Whistlin' Dixie in a Nor'easter (37 page)

“You’re a quick learner,” he said.

“Thanks. I’m pretty proud of myself, actually. You might not even know I was from the South, huh?”

“The Souuuth
?
What would ever make me think thaaat?”

“Fine, would you rather I
tawok
more like a New Joysey girl to make you feel more at home?”

“As a matter of fact, I would not. I love the way you talk. And I also love this album.” He pulled up a chair to the fire. Van Morrison’s
Moondance
played softly in the background from the boom box I had nabbed out of the kitchen.

I turned to face him with my back warming to the fire. “It’s one of my all-time favorite albums, ever.”

“Looks like all you need now is a Grand Marnier.”

“Oh, no.” I shook my head and waved my hand. “I’m not going there again, I’ve learned my lesson. Besides, I might tell you more stuff I don’t want you to know.”

“You mean there’s more stuff about you that you don’t want me to know?”

“There might be.”

“Now you’ve got me intrigued. I’m grabbing a beer. Can I at least get you a beer or a glass of wine?”

“I suppose so, surprise me.”

Peter left for only a minute and came back with two beers. A Corona Light for me and a Guinness for him. He handed me the beer and sat down in the chair next to the fire.

I had been dying to know more about his past but after he told me about his little brother stealing his girlfriend I never really knew how to bring it back up again. But he knew so much about me. “Where’d you learn to cook so well?” I asked him. “You hardly seem like you would ever need to be someone’s sous-chef. You’re a much better chef than Rolf could ever be.”

“That’s kind of you to say, thanks. I’ve been around. Apprenticed under some amazing chefs in the city.”

I sat down on the floor in front of the fire next to his chair. “So, now I know where you learned to cook; what about your love life? You’re too cute to have never been married.” Okay, it was out there. I told him he was cute.

“I never said I haven’t been married.” He took a long sip of his beer.

“Oh . . . you mean you
were
married? Once before?”

“Yep. It didn’t work out.”

“Well, I understand that. Just look at me. What happened to your marriage?” I pulled my legs up and rested my chin on my knees.

Peter turned his head and stared at the fire. I sensed he didn’t want to talk about it.

“You don’t have to tell me. Just forget I asked.”

“No, actually I want to tell you. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it for a while now.”

“I promise I won’t bite.” I gave him a big smile and giggled. He didn’t smile back.

“My wife and I owned a restaurant together. Not much different than this place, but it was on the Jersey shore. We had a nice, loyal clientele. It had a great reputation and I was proud as hell of it. I worked hard to build it up, put in thousands of hours. As you know, it’s nearly impossible to get time off in this business. We were always busy.”

I noticed he was picking at the label on his beer bottle and then started throwing the little pieces into the fire. “My younger brother worked with me. He was my sous-chef. I’d always looked after him, made sure he kept out of trouble. My wife, Shelly—that’s her name—worked as the hostess before the baby was born. But once he came along she liked to stay home and take care of him.”

A child. He never mentioned that before.
I watched him talk but he never took his eyes off the fire.

“One August night, we were slammed and she knew I needed her to come in. She left Jeremy with a sitter. I was the one who told her it was okay. I mean the lady had raised three kids of her own.” He glanced at me briefly. I nodded in agreement with him.

“Once Shelly got to work that night, she loosened up. Like she kind of enjoyed the break. She even had a couple of beers once we closed and I could tell she was happy to be hanging out with her friends again. We always got a late bar crowd and we were friends with all the regulars. She was having so much fun, I told her I’d go home and let the babysitter go so she could stay.”

He picked up his beer and finished it all at once. There was a long pause before he continued.

“On the way home, I could hardly keep my eyes open so when I got there I asked the babysitter if she would mind staying a little longer. I just needed a short nap before the baby woke up for his next feeding. All I wanted was a few minutes just to close my eyes.” As he said that, Peter
dropped his head. Something about his tone of voice shot a chill through my spine.

