Making Up for Lost Time Page 4

“I’d love to,” Jamie said quickly. She hadn’t been on the water for years.

  Jacob smiled, his beard bristling where deep-cut laugh lines pulled tight. He’d been Aunt Em’s friend for over forty years, had wanted to marry her after her husband died. But Aunt Em had known by then that friendship was all she needed from men. Jacob had been a little suspicious of Liesel Hammond when she’d become part of Aunt Em’s life, but that had mellowed into lasting friendship too. It all would have been idyllic if Liesel had lived with them, but Kathy had made that impossible.

  “I’ve been hearing,” Jacob added, “that you’ve gone and got yourself a fancy culinary degree.”

  Jamie shook her head. “No degree. Just lots of classes.”

  “And you been putting any of it to good use? I’m thinking I could use a good caterer in town again for the charters. Hasn’t been the same since Em stopped filling my orders. The Waterview sure hasn’t been the same either. Liesel here is a fine cook—”

  “But dumplings and pancakes are my limit. I’ll never have Em’s imagination or her way with pie crust.” Liesel turned quickly to the stove.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying,” Jamie said into the awkward silence.

  “Well, now, Liesel will be wanting you here.”

  Liesel plopped one last pancake on Jacob’s plate, serene once more. “We haven’t even had a chance to talk about it. My door is always open to you, sweetling. Always will be and for as long as you need it.”

  “Well, I have a job.” A job she was growing to hate. “But Em left me her money, you know that, right?”

  Liesel sat down and fixed Jamie with a no-nonsense stare. “As it should be. You were more of a daughter to her than—I can’t even say her name. I never told Em just how I felt about Kathy because it wouldn’t have served any purpose. She’s a bitch of the first order and I’m glad she won’t benefit a dime. You do what you want. I did my twenty in the army, and I’ve got all I’ll ever need.”

  Jamie swallowed hard, aware that if Liesel hugged her she’d cry again. She blinked furiously to keep the tears back. Kathy was a bitch of the first order, but that didn’t change Jamie’s lingering regrets or the if-onlies she played in her head when she was lonely. She was aware that Jacob was querying Liesel with a glance and that Liesel gave a slight shrug in response.

  Jacob set his coffee cup down with a thud. “Well, how about you throw something together for me tomorrow? I’ve got about seventy dollars to spend on sodas and snacks for twelve. Nothing really fancy, but tasty counts.”

  “Okay,” Jamie found herself saying. It would be something to do. And crewing would be a blast. “How about crab puffs and finger fruits and vegetables, and some rolled sandwiches?”

  “Sounds delicious, m’darling.” Jacob counted out the cash and winked. “I’m assuming you’ll be keeping enough of that to cover your time. And there’s the usual crew pay tomorrow. Jeff’ll be there too.”

  “I’d love to see him again. Thanks.”

  Jacob drained his third cup of Liesel’s coffee—which would keep him awake for three days, Jamie thought. She had missed the squeak of his slicker and boots. The screen door slammed behind him.

  “That man could wake the Titans,” Liesel said fondly.

  “His heart is as big as his voice.”

  “I don’t want to push you, Jamie, but think about what you want to do. I know it was a lot of money Em left you.” She took Jamie’s hand. “She longed to know you were happy.”

  Jamie squeezed Liesel’s fingers, noticing the extra wrinkles and spots that had come over the years. “I know. But I don’t think I know yet what will make me happy. I just know what won’t.”

  Liesel let go of her hand with a sigh. “She won’t ever change. She’s marrying that big-shot lawyer. What a donkey’s behind he is.”

  Liesel had always been the repository of Jamie’s turmoil over Kathy. She just hadn’t been able to tell Aunt Em much more than the basics. She loved Kathy. Kathy didn’t love her. “I don’t believe she’ll change. I just wish I could put it behind me.”

  “Well, you just take a breather here for a while, then. Things will seem much clearer after you get the city air out of your lungs.”

  Jamie grinned, suddenly lighthearted. “I think you’re right about that. And I think I’ll go for a walk, like you suggested.”

  “Call if you won’t be back for lunch. I was thinking of turning out some sour cream biscuits.”

