Taste: A Love Story (29 page)

She caught a glimpse of Makenna who was smiling and nodding like all the other moms as she tried to break away from the group and move toward Kara. Were these women her friends? Did they know Makenna had lost her husband and her mother? Did they treat her differently because she was single or even because she worked or was raised on a farm? Kara was raised by someone similar to the squeaky-clean blonde in the green cardigan and the floral headband. Bindi Malendar always sat at the popular girls’ lunch table and while Kara had not been nearly as polished, she’d made judgments in her past that she was no longer proud of.

Makenna walked toward her looking a bit frazzled now that her back was to the mommy’s club. Kara took out her pad and decided she would stick with her prepared questions.

“I’m so sorry. I mean how many damn pictures of her last trip to Hawaii does she have on that phone?” She plopped herself down next to Kara who laughed.

“So, she’s not your friend then?”

Makenna glanced back at the moms.

“My friend? Yeah, no. We all have kids who go to school together. That’s about where it ends.”

“I see.” Kara looked at her.

“I guess that was a little harsh. They’re nice women and they do a lot for the school. I just, well, I have a different life. I work and usually have some kind of mud or hay or food on me. You’d probably fit right in over there.” Makenna smiled.

“As fun as that sounds”—Kara crossed her legs—“I’ve spent plenty of my life around perfect women. It’s far too stressful.”

Makenna laughed. “So, I’ve never actually been interviewed. What am I getting myself into?”

“It will be painless, I promise. I simply want your perspective on The Yard, and what it’s like working with your—”

“Do you like him?” Makenna asked, cutting her off and suddenly looking like a protective sister.

Kara wasn’t that surprised. She had been around Makenna enough at the restaurant to know she was blunt. She wasn’t exactly rude, but she seemed like a woman who had little time or tolerance for bullshit. Kara considered the question and went with honesty.

“Yes, very much,” she admitted, “but these articles aren’t about whether I like or dislike your brother. They are about his work and more specifically The Yard, which is such a huge part of what you do.”

Makenna was giving that “I’m not really hearing you, finish up because I have something to say” stare.

“That’s why I asked to meet with you.” Kara tried to redirect, but it was useless.

“The thing is, the Rye family is a little—Oh, what’s that stupid word Garrett’s psychologist girlfriend used to call us?—enmeshed. Right, that’s a fancy way of saying we are up in each others’ business.” Makenna smiled.

“Garrett already shared the sleepover story?”

Makenna nodded.

“Shit.” Kara covered her mouth, remembering she was around children and then promptly felt bad. “Sorry.”

Makenna laughed. “I’m sure these kids have heard much worse. Don’t let the headbands fool you.”

“Makenna, I’m hoping to get these interviews done. What goes on in my private life needs to stay there. Things tend to get out of hand when I discuss things.”

“I’m not going to share any of your secrets—none of us would. We don’t operate that way. I’m looking out for Logan. You seem very nice, but this restaurant is his world right now. I mean, we are all in it up to our elbows, but it’s his dream. I’m not trying to be nosy or get all Tony Soprano on you, I just want him to be happy. There’s no one on the planet who deserves to be happy more than Logan. He’s taken care of all of us since he was a little guy. The man is exhausted and I’m happy he’s getting a little action, no offense.”

“None taken.”

“It’s just that it took him a while to refocus after you the first time.”

Kara’s heart woke up and she was suddenly aware of it in her chest. “What?”

“When you two split up in Paris. That was kind of a tough time for him. He wandered around a bit, spent some time in Seattle, and then eventually came home with razor-sharp focus about what he wanted to do and who he wanted to be. I don’t want to see that go anywhere.”

Kara said nothing and Makenna tilted a little trying to catch her eyes.

“Kara?”

Their eyes met.

“I’m sorry. I can be a little up front sometimes. I’m not saying you’re messing with him. Well, maybe I am. You have all of this other stuff in your life and it seems very glamorous, but also pretty complicated and I want to make sure Lo is not caught in the mess. Ya know?”

Kara didn’t know what to say. She was still spinning a bit at hearing Logan even reacted to her leaving, let alone had a difficult time.

“I understand what you’re saying.” Kara turned to her. “I’m not messing with your brother, Kenna.”

