by Jacie Floyd
Miss Cora’s fried corn? Check. Broccoli casserole? Absolutely. Twenty-four-hour salad? It had canned pineapple, mini-marshmallows, and maraschino cherries in it, for heaven’s sake, but who didn’t love it? Fannie’s acclaimed pot-roast, Tara’s cornbread dressing, and so much more. Comfort foods that lived up to the name.
Not to mention the desserts! Peach cobbler, sour cream pound cake, coconut cream pie, and chocolate layer cake! All homemade and decadent enough to roll around in on the new travertine floor. If she had a suitable partner for sexual escapades. Which she didn’t, no matter how often Liam’s image came to mind.
She’d been too lazy, depressed, and stressed-out to do anything more complicated than reheating, but she missed her own cooking. Like an athlete needing to train, a chef needed practice to keep their skills sharp and their creative juices flowing.
And her body was on carb-overload. She craved a dish that didn’t ooze cheese, cream, cream cheese, sour cream, or Crisco. And she was itching to put her dad’s new kitchen to the test. Practically every kind of upscale pan, utensil, or appliance she’d ever coveted now occupied a place in the kitchen of a man who wouldn’t operate anything more complicated than the microwave.
Even after Mick’s explanation about the remodel, in her heart, she believed her father had it done to entice her to come home. And cooking would be a better activity than eating, according to the too-snug waistband of her jeans. Plus, cooking was a good way to sublimate her worries, and all that.
Because thoughts of her father, of his financial mess, and his most recent business partner had her brain whirling and her eyes wide open. At two a.m. on Saturday night, she hauled out of bed and made six batches of salted caramels. But that exercise had required only ingredients she had on hand and the limited amount of concentration she was able to give.
Before giving her creativity a free hand, she needed to eliminate the remaining bereavement food. Rachel showed up on Sunday morning as Jillian was cleaning out the refrigerator. Her friend offered to lend a hand and get the empty dishes back to their appropriate owners.
“You don’t have to do this today.” Rachel dumped the dregs of the green bean casserole into the disposal.
“I do.” A final dab of potato salad was the next item to go. “I need room in the fridge, so I can cook for you guys tonight.”
Rachel stopped in the act of reaching for another plastic container. “We’re going to Murphy’s for pizza, remember? It’s already set up.”
Jillian shook her head. “We can order the pizza from Murphy’s, but I want to eat here. It’ll be like old times. I’ll make salad and appetizers.”
“That’s not necessary. You cook for people all the time. We want you to relax while you’re here.”
“I like cooking for people. And I’ll be more relaxed if we come here instead of going out.” Might as well admit the real reason. “I’d feel really awkward if we were at Murphy’s, and Liam came in. Everyone would be pointing and staring, judging us, and whispering behind our backs.”
“Why would they do that?” Rachel waited through an awkward pause that Jillian wouldn’t break. “You’re making too big a deal out of an old scandal.”
“I’d prefer a private meal with just you guys. The old gang that I knew best. Minus Liam.” Scrubbing the rim of a crusty casserole held her attention until she couldn’t refrain from asking. “He won’t be here, will he?”
“Probably not. He steers clear of us most of the time. He hangs out with Zach and Josh sometimes. And Jimbo, but they’re cousins. Grady seems to get along with him fine when he’s around, but if the crowd gets any bigger than that, Liam disappears.”
Good. Relief whooshed through her. Tinged with disappointment. Damn. “How many others should I expect?”
“Zach and his fiancée, Harper.” Jillian grabbed a dish towel to dry the bowls stacked in the drainer. “I really like her, but she’s a vegetarian. You’d have to make sure there’s something she could eat.”
“I can handle that.” Many of her restaurant dishes were vegetarian.
“Josh and Susannah.”
“I always hoped they’d get back together. Is your Dad tickled about that?”
Rachel flashed a rueful smile. “He’d be more tickled if they got married and had babies, but they don’t seem in any rush.”
“So, that’s two of the three over-achieving Novak doctors hooked-up and accounted for. Are you seeing someone?”
