The Way Home (9 page)

She heard Jamie go up to his room after he unloaded the Jeep. He did not appear again until much later that night. She was on the porch knitting when she heard him come down the stairs and then rattle around the kitchen.

She was tempted to go inside and fix him something then decided to let him fend for himself.
He's survived a long time without me taking care of him,
she reminded herself.

After a few minutes, he opened the screen door and stuck his head out. She stopped knitting and looked up at him.

“I wanted to say good night,” he said simply. “I'm sorry about what happened . . . about staying out too long.”

“Thank you for the apology. I appreciate it,” she said sincerely. “We'll talk about this more some other time, okay?”

He nodded then went inside.

Well, that was something,
she thought. She sat with her knitting in her lap and tipped her head back to look up at the stars.

It was a moonless night, and the sky looked like a blue-black scrap of silk, unfurled across the universe, covered with clouds of sparkling white. Millions upon millions of stars. Were there enough numbers in the language to count them all?

She felt so small and insignificant but at the same time part of something so great and magnificent.

If God could make all those stars and distant planets, and this perfect, blue jewel of a world, surely he can help me. Surely he can show me the right way to help Jamie.

This is going to be hard, God. Much harder than I thought.

She bowed her head a moment and prayed, sending her intentions off into the heavens, hoping with all her heart they would be heard.

Chapter Six

L
IZA
returned late on Monday night. Claire had already gone up to bed and had no chance to tell her about Jamie's disappearance with the Jeep. On Tuesday there was more catching up and cleaning up from the weekend, and the two women didn't have a minute alone together.

The longer Claire waited to tell Liza what had happened, the harder it got. She hadn't really lied to Liza, but she had withheld the whole story, which was actually the same thing in her book—and in the Lord's book as well, she had no doubt.

She noticed the way Jamie glanced at her from time to time. She knew he was wondering if she had told on him. Or wondering if she was going to bring the topic up again. Though she had told him they would talk about it more, she hadn't been able to initiate that conversation either.

She didn't like the feeling of keeping a secret, especially where Liza was concerned. She didn't like it at all.

I'm too protective of him, that's the problem. I don't want Liza to think she's made the wrong decision hiring him.

You can't control what other people think, Claire. Or what they do,
she reminded herself.
And you can't cover up for Jamie and be anything less than truthful with Liza. That will not do,
she scolded herself.

Claire promised herself she would talk to Liza that night. But Liza went out right after dinner with Daniel. It wasn't until Wednesday night that they finally had a quiet moment.

Liza came to sit out on the porch with her. She carried a book she had been reading but didn't open it. “I think Jamie is doing well so far, don't you?”

Jamie was in the sitting room, watching a police drama that was very noisy, the sounds of sirens and screeching cars carried through the open windows. The volume was up, and Claire felt certain he couldn't hear them talk.

“He puts a good effort into his work and seems to be getting into a routine with his daily chores.” Claire paused and put down her knitting. “But something did come up on Monday while you were in the city. I had to be very stern with him . . . I've been meaning to talk to you about it. I just couldn't find a time these last few days when Jamie wasn't around.”

“What is it, Claire? What happened?”

“He suggested that I let him take the Jeep to town on his own, to do a few errands. I think he had . . . oh, three stops to make. The hardware store, the drugstore, and the market. I thought it would be all right. Doing errands in town or picking up guests at the station should be part of his job. I think we talked about that.”

“Yes, we did . . . Go on.”

“He left at two and I expected him back in an hour and a half, maybe two. But when he didn't return by half past four, I started to worry,” she confessed. “I called his cell phone a few times. It went straight to voicemail. I couldn't imagine what had happened to him—”

“You started to worry. I understand.” So far Liza didn't seem upset or disturbed by the story. She was such a reasonable person; Claire was thankful for that. “What time did he finally get back?”

“After you called. Around six o'clock. I asked where he had been, why he'd taken so long. He didn't have much of an explanation. He said he thought with the inn empty, it was all right to take some time off and look around the town, have an ice cream . . . Oh, it was a lot of trumped-up excuses.”

“I see.” Liza pressed her hands on the book that she held in her lap. “Did you two have words?”

“I suppose you could say that . . .” Claire paused. She wanted to tell Liza the whole story, including the fact that Jamie shouted at her. But the words wouldn't come out of her mouth. “He got mad at me for asking so many questions. He thought it was all ‘no big deal.' He lost his temper. And I did, too,” she added quickly.

