He was in his battlefield commander mode today, and she excused him for his rude greeting. She knew by now that he didn’t really mean it. Dealing with a rush like this shorthanded was bound to make anyone anxious.
“Visiting a patient. I told you I had to make a call this morning. And I’m here now, so calm down a little, please? Take a breath or two. Remember?”
She had taught him some stress-reduction techniques to help him feel calmer. But he never remembered to use them when the time came.
“Right, right . . . sorry, I forgot. Deep breaths.” He nodded and pantomimed deep breathing. “Meanwhile, please get your apron on? The plates are backed up at the window like rush hour on I-95.”
Lucy headed to the kitchen. “I can only stay an hour or two,” she reminded him, though he didn’t seem to hear her.
“More coffee at table three,” he called back as he swooped around the room, delivering dishes of eggs and hash browns and platters of the pancake special.
Lucy slipped behind the crowded counter, where Tucker sat sipping his coffee. “Charlie was right,” he said. “The movie crew has put us on the map. The town is crawling with celebrity hounds.”
“You were right, Tucker. Who needs all these people? It’s a madhouse in here. You should see Willoughby’s. There’s a line out the door. Don’t tell Charlie, but it looks like we only got the overflow.”
Tucker chuckled. “Why burst his balloon? He hasn’t been this happy since he beat Emily Warwick in the last election.”
Lucy had to agree with that observation. Charlie had made a few runs at it and had finally won the mayor’s seat. You had to give Charlie a gold medal for persistence. No one could deny that.
“Lucy? Cut the chitchat, please. I need some backup, honey.”
Lucy rolled her eyes as Tucker offered a knowing smile. She pushed through the kitchen doors and shed her coat and scarf, then wrapped a blue Clam Box apron over the white top and pants she wore for nursing visits. It was not the first time she was struck by the irony that she’d traded one uniform for another. Traded up, she reminded herself.
But here she was this morning. The diner’s devoted full-time waitress Trudy had called Charlie last night with the news that she was knocked off her feet with a bad cold. He’d been perfectly sympathetic on the phone—for Charlie—but had unraveled shortly after that as he checked with all the employees on his backup list.
Lucy had been working on her patient files and barely peeked up from the laptop screen. But she had overheard the calls and knew he would get to her in the end.
It was hard to refuse him. The diner was the mainstay of the family’s income. She had always felt it was both right and fair to contribute if she could. Even their boys worked there in the summer and on school vacations, though it didn’t seem likely that either would take over when—or if—Charlie retired. Not the way Charlie had happily taken the helm of the Clam Box from his father, Otto, long ago.
It happened that she did have a few hours free in her schedule today. One of her patients had taken a bad turn and been readmitted to the hospital, and another had received an all-clear from her doctor and no longer required Lucy’s visits. The main office would fill the space soon, but she hadn’t been assigned any new patients yet.
The thought had occurred to her that Charlie would not be any the wiser if she claimed she had no time free. But she couldn’t do that to him. She agreed to rearrange her appointments and come in during the morning rush, which had made him so happy and relieved, he hugged her. “You’re the best, Lu. I can always count on you, honey. When things settle down, we’ll go out for a nice dinner. You pick the spot. Anywhere you want,” he promised.
“You didn’t forget our anniversary or my birthday,” Lucy mused with a laugh. “If that’s what you’re worried about?”
He looked hurt by her suggestion. “Of course I didn’t. I know that. But, now that you mention it, maybe this time can count as sort of a spare tire, in case I do.”
He winked, and she had to laugh again as she turned back to her work. That was typical Charlie logic if ever she’d heard it. She’d heard that “night out” offer before, too, and wondered if they would follow through this time.
Either way, it was nice of him to say. Charlie had his faults, but didn’t everyone? He had a good heart, and underneath his bluster and impatience, he was a genuinely kind man with a soft side that he hid well.
