The Way Home (6 page)

“No problem. What is this? A dress rehearsal?”

“Sort of,” Avery admitted.

Except that no one was dressed as they should be. She looked particularly awful, she realized. Her baggy cargo shorts and an old black tank top were grounds for arrest by any roaming unit of the fashion police. Working in the hot, sweaty kitchen for the last few hours had not improved her appearance either.

“Cool. Can I watch?”

Avery couldn't tell if he was serious. It was difficult enough to run her staff through this drill without an audience, especially a glib, teasing one. She decided to ignore the question. Luckily, the sweet potato chips distracted him.

“Those chips smell good. Are these little starters?”

He reached across the table to take a chip, and Avery stifled the impulse to slap his hand.

“Hmm. Interesting. Nice seasoning . . .” He chewed thoughtfully. “Did you put some cumin on there?”

“And a touch of garlic powder. A little sea salt, too,” Teresa quickly replied.

“It's the amuse-bouche,” Avery told him, using the proper terminology.

Mike's eyes widened. “The
what
?”

“The freebie you give out when they sit down. So they don't get too restless waiting to order,” Teresa explained.

“Like a dish of coleslaw or pickle spears?” he asked.

“That's right,” Gena answered cheerfully. “In French it means amuse the mouth . . . or tickle the palate. Right, Avery?”

Avery had explained the term when the staff went over the menu. “Exactly,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Cute. I'll have to remember that.” He caught her eye and smiled again.

Could he be any more condescending? Avery thought of a few snappy comebacks but decided they were all beneath her. Amuse-bouche was a real term that people in the restaurant business used all the time. Why did Mike Rossi make her feel like some . . . some pompous prig?

Gena turned to the others. “This is my friend, Mike Rossi,” she said introducing him to the rest of the staff. “He owns the Lazy Tuna, down on the corner.”

Avery watched Mike greet her crew. Even around a second mouthful of chips, his natural charm shone through. Teresa blushed up to the edge of her bandana when he shook her hand, and Jack, who mostly moved like molasses in January, jumped out from behind the bar to meet him.

“You own the Tuna? Cool. I love that place. I could eat three meals a day there.”

Avery restrained herself from sighing out loud. Doubtlessly, a college boy like Jack Malloy would prefer Mike's menu over hers any day. But did her own busboy have to be so unabashedly starstruck by the King of Fried Seafood?

Mike didn't seem to notice her distress. He just stood there, soaking up the adoration.

“Hey, thanks, pal.” Mike slapped Jack's shoulder. “Come down to the Tuna sometime and say hello.”

Avery stared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. He finally seemed to get the hint that he'd overstayed his welcome.

“Sorry to interrupt your rehearsal. I'm sure everything will go fine on your grand opening. Good luck, everybody!”

Her crew sang out a chorus of thanks-yous. Avery felt obliged to chime in. “Thanks, Mike. See you around.”

He met her glance a second and waved, then slipped out through the French doors, into the sunshine.

Once Mike had left, she stared around, unable to remember what course they were up to. Had Gena even taken her order?

Gena stood by the table with her pad and pencil out. “Want to keep practicing?”

Gena was the last person who needed this dry run, Avery thought, and of course, the most willing to comply. The others stood waiting for her to answer.

“That's all right. Let's take a break.”

Serena had already taken off her apron and had her handbag slung over her arm. “Okay. But remember you said I could leave at three?”

“That's all right, you can go,” Avery replied.

“Should I make more chips?” Teresa picked up the basket and peered inside where a few crumbs clung to the white parchment paper. “Boy, these went over big. Somebody liked 'em.”

They both knew that somebody was Mike. He had more than sampled the prop; he had made a meal of it when she wasn't looking.

“I think Mike stuck a few in his pocket,” Avery joked. “I guess he doesn't serve many dishes like this at the Lazy Tuna.”

Teresa glanced toward the Tuna with a dreamy smile. “I don't know about his cooking, but he's a very nice guy and kind of cute.”

“I didn't notice,” Avery fibbed. “And you're married.”
With children and grandchildren,
she could have reminded her. “You shouldn't be noticing these things.”

Teresa laughed. “I'm married, honey, not blind. And neither are you.”

