The Second Chance Supper Club

by Meier, Nicole

  By the time the dinner guests arrived that evening, Ginny felt she at least had her kitchen under control. Focus on what’s in front of you, she quietly told herself. Otherwise, she might go crazy with worry.

  The service started out as usual. Six guests arrived together, mostly newcomers, except for Julia’s high school classmate, Shane. He, curiously, had made the reservation himself. It appeared Shane had enjoyed his first meal so much that he wanted to come back with friends. Or was it something else?

  Though she was preoccupied, Ginny wondered about him. He was nice-looking, with a laid-back, unguarded smile, and he had the naturally suntanned hue of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. He was almost rugged in appearance. The group accompanying him was a small collection of friends, as she’d overheard them explaining to Olive. Men and women in their late thirties who’d entered with arms slung around one another. Their collective joviality gave Ginny a pang of longing.

  The guests could be heard commenting on their adventure on the mysterious, darkened drive toward the foothills, into Ginny’s remote neighborhood. They recalled how one of them had jimmied open a bottle of wine—sans opener—in the back of the chauffeured SUV and then splashed liberal amounts into everyone’s cups. The women giggled while one of the younger men made playful jabs at their roadie bartender. It was the kind of lighthearted fun and friendship that Ginny had been lacking.

  It had been a long while since she’d had the freedom—or rather, allowed herself the freedom—to go out for a night on the town with friends. Many of her customers returned with such regularity that Ginny now easily considered them friends. She supposed she had the best of both worlds in that regard. Mesquite had given her the chance to keep cooking and to be surrounded by likable people.

  Except for one, that was. But she refused to think about the aggravating food writer for now.

  Lingering in the doorway a minute longer, she listened as one woman declared that if it weren’t for Shane, none of them would ever have known that any kind of underground dining like Mesquite existed.

  “Shane here,” the woman said, tapping him on the shoulder, “said this was the best food he’s had in ages. And only he knew how to find it. So of course we all wanted to be let in on the secret!”

  “It was the best,” Shane gushed.

  “To Shane!” Someone raised a red plastic Solo cup.

  “To Shane! Cheers!” Four more cups were thrust into the air, along with a ripple of laughter.

  Shane grinned as he ran a hand along his stubbled jaw and dipped his head bashfully. His friends paid no mind to his embarrassment and instead took generous sips of their drinks. They didn’t see that Shane’s focus was being drawn elsewhere.

  Ginny hovered in the background and tracked his gaze. Ever so slowly, it drew along the table and over to where Julia was standing. Her sister, Ginny noticed, looked pretty that evening in a feminine, cream-colored blouse that dipped into a V along her collarbone. She wore simple black pants and ballet flats that perhaps belonged to Olive. Her hair was gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, showing off a pair of delicate gold earrings that sparkled as they caught the light. A hint of a smile curved upward on her glossed, pink lips.

  The two appeared to lock eyes momentarily before Julia flushed and abruptly turned. With a hasty motion, she began pouring waters from a filled pitcher. Shane watched her for a second longer before moving on.

  Oh boy, Ginny thought. Judging by that meaningful exchange, this guy had the potential to quickly make things complicated for her sister. She surveyed the room to check if anyone else might have noticed. Luckily for Julia, no one had.

  The air encircling the group of friends continued to buzz with excitement. Olive stepped forward and raised a bottle of pinot noir. Everyone cheered and took their seats, letting the merriment spread.

  Ginny uttered an abbreviated version of her usual welcome and then excused herself, returning to her stove. She was pleased for the new customers and grateful to Shane for bringing them. Yet she couldn’t help but speculate about why this guy had returned to dinner so soon after his last visit.

  Whether Julia would acknowledge his attention, she wasn’t entirely sure. Ginny’s probing would have to wait until dinner was over. At the moment, she had her hands busy plating the planned first course of locally grown butternut squash soup with farm-fresh goat cheese and miniature crostini. And just in case this crew required more than the usual amount of bread to sop up the alcohol, she grabbed a crusty baguette from a basket in the pantry.