Liza looked surprised. “My, my . . . I would have liked to have seen that. I've never even seen your feathers ruffled, Claire.”

“I was quite ruffled. But I did my best to speak in a reasonable tone with him.”

“I'm sure you did. What did you say?”

“That when we send him out on an errand, we expect him to come right back, not go gallivanting around . . . Well, I didn't say it quite like that.” She paused and took a breath. “I told him that he would, of course, get some time off and you would talk to him about his schedule.”

Liza nodded. “I think you handled it very well. I will talk to him. I told him he would have one day off a week, but I never told him when that would be. Maybe he just . . . misunderstood me.”

Liza was letting Jamie off easily, Claire thought. But then again, she hadn't been the one waiting and waiting for him. Or the one at whom he'd shouted.

She had tried to tell the story as objectively and completely as she could, but maybe she had downplayed it? Or maybe it was not that egregious a situation and she had overreacted.

“I'll talk to him tomorrow about this. He's bound to need some feedback from us. Nobody's perfect.” Liza leaned back and opened her book.

Claire took up her knitting once more, trying to remember what stitch she'd been up to in the pattern. “Thank you for being so reasonable about this, Liza.”

Liza just smiled and shook her head. She had started reading and seemed to think enough had been said.

Claire felt relieved. She had been carrying this for two days and now felt a load had been lifted. To think how she had dreaded telling Liza the story. Wasn't that usually the way?
Anticipation of the things we fear most is so often far worse than simply facing them
. It was lesson one learned again and again.

When the right moment arrived, she would have another conversation with Jamie. It would be uncomfortable.
But if you really want to help him,
she reminded herself,
it doesn't help at all to sweep this sort of thing under the rug
.

* * *

A
VERY
felt lucky to get a new advertisement into the local newspapers by Wednesday. It appeared again on Friday, in time for the weekend. She had worked with a graphic designer at
What's Happening in Cape Light?
and thought the new ad looked bold and eye-catching.

Once the new ad appeared, Avery watched anxiously. A few customers wandered into the café each weeknight. Avery felt disappointed, but it was still early in the summer and during the week. People weren't on vacation yet, she reminded herself.

Her reasoning seemed logical, though it didn't explain why the Tuna was crowded every single night. She and her staff watched the crowds come and go. Her crew never complained and carried on bravely, giving their best service to their few customers. But Avery knew it had to be frustrating for them, and demoralizing.

The real test is the weekend,
she reminded herself.
Maybe we'll give the Tuna a run for its money.

On Friday and Saturday nights Avery saw some improvement. The café was at least half full from eight o'clock to ten, and she prepared many more entrees than she had during the grand opening nights. But if this was as good as it would get, it still wasn't enough to keep the doors open all summer. She didn't need to spend hours with her calculator to figure that out.

On Saturday night, as the staff cleaned up, Serena approached Avery. “I'm sorry, Avery. I think this place is really cute and your food is awesome, but I need to earn a certain amount of money this summer. I really want to buy a car and . . . Well, I found another job. I need better tips. I'm sorry,” she apologized.

Avery felt sorry, too. Sorry and embarrassed.

“That's all right, Serena. I understand. I know it's been slow here. Good luck with your new job. Come back and see us sometime, okay?”

If we're still open,
she silently added.

Serena smiled, looking relieved. “I will, honest. Thanks a bunch . . . and good luck to you, too.” She leaned over and gave Avery a quick hug then said good-bye to her coworkers.

After Serena left, a quiet, glum mood fell over the group.

They hadn't been working together long, but somehow they had bonded, Avery realized. Probably more than usual because they were taking part in building something totally new.

Avery sat at a table, sorting out the menus, removing any that looked worn or had food stains. Gena rested a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sure you feel bad about Serena, but don't take it personally. I'm not sure this café was really her style.”

Avery had actually felt the same thing, but Serena had been a good waitress. It would be hard to find a replacement now. On the other hand, maybe she didn't even need to hire another waitress right now. She could save on that salary, and Gena could get more tips.

“She could have waited a little while longer. To see if that new advertising worked,” Teresa said.

Avery looked up at them. “Oh, I don't know. It's probably best that she left if she really wanted to. I don't know about those ads either. If they were going to bring in more business, I think we would have seen it by now.”