  Jamie was at the door, but she rushed across the kitchen to give Liesel a bear hug. “I will stay, if only for your biscuits.”

  “Don’t make promises yet, it’s too soon. Now get on with you.”

  The fog peeled back as Jamie walked up Union Street toward Lansing. She peeked into stores and when she saw a familiar face she went in for hugs and condolences—she had missed the genuine human warmth of the small town. Her aunt had been well-regarded and each embrace felt like a loving tie being wrapped around her heart. She would stay because this was home. And Kathy be damned. She couldn’t let Kathy make her stay away anymore. She’d already cost her the last years of Aunt Em’s life. It would be a long time before she forgave Kathy—or herself—for that.

  Her footsteps led her unerringly toward the Waterview. The old inn faced Main Street, a few doors down from the much more splendid Mendocino Hotel. Aunt Em hadn’t wanted the fuss of daily check-ins and maid service, so the inn was really a boardinghouse for seasonal workers, with a full scale eatery on the ground floor. Aunt Em preferred calling it an eatery because her food was simple, inexpensive and plentiful. It was the kind of place where two dollars on the counter bought you an endless cup of coffee and a slice of pie, with some change left for the waitress.

  Well, that’s how it had been. Jamie peered through a dirty window and saw that her aunt’s scrubbed wood tables topped by glass had been replaced by fancy black lacquer. A chichi neon sign read “Dining Room.” The menu on the wall was gone and she saw a waitress—could that be Darlene?—handing a tasseled gold card to a diner.

  The dinnerware and food coming from the kitchen looked the same, though. Maybe the new owner had thought some frills would bring in more customers. She glanced at the menu in the holder outside—yikes. Coffee and pie would cost five bucks. No wonder the place was sparsely filled, even though early lunch was approaching. Sure it was offseason and the tourist trade was just a trickle. But there was no one she recognized inside except Darlene. Local customers had kept Aunt Em going. Tourist season was a bonus with more than enough extra trade from folks grateful for a no-frills meal that helped out the budget.

  For that kind of money you could be at the posh Mendo Hotel, or over at McCallum House. The dinner prices were almost what the world-famous Cafe Bdaujolais, just up the street, commanded. Her aunt had never tried to compete with the haute cuisine in Mendocino—it was too good.

  Jamie slipped through the front door to catch Dar’s eye when she finished with her customer.

  “Jamie, sweetie, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Dar’s hug was the biggest of the day, so far. She had worked for Aunt Em for years and had apparently carried over to the new regime. “I’m so sorry about Em, but I have to tell you it was a relief. She was in such a bad way, I’m glad she was finally released. Come have a cup, no, you’re drinking Liesel’s, how about some soda or water? Sit over here, sweetie, the counter’s gone, I miss it.”

  Jamie took the seat Dar indicated and smiled inwardly, remembering how Dar’s voluble nature had sold slices of pie by the dozen.

  Dar dropped her voice. “I won’t suggest you have anything to eat. It’s overpriced and doesn’t hold a candle to anything Em turned out. Don’t know where Bill found this cook—second one in four months. Bill’s in the back, he says I gab too much. Be right back.”

  Jamie watched as Dar delivered a check, filled three coffee cups and cleared away plates. As she took the dishes to the kitchen Jamie could tell the meals were half-eaten, and from what she saw she didn’t blame t
hem. Burnt burgers and canned vegetables. The fries looked like dough.

  Dar set a piece of pie in front of her. “Thought you’d want to see what they have the nerve to call Emily’s Special.” She whisked away to deliver a check.

  Jamie took a bite and put the fork down with a shudder. It was canned cherry pie filling on a store-bought frozen crust. Nothing wrong with the crust, really, but it needed a special filling to compensate for the lack of flakiness. The topping was decent, with small bits of coconut, but it didn’t save the pie from mediocrity. Aunt Em would have been mortified if anyone thought the recipe was hers. Jamie wondered how the new owner was staying afloat.

  A man with a deep scowl peered out from the kitchen. He saw Jamie looking and faked a genial smile. “Welcome,” he boomed.

