The Traveling Tea Shop (28 page)

The drive takes us just over six hours with Ravenna and Pamela sleeping most of the way, clearly spent after all the emotional upheaval.

I keep a low profile, but chat awhile with Charles when I notice he’s getting drowsy at the wheel.

“So, seeing as we weren’t in the same vehicle when we crossed into Vermont, I never did get to hear about the native writers here.”

Charles smiles. “Let me see. Vermont . . .”

He mentions a few Nobel and Pulitzer prizewinners and then knocks it out of the park with, “Rudyard Kipling wrote
The Jungle Book
here. He lived in Vermont for four years after he married an American woman and his first child was born here.”

“Please tell me he named him Mowgli!”

“Actually it was a girl, and her name was Josephine!”

The conversation moves on to Krista, with Charles asking how he might thank her for all her support; then he says how sorry he is to hear about my situation with my mother and sister.

“If there’s any way I can be there for you as you have been here for us, please let me know.”

I sigh. That’s so kind.

Before too long we’re back in Newport. My heart smiles with relief.

We’ve seen some beautiful places along the way, but there’s something extra-special about this one. Even the accommodation genie was working overtime, supplying us with a cancelation at the Cliffside Inn so I am able to place Pamela, Charles and Ravenna in the cottage suite next to Gracie. They seem very happy to be reunited. Even Ravenna hugs her granny and Gracie doesn’t roll her eyes as she clasps her to her chest. I actually think I see a little tear escape from her eye. It’s been a long time coming.

“I’ll see you around noon tomorrow,” I say as I excuse myself. The outsider once more.

I’m staying just fifteen minutes’ walk away at The Attwater. It’s absolutely perfect for our Va-Va-Vacation! readers. Bright and hip
à la
Jonathan Adler, you even get the use of an iPad for the duration of your stay. I picked up a pizza on the way here, and now I’m sitting out on the communal deck by myself, pulling apart the slices and trying not to think about Harvey and how much I loved to be in his presence. I suppose I could wander into town if I wanted, have a final Dark and Stormy, but something in me doesn’t want to move. So I stay out here until night falls, trying to stave off the notion that the trip is finally over. I just wish things hadn’t quite ended this way.

•   •   •

I awake to a beautiful bright morning. The perfect day for a sail. As I inhale the sunshine, hope radiates through my queasier emotions.

For the first hour of the day I sip herbal tea in the hotel café. Soothed by the white and mint-green décor, I try to get centered and remember what it feels like to sit quietly and studiously by myself. It’s been chaotically sociable this past week. It’s a good thing I have this time to adjust and remember what my normal life is like, without them.

Next to me are the parents of a gurgling baby. I smile as they interact with this pudgy-fingered, wobbling delight, faces lit up with glee. And then I’m surprised to find my eyes welling with tears. It just hits me now and again, that I don’t have anyone to call my own. I think I’m a little more stirred up than normal because of how it felt to be with Harvey. Just to have someone look at me that way—with such enchantment, as if our hearts were really resonating. It felt good to register in that way. Of course I know I always matter to Krista. But she has her own life now. I can’t build anything new with her. But that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine once I’m back in Manhattan. It’s just every now and again this great wanting wells up inside of me and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to really belong with someone.

Feeling the need for fortification, I return to the breakfast bar for coffee and the comfort of a fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon-apple scone with juicy chunks of real apple. It’s so good that I’m tempted to ask the on-site baker to rustle up a batch for our fund-raising tea. But I haven’t been invited to contribute to that menu. I so wanted to be involved in the final bakerama, but instead Pamela has asked me to spend the morning sorting through the photos from the trip, captioning the best and forwarding them to her agent. Apparently the publisher wants to see whether they can incorporate some scrapbook-style montages. And yes, I probably have better skills in this area.

