The Way Home (21 page)

Mike looked pleased by the suggestion. “I'd love to meet your mom. Anytime.”

Avery met his gaze for a moment then slipped off the stool. “It's getting late. I'd better get back to the inn. They'll be wondering what happened to me.”

“I'll wait for you,” he said.

“Okay.” Avery quickly checked the stove burners, oven, and grill. Then she pulled off her cooking jacket and grabbed her bag from a closet.

Mike opened the door and held it for her. Avery smiled as she passed and paused to shut the lights.

Suddenly, they were alone in the dark, standing very close. Avery saw him take a tiny step toward her. Or maybe he had merely shifted his weight, or turned his body her way.

She didn't want to look up at him but couldn't help herself. She met his gaze, and felt he was going to kiss her. She wouldn't have minded that at all . . . though she still didn't understand what this relationship was. Or could be. It seemed they had slowly but surely moved from a friendship and a joking rivalry to something else. A budding romance? Or could it possibly be even more?

But when he put his arms around her in a warm, strong hug, Avery stopped wondering and worrying. All she could do was hug him back, pressing her cheek to his chest, drawing comfort and strength from his strength and affection. Yes, his jacket smelled like onion rings. But they were his onion rings and that was comforting, too.

“Feel any better?” he asked quietly.

She tipped her head back and smiled at him. “I do. Thank you,” she replied, though she knew the words didn't do her feelings justice. Not at all.

He smiled and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “Good, I'm glad.”

“Thanks again for listening to me. And for your words of wisdom.”

“Are you sure you mean words of wisdom . . . not just that I'm a wise guy?”

“That, too,” she assured him. He laughed and stepped aside, letting her walk through the door before him. Avery locked up and walked beside him down the alley. Her SUV was parked in the space between her café and Sunshine Sundries. She got in and started the engine, then said good night to Mike again.

“Good night, Avery. And remember, just take it one kitchen fire at a time, okay?” He was back in wise-guy mode again but she didn't mind.

She waved and drove down Ferry Street. He stood watching her, his white jacket catching a beam of light from a street lamp.

She still wasn't sure what she meant to him . . . or what he meant to her. And she wasn't sure why this kiss had only been on her forehead. All she knew was that she was grateful to have Mike in her life, grateful that he was the one who had appeared at the kitchen door, offering words of encouragement and advice—and a strong shoulder to cry on. Right now, she couldn't think of anyone else in the world she could have been so open with, so much herself. Was she actually falling for the Tuna Guy? It sure looked that way.

But what was she supposed to do with that? Avery knew she didn't have time for a real relationship right now, and even if she did, she probably still wasn't ready.

But when the summer was over—if her café survived that long—she and Mike would have time to really get to know each other and figure out if there was something real between them. Something as real—and rare—as she suddenly suspected.

* * *

W
HEN
Avery returned to the inn, she was surprised to find Christine was still up, reading on the porch. “Chris, you didn't have to wait for me,” Avery said as she came up the porch steps. “It's so late, and I know you have a big drive tomorrow.”

“I went to bed but I couldn't fall asleep. I think I got regular coffee instead of decaf.”

Your waitress screwed up,
she really meant to say.

“Well, I'm beat.”

“I'm sure you are. You work so hard. But could we talk just a minute or two? We hardly get together, and Mom and I have to leave early tomorrow.”

Avery would have much rather gone straight up to bed, but she didn't want to hurt her sister's feelings. It was true that they saw each other rarely these days, and Avery had been so busy during their visit, she hadn't spent much time with them at all.

“Sure, I can sit a minute. How's your job going? Still like the firm?”

Christine was an accountant and worked at a big firm in Hartford. She was smart and ambitious and definitely corner office material, Avery thought.

“It's going well. I'm up for a promotion. I'll hear about it soon, probably September. Not much happens in the summer in a big company.”

“Unlike my business. Everything happens in the summer,” Avery quipped, trying to keep the talk light.

Christine didn't answer right away. She closed her book and put it aside. “I think the café is very pretty, Avery. It couldn't be nicer, that way,” she began. “But I have to be honest. Do you think you're really cut out to run your own place? I can see that you're trying hard. But the café didn't seem to be very well managed or . . . organized.”

Avery felt her stomach drop. She had known this conversation was coming and wasn't at all surprised. She just didn't want to lose her temper or have an emotional meltdown, the way she had a little while ago. She was sure her sister wouldn't be half as sympathetic or encouraging as Mike.