“Don't be such a sad sack,” Teresa scolded her. “So you ran a few ads. So they didn't get us customers. So what? Run some more.”

Her moxie and tough love made Avery smile. “I guess I have to try something. But ads cost money. How much advertising can I do?”

“My sister-in-law works for the local radio station. Maybe she can get you a break on some radio spots,” Gena suggested. “That might reach more people than these local papers and magazines.”

Avery liked that idea. “I never thought of radio.”

“They have someone there who gives reviews, too. Maybe he would come over here. That would be free advertising.”

“If he likes the food,” Avery added.

“Oh, he'll like the food, don't worry. But a lot of places don't even have good food or good reviews, and they're packed. Like, that Lazy Tuna. Why is that place jumping every night and this place is like a graveyard?” Teresa asked bluntly.

Gena glanced at Teresa and then at Avery. “All those theme nights? People around here love that kind of thing.”

Avery rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously suggesting we do Two-for-One Tacos here? Did I spend years slaving away at an elite culinary institute to serve my finely prepared dishes as if this were a drive-through window on the turnpike?”

Avery had not meant to sound so cranky. But she was tired and stressed and all these suggestions were starting to drive her over the edge.

“Calm down, Avery,” Gena said gently. “We're just trying to help.” She looked at Teresa over Avery's head. “She's a chef. She gets a little emotional.”

Teresa waved her hand. “Oh, bunk. Give me a break. We don't have to do tacos. But we have to do something.” Teresa sat down next to Avery, and leaned forward, until they were almost nose- to-nose. “Let's take on that Tuna, Avery. We can't sit here and watch the world go by. We'll beat that big fish at their own game.”

Before Avery could reply, Gena waved her hands and hopped up and down. “I've got it! I've got it! Remember that special appetizer you made last week? How about using it for an entree theme night—Lobster sliders, with different kinds of sauces and those sweet potato fries as the side dish?”

“Brilliant! This woman is a freaking genius!” Teresa declared before Avery had barely considered the suggestion.

“That's not a bad idea,” Avery said slowly. “Actually, it's a good idea, a very good one. How about ‘Lobster Sliders Saturday'? It says relaxed, fun, but still gourmet.”

“If you sell them two-for-one, it says, ‘Come in and get a gourmet meal at a bargain price!'” Teresa chimed in.

Before Avery could object, Gena said, “It wouldn't have to be forever. Just to bring people in, to taste the food and start talking about the place. To get some buzz going, Avery.”

“Word of mouth works wonders around here,” Teresa added.

Avery hoped that was true. People certainly weren't responding to her ads. The café did need some buzz.

“Good point. We don't have to be all gimmicky forever. Like some people,” Avery mumbled under her breath. “Okay, let's try it.” She turned over a soiled menu and pulled out a pen. “What else should we do? This could be fun.”

“So you're ready to take on the mighty Tuna?” Teresa asked.

“If that's what it takes to make this place a success, yes, I am.”

Avery felt a pang making the vow, even though it was partly in jest. Mike had been so encouraging, almost a friend. Avery still wasn't sure why he went out of his way to boost the morale of a competitor. He was a genuinely nice guy, she decided, a rare specimen indeed.

But all's fair in business and war. And Teresa was right. Unless they declared an all-out war on the Lazy Tuna, they might not survive the summer. There was no denying that in this business it was survival of the fittest. Every tuna for themselves.

* * *

J
AMIE
picked up a small ceramic sugar bowl and the delicate spoon that went with it. “Mr. Rapp says he only uses raw cane turbine sugar in his coffee,” he told Claire. “I said, it was no problem.”

“That's raw cane
turbinado
sugar,” she corrected him with a smile. “It's supposed to be healthier than white sugar.”

Jamie shrugged good-naturedly. “If you say so.” He looked around the kitchen. “Anything else I should bring out?”

Claire gazed over the stove and kitchen table, checking off a mental list: spinach and cheese frittata, cinnamon scones, fresh whole grain bread, fruit salad, yogurt, and cereals. Coffee, tea and all the fixings. “No, I think that's about it.”

She untied the strings and slipped her apron on a hook near the kitchen door as Jamie returned to the dining room. The inn was just as busy this weekend as it had been last weekend, maybe more so. But Claire didn't like to miss church too often, even in the summer. With some planning and preparation and Jamie's help, she managed to have the breakfast all cooked and set out in a buffet in the dining room by eight. Liza was happy to take it from there.