  Julia and Olive brought an extra energy of support that evening, which Ginny understood as reassurance. Each fell into her serving role. Olive produced several bottles of suggested wine pairings, explaining how each one would complement the various courses. Julia took her cue and announced that evening’s menu. As usual, the crowd oohed and aahed at the descriptions and chattered excitedly as they waited to be served.

  “Olive?” Ginny asked in an uncertain tone in between her prep tasks.

  “Yeah?” Olive stood nearby, her hands pausing as she wrestled with a stubborn cork. A low frown hovered. Ginny caught how her daughter’s blue eyes shifted ever so slightly, as if she was nervous about what she was about to say.

  “I just . . . ,” Ginny began. It was disturbing how foreign intimate moments with her daughter still felt. There was such an unease that had built up between them. They’d fought so much lately. It seemed most of their interactions came with a bitter edge. Ginny so wanted that to change. She wondered if Olive did too. “I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you’re here. You know, aside from your support in the kitchen. I’m proud that people get to see that you’re my daughter. I don’t say it often, but—thank you.”

  Olive’s mouth twitched before breaking into a restrained smile. “You’re welcome.”

  Ginny swallowed back emotion and nodded. This was enough. At least for now.

  Olive’s attention returned to the wine bottle, and she moved from the room. Ginny watched her a beat longer, relieved to see that her daughter’s shoulders had relaxed away from her ears, where they were usually glued in her presence.

  Small strides, Ginny thought.

  Things in the kitchen were, thankfully, going according to plan. Ginny’s hands moved at a gratifying pace over the stove. She deftly controlled the four burners to simmer sauces with ease. A pair of solid wooden cutting boards were positioned at her elbow, piled with minced garlic, leafy herbs, and fresh root vegetables. A beautiful cut of Angus beef rested on the counter, coming to room temperature and marinating in rich juices. An elevated twist on a white chocolate cheesecake chilled on the packed refrigerator shelf. All in all, she had planned a fabulous meal.

  This was how Ginny had always envisioned Mesquite running, smooth and well staffed, with happy guests at the table and herself at the helm. If she thought about it hard enough, which she rarely had time to do, Ginny would say this evening was damn near perfection.

  Feeling sentimental, she allowed herself a pour from the bottle of chilled Oregon pinot noir in the refrigerator. She wiped her fingers clean with a nearby tea towel and watched as the golden evening light filtered through the windows, illuminating the translucent burgundy liquid in her glass.

  This is how it should be, she thought to herself. Happy customers in the other room, her daughter and her sister all under one roof, and a warm place to call home. She’d be content if she knew it could last. But she wasn’t naive enough to assume it would. Just look at what the previous few hours had been like. Nothing remained perfect forever.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud racket coming from the other room.

  “Oh no!” Julia’s voice cried out. There was a clamor of chairs scraping backward along the hard floors, followed by an escalation of voices. Case in point. Ginny set down her glass and braced herself.

  Before she could move, Olive came flying into the kitchen, her eyes wide. An ashen pallor masked her daughter’s worried expression. “Mom, you’d
better come.”

  “What is it?” Ginny asked. Olive’s urgent panic sent her heart leaping high into her throat.

  “I—I don’t know,” Olive stammered. “One of the women just sort of lost her balance. Her glass cracked onto the table and then she slumped over in her chair.”

  “What? Is she drunk?” Ginny moved past Olive, whipping her towel away.

  Olive shook her head. “They’re all a bit tipsy, but she wasn’t slurring or anything. It was like she fainted. Aunt Julia caught her before she went down.”

  “Shit. Turn off those burners, would you?” Ginny ordered over her shoulder as she raced into the dining room, leaving Olive with a face full of alarm. Both women knew they couldn’t afford to have anything bad happen at the supper club. It would call unwanted attention, and they were already up to their elbows in that.

