-shirt and white and black chef pants, his inner-tube-like tummy hanging over the waistband. He was just a year older than Annie but something about his innocent face, pink and pockmarked from teenage acne, brought out her maternal side; she was soft towards him like she was with her own son. Before Lee changed the concept of the restaurant from greasy spoon to its current incarnation, Billy had been the cook. Despite his lack of experience, Lee offered him an assistant chef job, and Annie, her heart immediately opening to allow this man-child in, had agreed to mentor him. Neither of them had suspected that he had innate talent. Now they worked side-by-side, compatible in every way, chatting the night away as their hands made food from their souls.

“Hey girl,” said Cindi, standing tall and rubbing the small of her back. “Wait ‘til you see what I won yesterday.” She pulled a large trophy from under the counter, an emblem of a shooting target on the top.

“She won first prize at the shooting contest,” said Billy. “She even beat out the men.”

Annie took the trophy from Cindi, running the tips of her fingers over Cindi's name engraved into the side as she sat on the stool next to Billy. “This is amazing.”

“Honestly, it was like taking candy from a baby. No one could shoot like me. Ever since I started taking those lessons from Coyote Jack over at the range nothing can stop me.”

“Wait. Your shooting teacher's named Coyote Jack?” asked Annie, laughing as she handed the trophy back to Cindi.

“Well, that's not his real name, mind you. They just nicknamed him that because he's on this kick to save the coyotes. They're an endangered species, you know. Jack's practically an expert on them. He doesn't believe you should shoot an animal unless you're going to eat it. You know, like a deer.”

Annie shuddered, thinking of Bambi and the scene in the film where they killed his mother. “I'll never serve venison here. You know that, right?”

“Heck no. I'm not interested in hunting anyway. Just self-protection. Well, and earning my nickname Dead-Eye Dick. Can you believe an old broad can outscore them all?”

“I can't actually,” said Annie.

“Honest to God I think I have a crush on Jack even though I could've given birth to him. He's just the most delicious young man you ever did meet. Maybe you might like to meet him?”

Annie put up her hand in protest. “No set-ups.”

“That's such a dumb rule. You're never going to get laid hanging out with us all the livelong day. Life's passing you by, girl. When was the last time something new happened to you?”

“As a matter of fact, today.” As Annie sipped her espresso, she filled them in on Drake Webber and her apparent new gig. “I can't tell you how much he offered to pay me, because of this non-disclosure agreement he's making me sign. But it's enough that I can put up with him once a week, in spite of his nasty personality.”

“A fool and their money are soon parted,” said Cindi, with a haughty toss of her head. Her hair, sprayed and teased into submission, did not move.

“I believe he has enough to spare,” said Annie.

“Must be nice,” said Cindi.

“I think it's great, Annie,” said Billy with his customary sleepy but adoring expression. “You deserve it. And the extra money's something good. Right?”

“Yeah, but he's such a jerk. I'll have to pretend I'm cooking for you guys so I don't throw off the flavors with ill will.”

“You'll hardly have to see him,” said Billy.

“That's true,” said Annie, opening the non-disclosure agreement and beginning to read.

Cindi was chuckling, wiping water spots off glasses. “Still, what an idiot to spend a bunch of money for a frozen dinner. Don't he know about Lean Cuisines?”

Billy shook his head, looking incredulous. “How can you compare Annie's cooking to those?”

“There're not as bad as they used to be,” she said, looking up from her reading.

“Whatever,” said Billy. “Not the same league as you.”

She gave him a kiss on his soft, plump cheek. “Thanks, Billy.” She went back to the legal document, which was making her head hurt. The legal writing was difficult to follow, but the basic message seemed clear. She was not to discuss anything she saw, heard, or observed at his house.

Taking one of Cindi's pens, she signed at the bottom of the form. There was nothing in it she couldn't agree to, but still, it was odd that someone who wasn't a celebrity of any kind would care so much about confidentiality. She slid from the stool and tapped Billy on the shoulder with the envelope. “Come on now, we better get to it.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He slid from the barstool and pulled his apron over his head.

“What do we have for Otis tonight?” she asked him as they made their way towards the kitchen.

“Day-old scones and some of the leftover salmon bisque from last night.”

“Otis eats well for a homeless man,” called Cindi from the bar as the kitchen door swung shut behind them.

We take care of our own here
, thought Annie.
For all our faults, we have that.

Chapter Three

TWO DAYS LATER,
the first Monday she was to start work for Drake Webber, Annie dreamt of a man chasing her down the streets of Los Angeles as she carried baby Alder in her arms. Was it Marco? She couldn't be sure. At a bump in the sidewalk, she tripped and fell. Blood spilled onto the cement. Then, there was a phone ringing, an old-fashioned ring tone like phones from her childhood.

With a start, she awakened, sitting up in bed, the blankets tangled around her legs and her pajamas soaking wet from perspiration. The ringing continued; it was her cell phone. She'd recently changed the ringtone to that of the old rotary phones. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she reached for the phone on the bedside table. What time was it? Not yet six a.m. Who would be calling this early? It was probably her mother with news of another boyfriend who left her penniless and unable to pay rent. This happened every year or so and Annie always sent money. And her mother always found one more loser to move in with a short time later.

“Hello,” she said, fully prepared to be annoyed that her mother had awakened her so early.

“Tag. I found you.”

Her stomach, like it might during a sudden five-story drop in an elevator, sank below her knees.
Marco
. His voice was rough, hard—she would recognize it anywhere.