Exposed (13 page)

Reston, Virginia

Emma Tully pulled out the letter from the yellowed envelope. At first, the stack of envelopes that were gathered together with an orange rubber band had grabbed her attention because the top one, this one, had a twenty-cent stamp with a woman’s picture: Ethel Barrymore. She’d never heard of Ethel Barrymore before. Perhaps she was Drew’s grandmother? It didn’t matter. What caught Emma’s attention was that she couldn’t believe stamps had ever been twenty cents.

She wondered if the stack of envelopes had long been forgotten. She had found them the last time she stayed at her mom’s house in Cleveland. The bundled stack was stuffed in the back drawer of the guestroom bureau. Forgotten perhaps, but important enough to save. And her mom was definitely not the pack-rat type. The letters were even kept in chronological order. Again, not something her mom would do unless these were special.

Emma didn’t know anyone who even wrote real letters anymore. This was a treat. Especially if Emma’s suspicions were true. Were these old love letters her dad had written to her mom before they were married? That was like awesomely romantic. It was like taking a peek into a part of her own history.

She settled back into her pillows.

Emma pulled out the next one but stopped when she heard the front door. Footsteps marched directly to her bedroom. What now? She swooped up the letters and stuffed them under her bedcovers, just as the knock came.

“Hey, sweet pea,” her dad called. There was no anger. She sighed in relief. “I have to do a favor for Maggie. You want to go for a drive with me?”

Normally she’d groan and make some excuse. But tonight she didn’t mind. Maybe she was curious to see if she could notice any trace of Indiana Jones.

Reston, Virginia

Emma Tully pulled out the letter from the yellowed envelope. At first, the stack of envelopes that were gathered together with an orange rubber band had grabbed her attention because the top one, this one, had a twenty-cent stamp with a woman’s picture: Ethel Barrymore. She’d never heard of Ethel Barrymore before. Perhaps she was Drew’s grandmother? It didn’t matter. What caught Emma’s attention was that she couldn’t believe stamps had ever been twenty cents.

She wondered if the stack of envelopes had long been forgotten. She had found them the last time she stayed at her mom’s house in Cleveland. The bundled stack was stuffed in the back drawer of the guestroom bureau. Forgotten perhaps, but important enough to save. And her mom was definitely not the pack-rat type. The letters were even kept in chronological order. Again, not something her mom would do unless these were special.

Emma didn’t know anyone who even wrote real letters anymore. This was a treat. Especially if Emma’s suspicions were true. Were these old love letters her dad had written to her mom before they were married? That was like awesomely romantic. It was like taking a peek into a part of her own history.

She settled back into her pillows.

Emma pulled out the next one but stopped when she heard the front door. Footsteps marched directly to her bedroom. What now? She swooped up the letters and stuffed them under her bedcovers, just as the knock came.

“Hey, sweet pea,” her dad called. There was no anger. She sighed in relief. “I have to do a favor for Maggie. You want to go for a drive with me?”

Normally she’d groan and make some excuse. But tonight she didn’t mind. Maybe she was curious to see if she could notice any trace of Indiana Jones.

Razzy’s
Downtown Pensacola, Florida

Rick Ragazzi closed out the cash register, slamming the tray, hoping his partner, his cousin Joey, would take the hint. He couldn’t seem to get Joey to understand that this was a business not his private haven to entertain guests. Tonight Joey prepared crème brûlée, on the house, for a group of six who’d stopped by after the Saenger Theatre’s evening production up the street. It would have been an okay gesture for a party of six who maybe had dropped several hundred bucks on dinner, but this group had ordered only coffee.

“What? No dessert?” Joey had joked, stopping at their table during his usual stroll to greet the guests while his kitchen staff cleaned up for the night. He asked their head waitress, Rita, to pour more coffee for the group while he headed back to the kitchen. Within minutes he returned, presenting his creation. He had them laughing and applauding. Cousin Joey, the chef, was no better than an actor, craving and demanding attention, then lapping up praise.

They were so different from each other that sometimes Rick wondered how they could be related. Of course, it was those differences that made them such good partners. Rick had the head for business. He was a numbers guy, an operations whiz. He had calculated salaries, overhead, product cost and was able to come up with a plan, complete with projections, net earnings and profit margin. But it wasn’t because of his thrifty spending and efficient management that they were able to post a profit after only eight months in business. Even Rick knew it didn’t matter how brilliant his business plan would be without his charming cousin, the award-winning chef. At twenty-four Joey was a culinary magician or at least, that was what
Gourmet
magazine had called him.

People came to the restaurant the first time out of curiosity. They returned over and over again because they liked the food. And that was all Joey. Rick made sure the staff was well trained, courteous and prompt. But he couldn’t poach an egg or filet a piece of fish to save his soul. He looked down at his hands, nicks and cuts in various stages of healing. The most recent reminder was a cut on his index finger from attempting to help chop vegetables. Joey was definitely the talent, the product. Rick was simply the manager.

Their success got a boost from trendy spring breakers and summer tourists. Now came the tough part. They’d need to hold on until they entered the holiday season. September had already shown a slowing down. October would be the hardest. And just yesterday their main refrigerator, the expensive monster that Joey insisted they had to have, had started freaking out on them. Of course, the warranty expired last month and the repairman claimed it needed a whole new compressor—seven hundred dollars they hadn’t planned for.

Rick watched Joey with his audience. It was hard to stay impatient with him. When they first started setting up the place Rick suggested they replace the kitchen wall with glass so diners could watch Joey perform. Turned out to be too expensive, so they put it off. Otherwise they would have done it. Rick was used to Joey being the center of attention. He really didn’t mind. Sometimes he joined in and played Joey’s straight man. As kids they actually did bits at family gatherings with Rick doing the setup and Joey getting the punch line. Everyone thought it was cute because Rick was a couple years older and bigger, a bit taller, back then.

As teenagers they were each other’s best friend. During the summers they chased girls together on Pensacola Beach until Rick finally admitted he really didn’t like girls all that much. Even that admission had been something they worked through together, with Joey being the first one to say it wasn’t that big of a deal. It just meant less competition for him.

In college, Joey studied culinary arts, and Rick, business management. Opening a restaurant together seemed a no-brainer for both of them. But keeping it open would perhaps be a miracle. Especially since they had no silent partner, no rich beneficiary or obligated family members.

Rick’s family wasn’t interested and Joey refused to accept help from his father. Rick wasn’t sure why Joey was being so stubborn. Uncle Vic, at least, wanted to help and unlike Rick’s dad, Uncle Vic had never called Rick “a queer” or told the two they’d “never make it.” Hard to believe the two men were brothers.

Rick had honored Joey’s wishes. But Joey had no idea how much it cost to run things each month, each week. Rick knew their meager summer profit would never get them through a slow winter. If they had to close the doors any one of the area’s restaurants would snatch up the opportunity to have Joey Ragazzi. But Rick? What would he do? Get a job at one of the local accounting firms?

Hell, this was his one chance. So when the envelope from Uncle Vic came about a week ago—to Rick, not Joey—he decided not to tell Joey, but not to send it back, either. Made sense. Even Uncle Vic understood his son wouldn’t take his help, but maybe his cousin would. There was a thousand dollars in cash. Rick had counted it twice then put it back inside the sealed Ziploc plastic bag it came in.

He justified his secrecy by telling himself a thousand dollars wasn’t enough to make or break them. It wasn’t a big deal. And yet this week with the refrigerator compressor going out, a thousand dollars could change everything.