  Dar went back to the kitchen, saying as she breezed by, “Bill, this is Jamie Onassis, Emily Smitt’s niece.”

  “Jamie, well, it’s a pleasure,” Bill said. “I really admire the way your aunt ran this place. If I do it half as well I’m a happy man.”

  Jamie made polite noises, lied about liking the tables and asked how business was.

  “I wish I could say it was doing better. I had to move folks out to do some renovating and so far no one has moved back. I just found out my sister is ill and wish I could go help her out, but you know how being a small-business owner is. Vacation means no income and I’m stretched pretty tight.”

  Aunt Em had always been able to leave the place for a couple of weeks a year, having loyal, solid employees to look after it. Offseasons she’d closed on Mondays, too. “Mind if I look around? I grew up here and I’m curious what you’ve done.”

  “Sure. Nice to have you back in town.”

  Yeah, right, she thought. Bill’s joviality didn’t fool her. His business was failing. She looked around the kitchen and it was easy to see the signs. At least one stove was no longer in working order, and all of the other appliances looked like the ones her aunt had owned. Business was so slow that only one refrigerator was even turned on, and the big walk-in was empty.

  The back stairs were depressing—carpet falling to pieces, dirty paint. The second floor had had eight small bedrooms sharing two baths. It looked like Bill had tried to put two rooms together and capture one of the baths in that room for some sort of suite. The work was half-finished and what was done was poorly executed. Jamie didn’t know how to hang wallpaper, but she could tell when a pattern wasn’t matched.

  No wonder none of the regulars had come back. Six people to one bathroom? Jamie was willing to bet Bill had raised the rent, too.

  She briefly visited the top floor, taking in the view of the headlands to the south. A million-dollar view of waves on rocks. Nothing up there seemed changed. One large bedroom had its own bath—it had been Aunt Em’s. The two smaller rooms shared the other bath. Kathy’s on the right, hers on the left. The rooms were empty of furniture but full of memories. Those first early years she and Kathy had sneaked into each other’s rooms at night, two peas in a pod. The summer they were sixteen everything had changed, and not for the better.

  She left after Dar confided that she thought Bill was behind on his mortgage payments and had even held up her paycheck for a couple of days last week. He obviously didn’t have the skills or tenacity for running that kind of business, or had assumed, as so many newcomers in Mendocino had, that the tourist trade lasted longer than just the summer.

  She was back at Liesel’s in time for lunch, her head full of plans and wondering if she had the daring to go through with them. She had the money; she had this open space in her life. She’d spent the last few years letting go of the past and what she needed to do was get on with living before she lost any more time.

  “If we just do this between ourselves, well, then I’d save a whole lot of money on a broker’s fee. I’d split the savings with you.” Bill was giving her an open-eyed honest look that didn’t fool Jamie.

  She’d been to the recorder’s office and knew what Bill had paid Aunt Em for the place, including the fixtures. He’d let it run down substantially, and there was little left of the goodwill Aunt Em had built up. “Sounds fine to me. I’m interested in saving money. There’s a lot of improvements to make here. I’ve got a standard purchase agreement here that’s valid in California. All you need to do is sign.”

  Bill went rabid when he saw her offer—sixty percent of what he’d paid, but all of it in cash within the week. Liesel and Jacob had counseled her not to rush into things, but Jamie wanted the Waterview, and didn’t want Bill to put it on the open market. She hoped that the offer of quick cash would seal the deal.

  After an hour of wrangling, it did. Bill confessed it was enough to settle his mortgage and other trade debts and leave something for his old age, as he called it. Jamie knew he wasn’t telling her everything, but she’d been in a lot of restaurants and had an idea what bringing the inn back to working condition would cost. With a little luck she would have enough. She was confident that once folks knew Em’s niece was now running the place they’d give her a try, and she didn’t plan to disappoint them.

  Bill signed the purchase agreement while Jamie hid her shivers of exhilaration and terror. Jeff, Jacob’s son, had told her flat out she was nuts not getting the place inspected first. Maybe she was. But she’d spent yesterday on the ocean for the first time in years, walked through the town after dark in fog that made San Francisco seem perpetually sunny, and had her first taste of Mendocino ice cream in ages. Home—this was home. She missed Aunt Em fiercely but every moment made her feel close again.

