Spell of Summoning (13 page)

Ouch
. “My parents pretend I’m dead.”

She recoiled. “What?”

She already knew he’d drowned and come back changed. What wasn’t in those articles was what happened next. “After Wade Lake we moved here to be close to my grandpa. By the time I was legal, they were happy to leave me behind. I haven’t talked to either of them in years.”

“Your parents abandoned you?”

It wasn’t a cheerful memory. There’d been screaming and tears and once, his dad threw an empty pot against the wall. When they left, finally, taking the pitiful glances and the awkward silences with them, it had been a relief.

“I was a different person,” Holden explained. “After. I was depressed and in shock and scared and changed. I didn’t speak for six months. I saw a lot of counselors. When I finally did speak, all I talked about was dying and spirits. I told my mom I could see Grams, and she stopped talking to me after that. She was the first to go back to Minnesota. Later, once I was eighteen, my dad returned to his old job, and I got to stay with Grandpa.”

“Jesus,” Rebecca breathed. “How could they do that?”

“We were all happier to be separated, believe me.”

“But—”

“Sometimes people leave,” he blurted. He hadn’t intended to get all philosophical, but the words poured out nonetheless. “Even though they love each other, they’re better off apart. It’s not necessarily a failure.”

Chapter Nine

Detective Gorey took Holden’s statement but wasn’t optimistic about recovering the stolen money. Only about four hundred dollars was missing, which didn’t make it serious enough to warrant a full-blown federal manhunt, but he sent them away with promises to investigate and some advice to change locks and passwords as soon as possible

At ten thirty sharp, Holden pulled his Jeep into the parking lot of Sparky’s Burgers and Malts and killed the engine.

It was difficult to explain to an outsider what his grandparents’ diner meant to him. Holden had been hanging out there his whole life. At first only during the summers, but after moving to town permanently he’d spent every day there waiting tables, clearing tables, making change, and mixing malts.

This place had saved his life. It gave him something to do with his hands and a distraction from the painful PTSD symptoms. And it gave him a reprieve from seeing the spirits of the dead. Even with the low ceilings and crowded rooms, he’d never felt confined here. On the contrary, the polished metal bar, the neon-blue vinyl booths, and the sweltering kitchen felt more like an embrace than a prison. He loved this place and everything it represented.

Then his grandpa had passed away. And Holden couldn’t step foot in the door without feeling overwhelming grief and disappointment. He’d promoted Sean from waiter to full-time manager, hired another waitress, and hadn’t come back for six months, not until tax season was almost over and he had to pull together the books to file in time. That was two years ago.

He could never be as good as his grandpa—not as good a man, not as good a manager, cook, husband, or father. So he stopped trying.

Now, the diner felt like a mausoleum.

Buster settled into his favorite spot on the black-and-white tiles behind the cash register as he and Rebecca explored the diner.

“Oh, this place is a mess.” Rebecca whistled at the desk piled with random receipts, orders, invoice books, parts of a computer, and what smelled like the contents of a trash can in the closet that doubled as the manager’s office. “I can get this organized for you.” She stared with genuine glee in her eyes. “I love accounting.”

She righted the desk chair and sat. “You must have computerized software. Is it on this dinosaur?” She laughed as she turned on the screen before realizing there was no hard drive. That, too, had been stolen.

“Okay, never mind. I’ll input the numbers later into my laptop.” She hesitated. “That’s okay, right?” Rebecca bit her lip, and Holden stared like a dumb, horny kid. God, her lip was beautiful, and he wanted to suck the perfect pink plumpness into his mouth.

“Holden?”

“Uh.” He turned away. He couldn’t even look at her for a second if he was gonna get his mind screwed on straight. “Yeah. Do what you need to do.” He ducked out, passing through the kitchen and into the dining area.

Grams sat at a booth, her knitting needles clicking and reminding him of happier times. For a split second he imagined she was alive and waiting for Grandpa to lock up and drive her home. He blinked the fantasy away because those days were long gone. So were his grandparents. For the most part.

“You must be thrilled,” he said quietly to the shadow of his Grams. Holden moved around the bar, running his fingers across the cool, clean surface.

