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Authors: Mary McNear

Butternut Summer (14 page)

BOOK: Butternut Summer
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“All right then,” she said, resisting the urge to get the coffeepot and pour a few more inches of coffee into his cup. She'd brewed the coffee herself, too, in a small batch, just for him. “I'll leave you to it, and, when you're done, I'll come back and we can talk for a minute, all right?”

“All right,” John agreed cheerfully as he drenched his pancakes in maple syrup.

Caroline left him and went back behind the counter. Frankie, who was at the grill flipping a perfectly browned grilled cheese sandwich, looked up.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine,” she said distractedly, watching John and trying to gauge what kind of a mood he was in.

“Frankie,” she asked. “How does Mr. Quarterman look?”

“How does he look?” Frankie repeated, glancing over at him. He shrugged. “He looks . . . he looks like a man eating pancakes. Why? How's he supposed to look?”

“Like a satisfied customer,” Caroline murmured.

“Isn't that the only kind we have?” Frankie said, sliding the grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate.

Fifteen minutes, and one coffee refill later, Caroline was back at John's table. “Are you ready to talk?” she asked.

“Sure,” John said, indicating the chair across from him. Caroline pulled it out and sat down. She was glad she'd told Daisy she could go back up to the apartment after the lunch rush, and glad, too, that at two o'clock on a weekday afternoon, the tables closest to her and John's table were empty. This way, she figured, they'd have a modicum of privacy. Privacy was important because it had occurred to her that she wasn't beyond shedding a few well-placed tears if she thought they might help her cause.

“I know why you wanted to meet here, Caroline, instead of at the bank,” John said now, forgoing the small talk.

“Well, I figured you had to have lunch.”

“And you figured if I had it here, before our meeting, it would be harder for me to say no to a reset on your loan?”

“Something like that,” Caroline admitted, slightly taken aback. She'd been expecting a little small talk first. But she could be direct, too. “I wanted to remind you that you were raised on those pancakes, John,” she said now. Her remark wasn't even an exaggeration; his father, John Sr., had brought him here for breakfast every morning when he was a child.

“I
was
raised on them, Caroline,” John agreed. “Which is why every single bite of them tastes like childhood to me.” And Caroline, who was only ten years older than John, nonetheless flashed on an image of him as a little boy, spinning wildly on one of the swivel stools at the counter, his mop of blond hair flying around his head like an unruly halo.

“But, Caroline,” he said, brushing that same blond hair, now slightly thinning, off his forehead, “I'm not going to reset your loan. I'm sorry; I can't. My family doesn't own the bank anymore. I'm an employee there, like everyone else.”

“But you're the executive vice president,” she objected, in a voice that was louder than she intended.

“It's a title, Caroline; it doesn't mean anything. Besides, I did what I could. I made my recommendation to the loan committee, and they overruled me. That's it. It's out of my hands.”

“But . . .” Caroline shook her head, feeling helpless. She'd thought he'd at least give her time to make her case. She hadn't expected him to preempt her like this.

“I'm sorry,” he said, again. “I can give you the reason why we're refusing to reset your loan in bank jargon, if you'd like me to. But I think you'd prefer that I give it to you straight, Caroline. And the bottom line is this: you're not a good risk. Even if it were my decision to make, which it's not, I'd be reluctant to reset the loan.”

“So . . .” Caroline stopped, at a loss for words. She'd rehearsed this conversation many different times in her mind, but it had never ended this way before. She'd always been able to make the case for Pearl's, make it elegantly, persuasively, and, ultimately, successfully. Failing this quickly, and this completely, had never even entered her mind.

“Look, Caroline,” John said, rubbing his temples. “I know this is hard for you to hear. It's hard for me to say. But you're not without options.”

“Options?”

“Well, yes,” he said, and for the first time in this conversation, he looked uncomfortable. “You could borrow the money to pay us back. Borrow it privately, I mean—from a friend.”

Caroline shook her head. “My friends don't have that kind of money.”