Avery sighed. She wasn't going to win this debate. Why even try? She picked up the stray menus and busied herself stacking them.

Okay, he's attractive
. She would grant him that. But what difference did it make to her? None at all.

She had a fairly low opinion of all men right now. Not to mention being totally focused on getting her business off the ground. She had zero interest in dating at the present and had promised herself that if she ever did start to date again, she would not even consider a guy in the restaurant business.

Which included Mike Rossi. Especially Mike Rossi. So why was she even wasting one millisecond thinking about it? It was definitely time to get back to work.

If only those dark, laughing eyes were not so firmly stuck in her mind. Avery shook her head, trying to dislodge the image. She definitely did not need Mike Rossi in her life. But she knew that if she was honest, she had to admit there was a part of her that wouldn't mind seeing him again.

Chapter Four

C
LAIRE
met Jamie's train on Friday morning at nine. He had been in Boston since Tuesday, packing his things and doing whatever a young man his age had to do before leaving town for the summer.

He waved when he hopped off the train and walked over to meet her, carrying a large duffel bag and a knapsack over his shoulder.

“Hey, Claire. I made it.”

Claire was so happy to see him. She wanted to give him a hug but restrained herself. “Yes, you did. Right on time.”

She had honestly been afraid he might oversleep and miss the train, which had left the station in Boston before seven. She was relieved to see he was responsible enough to keep his appointments.

They walked to her Jeep, which was parked in front of the old-fashioned station house. Jamie had on the same pair of jeans and black sneakers she had seen on Monday, but he wore a plaid cotton shirt with short sleeves and a stand-up collar that must have been brand-new. The fabric was still stiff and creases in the front showed where it had been folded in its package.

He had also gotten a haircut. A chunk of dark brown hair still flopped across his eyes, but was not nearly so long. He was trying to make a good impression. That was a good sign.

“I need to make a quick stop at the store, then we have to hurry back. Several guests are checking in this afternoon. The rooms are ready,” Claire explained as she started the Jeep and headed toward the village. “But there's still plenty to do.”

Jamie nodded. “Okay. Whatever you need me to do, I've got it covered.”

She smiled at him briefly. It was so good to see him again, sitting beside her in the car. Once or twice this week, she had wondered if she'd imagined the entire thing—Jamie coming so far to find her and Liza giving him a job at the inn.

But here he was, back on the island, and would remain for the rest of the summer. Enough time for her to make amends for abandoning him so long ago. Enough time to win his trust and be a positive influence in his life.

The drive to the inn passed quickly. Claire pointed out a few local sights on the way.

“Where are those cliffs you used to tell me about?”

“The cliffs are on the other side of the island,” she explained. “I'll take you there sometime—maybe next week when the inn empties out again.”

They drove up to the inn and found a large shiny SUV parked on the curve of the drive that circled in front of the entrance.

A group of guests had arrived, though it was barely ten. Check-in time was twelve noon, but Liza never had the heart to remind anyone of that. Liza had come out to greet their new guests—two middle-aged couples who were traveling together.

Claire parked on the side of the inn and grabbed the shopping bags as she got out of the car. Jamie reached in back for his duffel and knapsack.

“You'd better leave those for now. Go help the guests with their luggage and see if Liza has anything else to send up to the rooms.” There were often requests as soon as guests walked in the door—extra towels and pillows, tea or coffee, hair dryers and ironing boards.

“Oh, right.” Jamie dropped his own bags in the backseat again and loped toward the SUV.

One of the men tugged at a large suitcase stuck in the trunk. The bag was large enough for a month's vacation, Claire thought, with a smile.

“Hey, mister, hold up. I'll help you with that.” Jamie trotted across the gravel to the car.

Claire winced a bit. “Hey, mister” was not the most cordial address. But the guest looked pleased to have a helping hand. Jamie pulled the suitcase out with ease and grabbed a canvas tote. He soon got all the bags into the inn, and Claire watched the man follow, sifting through the front pocket of his khaki pants for a tip. She had nearly forgotten. There would be some tips with this post as well. Claire never accepted tips, though they were often offered. But she was sure Jamie would and she saw no harm in that. It was definitely a perk to the job.