I take out my laptop, slot in the memory card and watch the slideshow of the past week play out before my eyes:

New York. There’s Charlie Romano! I smile at his familiar face. The vast kitchen at the Waldorf Astoria; Pamela inspecting the beetroot puree for the Red Velvet Cake. I think that was the most sophisticated taste sensation of the trip, though I wince recalling the bitterness of that pure chocolate. Of course there are no pictures of Ravenna at Tiffany’s, but I recall that episode all too well. And the hair-raising drive out of the city and into Connecticut. Mystic Pizza. Warren and the Nutmeg Spice Cupcakes. The glorious approach to Rhode Island over the bridge. All those boats in Newport Harbor. The mansions. Votes for Women teacups at the Chinese Tea House. The awful moment when Gracie crashed the bus. It’s quite bizarre seeing the pictures of the minutes before—ironically we have some great ones if she still wants an option for her Christmas cards.

Here we are at the cranberry bog, now with Charles. Then Provincetown. I can’t help but chuckle at these ones. I didn’t realize Pamela had taken so many of Charles on the podium at the Tea Dance. And there’s such a nice sunset one on the beach with us all eating lobster rolls. Oh, and the Land’s End Inn! My favorite sleepover. And the first time Ravenna confided in me.

And so it progresses. Plimoth Plantation. The retrofied Dunkin’ Donuts at Quincy. Boston. I’m privy now to the moment they bought their matching Johnny Cupcakes T-shirts—while I was waltzing around Harvard with Harvey. I think of our Alice in Wonderland–like tea at UpStairs on the Square and see they got their afternoon cake-fix at the Georgetown Cupcake, with a close-up of the Bubblegum Pink Vanilla option. Then there’s Tuoi, demonstrating the spider-web effect on the Boston Cream Pie. And Pamela and I trying our first bite.

Though I have to edit myself out of the collection for the agent, I’m happy to have so many personal memories to treasure.

Popovers in New Hampshire. Then Maine. I loved that dinner I had beside the hearth with Ravenna. I wish I had a picture of that. Whoopie Pies galore. Oh, and then that gorgeous drive through the White Mountains, weaving up to the Mount Washington Hotel. Look how happy everyone is in the veranda collection—Ravenna glammed up and radiant, Pamela and Charles comfortable now with being photographed entwined, Harvey and I having just shared a slapstick afternoon baking gold-bar-style Pound Cake. The champagne toast before the glass shattered.

I sigh, leaning back on the banquette. For a moment I just stare up at the rather unusual green-glass chandelier above me, following the looping curves of its arms. I remember joking with Pamela about the Vanderbilt chandelier crashing down on us. How I wish I could rewind to that day at Marble House and that things had played out differently.

Timing is indeed everything.

I look back at my laptop. The next picture is of the Trapp Family Lodge. Then Maria’s Linzertorte. And that beautiful view from the kitchens. From these pictures you wouldn’t have an inkling of all the emotional wrangling that was going on behind the scenes. And that’s exactly how it should be for the agent. Only a few people will ever know what really went on during this past week or so.

When I arrive at the Cliffside Inn, Gracie is busy loading up the boot of Charles’s car with covered trays.

I take a peek. “Wow—that’s a lot of cupcakes.”

“This is nothing,” she clucks, “most of the goodies have already gone over to the wharf on the bus. I just was finishing the frosting on these.”

“You guys have been busy!”

“Pamela and Ravenna were up all night.”

I nod at the significance of this, not just of them working side by side, but also how motivated Ravenna must have been to redeem herself for the last bout of baking here.

“Okay, all we need now is the grand prize and we’re good to go.”

I raise a brow. “Grand prize?”

“It was Charles’s idea—he said we should come up with something special to auction off. They’ve stored it for us in the kitchen of the main house.”

We cross the layered lawn and head up the steps of the lovely cream and sage Victorian mansion, distinctive wrought-iron filigree adding a lacelike trim to the rooftop.

I peer into the parlor room while Gracie is chatting to owner Nancy and see that teatime involves a selection of one-off vintage teacups and an ornate silver urn to dispense the custom-blend Harney & Sons tea. Very nice.

“Laurie, come and look!”

Gracie beckons me into the kitchen and reveals a huge tableau of a cake. Or should I say cakes, for there are seven individual sections making up all the states in New England, plus New York, and each is shaped accordingly—Rhode Island is a teeny slither, Maine a great slab, Massachusetts the most fiddly, complete with Cape Cod extension.

“She was thinking of making the individual cakes from the recipes we sourced on location, but it got tricky with the Popovers and Johnny Cakes, so she went with different-flavored sponges and buttercreams—rums and maple syrup, nutmeg and cranberry; you get the idea.”