He shifted in his seat. “Then you could sell the building. And Pearl's, of course. That should cover the loan.”

“And then what?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“And then . . . well, obviously, that would be up to you. But I'm not worried about you, Caroline.”

“Why's that, John?” she asked, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

He drained the last of his coffee, then leaned back in his chair. “I'm not worried because I remember what my father used to say about you, Caroline. He said you were, bar none, the smartest person in this town.”

“Well, a lot of good it's done me, if I can't even keep a business afloat.”

“That wasn't you, Caroline. That was the recession.”

She sighed. Because what difference did it make, really, at the end of the day, if the outcome was the same? Still, she didn't feel angry or upset right now. Just . . . just numb, she decided.

“Can I get you another cup of coffee, John?” she asked, suddenly wanting their meeting to be over.

“That'd be great,” he said, with an attempt at a smile. “And, Caroline?” he added, as he pulled on his suit jacket. “I wish I could have done more. I really do.”

“I know,” Caroline nodded, standing up. “Let me get you that coffee.”

“Are you all right?” Frankie asked when she came to get the coffeepot. “You look a little pale.”

“No, I'm fine.” She knew he didn't believe her. “Frankie,” she said, “I'm going to pour John another cup of coffee, and then I'm going to head upstairs. I'll send Daisy down, though, to take care of the rest of the lunchtime stragglers.”

“Sure,” he said, and the worried expression on his face told her that no matter how hard she tried to keep this all from him, he'd still figured most of it out for himself anyway.

A
s Will was entering Pearl's, another man was leaving it. Will stepped back to let him pass. “Excuse me,” he said, and Will nodded, taking note of the man's suit. You didn't see too many of those around here, especially in this hot weather. He walked into the coffee shop and looked around. He'd tried to time his arrival for after the lunch rush, but there were still several customers sitting at the counter and at tables scattered around the room. He glanced at his watch. Two thirty. And these people hadn't eaten lunch yet? Then again, he thought, he hadn't eaten lunch yet either.

He walked over to one of the red leather booths in the front window and slid into it. There was no sign of Daisy, he saw, as he scanned the room. The only person behind the counter right now was a gargantuan man working the grill. Will had seen him before, he realized, playing pool at the Mosquito Inn. He was rumored to have killed a man once, with his bare hands, and looking at him now, it wasn't that hard to believe.

The cook saw Will looking at him and nodded at him, almost imperceptibly. It wasn't a friendly nod, though. It was more of a warning nod. A “you better not be giving us any trouble” nod. Will nodded back and looked away. The food must be good here, he decided, if people were willing to stare that man down for the privilege of eating some eggs.

Will took a menu out of the menu holder on the table and tried to read it, but he couldn't concentrate. It hadn't occurred to him that Daisy might not be here, and now that she wasn't, he had no backup plan. But when he glanced toward the counter again, a few minutes later, he saw her coming into the coffee shop through a back door, and, as she did, her eyes met his across the room. She looked first surprised, and then flustered, but she didn't look angry, so Will relaxed a little. She wavered there for a moment, unsure of what to do, and then she turned and said something to the cook. He turned around and looked at Will again, and Will felt himself tense involuntarily. Had she told the guy to throw him out? he wondered. But the cook made no move toward him. Instead, he turned back to Daisy, nodded, and put something on the grill. Will exhaled slowly. He wasn't a coward, not when it came to a fight, but he wasn't stupid, either.

After Daisy spoke to the cook, though, she ignored Will, and he watched as she went back to work, refilling customers' water glasses, taking a party of four their check, and clearing away plates from an empty booth in the back. He sighed, fiddling with the menu. Here was another contingency he hadn't planned for. It had occurred to him that Daisy might still be angry at him, but it hadn't occurred to him that she wouldn't even speak to him. He'd thought if he came here as a paying customer, the least she would do was take his order. But he couldn't force her to wait on him. If she was enjoying his banishment to this booth, there was nothing to stop her from leaving him there until closing time.