Claire headed for the kitchen with her grocery bags, but Liza stopped her to introduce the guests.

The Rapps had been at the inn the summer before. They had first come early last summer and liked it so much they returned again in August. This time they had brought their good friends, the Foxes. Both couples appeared to be in their early sixties and very fit. Claire remembered that Mrs. Rapp was a dedicated bird watcher; her binoculars were already strung around her neck.

Mr. Rapp liked Claire's cooking. He was a tall, lanky man whose slim waistline belied his large appetite. He rubbed his hands together, anticipating the meals to come. “What's on the menu for lunch today, Claire? I told the others we couldn't stop and spoil our appetites.”

“A few things you might enjoy: Rhode Island chowder and a seafood pasta. And some johnnycake. I recall you like that.”

His eyebrows rose into his hat brim. He quickly turned to his friends. “Claire makes the best johnnycake you ever tasted. She makes the best . . . everything.”

Claire blushed at the compliment. “Let's not go overboard. I wouldn't want your friends to be disappointed.”

“No chance of that,” Mrs. Rapp assured her.

Jamie had made another trip to the car and brought up all the Foxes' luggage as well. He came down the stairs looking a bit breathless, his new shirt already wrinkled. But he was smiling, looking pleased to have completed this first official act.

“Thank you, Jamie. I have to save my back for golf,” Mr. Fox said. “I can't let that old guy beat me every weekend.”

The two couples went upstairs, laughing at their repartee. Liza and Jamie followed Claire into the kitchen.

Liza picked up a pad from the kitchen table. “Good to see you again, Jamie. And I was glad to see you jump right in there.”

Jamie shrugged. “No problem. That's what I'm here for.”

“One of your jobs, for sure,” Liza said. “There will be a lot more bags to carry before the weekend is over. I made a list of chores you can work on today. I put a check mark next to the most important. If you can't get them all done, don't worry. We get interrupted here a lot.”

Liza glanced at Claire. “Claire will show you what to do, but you should get settled in now. Your room is on the third floor.”

“I put a navy blue spread on the bed,” Claire added. “It's at the end of the hall.”

“Do you have any bags?” Liza asked him.

Jamie nodded. “Out in Claire's Jeep.”

“This is a good time to bring them in. There's a dresser and closet in the room. I think you should find everything you need. Just come down to the kitchen when you've unpacked.”

“Thanks. I'll be right back,” he promised.

After he left, Liza turned to Claire, who had started to rinse off the clams she was going to use for the chowder.

“Well, so far, so good,” Liza said. “He'll be thrown in the deep end this weekend. I had another call this morning, and that fills the second floor.”

“Good thing you told me. Sounds like I'll need to stretch this chowder.” Claire always bought a little extra and knew she had enough ingredients. Besides, it wasn't the amount of clams necessarily but the quality of the broth that made good soup.

“Oh, you're a magician in here. I'm not worried about that.” Liza patted her arm. “Look over that list and let me know if you think it's too daunting for his first day.”

“I think the first day at a new job should be daunting. Then it will always seem easier after that,” Claire replied.

Liza laughed. “You have a good point. I'm going into the office for a little while. See you at lunch.”

* * *

C
LAIRE
was not used to having a helper. It was almost as time-consuming to explain to Jamie what he had to do and how to do it than to do it herself.

She didn't realize that she would feel that way. It was a surprise to her, and she even had to laugh at herself when she was showing Jamie how to sweep the porch and wash it down without ruining the paint or getting any of the wicker furniture wet. Claire usually took care of this task early in the morning, before most of the guests were up, but there had not been any time today.

Everything had to be moved to one side of the porch, and then everything had to be moved to the other. The trick was to keep the water stream steady and pointed down, so the entire house wasn't dripping all day.

Jamie started off all right but used too much water pressure, and Claire feared he would peel the paint right off the boards.

“Slow down. The water is too hard,” she said.

“It's okay. I get it, Claire. I can take it from here.”

Jamie didn't mean to spray her, but as he tried to keep hold of the hose and adjust the water, Claire tried to grab hold of it, too. Startled, Jamie dropped the hose and it jumped around on the porch, spraying in all directions, as if it were alive. By the time Jamie got hold of it and turned off the water, the two of them were soaked, head to toe.