It was a bit of a standoff, Kara thought. Two women who clearly cared about Logan in different ways: one was the simple and powerful love of a sister and the other was anything but simple.

Kara tried to explain. “I care about him. I’ve always cared about him, but I’m not stupid. I realize our lives, our families, are different. Logan isn’t looking for any more than what we have right now and so—”

Makenna tilted her head in confusion, “Oh wow, don’t kid yourself. Please, if you honestly believe that, you know nothing about him. The man is all about roots and commitment. He may be blowing something else up your skirt, but that’s just protection. You left him, do you get that? Do you see the connection?” she asked.

Kara was completely lost now. “I didn’t leave him. I had to go home. I’m a little shocked by all this because honestly, Makenna, your brother doesn’t seem that traumatized.”

Kenna shook her head. “That’s not how he works. Logan picks up, dusts off, and makes dinner. He always has, but when he met you in Paris, he was like a kid. I guess the kid he never got to be. When we talked to him on the phone, he went on and on about the things he was learning and everything he saw in Paris. We knew he was in love. You can just tell. Ya know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Kara said, barely above a whisper.

“I’m not blaming you. I know that you probably have your own set of family issues, but he never talked about it. When he came back it was all business and that guy we talked to in Paris was kind of gone. Dad thinks Logan probably has ‘abandonment issues.’” Makenna put up air quotes, laughing a little. “Our dad watches way too much Oprah.”

Kara smiled, thankful for some relief in conversation because she felt like someone was sitting on her chest.

“Abandonment issues?” she asked.

“Well, Dad said when Mom left that Logan did the same thing. He didn’t fall apart even though he was only seven. He just organized and started cooking. Sort of the same thing with you.”

“Kenna, I can’t imagine how hard it is to lose your mother at such a young age, but I don’t see how her dying has anything to do with me being summoned home from Paris.” Kara took a very deep breath and wondered how her simple interview had gotten so off track. “Listen, I don’t know. Maybe you’re right and I’m sorry about that. Logan and I are . . . I honestly have no idea what we are, but he’s a grown man—”

Kara stopped talking because Makenna was now looking at her as if she was crazier than she actually was.

“Is that what he told you?” Makenna asked. “That our mother died?”

“Yes.” Kara instantly felt something was wrong. “Well, I’m not sure if those were his exact words, but we were looking at pictures and he said she was . . . gone.” She caught the look on Makenna’s face.

“Oh Christ. She’s not dead, is she?”

Makenna shook her head.

“She left him.” Kara put her hand to her mouth and remembered her rule about tearing up in public. “She left all of you?”

“She did.” Makenna looked out at the playground.

“I didn’t know. I guess I just assumed, but he didn’t correct me.”

“She might as well be dead.” Still staring out, she grew suddenly cold. “I’m sure it was just easier for him, or he didn’t want the pity. We’re all pretty allergic to the sad little pity look you’re giving me right now.” She laughed.

Kara shook her head, tried to find a different look, as if that was possible.

“Anyway, wow, this took a dark turn, huh?”

Kara laughed and turned to touch Makenna’s hand. She was a little shocked, but didn’t pull away.

“This is really none of your business. I’m sure Logan would say that too, but I can tell you this: Logan was taken from me too. I didn’t leave him and now that we are . . . around each other again, I will be careful. That’s all I can promise.” Kara looked as far as she could into Makenna’s golden eyes. They were almost Logan’s eyes, but with more green.

She let out a deep breath. “Good, he’s one of my favorite guys, so even though he will be majorly pissed, I’m glad I asked.”

Kenna uncrossed her legs and checked on her daughter who was now squealing with her friends as the birthday girl opened her presents.

“You know, gone or dead, people still don’t know what to do with you.” Makenna was still looking toward the party. “It’s such a strange thing. I mean, we all have grief, but when something tragic happens, it’s almost like it reminds people it could happen to them. I don’t know.”

“What are we talking about now, Kenna?” Kara was trying to be gentle.

Her eyes were a little glassy as she let out a slow breath.

“I like you Kara Malendar.”

Kara smiled and took her hand because it felt natural and honest to touch her hurt rather than pretend it didn’t exist. “I like you too Makenna, very much.”