Just when Will had decided this was her game plan, Daisy poured a soda from the soda dispenser, picked up an order from the grill, and headed directly for him.

“Hi,” she said, with a neutral smile, setting a Coke and a sandwich with fries down on the table in front of him.

“Hi,” he said. “I didn't order anything yet.”

“I know,” she said. “I brought you the hamburger club. It's on special today. If you can wait while I do a few more things, I can come back and talk for a minute.”

“All right,” he said, and she walked away.
God
, she was even prettier than he'd remembered her being, even in a big white apron that covered her slender frame, and even with her hair pulled back in a rather severe ponytail. He flashed, for an instant, on an image of her bare white shoulders and bare white thighs. But he shook his head impatiently, putting the image out of his mind, and reached instead for the hamburger club. It was good, really good. And he must have been hungrier than he realized, because by the time Daisy came back five minutes later, it was gone, and so were half of the french fries. Eating here, he decided, was definitely worth facing down the potentially homicidal cook.

“Hi,” she said again, a little uncertainly, as she slid in across from him.

“Hi.” He smiled. “The special's great, by the way,” he said, indicating his almost empty plate.

“I'll tell Frankie you said so.”

“Frankie? Is that his name?”

She nodded.

“Is it true . . .” Will leaned in closer. “Is it true he killed a man once?”

“Oh, that again,” Daisy said, rolling her eyes. “Don't believe everything you hear, Will. But you didn't come here to talk about Frankie, did you?”

“No,” he said, shifting in the booth, and wishing he was better with words. “I came here to . . .”

“To apologize?” Daisy suggested, raising her eyebrows.

“That's part of the reason I came.”

“Well, I'll save you the trouble,” Daisy said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “You don't owe me an apology.”

“I think I do,” Will disagreed. “I'm not . . . um, proud of the way I acted the other night. You didn't do anything wrong, Daisy. There's nothing wrong, either, with your being a, you know . . .”

“A virgin?” Daisy supplied, her mouth lifting at the corners.

“Yeah, okay,” Will said, glancing around to make sure that no one had heard her. But Daisy, he saw, was amused. “Anyway,” he continued, “what I meant to say is, it's nothing to be ashamed of. If I made you feel that way, I'm sorry.” He stopped, disoriented. Were they really sitting here, in public, in broad daylight, discussing her virginity? He got a feeling then that he'd stepped off the edge of something, and that there was nothing underneath his feet.

“Will, look, it's okay. I'm not angry anymore,” Daisy was saying, when his brain caught up with conversation again. “I was on the drive back, but after I got home, I calmed down. I was even able to see a little humor in the situation,” she said, emphasizing the words
a little
. “I know that my, um,
situation
is a little unusual. I mean, how many twenty-one-year-old virgins have you met before me?”

Not many
, Will thought.
Maybe not any
. But to Daisy he said, “I don't know.”

She took a french fry off his plate and nibbled on it “Well, I'll tell you something, Will. We're a very select group of people, sort of like a club that no one wants to be a member of. Sometimes, even
I
don't know if I want to be a member of it anymore.”

He frowned. “But, I mean, I thought the whole point was that people like you were proud of what you were doing. Don't you take some kind of vow? And wear some kind of ring? A promise ring?” He looked reflexively at her hands. He didn't know what a promise ring looked like, but she wasn't wearing any rings.

“Is that what you think, Will?” Daisy asked, surprised. “That I'm saving myself for marriage?”

He nodded. Since she'd told him she was a virgin, it had never occurred to him that there might be any other reason for it.

But she shook her head. “There's no promise ring. I didn't plan it this way, Will. It just sort of happened.”

“But how?” he asked, and then, added, quickly, “I mean, you've had boyfriends before, obviously.”

“I've had boyfriends,” she agreed. “One or two of them were even serious. Or
could
have been serious. But I have this annoying habit of overthinking my life, to the point where it's hard to be spontaneous and hard to do something that feels big, or important, without worrying that I'll regret it later. Do you know what I mean?”

BOOK: Butternut Summer
7.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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