Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3) (4 page)

“Now, sweetheart.” Her tone grew placating, which only ramped up my resentment. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not denying it, either,” I replied. My teeth clamped together before anything uglier could escape from my mouth.

“I know you had nothing to do with what happened to David. But the fact you’ve never addressed the accusations gives everyone else room to speculate.”

“Let them speculate. I don’t owe anyone an explanation.”
Including you
. I bit back the retort. Nothing could come of adding that kind of hostility to the conversation.

“Don’t you care about your reputation? I mean, I know you’re no longer living here so you don’t have to hear the rumors or feel the staring when you walk anywhere in this town. But do you realize what this has done to your father and me? Don’t you care about us at all?”

“I do care about you, Mom. And Dad. That’s why I asked you to consider moving when it was over.”

“We’ve lived here most of our lives. We can’t just pull up stakes and leave.”

Yes, they could. That was the worst part. My father had retired as an executive of a brand name tire corporation years ago. Mom had left her secretarial job around the same time, and the two loved traveling now that the kids were grown and on their own. Grandchildren had yet to arrive, leaving them plenty of time to see the world. They just refused to let the gossips win, which left them constantly bearing the finger-pointing and whispers meant for me.

“Why don’t you at least take a vacation?” I suggested. “Go somewhere special for a few weeks ‘til this blows over. If the reporters can’t locate me and you’re out of town, they’ll find a new story to pursue.”

“May
beee
…”  She drew the last syllable out, testing the waters, considering her options.

“My treat,” I pushed, sweetening the pot. I wasn’t exactly flush with funds, but their predicament
was
my fault, technically. If I hadn’t married David…well, best to not revisit that tragic mistake again. I spent way too much time beating myself up over my poor taste in men. Marrying the jerk was only one in a long list of mistakes I’d made in the past several years.

“We’ll think about it,” Mom said, which was more than she’d given me the last several times I’d made this offer. Either I was wearing down her resistance or the gossip was finally becoming too much to bear.

A flush of shame warmed my cheeks. It wasn’t fair that they were caught in the media net, but, short of granting them the means for an escape, there was little I could do. David’s actions had cast a big pall, and the shadow took in several innocents, me among them. “I’ll call you in a coupla days. In the meantime, talk to Dad, pick out a nice spot. Maybe a cruise around the Hawaiian islands or something. Okay?”

“I’m not sure—”

“It’ll be good for you,” I interjected. “Really. Ooh! I gotta go. Someone’s at the door.” The lie slipped from my lips so easily, I felt a twinge of guilt, but I couldn’t continue this conversation now. Not without a flak suit. “We’ll talk later in the week. I promise.”

“Okay, if you say so.” She paused, but didn’t hang up. “Jayne?”

“Yeah?”

“We love you, sweetheart. You know that, don’t you?”

I took a deep breath, let it out nice and slow. “I do. And I love you both, too. I’ll talk to you in a few days. Goodnight, Mom.” I hung up before she could say anything more.

Sure, they loved me. I never doubted that. They just didn’t believe me. Along with anyone else familiar with my late husband’s murder trial.
 

Terri

By ten o’clock the next day, Gary, the crew, and I had become a well-oiled machine. We had to. The line to get into our tea shop extended out the door and around the corner. On a rainy Sunday, no less. Oh, sure, most of the patrons were local residents: half a dozen Candoleros; Dominic Bautista and his partner, Evan Rugerman; Brice and Courtney Howell; Emily and Roy Handler; Lucie and Colin Murriere with their two kids; and lots of other familiar faces. No doubt, they came to support either Gary or my aunt and uncle—who all worked their butts off bussing tables, seating patrons, cooking, and taking orders.

“What’d I tell you?” Gary exclaimed as he pulled yet another batch of golden croissants from the oven. “We’re a hit on Day One.”

“Let’s see if we’re still a hit on Day Thirty-One,” I replied, grabbing up a plate of delicate, decadent pastries for Table Six. While we offered the traditional tea menu of cucumber and watercress finger sandwiches, chicken and fruit salads, and warming soups, Gary’s sweet treats were the star of every show. 

He clucked his tongue. “No negativity,
ma puce
. Put positive out into the universe, get positive back.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Pastry Guru.”

Placing his oven-mitted hands together in prayer fashion, he bowed low. “
Namaste
,” he said. “Now get those Napoleons to Table Six while they’re still perfect.”

As I hustled away with my serving tray, a smile quirked my lips. I had to admit, Gary the Pastry Chef wasn’t nearly as scary as Gary the Bartender. And though I’d only seen them together for a coupla hours, Gary the Dad had an easygoing style with his son, too. Funny how being sober could change my perception—or everybody else’s.

Maybe this partnership thing could work out—
if
the business succeeded. We were off to a promising start, so that was something to celebrate.