“I know it seemed chaotic there tonight,” she said carefully. “But we're just starting out. Everyone hits a few bumps in the road.”

“Maybe that's it.” Christine shrugged. “I hate to sound negative. You know I'm not that kind of person.”

Avery forced a smile. Her sister was exactly that kind of person and always had been. But this was not the time to get into that.

“All I'm saying is, maybe you should rethink this situation a little. Are you making much of a profit?”

She wasn't making any profit. She was actually dipping into her reserve most of the time.

“I'm not really sure,” Avery murmured. She gave a big theatrical yawn. “I have to check the books. And I will, right after the holiday.”

“Too bad I have to leave. I'd love to work on them for you. Maybe you should e-mail me the files?”

“I know how busy you are, Chris. I can handle it.”

“You're a fabulous cook, Avery. No one would deny that. But you could get a job doing cooking anywhere, if this business doesn't work out. It wouldn't be the worst thing. And you might still have some of Mom's investment left,” she added. “I think you need to think about that.”

“I do think about it, Chris. Believe me, I do.”
Night and day,
Avery nearly confessed. But she didn't want her sister to know she was quite that worried about succeeding.

Christine picked up her book and rose from her chair. “All right, enough said. I'm just concerned. Mom and I are very proud of you.” She patted Avery's shoulder as she walked by. “We'll see you tomorrow, I hope, before we go?”

Avery nodded. “Sure, I don't have to go back to the café until the afternoon. We can at least have breakfast together.”

“Great. Sleep well.” Christine said good night and went inside.

Avery stayed out on the porch and gazed out at the ocean, a dark blue ribbon under the night sky. There was a bright half moon; the silver light glimmered on the rolling water. It was so quiet she could hear each wave hit the shore.

Her sister's words made her worry and doubt herself. But she suddenly heard a stronger voice prevail—Mike's voice, urging her to shake off the naysayers and hang on to her dream. To have faith in herself.
Fall down seven times, get up eight,
she reminded herself as she headed upstairs and literally, fell into her bed.

In a few months, Christine will see that she's totally wrong about the café,
Avery promised herself.
I'll make her a special dessert—a nice deep-dish Humble Pie.

* * *

S
UNDAY
morning, Avery woke with a start, eager to get back to work. She hadn't slept very long but realized that adrenaline was still pumping through her body. She just hoped it would last until the holiday rush was done.

She had to help the crew clean up the café today before they could reopen. She also had to run over to the restaurant supply warehouse in Beverly to pick up more food, including a few bags of frozen items to replenish Mike's walk-in freezer.

But she did want to spend more time with her family. She doubted she would see them again before September.

She met her mother and sister in the dining room as they were enjoying Claire's delicious breakfast buffet—baked French toast with mixed berry compote, fluffy scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese and chives, crispy bacon, and cinnamon scones. Avery had been so busy the night before, she hadn't stopped to eat a bite. Now, she more than made up for the missed meal.

While Christine finished her packing, Avery and her mother took their coffee mugs out to the porch. “You've found such a beautiful place to live, honey. Are you happy here?”

Avery smiled, surprised at the question. “I've been too busy the last few weeks to even wonder about that, Mom,” she said honestly. “It's been hard at times. But I do love it.”

“That's good. That's what I wanted to hear. You have a special talent, a gift from God. It's important to use that gift and express yourself with it. You give a lot of people pleasure with your cooking.”

“Thanks, Mom. That's sweet of you to say.”

“I didn't mean it to be sweet, dear. It's true. I'm glad to see you've gotten over Paul,” she added. “He wasn't good enough for you.”

Avery smiled wistfully. “I am over him. Well, just about.” If she could make the café succeed, she knew she would shed the last bit of sadness over his rejection. She wasn't sure why; it was just tied up somehow with her feelings about their failed relationship. “I think it all worked out for the best. I'm starting to think now that in the long run we wouldn't have been happy together.”

Maybe it was time, or distance, or a combination of both, but Avery saw her broken engagement very differently now. It seemed more like a lucky break than a heartbreak.

She hated to admit it, but meeting a really good guy, like Mike, who wasn't all wrapped up in himself, definitely helped her turn a corner. She felt an impulse to tell her mom about Mike, then decided it was too soon, too new and uncertain.

“I know the café isn't exactly the way you want it to be. Yet,” her mother said, turning the conversation back to Avery's business. “But be patient. Give it time. Everything's a process, dear.”