  Maybe the Waterview needed a fresh coat of paint, and some repairs to the appliances. She didn’t have to start off with a huge menu, just a good one. She could do this. Aunt Em would have wanted her to. So what if she broke out into a cold sweat when she drew the cashier’s check at the bank? So what if Bill had taken it, signed the grant deed in front of the notary, and had his car already packed to leave town? How bad could it be?

  Chapter 4

  It was the second week of November and I had flown into New York from Texas that morning to snatch five minutes with my father at corporate headquarters. I had to hurry to catch up after the staff meeting for Sunrise magazine broke up. This idea I’d had, ever since I’d met Valkyrie Valentine, wouldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t wait any longer.

  Even in pumps I passed most of the milling crowd and made it to the private elevator just as he and his entourage stepped in. “Daddy, wait up!”

  His eyebrows shot up. We’d agreed on a measure of decorum in public. I even used my mother’s maiden name in business to keep a little of the nepotism charges at bay. “Ms. Thintowski,” he intoned. He’s got a great, deep voice which turns freshly minted MBAs to pudding.

  The damage was done, so I decided to let everyone think my business with him was personal, hence the informality. A quick kiss, a simple hug and a mention of yesterday’s big win by one of the pro sports franchises he invested in, and he had forgiven me. He brought me a soda from the wet bar with his own two hands and shooed away his eager assistants.

  I flopped down onto a couch in the south forty of the office, farthest away from the imposing solid mahogany desk. It was bigger than some dorm rooms and I really only liked the thing when I was behind it. He knew that and said it made him more sure than ever of my parentage.

  “Daddy, I have an idea.”

  He looked amused. “Is that why you’re wearing something other than Capri pants?”

  He didn’t much like my retro-’60s fashion choices. I liked them because very few women could wear them and look good. I’d forgone my usual beehive today, out of deference to my father’s tastes. Even though a veritable team of technicians had tried to make me beautiful over the years, I’m rather plain if you look long enough. My physique, however, was as trim as a private trainer and steady devotion to exercise could make it. I could carry off the 1962 Chanel suit I was wearing. The spike heels on late ’50s pumps are as comfortable to me as ru
nning shoes. Well, almost.

  “I didn’t want to embarrass you and I had business to conduct anyway.” I popped open the Diet Coke. Nice of him to remember I’m Coke, not Pepsi.

  “Did you know Marissa can’t even open a soda? Or button her clothes?”

  “Give me two minutes alone with her and a pair of nail clippers and the problem would be fixed.” Marissa was girlfriend number four since daddy stopped marrying his girlfriends. “I don’t know why you pick them so helpless.”

  “Because they’re nothing like your mother.”

  I smiled. “Sweet.”

  “So this idea? I have a meeting in five minutes.”

  “Martha Stewart.”

  He looked confused, which meant he’d let his guard down. Not that I needed it down, but it always felt good to know that we still had a special relationship, one he didn’t have with anyone else. Especially the girlfriends. “We do have five minutes, so you can explain more.” He sat down, ready to indulge me by listening. Indulgence never had any effect on his business sense.

  “Okay, Daddy. Martha Stewart. The one-woman arbiter of good taste and good living and one incredibly lucrative franchise. As you always say, competition is good. We need to find our own Martha Stewart. Someone we create and hold to a long-term contract to work for us. Not just one magazine, but us. Just think how easy it would be for you to simultaneously roll out a cable show, release a book, put her picture on the cover of a half-dozen magazines, while Sunrise headlines their exclusive column by our Martha Stewart.” If the writer did to the public what she did to me, we were halfway there. My heart was going pitty-pat just recalling her devilish smile. “Wouldn’t you love to get some of the ad revenue that Living scoops up? Last issue had four pages of editorial before page forty—that’s ninety percent ads.”

  He was shaking his head. “It’s risky. She jumps ship after we make her a household name. It would be like Betty Crocker starting her own company after General Mills gave her the makeover.”

  “That’s why I said long-term contract.”