Back in the tearoom, dishes clinked, conversation hummed, and laughter rang in the cinnamon-scented air. It was so noisy I couldn’t hear the classical music piped in over the speakers, and I wondered if that was just due to the crowd today, or would I be better off ditching the musical interlude in the future? The wondering would be a habit I repeated all day long, pondering what people enjoyed versus what turned them off. I’d watch my customers’ faces for what they liked as they ate and sipped, took note of which pastries moved fastest, consulted the waiting list for anyone who’d decided to bail rather than wait to be seated. To my surprise, no one had opted to forego their turn just yet. And the crowds never seemed to dwindle, no matter how many tables were turned over.

I supposed everyone in town wanted to be able to say they were at my place on opening day. What worried me was the thought that many of these people where here because (a.) they didn’t think the place would last, or (b.) they expected to see me nipping on booze between shifts, or (c.) both.

A real fear they might be right shuddered through me and nearly brought me to my knees. Once again, that itch in the back of my throat made me long for a shot. It didn’t have to be vodka. It could be tequila, rum, even a frosty beer would slake my need.

No. It wasn’t about to happen. I was a different person now. I’d faced my demons head-on and come out on the other side, grateful and determined to make my life mean something. The fear was always there, hovering, ready to toss me into the darkness again. I’d spend the rest of my life beating it back, but I’d fight sober. And I’d stay sober. No matter what.

What would happen when the novelty of this new place and the new me wore off? Would we still see these kinds of crowds? Or would I disappoint my aunt and uncle once again? This time, financially destroying them at the same time.

Positive, I told myself. Think positive thoughts.

I reached Table Six where the Murrieres waited patiently for their treats. “Here you go,” I said, removing the plates and cups one by one from my tray to the table. “One Earl Grey, one Darjeeling, half a dozen Napoleons, and one hot chocolate for Ariana.” The little girl looked up at me and smiled while her mom, cradling the family’s newborn son, thanked me. “Enjoy.”

I was aimed for Table Eight to take another order when Nia’s guy, Aidan, brushed past me with his own tray, filled with dirty dishes and cups. “Looks like you’ve got a hit on your hands. What a crowd. Be sure to remember the little people who helped you out when you’re a rich and famous restauranteur, okay?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I liked Aidan. He was sweet and kind and great for Nia, who had a tendency to stress over stupid stuff way too much. Both tall, good looking, and smart, they complemented each other like salt and pepper shakers. Aidan brought out Nia’s lighthearted side. I had no idea what Nia brought out in Aidan. But she had to do something for him. The two of them practically glowed whenever they were near each other.

“Relax,” he said. “You’ve got opening day jitters. Remember what I told you about what Nia did to me the night before my opening day at the vineyard?”

I remembered the story he told me last evening and found my first real smile of the day. I might not have slept well, but at least I slept in my own bed instead of in the local drunk tank like he did.

“That’s better,” he said to me. “Now, go get ‘em. You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Aidan.”

God, he was such a sweetheart! A twinge of jealousy pricked me, but I sucked the disloyalty back. Although we’d been friends since second grade, I’d always envied Nia and Paige. They were twins, grew up together, stood by each other, and, up until a year ago or so, had a dad who’d adored them. Their mom had skipped town with some rich visiting tourist when the girls were kids, but so what? That just meant their family wasn’t perfect. Nobody’s family was. But the Wainwrights stuck together through the hard times. Their dad didn’t shoot their mother in the face to make her stay. The way mine had.

I shook off the ugly memory and clutched my medallion to find peace before tending to my next group of customers. Once I’d rebalanced my teeter-totter emotions, I headed to Table Eight. “Welcome to Tea and Tidbits. I’m Terri—” I began, but Evan Rugerman cut me off.

“
Bellisima
!” He took my hand, kissed the back, and continued in the same fake Italian accent. “You look wonderful,
cara
. Don’t you think, Dom?”

“Absolutely.” Dr. Bautista took my hand in his and yanked down, pulling me closer so he could whisper in my ear. “Sobriety seems to agree with you, Terri. Your eyes are clear, your complexion is rosy, and you seem…” I pulled away to stand up straight, and he took the time to study me from head to toe. “…happy.”

Leave it to a doctor to notice those things. Of course, Dr. Bautista was a veterinarian, so I supposed I should be grateful he didn’t pat my head and shove a biscuit in my mouth—or a thermometer somewhere less pleasant.

“I
am
happy,” I replied and I realized I meant it. Since getting sober, every day was a challenge, but I no longer woke up with a raging headache, cotton mouth, and a dread of what I’d hear about the previous night’s antics—my daily routine from the age of twelve onward.

“How are the
canelès
?” Evan asked.

“To die for,” I admitted.

“Okay then,” he replied with a grin. “We’ll have your triple treat platter with
canelès
,
macarons,
and mini-eclairs.”

“And a pot of jasmine tea,” Dr. Bautista added.