That was very true. Words that could apply to her relationship with Mike as well. She had to be patient to see what would come of that as well.

“The café can use improvements, Mom. I'm working on it all the time. I'm just worried sometimes though—about how long this will take. And worried about your investment,” she admitted.

“Nonsense. Let's not even go there.” Her mother waved her hand as if swatting away a pesky insect. “Did your sister start in on that with you? I asked her not to.”

“Well, she's concerned. I understand,” Avery said honestly.

“Avery, please. I gave you that money with no strings attached. You have to go forward, wholeheartedly, or it won't work. My money is on you, dear, literally and figuratively. Give it your all. I know you can do it.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Avery felt a lump in her throat. She leaned over and squeezed her mother's hand. “I just don't want to disappoint you.”

“The only way you could disappoint me, honey, is to give up before the finish line. I gave up on my career much too soon. I don't want to see you make the same mistake. If the café doesn't work out—and I know it will,” she quickly added, “you can come back home, and we'll both move in with your sister. She's doing quite well now. She can afford to take care of us.”

Her mother smiled, her blue eyes twinkling with their usual mischievous spark.

Avery laughed. “All right, I'll remember that. But you're the one who has to tell her.”

“Tell me what? Are you two talking about me again?” Christine came out to the porch, carrying her purse and laptop in its black padded case. She had managed to squeeze some work in this weekend, Avery had no doubt.

“Nothing, dear. Ready to go?” Helen asked as she stood up.

A few moments later, Jamie came out with the rest of Christine's and Helen's bags, then stowed them in the trunk of Christine's car. There were hugs and kisses all around as Avery bid her family a safe drive back to Connecticut.

She waved as Christine drove out to the main road. Avery felt an unexpected wave of sadness as she waved good-bye. Part of her wished they had stayed longer. But another part yearned to get back to work and prove to Christine, and any of the café's critics, that they were all wrong.

Chapter Twelve

“H
ERE
we are. This won't take long,” Claire told Jamie. She had driven them into the town of Cape Light on Tuesday morning and parked in front of the bank on Main Street.

It was Jamie's day off, but he didn't have any plans except to go out to the beach in the afternoon, he told Claire at breakfast. Claire was grateful that he didn't want to go into Boston to see his friends. It had been three weeks, practically to the day, since he had disappeared and nearly lost his job. He hadn't been to the city since.

Claire wasn't sure if he thought he would be too tempted to get in trouble if he went. But she didn't feel comfortable asking him that question. She was satisfied that he had agreed to go into Cape Light with her. Liza had asked her to bring a deposit from the inn to the bank, and Claire suggested to Jamie that he come along and open an account, a safe place to save his pay each week.

“I had a bank account for a while when I was working steady. Then I didn't have anything to put in it, so I didn't bother,” he admitted at the breakfast table.

“Well, now you do have something. It will encourage you to save for some good purpose,” she added, hoping that purpose would be continuing his education.

The bank on Main Street looked remarkably old-fashioned for these modern times, Claire realized as she led Jamie toward it. Marble columns flanked the heavy glass and brass-trimmed revolving door. The interior was cool and quiet, with tellers posted behind windows to one side and a few bank executives seated at heavy wooden desks on the other.

Claire led Jamie to the first desk, where they were greeted by a helpful assistant manager. “I need to visit the hardware store. I'll wait for you outside,” Claire said once she was sure Jamie would be taken care of.

He looked doubtful for a moment, like a small child being left at school, she thought. Then a look of resolve and maturity replaced that expression.

When Claire met him on the street a short time later, he seemed cheerful.

“How did it go?” she asked him.

“The woman kept calling me Mr. Carter. That was sort of weird,” he admitted with a grin. “I got a checking account, too. It was free.” He patted his shirt pocket. Claire saw the edge of a checkbook peeking out.

“Well done. Are you hungry? I think we should have some lunch.”
To celebrate,
she wanted to add. But she didn't want him to feel too self-conscious about it.

They decided on the Clam Box Diner, a short walk down the street. “Is this place good?” Jamie asked as the sign came into view.

“Depends on what you mean by
good
. A lot of people must like the food. It's been in business a long time.”

Claire didn't really care for the food at the Clam Box, but she did like the casual atmosphere and speedy service and thought Jamie might like it.

They found an empty booth near the window and Trudy, a waitress who had worked there for years now, greeted them and handed down two menus.

Jamie looked at his menu then back at Claire. “I don't know, Claire. There's something really weird about you sitting in a restaurant. It's like unnatural or something.”