  Ginny pushed the concern from her mind and burst into the other room. Her eyes cast about. The most important thing was everyone’s safety.

  The first thing she saw was a cluster of men and women up from their seats and hovering in a semicircle around a dazed-looking woman. Julia was there, pushing a glass of water forward and murmuring reassurances. Shane and a balding man were crouched on either side, examining the woman’s glassy eyes. Red wine had been spilled, and a single appetizer plate was in pieces on the floor.

  “Is she all right?” Ginny asked, approaching. Her skin prickled with the sensation of doom. A million frantic thoughts ran through her head. Was the woman having an allergic reaction to the food? Had Ginny poisoned her somehow? Or was she having a stroke or heart attack?

  Judging by the woman’s features, which were slack, she was most certainly ill, but she wasn’t old enough or out of shape in the way that Ginny might associate with cardiac arrest. There weren’t any rashes or swollen patches on her porcelain skin. If anything, this attractive, well-dressed woman appeared drugged. “What happened?”

  Julia’s head popped up with an uncertain expression. The bald man was on his knees. He waved a hand in front of the woman’s face and then snapped his fingers, trying to gauge her level of alertness.

  “She’s diabetic,” Shane said. His voice was thick with fear. “She must have crashed and we didn’t notice.”

  The other man, who wore a platinum ring on his left hand, rummaged through the woman’s purse. “Sometimes her blood sugar goes off-balance,” he said, almost apologetically. He had the calm authority of someone who’d experienced such a scare before. “We try to regulate it as best we can, but it still happens. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her get woozy like this. I need to check her blood sugar. I’m pretty sure she needs a dose of fast-acting glucose.”

  “Oh gosh. Do we need to call an ambulance?” Ginny’s heart rate ticked upward. She was suddenly conflicted. She wanted to get the woman the help she needed, but she didn’t want to draw more negative attention to Mesquite. Summoning any kind of authority to the club would be a disaster in itself.

  If an ambulance came, the police might accompany them and ask all sorts of questions. That was definitely not what Ginny wanted. She wasn’t ready to explain that this woman was a paying guest in an illegitimate restaurant.

  If that happened, she’d be hit with a crippling fine by the health department. Mesquite wasn’t permitted, and what she was doing was considered illegal. If she was caught, the supper club would surely be shuttered. Her customers would lose trust and disappear; her only source of income would dry up. Ginny’s entire dream could be yanked away from her in the span of one evening.

  How was it that her business had now been threatened more than once in the span of a week? She had to wonder if Julia’s sudden appearance had anything to do with it. While clearly she couldn’t be held responsible for this episode, she did seem to usher bad luck through the door.

  “I don’t think we need to call anyone just yet,” the man responded, breaking Ginny’s panic-filled thoughts. “I’ve dealt with this lots of times; we just need to stabilize her.”

  A whoosh of relief filled Ginny’s lungs. Olive appeared at her side, leaning against her arm. Ginny was grateful for the unspoken support.

  The others remained quiet as they watched in hushed tones and the man retrieved what looked like a miniature doctor’s kit from the woman’s purse. With expert speed, he went to work.

  “Angie? Are you with me?” he asked in a loud voice.

  “Mm-hmm.” The woman moaned and nodded lethargically. Her eyes were still open, but barely. Her slow, fluttering lids made Ginny well up with nervousness.

  After what felt like an eternity, once Angie’s husband had done some calculating of her blood sugar via an app on his phone, he administered a thick swab of gel onto her gums and rubbed. Within minutes, there was a noticeable improvement. Angie thankfully appeared out of the woods. Her eyes perked up, and she was able to speak in fluid sentences. Ginny nearly collapsed with relief at the sight.

  She and Olive exchanged grateful glances.

  “Wow, we’re glad you’re okay, Angie,” Shane said, still kneeling down next to his friend. He offered a kind smile and thumped Angie’s husband on the back. Both men passed a look of relief between them, and Angie colored.