“Because you’re falling in love? Yes, I suppose I am.”

He tripped on the plastic mat under his feet. “What? No. Hardly.” He liked Rebecca, sure. He thought she was gorgeous and fascinating and complex, but it ended at admiration.

“No,” he stressed, “because I’m finally here doing my job.”

She didn’t have to say it aloud. He knew she wished he’d run the diner before it wasted away and closed down for good. Or became some loud chain restaurant.

“I only want you to be happy, bubba.”

“Mmm. So you can leave.”

She set her knitting in her lap and really looked at him. “You can’t be scared forever, darling. Teddy and I ran this place for ourselves, not so you’d be shackled to it for the rest of your life. But I know you can run Sparky’s, raise a family, and be happy. Because I’ve done it. What’s so wrong with that?”

You wouldn’t be there.
“Nothing’s wrong with that.”

Holden could sell the business and walk away. He’d received offers. But he didn’t want to sell. This little diner with the neon signs and the mini jukeboxes was like a second home to him. He would never say these things to Grams, but he wanted to run it. Desperately. He just couldn’t. Because he’d never be as good at anything as his grandpa. So, he did nothing. And the business slowly died right along with everyone and everything else in his life.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Grams smiled down at the beginning of a lavender sweater that, no matter how much she knitted, never got any bigger.

He flipped on the Open sign, keyed on the cash register, and turned on all the lights. Inside the walk-in cooler he found enough food for a hundred burger-and-fry combos, a couple dozen cups of chicken noodle soup, and at least eight gallons of ice cream.

The short-order cook, Wilson, let himself in, banging the back door against the wall. “Hello y’all!”

“Wilson, good afternoon.”

The skinny young man jumped and then palmed the door to quiet the noise. “Mr. Clark, sir?”

“Sean and Kate quit yesterday,” Holden blurted. He could count the number of conversations he’d had with his cook on one hand. Half a hand. “But we’re going to open for lunch anyway.”

“You bet, sir. I mean, yes. Let’s do that.” He tied on an apron and started the grill and the fryer. “Did they say why?”

“They think I’m a bad boss.”

Wilson’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything as he rapidly prepped his work area. A set of tongs clattered to the floor, but he tossed them into the sink and kept going.

The bell over the door chimed with their first customer of the day. Holden left the kitchen to greet the new guest. Except he hadn’t waited tables in years. Miss Sunshine in the back was more suited to dealing with people, but she was so happy invoicing receipts and calculating losses that he didn’t want to bother her with a potential job swap.

“Afternoon,” he greeted just like he always had and added, “Welcome to Sparky’s, where the past is more than a memory.”

The guy chose a seat at the bar and studied the specials leaflet.

Holden passed him a menu and stood awkwardly at the cash register. He opened the drawer and saw they had no change at all. Not even a penny for good luck. The safe in the back was just as bare bones. He ducked his head into the office.

“Rebecca, I forgot to get change. I’m gonna have to run to the bank. Can you wait tables? I’ll show you how.”

“Absolutely!” Her eyes lit up. “And I know how. I worked at a restaurant in high school.”

He introduced her to Wilson and gave her the rundown—the menus, the condiments, the order tickets. “You gonna be okay?”

“Oh yeah. This is fun.” She shooed him with her arms. “Scoot. I got this.”

“Buster’s asleep behind the counter. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

It turned out his trip took longer than that. There was a line at the bank. Then he swung by a gas station to fill up the Jeep.

When Holden strolled back through the doors of Sparky’s, the first thing he saw was Becca behind the bar laughing with the four men seated across from her. The place was packed and the jukebox blared “Chantilly Lace.” It hadn’t been so full of life in years.

“Hi!” Rebecca’s big smile twisted his insides. She seemed to grow more beautiful, and yet more fragile, by the day. The black veil around her shoulders had darkened overnight. The face in the shadow was now clear and defined.

She gestured for him to join her. “Once I got the hang of it I had to share my waitressing skills with some friends.” She waved to the dining area at large, and several people waved back. “I sent a mass text to my friends at the realty organization that not only was lunch 10 percent off today at Sparky’s, but they get to watch me serve it.” She laughed.