“Amazing,” I coo, admiring the different colors and textures she has created for each top layer. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Pamela do such intricate work.”

“She didn’t. This is all Ravenna.”

“What?” I gape.

“Start to finish. She did the whole thing.”

“How is this possible?”

“Oh, she always had the gift, ever since she was a little girl. It’s just been a long time since she’s used it.”

“I’m stunned!”

“You and me both.”

•   •   •

We’re lucky to find parking at the wharf—the place is heaving.

“Can you believe the response?” Gracie surveys the crowd.

“All these people are here for the tea?”

She nods.

“They’ll never fit on one boat.”

“We’ve got five going out now—Harvey spoke to some of the locals and they’ve been great. You can go on the rumrunner with him and Ravenna.”

“Oh no-no,” I recoil. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You have to, or you’ll mess up the schedule.”

My eyes narrow at her. “Squeezing in one last meddle?”

She gives an innocent shrug. “I’m just saying it’s all arranged.”

I sigh. “Do they have life jackets on board?”

“She won’t throw you over.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You’re bigger than her, you can stand your ground.”

Great.

“Laurie!” It’s Pamela waving over to me. I eagerly scoot to her side.

“Everything looks phenomenal!” I cheer, taking in all the cake-laden boats. “What a success!”

“I know!” she pips. “I just did an interview with the local radio station—they’re going to do a piece on my book when it comes out and then syndicate it!”

“Fantastic!”

She beams at me. “You’ve been an absolute star, Laurie. Truly.”

“Well, it’s been my pleasure. I just feel bad—”

“Don’t feel bad.” Charles steps up behind me. “If you’re going to be part of this family, you have to accept that we’re none of us perfect.”

I could cry, right here and now! He said family!

A low whistle sounds.

“It’s time to set sail.”

Before I know it, I become part of the surge toward the rumrunner.

It’s a low, long boat of golden wood, open at the front, canopied at the back. I feel a dip of nerves as I spy Ravenna and then Harvey. They are both turned away from me, facing out to sea, so I scurry starboard and busy myself with arranging the cakes and greeting our guests. At least
they
are pleased to see me, if only for my “genuine English accent.”

And then I hear someone addressing me as “first mate.”

I turn and see Harvey.

I feel too self-conscious to reply, but it is the best feeling ever to connect with his eyes. That’s all I needed.

“Ravenna!” I startle as she appears in front of him. “I hope you don’t mind me being on the same boat as you, it wasn’t my suggestion.”

“I know. It was mine.”

“What?”

“I need to talk to you,” she pulls me off to one side.

I’m not sure if I’m ready for what she has to say, so I start babbling about the brilliance of her prize cake—the design, the execution, hopefully the flavor. “You’re giving your mum a run for her money!”

Ravenna pulls a face. “I think I’ve had enough to do with her money, don’t you? Time to make some of my own.”

My eyes instantly well up with pride. “Really?”

“Well, I have got an idea about running Traveling Tea Shop tours, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She takes a breath. “I’ve been thinking about your sister . . .”

Oh gawd.

“What if you meet up with her and it’s a complete and utter nightmare, even worse than you thought.”

I blink back at her.

“I mean, what if that’s it between you two? Suddenly you don’t have a sister.”

Is this supposed to be helping?

“So you’d have room for a new one. And I always wanted one so,” she wheedles, “I could be your backup sister. You know, if this one doesn’t work out.”

I don’t know what to say. I did not see this coming.

“Or have I been too much of a nightmare?” Ravenna’s brow furrows.

“You been a nightmare? What about me?”

“If I’m going to forgive everyone else, I might as well forgive you too.”

I laugh, still a little thrown. And then I realize she’s genuinely waiting for an answer. “You know, people can have more than one sister.”

Her face lights up. “That’s true.” And then her face falls. “Oh
no
! I’ve just realized this isn’t going to work.”

I knew this was too good to be true. She’s reeled me in, now she’s going for the stinger.

“Why not?” I dare ask.

“Because then you’d be kind of related to Harvey, and we can’t have that.”

“Oh no,” I fluster. “I won’t . . . We haven’t . . .”