Claire laughed. “Everyone likes to have a meal out once in a while. By the way, watch out for the chowder . . . You might be disappointed,” she practically whispered.

Jamie ordered a clam roll and fries, and Claire asked for a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, which she believed was one of the better choices.
Not too much could go wrong with good old grilled cheese,
she thought.

Jamie took a few bites of his clam roll then wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Not bad, but not even close to your cooking.”

“Thanks. Just for that compliment, it's my treat,” she promised, making him smile.

She had planned on buying him lunch anyway. Though she saw him every day, from sunup to sundown, they rarely had time to spend together just talking and having fun.

“Why didn't you go into the city today? I thought for sure you would have,” Claire said honestly.

He shrugged. “I can go another time. Maybe next week.”

Claire nodded, hoping he wouldn't go next week either. The problem was, he didn't have anything to do around here on his days off. But she had an idea about that, too.

“Now that you have a steady job and can save some money, it's a good time to think about the future. Do you have any thoughts about what you want to do when you leave the inn?”

She hated to say it out loud, but they were halfway through the summer, and they both knew his job wouldn't last forever.

Jamie just shrugged. “I haven't thought about it much. I'll find another job, I guess, back in Boston.”

Another dead-end job. The only kind he could get without a high school diploma.

“But what if you could do anything at all with your life, be anything you wanted to be, what would you do?”

He seemed surprised by the question, then smiled. “Oh, I'd be some rich guy with a Porsche and a big apartment on the Charles. I'd, like, be so rich I didn't have to work at all. One of those Internet millionaires, you know? Just go out to clubs and see sports every night—a skybox at the Garden and Fenway . . .”

Claire nodded and smiled. Of course, he would say something like that. What twenty-year-old male wouldn't? But she had hoped he would voice some secret dream or goal he could pursue as his life's work.

“That all sounds very . . . glamorous,” she replied. “Like an aftershave commercial. But I think it might get awfully boring after a while.”

“Why would it get boring? I don't think so.” Jamie popped a French fry in his mouth and grinned.

“Maybe not, maybe not,” she compromised. “I guess what I'm really asking is if there is anything you would really like to do, as a trade or a profession. Just until you're a millionaire,” she teased him. “I'm sure you can find another job, after the inn. But you don't have to jump from job to job your whole life, Jamie. You could learn some useful trade—become a carpenter or an electrician. A professional cook, maybe?”

He had not shown much interest in anything like that at the inn, Claire knew. But she hoped her suggestions would spur some response in him.

Jamie just shrugged and examined a packet of sweetener.

“I believe that God gives everyone some talent,” Claire went on, not about to give up. “Some special spark they can develop and use to express themselves, and do some good in the world. It might be some rare ability, like being a rocket scientist. Or as simple as being a good cook, like me. There are no better or worse gifts in the eyes of God. Everyone is important in the role they play in the world. The main thing is to put your heart in something, to take pride in what you do. ‘Whatsoever you do, do it with all your heart,'” she said, recalling a favorite psalm. “I believe that you have some talent, too,” she added. “I'm sure of it.”

Jamie looked up at her. “Me? Sure. I've got a talent, for getting in trouble.”

“That's not what I meant,” Claire said, biting back a smile. “I'm sure you have a real talent. You just haven't found it yet. You seem pretty handy with computers,” she added. “I've seen you fix Liza's computer a few times now.”

Jamie pushed a shock of dark hair out of his eyes. “That was no big deal. Everybody knows how to do stuff like that.”

“What was that thing you set up for Liza—a wire system? Is that what you call it? Well, everybody doesn't know how to do that. Liza said if you hadn't done it, she would have had to hire a technician.”

Claire had no clue as to what Jamie had actually done. All she knew was that Liza was so pleased, she had given him a bonus in his paycheck.

He shrugged again, but at least he smiled this time. “All I did was set up wireless Internet access for the guests. It was pretty simple . . . and you call it Wi-Fi.”

“Wi-Fi, right.” Claire nodded, feeling they were getting somewhere. “I think you have a knack for it. If you like that sort of work, I'm sure there are classes you can take to learn more. Maybe in a trade school or at a junior college.” She shook her head, feeling out of her depth. “Listen to me,” she said ruefully. “I don't know the first thing about computers, and here I am, trying to tell you how to start a career with them. But all I mean to say is, wasn't it fun to do work you liked and found easy—and get paid for it?”