“No.” An emotion that resembled frustration moved behind her eyes. “I date sometimes, but there’s a pretty limited pool of guys. Most of the unattached ones are too much like brothers to me. They used to hang around the house with my actual brothers. It’s hard to be romantic about someone you’ve seen, heard, or smelled in a farting contest.” Rachel held her nose and laughed.
“Surely that was a long time ago.”
“Not as long as you might think. But pubescent and teenage boys are the grossest humans on the face of the earth. That’s an expert opinion based on empirical evidence as a child development specialist. I’m not sure how old boys are before they grow out of the ‘farting is hilarious’ stage. If they grow out of it. I considered doing my doctoral thesis on the subject.”
Jillian laughed. “And I guess your fancy degree intimidates the local males.”
“Oh, please.” Rachel swirled limp broccoli down the disposal and grimaced. “If anything, it generates pity. Like I went for my doctorate while waiting for someone to sweep me off my feet.” She set the bowl down, leaned against the counter, and crossed her arms. “And maybe I did.”
“What?” Interesting. Was she referring to Grady? Rachel shut off the water to further the conversation. “You were waiting for one of the local guys to notice you? Who?”
“Not waiting for one of them specifically but waiting for the right guy to come along.”
“And getting your doctorate was just a by-product?”
“I would’ve done that, regardless, but now that I’m almost thirty, single, childless, and living in Sunnyside, I’m second-guessing my choices.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Aren’t we all?”
“Not you. You have a fabulous career in the world’s largest dating pool.”
“I’m stuck in a kitchen twelve-hours-a-day. There’s usually an executive chef who thinks he’s God’s gift to humanity, a passive-aggressive line chef, a sous chef looking for a mentor, a gay pastry chef, a sadistic restaurant manager, and they’re all chauvinists. That leaves out-of-work-actors slash waiters, flirtatious or philosophical under-achieving bartenders, and scruffy dishwashers. It’s not a great selection.”
“Stereotype, much?” Rachel asked.
Jillian rolled her eyes. “They’re stereotypes because they’re true.”
“Maybe so, but you still have more choices than I have.”
“How is that possible? Look at you! More gorgeous than ever, smart, well-educated, independent. Come visit me in New York, and I’ll fix you up with all the guys you could ever hope to meet.” But then another idea popped into her head. “How about a successful accountant? Seriously. My roommate’s available, and he’s pretty cute.”
“Then why aren’t you with him?”
They’d tried that, but strictly as a rebound thing. The sex was comfortable and sweet, not compelling and hot. But she wasn’t going to share that info with Rachel. “We work better as friends.”
“New York’s a hella commute from here.”
“You said you were rethinking Sunnyside.”
“I might want to start smaller than New York, though. Like Springfield. Or Indianapolis.”
“Fine. I’ll keep my eye out for someone closer to home.”
Rachel scanned the contents of the fridge. “We’re about done here. What else can I do to help?”
“Finish running through the guest list while I dry these. I don’t want somebody showing up that I don’t recognize because they’ve lost all their hair or gained fifty pounds since high school.”
“Kate Monroe will be here. She’s still… single.”
Jillian frowned. Kate’s name brought up a lot of sad memories. In that inter-connected, overlapping way of small towns, Kate was the sister of a good friend who had died in a tragic accident during Jillian’s senior year. And Kate had problems of her own. “Still hiding her sexual orientation? Dad said she doesn’t openly admit to being gay.”
“Your dad said that? It isn’t a very good secret, if even he knew about it.”
“It’s hard to have a secret in Sunnyside.” Jillian ducked into the storage cupboard to locate a tub to stack the empty potluck dishes in. “Who else will be here?”
With a too-casual tone, Rachel offered, “Grady, of course. You’ve already talked to him.”
“Is that awkward? I thought I sensed some tension between you.”
Rachel turned away to stack the empty dishes. “No tension. I’m hardly even aware when he’s around. And he never notices me. So, we’re good.”