“Yes you will. With my blessing.” She gets to her feet and, in front of all the assembled tea guests calls, “Harvey! Did you hear that? You need to start kissing Laurie again!”

My hands fly to cover my face. She didn’t just do that! I can’t believe it! I peer out between my fingers and see Harvey saluting her with an “Aye, aye, Captain!”

I reach out and drag her back to a sitting position.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. I was thinking about this too—we’ve both made bad relationship decisions in the past, now we have an opportunity to make good ones: I have to stay away from Eon and you have to spend more time with Harvey.”

I feel a little dizzy. “How did your heart get to be so huge?”

She shrugs, sending a happy glance over to Charles on the neighboring boat. “I am my father’s daughter.”

“And your mother’s too,” I remind her.

“Yes. And my mother’s. And I wouldn’t be either right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“Oh!” I swat away her words. “You would have worked it out without me sticking my oar in.”

“No I wouldn’t. That day at Tiffany’s in New York? No one has ever spoken to me like that. Of course Granny is always muttering stuff under her breath, but no one has ever been that direct. I had every intention of running off, of screwing up the whole trip, but there was just something about the way you spoke to me. That’s why I came back—I knew you’d always tell me the truth.”

“Oh dear, that didn’t go so well.”

“At least the truth about my behavior. And how I needed to change. Even with the whole family deception, which I know you were opposed to, you’ve been the most honest person to me that I’ve ever known.”

Again my eyes sheen. “Thank you.”

She opens her arms and we fall into a hug.

“Hey, you’d better cut that out,” Harvey teases, now standing before us. “You’ll get Marc all jealous.”

“Who’s Marc?” Jeez! I leave these people alone for one night!

“The hottie-yachtie.” Harvey points over to a young chap now taking the helm—total Tommy Hilfiger ad, all tanned and glowing and energized. The polar opposite of Eon.

“You know, he’s totally into you but too shy to ask you out,” Harvey whispers to his sister.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Ravenna flushes, hand instinctively going to her hair. “I only met him an hour ago.”

“Well, I’ve already vetted him and I approve—”

“Oh, you approve?” she hoots.

“Hey, I’m looking out for you from now on, sis. Okay?”

I see the relief in her eyes—he means it. No more Eon types.
I never have to go through that again.

“Okay,” she nods, then looks back at Marc. “Did he really say he liked me?”

“The guy would fight pirates for you.”

She heaves a sigh. “Maybe I’ll go and talk to him.”

“They look good together,” I acknowledge as their slender forms and big smiles mirror each other.

And then Harvey slips an arm around me and I think, we
feel
good together.

He turns to face me. “I like it so much better when we’re in the same place.”

“Me too,” I smile.

“Won’t you stay? At least for the summer? It’s too hot in New York anyway.”

“Yes you do get a nice breeze around these parts,” I say as my hair binds around my face.

“You should have brought your hair doughnut!”

I laugh out loud. “Well, I’ll know next time.”

“Here, let me untangle you.”

Oh-so-gently, he eases the strands of hair from my face, smoothing them back into a ponytail, held in place with his hand.

“Are you going to stay like that for the whole trip?”

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go for a swim?”

“A swim? As in jump off the boat?”

“Well, we do have a ladder, but jumping is definitely more fun.”

“What about the tea guests?”

“They’re welcome to join us—everyone was invited to bring swimwear.”

“But I’m not exactly dressed for it,” I pull at my dress.

“Oh, the fish don’t mind, I assure you.”

It’s a dare. And it feels like the biggest chance of my life. Something deep inside me is saying yes. Do it!

“Okay!”

Harvey gives a little cheer and then he takes my hand and—“Ready?”—together we make the leap.

Down I go into the cool, swirling blue, water rushing and burbling at my ears, tugging and twisting at my dress. As I pull back up to the surface, I feel as if I am wriggling loose of all my former heartaches and disappointments and striving upward to something bright and new.

I gasp for breath, blink the salty water from my eyes and then grin at Harvey.

“This is heaven!” I say, dipping my head back and feeling my heart surge with exuberance. “I love it here! I love being with you!”

“Then have this life with me.” He swims closer, just a foot-swish apart now. “Be with me.”

I answer with a kiss. And then I keep kissing him. What can I say? This man is yummier than any cake I ever tasted!