Both women sat, holding hands, in nothing but the buzz of children at play for a couple of minutes. She wanted to tell Makenna she knew about her husband. That she had read about the “devastating loss for the Rye family, owners of local Ryeland Farms” in the newspaper. That she had wanted to reach out to Logan and his grieving family she had never met, but didn’t know how back then. She wanted to tell her how proud her brother was of her and that she knew a little bit about being alone. Certainly not on Kenna’s level, but underneath all the details, alone was alone. Kara wanted to say so many things to the woman sitting next to her, but she didn’t. She just left it alone, grateful for the connection.

She eventually got around to her interview questions when Makenna stood up and said, “Enough of this, let’s go get some coffee so I can tell you how horrible it is trying to manage three mule-headed men.”

They spent an hour, Kenna with her coffee and Kara with her tea, splitting a piece of banana bread. She shared some great insights about Ryeland Farms and Kara had no idea they’d added on to the farm twice in the last five years.

As expected, things led back to Logan and the restaurant. Makenna explained she felt it was Logan’s sense of taste, “his ability to know the flavors people want before they even know,” that set The Yard apart. Kara told her they spent two weeks at Le Cordon Bleu creating what Madame Auclair called, “a discriminating palate.”

“Yeah, it could be that.” Kenna held open the door as they left the coffee shop to pick up Paige. “Or it could be he found that everything comes to life when you have someone to share it with.”

Kara smiled and met Paige who was all dark hair and freckles like her mother, but her smile was different, unfamiliar, and Kara knew she was seeing little pieces of the love Kenna lost so many years ago. As she drove home, Kara felt jittery. It was the feeling of connection, sharing someone’s energy, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it could be. She would need some time to sort out everything she and Kenna had discussed, but it was nice to have things to sort and even nicer to have feelings.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Senator and Mrs. Patrick Malendar cordially invite you to their home in celebration of the New Year and all the promise it holds.

T
he invitation was pinned to a board in Kara’s kitchen. It was on a beautiful light moss card stock and the font was twirly, but soft. Had she been one of the other hundreds of recipients of this invitation, she might have been impressed by the luxury of it and the perceived friendliness of welcoming friends in the aftermath of a busy holiday season. It was gracious, but Kara knew the only reason her parents were hosting an after-the-new-year open house was because Senator George, the other US senator from California, and his wife, “always did a Christmastime open house and holiday craft boutique,” according to her mother.

Kara remembered because her mother’s “nose was out of joint,” as her Nana would say, years ago when Bindi Malendar was forced to reschedule her holiday extravaganza.

“His wife is some kind of crafter, can you imagine? I guess she’s a retired schoolteacher. Heaven save us,” her mother had jabbed after a couple of mimosas at Easter Brunch. Steven George had won the seat left vacant by Henry Chartcraft who had backed out after a heart attack reminded him he was in his eighties.

“I’m not sure what this boutique is like, but I guess it’s throughout her house and all of the money goes to animal charities. Of course it does,” her mother had continued, her rant complete with eye rolling and that low “people might hear me” voice she used.

Kara had met Bethany George, the senator’s wife, and thought the event sounded kind of lovely, but she was certainly not going to say a word back then.

“Anyway, she then says we can have ours the week after. First of all, your father is the senior senator and even if we agreed to that, it would put us too close to Christmas Eve. It’s ridiculous. I’ll just do something elegant after the new year,” her mother had said, smoothing her napkin on her lap and flashing her smile with a splash of sinister.

That year, they had started their after-the-new-year tradition, and six years later, Kara was still asked to attend. As she ran her hand across the embossed lettering, she could hear her mother’s catty tone. All of that rested beneath the lovely invitation. Nothing was ever at face value. Even invitation paper had stories that protected an image.

Kara walked out of her kitchen, looking down as her black peep-toed heels clicked across her slate tile floors. She stopped in the entryway and checked herself one last time in the mirror. Black A-line skirt, just past her knees, and a cashmere turtleneck. It was a beautiful sweater, but the damn thing was raspberry and it matched the toenail polish she’d had applied yesterday. She wore the woven pearl bracelet her father had given her for her twenty-first birthday and the pearl earrings left to her when her paternal grandmother passed away. Her hair was straightened, smoothed to a silky flaxen mane, and swept to the side with a small pearl clip. Just a hint of lip color. Kara pulled in and let out a slow steady breath.