“I'm so sorry . . . I didn't mean to spray you.”

He did look truly sorry. Claire had to laugh as she wiped her face on her apron. “That's all right. It's a hot day. That was . . . refreshing.” Then they both started laughing.

After the porch was cleaned and set to rights again, Claire showed him the power mower and edger. She was relieved to see he knew even more about lawn work than she did. Among his many jobs, he had worked for a landscaping company. The day passed quickly, with Jamie mowing the lawn and cleaning off the bikes in the barn.

Claire gave him a short break in the late afternoon to clean up and rest in his room. Later, he ate his dinner quickly in the kitchen while the guests lingered on the porch with appetizers. Then he helped Liza serve dinner in the big dining room.

After dinner, his last official act was taking out the trash. When he came back inside, Claire had just finished with the kitchen and was making herself a cup of tea.

“Anything else?” he asked. She could tell from his tone he was weary and sorely hoped that she was going to say no. But it was good of him to ask anyway.

“That's it for today. Thanks for all your help.”

He nodded, looking relieved. “No problem.”

“Would you like some tea?” She filled a teapot with boiling water. There was plenty there for two.

“I'm good . . . What are you going to do now?”

“Sit on the porch and knit.”

“Oh, right.”

“There are some books in the sitting room. I think you may have left the one you started the other night.”

“It was sort of boring . . . Is there a TV around here somewhere?”

Claire checked her tea. “We do have a TV, a very nice one. But we only use it for emergencies. It's down in the cellar, locked up.”

She waited and watched his expression. Surprised at first, then disappointed. Then he realized she was teasing him.

“Right, good one.”

“It's in the sitting room. Just open that big hutch across from the couch. The remote should be in there, too.”

“Great. I just wanted to see how the Sox are doing.”

“Help yourself. No problem with that at all.”

When Claire walked out to the porch with her knitting and tea, she saw that Jamie already had the TV tuned into the ball game. He sat on the sofa while he talked on his cell phone. All the guests had left the inn soon after dinner, and he had the sitting room all to himself.

He worked hard all day and deserves some relaxation now,
Claire thought, glad he was able to find the game he wanted to see.

* * *

I
T
was half past eight on Friday night, prime time for dining out. At least back in Boston it had been. Avery kept telling herself to focus on the cooking, but she couldn't help walking over to the kitchen door every other minute and looking out to see if any more customers had come in.

She had taken three or four reservations during the week and hoped that more customers would walk in during the night. But so far, the dining room had been practically empty.

Embarrassingly empty.
Frighteningly
empty. Avery's dark side couldn't help embellishing it into a full-blown disaster.

Calm down. It's the first night in an out-of-the-way place. It's not like couples are strolling around a busy neighborhood, looking for a place to eat. People have to come out here intentionally in the evening,
she reminded herself.
It's not a place for random traffic.

She was glad now that her mother and sister had not been able to come. She would have been even more anxious and embarrassed at the poor showing on her big opening night.

She just hoped Mike Rossi didn't saunter by again. He would probably have some clever remarks tomorrow about the lack of traffic in the Peregrine. Or maybe not. It pained her to admit it, but the truth was, he was probably too busy to notice what was going on in her restaurant. She had walked outside and looked down the street at his place a few times so far tonight.

The Lazy Tuna was bursting with customers, a noisy, boisterous crowd of adults, kids, and seniors. Every seat seemed to be filled, with pop music blasting from speakers over the wooden picnic tables set up outside.

Inside the Peregrine, you could hear a fork drop despite the mellow jazz standards playing on Avery's sound system. Mike's music was practically drowning out her own.

She would have run down there and asked him to lower it, but that would have meant admitting her café was quiet and empty.

Avery was preparing an order of halibut. The menu listed the fish sautéed with a special glaze, but the customer had asked for it plain broiled.

No fun at all, Avery thought, slipping the fish onto a dinner plate and adding a garnish. But the customer is always right. She had done the best she could with it.

Gena ran into the kitchen as Avery was cleaning off her cutting board. “Do you have anything back here you can throw together for kids? A couple just came in with two children, about five and seven. Chicken nuggets, mac and cheese?”