Life with Charlie was never boring. No matter how unreasonable he could be, she always knew he loved fiercely—his family, his business, his hometown, and her. Once Charlie had made up his mind that she was the one for him, he’d gone the distance to win her heart. He didn’t care who knew it. She still had to admire that quality, when so many people she had known in her life had not been nearly as consistent or dependable. For better or worse, you always knew where you stood with Charlie. That was saying something.
But this morning, as Lucy fastened the apron strings around her slim waist, she didn’t feel quite as generous toward her husband. She was, in fact, wondering why she’d agreed to come in. He had known for months that the diner would be overflowing with customers when the film crew came. He should have hired extra help, the way he did in the summer. Not expect her to drop everything and wait tables.
“Hey, Lucy.” Tim the cook took a second from his work at the stove to greet her. “I’d say ‘order up,’ but I can barely fit another dish up there. I’m leaving these pancakes for table five here in the kitchen.”
“No worries, I’m on it.” Out at the pass-through window, she checked the order slips against the dishes and arranged as many as she could safely carry on a big round tray.
She knew the diner so well, she swiftly swept through the room, setting down plates in front of grateful customers with flawless accuracy.
“Here you go, cheese omelet with wheat toast. Oatmeal with bananas and raisins. Here’s the OJ. More coffee on the way,” she promised, moving gracefully to the next table.
A few minutes later, the window was cleared, and all the tables were caught up with coffee and ice water. Lucy slipped behind the counter and began tallying up checks.
“Seems to be slowing down,” Charlie said to Tucker. The police officer had just finished his breakfast and looked ready to go. “Though I expect a second wave. Someone said they just took a break filming at Lilac Hall. That’s when the fans run into town for a bite.”
Lucy hadn’t seen many familiar faces in the diner this morning, except for Reverend Ben, having breakfast with two ladies from church, Vera Plante and Sophie Potter.
“You’d think people would have better things to do than chase around after movie stars,” Charlie marveled. “Don’t these folks have to be at work?” Lucy had wondered about that, too. There were a lot of seniors, but still, some people must have taken vacation days for the adventure.
Tucker shook his head. “The diner is getting a lot of business from the situation. That’s good.”
“Wait till the stars stop by. You’ll see lines out the door with people waiting to brush shoulders or even breathe the same air.”
Tucker placed his hat squarely on his head and made sure it was settled just right. “Don’t the actors eat on the movie set? Isn’t that why they hire someone to bring in the food?”
Whoops, that was a sore point. Charlie had wanted to cater, but Molly Willoughby had won the job. Tucker must have forgotten. Lucy filled an urn with fresh coffee, preparing to make a refill run through the room.
“They’ll be sick of Willoughby’s food in a week,” Charlie predicted. “How many arugula and goat cheese wraps can a person eat? Even Hollywood people can only stand so much of that frou-frou food before they’re craving a burger and fries or a bowl of chowder. Or good old bacon and eggs? Sooner or later, even an actor wants good, honest food, Clam Box food. I know they will.”
Tucker offered his ever-tolerant smile. Then Lucy
saw his eyes bug out and his mouth drop open in a fishlike expression.
She followed his gaze to the door, where the bell above was still jingling. A customer had just walked in. He paused and looked around. He wore a black baseball hat, sunglasses, and a battered, aviator-style dark brown leather jacket that Lucy knew cost extra for the vintage distressed look.
She bit down on her lip and heard the blood pound in her ears. The clatter of customers melted away. She had no sense of her surroundings, or even of time passing, as she watched the man pull off his cap and run a hand through a head of thick brown hair threaded with gray.
That is not a toupee, she nearly shouted at Tucker. Or a weave either.
Their eyes met, and he smiled, very slightly. Or maybe she was imagining that? Lucy wasn’t sure. She did know she felt the room spin. She looked down at the floor and gripped the edge of the counter.
No one seemed to notice. Customers were jumping up from their seats. “Look who just came in—Craig Hamilton!”
