Riverbend (6 page)

After everything was unpacked, Annie took a notepad out of her purse and wrote the menu for the week.

Monday: Ricotta and Fontina Stuffed Shells with Fennel and Radicchio

Tuesday: Zinfandel Braised Lamb Chops

Wednesday: Chardonnay Braised Chicken Thighs with Parsnips

Thursday: Grilled Skirt Steak with Poblano-Corn Sauce and Salsa

Friday: Pork and Green Chile Stew

Saturday: Beef Tenderloin with Parmesan-Prosciutto Crisps

Sunday: Chicken Enchiladas

Before she started cooking, she made two turkey sandwiches and filled a water bottle she found in one of the drawers with ice water and went out to check on Alder. He remained under the tree, reading. However, instead of being sprawled out on the ground, he was sitting in a lawn chair—the exact same as she'd seen on the deck. Had Alder dragged that out here? What would Drake Webber think of that?

She handed Alder the food and drink. “Where did the chair come from?”

“The Master of the House brought it for me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I know. Weird.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“No. Just set it down next to me and left.” He lifted the bread to
look inside the sandwich. “Looks great, Mom.” With both hands, he brought it to his mouth, but then stopped. “You know, there's something about the Master that isn't all bad.”

“I don't know. I can't see anything redeemable there.”

“That's not like you, Mom.”

“I suppose not.”
But sometimes a bastard is just a bastard.

Three hours later, Annie packaged the last of the meals and put them in the freezer before going outside to look at the view from the back deck. It overlooked the river below, which looked like a snake from this distance, green and winding, the house centered over a particularly sharp bend of the river. This part of the river she'd never seen, as it was unreachable by car or foot.

She stretched, grimacing, her muscles sore from Saturday's workout. Saturday. Before her world collapsed. She heard Marco's voice in her head again.
I'm coming to town, bitch.
Her stomach clenched.

She wandered down the stairs and into the yard, past the rose garden and around the side of the house. There was a large oak with a wooden swing tied to it. And there, sitting on the swing, was Drake Webber. At first, she thought he was ill, as he was crouched over from the waist, his face buried in his hands. But then she noticed his shoulders were shaking. Was he crying? Yes, it was unmistakable. For a moment, she stood, silent, as if watching a rare animal one didn't want to spook. Her instinct was to reach out to him, to comfort him as she might if Alder were upset. But, no, she must not let Drake know she was there. Any man would be mortified to know a woman, an employee especially, had seen them cry. She retreated backwards, without sound, until she reached the steps to the deck.

Once inside, she finished cleaning, wiping the counters, and washing the remaining pans. She was about to leave Drake a note that she'd see him next week when he came in through the kitchen
door. “You finished?” he asked. His face was blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed.

“Yes. Everything's in the freezer.”

“Next week, then?”

“Next week.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “This is the code to my gate. You won't need me to buzz you in if you have it.”

The number 0336 was written in messy handwriting. She opened her mouth to say thank you but Drake Webber was already gone.

Chapter Five

ALMOST A WEEK WENT BY
with no word from Marco. Annie did not say anything to any of her friends, convincing herself that Marco's phone call was merely meant to frighten her. She allowed Alder to stay with Ellen and she went about her daily routines as if it never happened. He was on probation, after all, she reminded herself. There was no way he could leave the state of California. Her initial reaction had been ridiculous.

On Sunday night, she was in Riversong's kitchen prepping for the special, a blackberry reduction over grilled salmon, when she heard the phone ringing from the front of the restaurant. She called out to Lee but there was no answer, so she wiped her hands on her apron and answered the phone that hung on the wall near the walk-in cooler.

“Riversong, this is Annie.” Linus had taught them to always give their names when they answered.

“Annie. It's me.”
Marco.
“I'm here. Did you miss me?” His voice was singsong, almost playful.
Like a cat playing with a mouse.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“You know what I want. I saw you walk into the restaurant this afternoon. I could've grabbed you then but I decided it was best to scare you for a while longer. Let you suffer like I have. But don't worry, I'm coming soon.”

The phone went silent. She held the receiver in her hand, until sweat made it too slippery and it dropped to the floor.
I'm here.

She slid down the wall and onto the floor.

I'm here.

On Monday morning, Annie and Alder drove to Drake Webber's home for her second stint as his private cook. As she turned into the driveway, she made eye contact with Alder through the rearview mirror. “You all right coming here?”

“I just don't understand why I can't stay with Momo.”

She moved her eyes from his and back to the driveway. “I have my reasons.”

“Are you mad at Momo?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I don't get it.”

“I know, but you have to trust me. I want you with me today. And you have to come inside. It's supposed to be ninety-five degrees today.”

“Fine.”

“And you need to be polite to Mr. Webber.”

“The Master?”

Annie laughed, in spite of the fear that had kept her up most of the night. “I should never have told you that.”

“I will, Mom. As long as he's respectful to you, I'll be respectful of him.”

“That's my baby.”

“Mom. Really?”

Drake met them at the door. Alder shuffled his feet and stared at his shoes but mumbled, “Hello, sir.”

“Hello, Alder.” Drake surprised her when he held out his hand to Alder. Her son hesitated only a moment before shaking Drake's hand, like a man might. Did she imagine it or did Drake's stern eyes soften when he touched her little boy?

“Sorry we got off on the wrong foot last week,” said Drake. “Sometimes I say things I don't mean. Or they just come out wrong.”

Alder nodded, his brown eyes compassionate. “Yeah, that happens to me, too.”

“Does it?” asked Drake.

“Sure. Especially if something's bugging me. Makes so I can't think straight.”

“Same here.”