That hadn’t been Jillian’s impression. “Is he seeing someone?”
The usually calm and unflappable woman looked up abruptly at the question. “No! I don’t think so. Maybe someone in St. Louis. But he hasn’t mentioned it, and neither has his mother. Why?”
“No reason.” She waited a beat. “But he’s super-hot.”
“Are we reverting to tenth grade now?”
“Of course not! If we were, Grady would be your boyfriend, and I’d never poach on another woman’s man. But if you’re not into him anymore, and he’s agreeable, he might be fun to go out with while I’m in town.”
“He’s going back to St. Louis tomorrow,” Rachel pointed out.
“True, but how often does he come back to Sunnyside?”
“Not often. Maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas. Will you still be here then?”
God, she hoped not. “I don’t know. There’s more to take care of than I expected. Who else will be here tonight?”
“Junie and Doug are married.” Rachel waggled her hand back and forth. “They’re a little rocky, but they’ll be here. And Jimbo and Tina. And you should know that Scottie Flynn will probably show up.”
Jillian wrinkled her nose. “Why? No offense if you’re friends with him now, but none of us liked him in high school.”
“He’s not so bad, and there aren’t many people our age around. He got absorbed into the group when he started dating Natalie Zimmer.”
“Natalie and Scottie? They’re an odd couple. I noticed them together at the wake but didn’t realize they were a thing.” Not that Jillian had any real enemies, but if she did, Natalie would have been on the list, dating back to the way the girl had treated Kate’s brother, Tyler, on the ill-fated night that changed a lot of lives.
Besides that, the little twit had always had the hots for Liam, even though she knew he was all Jillian’s.
But Liam was available now, and Natalie was with Scottie. That made no sense. Maybe she disapproved of Liam’s notoriety. And maybe there were factors Jillian knew nothing about. She shouldn’t be too quick to judge. “Well, good for them. I’m sure they make the perfect couple.”
Rachel laughed. “I’m sure you don’t think so. Even she thinks she could do better, I hear, but when she moved back from Omaha last year, there weren’t many choices. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d made a move on Liam, but if she did, I never heard about it.”
“How does Kate feel about having Natalie around? That’s got to stir up some resentment.”
“They don’t meet face-to-face very often. That could make for an unpleasant moment tonight.”
So many old allegiances and new alliances for Jillian to keep track of, but some friendships remained rock solid. “I wish Maddie could be here.” The get-together wouldn’t be complete without Jillian’s very-best-friend since kindergarten. “I hate that she’s so sick.”
“Me, too. She was sorry to miss your dad’s funeral, but her mom said she was having her last chemo session that same day.”
“I’m planning to get over to St. Louis to see her before I go back. Hey, maybe I could get together with Grady, too.”
“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Her friend’s voice sounded a little too tight to be genuine.
Moving over to a cappuccino machine on the counter, she changed the subject. “Have you used this yet? It looks complicated.”
“I haven’t, but I’ve used a similar one. Do you want me to crank it up? I’ve been wondering why Dad even bought something this fancy. He liked his coffee strong and black, but he mostly drank it at the diner, not at home.” She flipped the lid and peered inside. “There’s residue in the carafe, so he must have used it at least once.” Maybe the girlfriend was the cappuccino drinker. Whoever she was. Liam’s comment kept eating at her. Maybe Rachel knew something about it. “Do you know if Dad was seeing anyone?”
“Here in Sunnyside? Unlikely. Who would it be?” Rachel tilted her head with her index finger on her chin in a thinking pose. “Cora?”
Laughing, Jillian tried to imagine her handsome father with the town’s crazy cat lady. “Too old.”
“Lenore?”
“Too grumpy.” The optimistic man she knew would never be involved with someone so difficult.
“Barb?”
The woman’s sorrow the night of the wake came to mind. Possible, but she didn’t see them being a good fit. “Too bossy.”
Rachel threw her hands in the air in surrender. “What makes you think he was seeing someone?”