  “I’m sorry,” Angie said, the life coming back to her. “I don’t know what happened. I had extra wine, which was risky, I guess. And I didn’t eat much today. The starter course didn’t really fill me up.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” said a woman with a dark bob haircut. She leaned in and squeezed Angie’s free hand.

  “Yes, don’t ever apologize for something like that, Angie. We’re just glad you’re okay.”

  “We love you, Ang!”

  “Hear! Hear!” someone else bellowed, and they all—except Angie—cheered with exuberance and reached out to lift a glass.

  Julia placed a tall glass of water in Angie’s right hand, which she carefully sipped.

  “Well,” Ginny said, once the toast was made, “how about I get your main course going, along with some more bread? And then you can get some sustenance into you?” She looked at Angie hopefully. It was important to turn the evening around and make sure this woman left her house on a positive note, and with a full stomach.

  “Sounds great.”

  Ginny turned back toward the kitchen with Julia and Olive right behind her. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. The three of them froze.

  Oh god. No! Ginny’s heart leaped back into her throat. Which one of them had gone ahead and dialed 911 anyway? The night was turning into a complete disaster.

  “I’ll get it,” Julia said. Ginny nodded stiffly as she watched with terror. Her sister went cautiously for the door.

  Wanting to head off whoever it was at the pass, Ginny tugged off her chef’s coat before deciding to follow. She needed to make sure Julia could convince the emergency responders it was only a false alarm. There was no need for anyone to come inside. Rounding the corner, she arrived in the entryway just as the front door was jerked open.

  Stopping, she blinked.

  It was not the authorities after all. There weren’t any men in EMT outfits or a vehicle parked out front with flashing red lights. No badges or buzzing two-way radios.

  Instead, standing in the doorway was a smartly dressed man with a weary expression. He was at once a welcome sight and out of place.

  “Who is it?” Ginny skittered forward, her brain ping-ponging between the crisis in the other room, the half-cooked ingredients in the kitchen, and the stranger at the door.

  The strong pull of curiosity drew her closer. She couldn’t quite make out his face, but the man seemed to know Julia by the way he stepped in, his hands instantly at her waist, and brushed his lips against her cheek. Ginny stopped and cocked her head.

  Julia, one hand propping the door ajar, remained stiff. She murmured something that sounded like a question, but Ginny, a few feet away, couldn’t quite decipher it.

  “Julia?” Ginny frowned. “Who’s this?”

  At that instant, Shane
also appeared in the foyer. A troubled look clouded his features. “Everything okay, ladies?” He came up between the women. “Julia? Need any help?”

  Ginny caught Julia tense ever so slightly. Her glance darted to Shane. She felt sorry for him. She supposed he felt partially responsible for bringing a guest who’d created so much commotion. His tone was one of genuine concern, but Julia had become awkward in his presence.

  “Julia?” Ginny asked.

  “Yes, everything’s fine.” Julia’s voice hitched, her back still to them. Hesitantly, she stepped aside to fully reveal the man in front of her. “Ginny, this is James. My fiancé.”

  All three of them stopped and stared.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  JULIA

  The entryway filled with one giant, uncomfortable pause. Julia reassured everyone it wasn’t emergency responders but her fiancé, who’d flown all the way from the East Coast to surprise her. She tried to present his sudden appearance as a grand romantic gesture, but she didn’t think she was convincing.

  “Hi there. James Townsend. A pleasure to meet you.” James stepped over the threshold and jutted out his right hand. He fixed his gaze on Shane, who took his outstretched hand dumbly. James’s voice was deep. “Sorry to barge in. I didn’t realize Julia would have company.”

  “Oh, hi there. Nice to meet you too,” Shane said, a crooked grin of uncertainty spread over his face.

  James planted himself in her sister’s doorway, still dressed in his work clothes, with a small overnight bag at his feet. Clearly, he didn’t plan on staying long.

  Julia swallowed back a new seed of dread.

  “And you are . . . ?” James’s brow arched, his response suspicious. He gave Shane a curious once-over.