Jamie nodded. “Sure it was. But I didn't really think of it as work.”

“That's just my point. When you find something you have talent for and enjoy doing, it doesn't seem like work. Not all the time,” she added honestly. “That's how I feel about cooking.”

Jamie sighed and stared at her. “I guess I could see myself fixing computers. It would be pretty cool if I could. And I bet the pay is good, better than what I earn. But how would I get jobs like that? Who would hire me?”

“Oh, I'm sure you could get a job in that field. I think there must be plenty. It seems everything involves computers nowadays. But first you have to look at the big picture. And have some patience. Getting your GED would be the first step. Then you need to take some courses. We could look into it together. I'll help you figure it out,” she added. “I'll help you with the tuition, too.”

“You would? I don't know . . . I don't think I could let you do that.”

“I want to. It would make me happy to see you headed on a good career track. It would make me very happy,” she assured him.

Jamie let out a long sigh. “I'll pay you back. I have to.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “Claire, I don't know if I can do this. I'm not a very good student. I just get too bored sitting still too long and trying to memorize stuff.”

“I know studying is not your cup of tea,” she admitted. “But you are very intelligent. Everyone says so. You just haven't found that special thing to apply your smarts to. If you have a real goal, a real destination in sight, you'll be a much better student that you used to be. It won't be like sitting in class and memorizing how many angles in an octagon or when the pyramids were built.”

Jamie laughed. “Do you remember how you used to help me study for those tests?”

“I do,” she replied. “I knew it didn't make much sense to you. You used to always ask me, ‘Why do I need to learn this stuff?' and I couldn't always give you a good answer. But now it's all your choice. You can learn things that do make sense to you, that add up to something in your real life. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”

Jamie rubbed his jaw a moment. “What about the GED? I heard it was hard.”

“Oh, it's not so bad. I asked a friend of mine about it. She used to teach history in the high school. She said there are books we can buy, and there's all kinds of help on the Internet, too. Vera, my friend, tutors students who are preparing for the test. I'm sure she could help you,” Claire added.

Jamie looked a bit overwhelmed by the suggestion.

Claire didn't want to scare him. “You just think about it. You don't have to figure it all out right now. I have to return some books to the library. I'm sure we can find some material there about the GED, and about places where you can learn to work with computers.”

“All right, we can look around at the library. I guess I'm sort of curious now.”

Claire breathed a silent sigh of relief. She had him interested in the idea of education—that was the first step. “Would you like some dessert?” she asked.

“Nah. I was thinking of ordering some blueberry pie, but I know it won't be half as good as what I'm used to at the inn. You spoil me, Claire.”

Claire laughed and asked for the check. She had never enjoyed a meal at the Clam Box more and doubted she ever would again.

* * *

A
VERY
wasn't really superstitious, but Friday the thirteenth still made her wary. She hoped the café would have a lot of customers this weekend. The big wave of business over the holiday had helped her bottom line some. But a week or so later, the flow of customers had dwindled again. Some of the special theme nights filled the café, and others didn't work quite as well. Avery felt the business was just bumping along and still worried every day if she would make it to the end of the summer.

She had hired a new waitress, Teresa's granddaughter, Brittany, who was a hardworking young woman, attending college in Rhode Island and home for the summer. Teresa had taken charge of training and supervising her and was far tougher at that than Avery ever would have been.

Though Jack was still licking his wounds from his breakup, Brittany's arrival had added a spark to his day. He definitely seemed more cheerful and energetic lately, and Avery thought it was cute to see this little romance start to blossom.

Heaven knows, I have no social life anymore
.

Even if she had a spare moment from the café, she was either exhausted or doing some extra job to save a little on overhead. Like washing and ironing the linens herself, instead of sending them out to a laundry.

Sometimes Gena came in and helped her. Avery was standing at the ironing board around noon, working on a pile of tablecloths while Gena folded, when she noticed a peculiar sight—an army of seniors were marching up the boardwalk.

Dressed in bright summer clothes, sun hats, and sunglasses that wrapped around their heads like welder's goggles, they were led by a tour guide who carried a little yellow flag with a smiley face on a plastic pole.

“Did you see that?” Gena asked. “Looks like we're being invaded by the silver-haired set. I bet they're going down to the Tuna.” Gena stepped to the open doors and looked outside.

“He's bringing in tour groups now?” Avery sighed. “What next?”

“It's a good idea. Why didn't we think of it?” Gena said as she set to work again on the linens.