“A couple of random indications. Some feminine toiletries in his bathroom. And now this fancy cappuccino machine.” She shook her head. “Bills for a vacation he took last year to St. Croix. He wouldn’t have gone alone, but he didn’t mention it to me, or invite me to go along.”
Rachel retreated into thinking mode again. “He’d gotten pretty reclusive the last year or so. Dad thought he was worried about Sunnyside’s gloomy financial picture. But your dad still hosted their regular poker nights here, and they’d meet up for breakfast at the diner about once a week. If you want to know, I’ll ask around.”
Did she want to know? She wasn’t sure. “I don’t understand the change in his behavior. Unless he’d been sick or something. I keep meaning to ask Zach about that, but he’s been pretty busy.”
Her friend continued to speculate. “A new romance would explain new behaviors, but why keep it a secret? Unless it was someone married or unsuitable or something.”
Like one of the strippers? Which might be why Liam would know about it when others didn’t. “If that’s the case, maybe I wouldn’t want to know. I’ve got bigger concerns than that right now anyway.”
“Like a houseful of people coming over in about eight hours?” Rachel suggested. “I’m still not sure that’s a good idea. The whole town was here on Thursday. You don’t need to entertain us again.”
“Presiding over a wake isn’t the true definition of entertaining.”
“Tell you what.” Her friend’s eyes lit up. “I bought and renovated a house down the street from my dad. I’d love for you to see it, and I think I can squeeze everyone in there.”
“Owning your own house makes you sound so grown-up. I’d love to see it! But we—I mean, I have so much room here, and honestly, I want to fill the house with new memories instead of feeling like every time I turn a corner, Dad’s going to be sitting there, reading, watching TV, or hatching a new idea.”
Abandoning the argument, Rachel rolled her eyes and hugged Jillian. “If that’s what you want, I’ll arrange it. But we’ll bring pizza from Murphy’s. Just like the old days, except this time we can legally drink beer or wine.”
“I’ll raid Dad’s wine cellar, make salad, and throw together some appetizers.”
“Nothing New-York fancy, right?” Preparing to leave, Rachel slipped into her coat. “Promise me. Just a tossed salad, chips and dip for old friends.”
“I promise!”
Aware she’d made a promise she wouldn’t k
eep, she realized that making anything more involved than Pops-tarts required a trip to the grocery. With too little time to go to Springfield, she dashed over to the local mom-and-Pops market in a ponytail, yoga pants, and a sweatshirt, hoping to get in and out unnoticed. But this was Sunnyside. So, fat chance.
“Well, look, who’s here!” she heard as she poked through the shoe-box sized produce section looking for a lettuce more interesting than iceberg. “The mister and I were just saying this morning that no one’s heard a peep from you since Friday when you were at Mick’s office. Although someone did say you went out to the old barn after that.”
“Hello, Mrs. Butler. Good to see you.” She hoped her focus on some limp romaine would dissuade the grocer’s nosey wife from a lengthy interrogation.
“What have you been up to these last few days?”
“Just sorting through things at the house, going over some paperwork, you know. Keeping busy.” She spotted a bag of spinach and reached for it.
“It’s a sad time for you.” Flabby arms crossed Mrs. Butler’s ample chest. Rolls of jowls rippled as she bobbed her head in sympathy. “I’m sure there’s a lot to do.”
With slim pickings for salad here in November, Jillian located a couple of ripe avocados, which gave her an idea for one of her favorite dishes. “Do you stock quinoa?”
“Sure do. Over in aisle two.” Mrs. Butler tweaked a row of bananas. “That new librarian asked me to carry it. She’s from Chicago, engaged to Zach, you know. And she’s a vegetarian.” The store owner twisted her mouth over the word like it was sour milk. “Likes all kinds of crazy stuff.”
“I wouldn’t call quinoa crazy.”
Mrs. Butler waved the objection away. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.” Jillian knew precisely what the gossipy woman meant.
“Are you looking into the sorry state of Bert’s businesses yet? I heard there wasn’t gonna be much left for you to inherit.”