“Right there. Look, it’s him, Hamilton,” someone else shouted out.
Charlie stood frozen in shock at the sight, then nearly knocked her over as he ran to greet their honored guest. Lucy fled in the other direction, pushing through the kitchen doors.
She found Tim and the rest of the kitchen staff lined up at the pass-through window, gawking at the movie star. She ran into the restroom and splashed her face with cold water, then nearly screamed at her reflection in the tiny mirror.
“Of all the days. Why here? Why now? Mother of pearl, look at me. I knew this would happen. I just knew it. Why in heaven’s name did I ever come here today?”
She ran a comb through her hair and clipped it up again, at the back of her head, then dashed on a bit of lipstick. She tossed the tube back into her purse. There was nothing in her handbag likely to make her look thirty years younger, that was for sure.
She pulled on her coat, then picked up her purse and briefcase. Charlie was going to scream when he caught sight of her leaving, but she was just going to have to weather his reaction. At least she would be going out looking a bit better and more professional than she had when Craig Hamilton walked in.
Lucy peeked out through the tiny window in the swinging door. Most of the diners were crowded around a front table. She could see Charlie there as well but couldn’t pick out the actor.
He was being mobbed by admirers. Well, almost mobbed. That will teach him to come in here. Assuming he didn’t like that sort of thing. Maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he’d come in the first place, seeking the attention of his adoring fans?
She certainly wasn’t going to stop to ask and was thankful for the cover. She took a breath, steeled herself, and stepped out, heading for the door with long, fast strides.
She almost made it, too. Until Charlie caught sight of her. “Lucy! For pity’s sake, where are you going?”
Lucy pulled open the door and called back over her shoulder, “I’m not a waitress, Charlie. I’m a registered nurse. I’ve got patients to take care of. You know that.”
She only caught a glimpse of Charlie’s expression. He looked miffed but was struggling to control his temper in front of his honored guest. She just hoped that the honored guest had heard her parting words. It was impossible to say.
She could barely see the top of his head. His fans clustered around three deep, holding out menus and place mats, and even copies of his autobiography, for him to sign.
“Now, now, don’t crowd the man. Step back, please. Give him some air.” Charlie waved his hands as if directing traffic. “Tucker? A little help here?”
As Tucker ran over, Lucy made her escape, daring one last backward glance. The autograph seekers blocked Craig from her sight—and her from his sight as well, she realized. A small mercy, she thought, as she ran out the door and down the street to her car.
She reached into her tote for her keys and realized that her hands were shaking. When she finally pulled the key ring out, it clattered to the sidewalk.
She bent to retrieve it, but another hand was there first, a man’s hand. It held the keys out to her. She saw dark shoes and suit pants—and felt terrified to lift her gaze.
“Lucy? Are you all right?” Reverend Ben asked quietly.
Lucy sighed with relief at the sound of the familiar voice. “I’m fine. Just in a rush.” She forced a smile. “I promised Charlie I’d help out this morning. He’s so shorthanded. But I just remembered I need to see a patient all the way out in Rockport.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. She did have an appointment in Rockport, but not until much later that afternoon. She braced herself, wondering if she’d be struck by lightning right in the middle of Main Street for fibbing to a minister.
Reverend Ben smiled but watched her curiously. She could tell he wasn’t fooled by her flimsy excuse. “Drive carefully. It would be a hardship all over town to have our best nurse on the sidelines right now,” he said kindly.
“Thanks, Reverend. I will,” she promised. He did have a point. She was so distracted and addlepated. She needed to calm herself for a minute before she got behind the wheel.
“And if there’s anything else on your mind—or anything you’d like to chat about—you know my door is always open,” he added.
She knew that was true. Lucy had sought his wise counsel many times when she felt stuck, was facing a hard decision, or was trying to solve a seemingly insolvable problem. Reverend Ben had helped her, and helped Charlie, too—if he’d ever admit it—to sort out their stalemates about Lucy pursuing her college degree. Or adopting their daughter, Zoey, a runaway teen they had taken in one cold, snowy night.