So this was Rebecca Powell in her full glory. No wonder she made so much money in real estate. She was like a strike of lightning—bright and beautiful and impossible to take your eyes off of.

“Thanks,” was all he could think to say. “I’ll check the grill.” But Holden should have known Becca didn’t slack on anything. Wilson had twelve patties sizzling their way to a perfect medium-well on the grill and a mountain of greasy, salty fries cooling under the heat lamp. In other words, she had everything under control. He suspected, though he couldn’t prove it, that between taking orders and serving lunch she’d tidied the kitchen.

She brushed up against Holden’s elbow, her voice loud enough for only him to hear. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Something about her husky whisper undid him. It had him thinking about rumpled sheets and sweat and soft, soft skin.

Rebecca added, “I’ll pay back the 10 percent discount with my tips. These ladies and gentlemen are very generous. And you can’t hope to make back the money you lost without customers.
And
,” she smiled brightly, “I guarantee they’ll not only be back, but they’ll tell their buddies how much fun it was at Sparky’s today.”

 The door chimed once and then again a second time. Shoulder to shoulder, they strolled into the dining room to greet their newest customers.

* * *

Becca’s assistant Derek stood inside Sparky’s front door, her dry cleaning in one hand and his cell phone in the other.

“Everything okay?” Rebecca asked, immediately imagining the worst. If her office building burst into flames and burned to ash, it really wouldn’t surprise her at this point.

“I’m here about the job.” Derek pointed to the Help Wanted sign in the window. Was he joking? He didn’t crack a smile, and she wasn’t sure.

“I’ll get you an application.” She reached for a form, wondering how far he’d take this little game.

“Just kidding.” He grinned at her. “How is everything going?”

“Good. How did you find me?”

They hadn’t spent more than a day apart in years. When they weren’t working at the office together, they were on the phone making to-do lists and updating plans. But in twenty-one days, Rebecca was leaving Derek behind, and he was starting a new job at Charley McGovern’s brokerage. Maybe it was a good sign that she hadn’t thought of him once today.

“Jessa told me you were spending your vacation with Mr. Clark. It wasn’t hard to track you down. So here I am. Checking on you.” He laid her clean and pressed pantsuits, blouses, and one cocktail dress, all still sheathed in plastic and smelling of chemicals, onto an empty corner of the lunch counter. “And I have good news.”

She could use some.

“Kent and Laurie accepted the offer. They signed the papers this morning. The Lane Street house is officially off the market and in escrow.”

Thank God. “One down, one to go. Have you heard from Maeve?” Maeve and her home on Havers Street were all that stood between Rebecca and a clean slate.

“No, but Jessa did. They had a long talk about how the water damage in the master bath is turning off prospective buyers.”

Good. She’d already tried to talk sense into Maeve, but the woman didn’t want to replace the tub’s hardware or lay new tile over the water-damaged linoleum. She’d promised to fix it when she got a solid offer, but she’d get more offers if she fixed it now.

“What did she say?” Rebecca asked.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there,” Derek said.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Though she still wasn’t sure if he was messing with her or not. “Are you hungry? We make a great veggie burger.”

“
We
?” He raised one eyebrow. “Since when do you own a stake in Sparky’s?”

Becca tucked her order pad into her borrowed apron and examined her dry cleaning. Yes, there it was, cleaned, pressed, and ready for Saturday’s Chamber of Commerce fundraising event. Some women had little black dresses. Rebecca had a little red dress. She couldn’t wait for Holden to see her in it.

“Things not going well?” she guessed, eyeing Derek up and down. He wasn’t usually such an ass.

“Things are great.” But his tone revealed his lie. “Smashing. How are things with you?”

“I’m looking forward to May 1.”

Holden was right. She was such a phony.

“Good.”

Holden edged into her periphery.

“Holden, this is Derek Walker. My assistant.”

“I just stopped by to say hello,” Derek said. He pressed a button on his phone, and then his text message, or whatever it was, was more important than anything else. “Keep up the good work. See you later.” He didn’t even look at her as he left.

A customer on the other end of the dining room whistled for service. Grateful for the distraction, Rebecca moved in that direction, but Holden restrained her with a hand to her elbow.