“I bet I hadn’t been asleep ten minutes when I woke to the sound of the babysitter frantically calling my name. She couldn’t get Jeremy to wake up. I
always
checked on him when I got home.
Always
. But that night I was beyond my exhaustion point and I . . . never even peeked in on him. Doctors later determined it was SIDS.”

It took a moment for the reality of what he had told me to sink in. Wanting to let him know I was there for him, I reached out and touched his arm. I ached to hold him in my arms and tell him it was all right, but he never touched me back. He just kept staring straight ahead into the fire. “I am so sorry, Peter. I never should have asked you.”

“Of course you should have. How would you have known? I’m trying to move on with my life, that’s why I haven’t mentioned it before now. She said she didn’t blame me, but . . . we’re no longer together. And here’s the end of the story. Shelly fled into my brother’s arms. Given the devastation, I guess he was in a better position to console her.”

My heart was breaking for him. “Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked, after a minute or so. “I feel so bad for you.”

“Nope, but it felt good to tell you about it. Let’s change the subject, okay?” At last he turned around to face me. “I’m honestly trying to put it all behind me for good. Hey, I’ve got a toast but my bottle’s empty. Can I get you another?”

“No, thank you. I’ve still got half of mine.” I held up my bottle to show him.

When Peter came back from the kitchen, I was standing and my back was toward the fire. He raised his bottle in the air. “A toast. To new beginnings.”

“I’d love to drink to that.” I raised my bottle and each of us took a sip, holding each other’s gaze long enough to be awkward. Right then, the familiar first chords of my favorite song on the record, “Into the Mystic,” softly began.

“Ohhh, I love this song. It’s my very favorite Van Morrison song.” I started swaying to the music and held up my right arm with the Corona
still in my hand. I had my eyes closed when Peter gently took the beer away from me and set it on a nearby table. My heart leaped out of my chest.

Van crooned and Peter moved in toward me, clasped his left hand around my right, and slowly wrapped his other arm around my waist. My body tingled under his touch in a way that I hadn’t felt in much too long a time. At first it was hard for me to look at him but I could feel his eyes upon me and I raised my head and gazed up at him. His coy smile reassured me that he, too, was nervous. Somehow, even through the tension, it felt peaceful, and when he put his cheek just above mine, I could hear his breathing start to quicken. We moved very slowly, cautious with each step, gliding along with the music.
Oh my God, we’re dancing!

It felt quite lovely to be back in a man’s arms. I closed my eyes and settled into his embrace, Van’s lyrics transporting me into a world far across the sea. Ever so slowly, we inched along with the music. Peter and I almost made it around two full circles before the inn phone started to ring. Nervously, each of us looked up, waiting for the other to make a move toward the kitchen.
Please stop ringing
, I thought. But reservations are money in this business and to ignore a phone call is to kiss away cash. It kept ringing and ringing. And it wouldn’t stop.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, letting go of his hand and moving away from his embrace.

“Wouldn’t want to miss a reservation, right?”

“Right,” I whispered, hoping he would stop me.

When he didn’t, I hurried into the kitchen.

I answered the phone, “Peach Blossom Inn,” and a man started right into the conversation.

“Leelee, you’ve got your wish!”

His voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going home. You can be in Memphis as soon as you’ve got a moving van to pack up your things.”

“Ed? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would be calling you with great news? I’ve got a buyer who is ready,
with cash
, to close as soon as you can vacate.”

I had to sit down on the red stool to steady myself. “You’ve got
a buyer
?
You’ve got to be kidding. I had no idea you’d even been by to show the inn.”

“I haven’t been by. These folks knew about the place the last time it was on the market. They don’t need to see it again. They’re ready to move forward immediately. Isn’t this great? I told you I’d get it sold.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I said, in a not-so-excited way.

“I thought you’d be thrilled.”

“It’s just that you caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting your call.” Peter was in the kitchen by this time, watching me curiously.

“Hey, I know it’s late but I just wanted to give you the good news. I’ll call tomorrow and we can iron out all the details. Good night, Leelee. And congratulations.”

“Good night.”