“You got it.” I took their menus and tucked them under my arm, then stopped at Table Twelve to ask my customers there how they were doing. Receiving an enthusiastic thumbs-up, I felt an unfamiliar glimmer inside: hope. For years, panic and self-doubt had dogged my every step. Today, I’d ditched my constant companions.

I spotted Aunt Andrea’s steel gray head through the window in the kitchen door. Impulse took over. On light as air steps, I sailed into the busy prep area and grabbed her in a hug.

“Oh!” Startled by my sudden attack, Aunt Andrea stumbled backward, her hands nearly upending the stainless bowl at her station with a loud clatter. “Teresa? Honey?” She wrapped her arms around my waist, her expression drenched in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s wonderful. Thanks to you. And Uncle Larry.” 

I sashayed back to the dining room to take care of my customers, a warm glow still infusing me from the inside out.

♥♥♥♥

Jayne

“What do you think?”

Dom’s question jolted me, and I looked up, my mind a blank. At the time, I was cleaning years of tartar off the teeth of an Old English sheepdog, so I figured my brain blip could be excused. “Think about what?”

“Thanksgiving. Evan and I are hosting his family, and I’m asking you to join us.”

“Oh, umm…wow. Umm…” Shoot. November meant Thanksgiving, the family-est of family holidays. How was I going to get out of this one?

Above his surgical mask, his eyes crinkled enough for me to realize he was smiling at me. “Don’t answer now, Jayne. I just want you to know the offer’s out there for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I relaxed. Thank God, Dom knew me so well. He wouldn’t pressure me, and he wouldn’t take offense when I eventually turned down his invitation. Still finding my way in my new groove, I wasn’t ready to figure out holidays yet.

“You’re welcome.”

We worked together in a comfortable silence for a few minutes—him, monitoring the sedated furbaby’s vitals, while I scraped, polished, and applied gel to affected areas. “Dom?” I kept my gaze focused on my task as I spoke.

“Yeah?”

“Does Evan know?”

“About Thanksgiving dinner? Of course.”

I glared up at him. “You know what I’m asking.”

His dark-eyed gaze grew solemn and sincere above the hem of his mask. “Yes, I know. And no, he doesn’t. It’s your story. If you decide to share it, I’m sure he wouldn’t think any different of you. But if you want to keep it between us, it stays there. No one else needs to know.”

I couldn’t stifle the relief that flooded through me, but a twinge of guilt pricked my conscience. “Does that cause any friction between the two of you?”

“Why would it? You know, Jayne, this might be hard for you to believe, what with all you’ve been through, but around here, you’re not a cause célébre. Most people just take you at face value. Including Evan.”

“I know. I’m still trying to get used to that idea.”

He clapped a gloved hand on mine, the one without the buzzing dental instrument, and squeezed. “You need to learn to relax again. Be the Jayne I met all those years ago. You’re safe here. I promise. You should start getting out. Go into town, meet people. Snuggies are the best friends to have.”

“Snuggies?”

“Snug Harbor natives. That’s what we call ourselves. We’re good people. Reliable. Trustworthy. Loyal. And the best of us is Iggy Zemski.”

I stiffened at the mention of the man’s name. “What did he say to you?”

“That he was interested in getting to know you. Wanted to know how I knew you, were you single, the usual stuff. Nothing malevolent, I swear.”

I wasn’t so easily mollified. Luckily, my hygienic mask gave me freedom to indulge my fears without revealing the full panic to Dominic. “What’d you tell him?”

“An abbreviated version of the truth. I knew you from vet school. You were looking for a job in a new location; I was looking for a new associate. Fate brought us back together.”

“Was he satisfied with that explanation?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? I told you. We’re face-value people here.”

“He makes me nervous,” I admitted. “Something about the way he looks at me.”

“Like he’s interested in you?”

Finished with Shep’s procedure, I turned off the dental instruments and set the curettes aside for cleaning and sterilization. “Like he’s
too
interested.”

“He wants to ask you out.”

“He already did. I said no.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal, you know. Evan and I went to the new tea shop in the village yesterday. It’s a great little place for two people to get to know each other in a cozy setting. You should check it out. Let Iggy take you there.”

I shook my head. “I can’t believe he asked you about me. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re attractive and he sees something unique in you.”

“What he might see in me is what terrifies me.”

He laughed. “You don’t exactly wear a big sign around your neck that says, ‘My husband arranged his own death, and the killer tried to pin it on me.’”

“Sssh!” I frantically pointed at the closed exam room door, indicating the possibility of Becky or Miranda hovering within earshot.

“They’re out to lunch,” Dominic said. “And the waiting room’s empty. It’s just you and me here.”

“Still, I’d rather you didn’t talk about it at all, okay? Not even as a joke.”

“Okay. I understand.”

We worked in an uncomfortable silence until I finally let the dam break. “He’s dead.”