There was a moment of silence. Drake stuffed his hands in his pockets. Alder shuffled his feet. Annie hugged her purse to her chest.

“Well, Mom says I can't stay outside today,” said Alder.

“You want to come in then?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Alder, shrugging as if he didn't care one way or the other.

As they entered the front room, Alder pointed to the dining room and the shelves full of books. “Wow. That's like a library or something.”

“Books are a bit of an obsession of mine,” said Drake. “Can't ever seem to part with them once I have them in my hands. So when I built this house I put a bookshelf in almost every room.”

“Even the kitchen?” asked Alder, his eyes wide.

“Except for the kitchen,” he said, and his face flinched as it had the first day she'd met him, like something pained him. “No cookbooks. Which is why I've hired your mother.”

“No cookbooks?” Alder looked over at her. “Can't imagine that.”

Annie looked at Drake, feeling apologetic for her lack of intellectual reading material. Something about this strange man made her self-conscious. “I do have a lot of cookbooks but not many other books.”

“She doesn't use her cookbooks,” said Alder. “She makes everything up in her head. She's legit.” He spoke with pride in his voice. Annie's eyes misted and she looked away, towards the majestic living room. The fireplace alone was enough to make a girl swoon.

“Legit?” asked Drake, sounding amused.

“Yeah. You know what that means?” asked Alder.

“Can't say that I do,” said Drake.

“Badass,” said Alder, with a matter-of-fact tone.

“Alder,” said Annie, flushing. “Don't say that word.”

“Sorry, Mom, but how else can I explain it?”

Her eyes darted to Drake. But instead of looking judgmental as she expected, he was smiling. It was the first time she'd seen him smile; it transformed his face. Despite her abhorrence for the man,
her heart fluttered.
Of course he had to be handsome. Just to mess with my mind.

“Alder, you want to look around the bookshelves? See if there's anything you want to read while you're here?” asked Drake.

“Can I really?” said Alder.

“Show me your hands,” said Drake.

Alder held them up. “I just washed them before I came here.”

“Good man,” said Drake. “Follow me.”

“My librarian at school says to treat books like babies,” said Alder.

“Smart lady,” said Drake.

“She's actually kind of crazy,” said Alder.

“How so?”

“Goes ape for books.”

“Well, she sounds like our kind of person. Badass.”

“Yeah, you're right. She
is
totally badass,” said Alder.

How was she going to get him to stop saying that word, Annie thought, as she watched them head over to the bookshelves. And was this the same Drake Webber from last week?

Before she started cooking, she went into the main room to check on Alder. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the tan couches, reading. He didn't even hear her come in; this was how he read, enraptured, oblivious to the outside world, living completely inside the pages of the story. The way he described it to her, it was like the zone she was in when she cooked. Everything else ceased to be and it was only her hands and her ingredients. It was a release, this. To fall into something you loved so your troubles and worries were no longer a roar in your mind.

She moved closer to her son, curious what he'd chosen from Drake Webber's bookshelves. It was
Huck Finn
. Wasn't he too young for Twain? Wasn't it something children read in high school? She watched Alder in amazement. His eyes moved quickly along the page. How had she given birth to such a smart child?

She turned to walk back into the kitchen. Drake was standing in the doorway, watching her. Feeling self-conscious, she pulled on a stray curl, tugging it into a straight line. “Just wanted to check on him,” she said as she approached Drake. “I'll get to work now.”

“Huck. One of my all time favorites.”

“I thought kids didn't read that until later,” she said.

“Some kids. But smart ones like Alder can read it now.”

She flushed with pride. “I don't know where he got it, honestly. I was always better with my hands than my brain.”

“We're made the way we're made—everyone with unique gifts.”

He moved aside so she could pass into the kitchen. Groceries were on the counter. There were fresh beans, tomatoes, and vegetables from Ellen's garden, still warm from the morning sun. She set them in the sink. Pulling out her extra set of chef knives from a canvas bag, she set them on the counter next to a cutting board. Drake Webber remained in the doorway, watching her, making her nervous, which always caused her to talk more than she should. “These tomatoes are perfect.” She held one up before bringing it close to her face and breathing in its particular scent. “Smells like summer.”

Taking it from her, he brought it to his nose. “Smells great. But summer smells like blackberry pie.”

She smiled at him. “Well, you might have something there.”

“My mother used to take us picking and then make pies. Best thing I ever ate in my life.” His eyes flickered. “No offense to your cooking, of course.”

“None taken. No one cooks like our mothers.” She hesitated, running cold water over the vegetables in the sink. “Well, not my mother. But other mothers.”

“In Alder's case it's actually true.” Drake went behind her and pulled a saltshaker from one of the cupboards. He held the tomato in his right hand like it was a baseball. “May I eat this?”

“Sure, I have plenty. Ellen, that's my neighbor, she grows this ridiculously large garden and is always trying to give me more than I actually need.”

Drake salted the top of the tomato and then bit into it like an apple. “Oh, that's so good. You can't find a tomato like this even in the finest organic stores.” He ate the rest in two bites.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, realizing it was close to noon. “Because I can make up some tomato sauce for pasta.”

“That sounds great.” He said it almost sheepishly, like a little
boy. “Well, and Alder needs to eat too, right?” He paused. “I suppose you're one of these women who doesn't eat? No one looks like you do and eats much of their own cooking, I'm guessing.”

She reached for a clove of garlic and peeled it with her paring knife. “I used to eat way too much of it. But last year I lost thirty pounds. I'd been chubby all my adult life.” Taking her largest knife, she squashed the garlic with its flat side and began to chop it into fine pieces. The room filled immediately with its pungent scent. She stopped, knife in the air.
Stop telling him things
. “Mr. Webber?”