I slowly hung up the receiver and glanced down at the floor, searching for the right words, the right emotions . . . the right way to feel. I had longed for this moment from the minute I stepped foot onto the soil of the state of Vermont, fourteen months ago. Here it was, finally upon me, and I wasn’t even sure how to react. Thoughts of home were no longer consuming me every single minute of the day.

“Who was that? Obviously not a reservation,” Peter said.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“Then who was it?” The gleam in his eyes served as a reminder of the tender moments we had just shared.

I hesitated before answering him. “Ed Baldwin.”

“The real estate guy?”

I slowly nodded. “Yeah.” Peter could tell I was stalling, I’m sure, because I couldn’t say anything for a few moments, creating an uncomfortable silence. Finally, it spilled out. “He’s got a buyer.”

Right away, Peter looked down at his feet, and then mustered a smile. “Well, what do you know? That’s great, boss! You’ve got your wish. You’re finally going home. Good for you. I’m happy for you. Give me five.” He raised his hand and slapped mine, which I had barely raised at all. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I
don’t know
.”

He felt my forehead. “You don’t feel sick. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s
wrong
with me, it’s just that . . .”

“It’s just what? That you’re afraid I’ll be upset I’m losing my job?”

“Well, yeah, that’s part of it.”

“You don’t need to be concerned with that. I can find another job in a heartbeat,” he said defensively. “You’ll give me a good recommendation, won’t you, boss?”

“Of course I will, that goes without saying. But—”

“Hey, I’ve heard the Sugartree Inn is looking for a chef. I’ll call them in the morning. No sweat. I’m cool.”

He acted like he wasn’t bothered at all, that replacing his job at the Peach Blossom Inn was all in a day’s work. Next thing I knew, he was headed over to the back door and grabbing his coat off the hook. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna head out. See ya Tuesday.”

He never even gave me a chance to move off the stool he was in such a hurry. So I just waved.

He waved back, headed out the door, and was gone. And so was our dance.

Why
did I answer that stupid phone call? Why, why, why? We could have at least finished our dance. And then . . . and then
what
? Did I think he would have
kissed
me? Did I even
want
him to kiss me? I sat on the stool all alone in the huge commercial kitchen of the Peach Blossom Inn and glanced around, ready to cry.

The big pots hung above the line and the dishwashing station was wiped clean. The floor was mopped down and the rubber mats hung over the sinks to dry. The liquor bottles were placed neatly one in front of the other and all the plates were stacked and in place. I rose to get a better view of the ovens and I glanced over to where Peter usually stood behind the line.

He really is drop-dead gorgeous. Over six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes, and a body so red hot, I could melt anywhere near it. I pictured him standing there with his apron folded in half, tied around his waist, and wearing his black-and-white checked chef pants. A bandanna wrapped around his
forehead instead of a big, billowy white hat. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? And now, I learn he’s been hiding unspeakable grief.

Somehow my pain seemed minuscule in comparison. If something happened to Sarah or Isabella I’d go out of my mind. I don’t think I could breathe another day into my body if I tried. Here he finally gets up the nerve to talk to me about it and I finally get the call I spent the first six months praying for.

Another beer?
Why not
. I grabbed a Corona, opened it, and wandered back out to my fire in the parlor. Walking up to the boom box, I searched through the CD ’til I found track five again. I hit Play and slowly drifted back over to the front of my fire to savor every moment of Van’s voice.

“We were born”—I closed my eyes and lifted up my right arm—“before the wind”—I clasped his invisible hand into mine and I wrapped my arm around his waist. Slowly, I started moving with him. The top of my head brushed just under his chin and I pressed in closer to him this time, less timid and more willing to feel his beautiful body next to mine. I moved my legs in between his so that our bodies were touching all the way from head to toe. Round and round we glided to the unhurried rhythm of the song. Ever so tenderly, he reached down and lifted my chin off his chest. With inviting eyes, he leaned in and gently placed his lips upon mine. Kissing me softly once, twice, thrice; he slowly opened my mouth with his. Now his arms were wrapped around me as he tenderly savored my kiss and held me ’til the ballad’s end.