Reverend Ben never told her what to do. He did help you ask the right questions in your mind and heart and find your true feelings so you came to your own solution. One that always made you feel as if you had known the answer all along but had just been unable to see it. And he did advise you to pray about your problems, to talk things out with God and ask for His help. Which Lucy often did, not just about problems but about situations in her life that made her feel happy and grateful.
The wise, caring minister could not help with this one, she knew. It was hers and hers alone to navigate.
“I’ll remember, Reverend. If something comes up, I mean. Enjoy your day,” she added.
“You as well, Lucy.” He nodded and headed toward the village green and the old stone church. Lucy slipped behind the wheel, feeling uneasy and nearly found out.
She had always imagined that if she saw Craig again, she would be much cooler and calmer. Not running like a scared rabbit. But here she was, shivering. Or just about.
Fran had been right, as much as Lucy hated to admit it. If Craig Hamilton meant so little to her, if she was really totally over it, how could she have reacted the way she just did?
She still had feelings for him—whatever they were: anger, disillusionment, regret? But that still doesn’t mean I need, or want, to talk to him.
The words echoed in her head, as if she were silently arguing with someone. Like Fran, she thought.
Maybe she was ashamed? Embarrassed that after all this time, Craig Hamilton could find her right where he’d left her? After all their big plans. Plans that he had carried through on, and so successfully. He probably thinks he ruined my life, she reflected. Even though it isn’t true. Not one bit.
Lucy knew that she alone had made her choices and she alone was responsible for them, for better or worse. By and large, she was happy and grateful for the life she’d made with Charlie. She didn’t have anything to prove to anyone. Even Craig Hamilton. Though part of her still felt as if she did. A small part that niggled at her.
She wished he had never come here and stirred up all these feelings, all these memories. It didn’t seem fair. But life wasn’t always fair. Reverend Ben’s appearance did remind her that life’s speed bumps and detours happe
n for a reason, though that reason is rarely clear at the time.
Lucy started up the car and headed toward the slow route to Rockport. She would take her time and pick up some supplies on the way. If she arrived early for the appointment, she would have a cup of tea and walk on the dock with all the art stalls. The long drive would calm her, too, and would provide the perfect time to have a talk with God about the situation.
I wish I knew why you’ve thrown Craig Hamilton in my path after all this time, she silently prayed. I don’t have a clue what to do about it. Or what you’re trying to tell me. If there’s something you want me to do about this, God, could you please make it a little more obvious?
* * *
* * *
Joe knocked on Lauren’s office door, then walked in. He was carrying a file in one hand and looked excited about something. But not in a good way. Lauren put down the document she’d been reviewing. “What’s up?”
“Didn’t McGuire tell you he’s a client of Perry, Cook and Doyle?”
Lauren recognized the name of one of Boston’s oldest and most prestigious law firms. But she couldn’t quite put those names together with Cole McGuire.
“He certainly did not. I think I would have remembered that.”
“It must have slipped his mind. Or he was playing games with you, big-time. Lawrence Perry just called me. Lawrence Perry, personally,” he repeated.
Lauren knew what that meant to Joe. He couldn’t have been more impressed if he’d been contacted by the head of the CIA.
“He sure slapped us down.” For once, Joe’s good spirits failed him.
Was he blaming her for this gaffe? Did he think she’d somehow missed this important information?
“Joe, take my word for it, McGuire couldn’t afford five minutes with Perry’s outer-office receptionist. Someone must be doing the guy a favor. A friend of a friend of a brother-in-law’s cousin’s college roommate’s father type of connection?”
Joe blinked, trying to follow her convoluted explanation. “I get the point. Nonetheless, somewhere along those six degrees of separation, McGuire is connected. Perry made me feel like a fool for putting forward this complaint.”
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