Chapter Forty-Eight
Whispering Pines, August 2013
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
Sometimes, I feel like I live in an f-ing soap opera. Seriously, what’s going on around here?
Remember that fight I got into with Cara last week? Well, I didn’t tell you this, but part it was because she said she kinda had a thing for Sam. WTF? Apparently, last summer he tried to get with her, and she turned him down. (Hello! She was engaged!) He’s supposedly stepped up his game and started buying her presents. I don’t know what, but I’m sure it was something stupid. Probably a heart necklace or a stuffed animal or a scented candle because that’s the kind of crap most idiots think all girls like.
So now, for some reason, she likes this guy, and he once again proved what a jerk he is. Last Sunday night, we were all sitting around the staff house playing a game, and he took advantage of the moment to force Cara to talk about Phil’s death. I don’t know what his end goal was, but she cried herself to sleep. See what I mean when I say she needs to stay away from him? She doesn’t need anyone dredging that crap up.
She’s been in a pretty pissed off mood for days because of it, too. Not that I want to complain about her, but we do share a room, and she’s been slamming things around and she knocked your picture off my nightstand. (Don’t worry, the glass in the frame didn’t break.)
That asshole chef has really gotten to her. I think next time he goes to the farmer’s market on the mainland, I’m going to call down to the ferry and arrange an overboard accident.
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
Ok, seriously, that was a joke. The ferry brothers have never thrown anyone overboard on purpose except for maybe one time a couple of years ago, and that was not at my instigation. And I wouldn’t tell them to do it to our chef—who would handle the dinner service?
And also, you, sir, are taking the wrong side in this argument.
I know I said she needs to get over Phil and under someone else, but I meant . . . someone else.
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
Look, I’ve always been on Team Cara. Always. She’s always been my best friend. I told you what it was like growing up, right? How my brothers were twins, and my sisters were twins, and I was the only singleton? I didn’t feel so lonely when Cara was around—she was my other half. And yes, I was jealous sometimes. She spent two years in Venezuela and had a best friend down there (and also, she became super pretentious and when she came to visit for Christmas she kept doing this thing where she’d say stuff in Spanish and then be all, ‘oh, Amy, I’m so sorry. I forgot you’re monolingual. I’m just so used to speaking Spanish all the time.’ Plus, she spent a couple of years here on the island and became best friends with Matteo. I was admittedly a teensy-weensy bit jealous, but over the location, not the friendship. I can share, really. That’s not the issue here.
My problem is she’s just come out of long relationship that was serious enough she was willing to get engaged, and her fiancé committed suicide right after she dumped him. She blames herself, and she probably always will. She feels sad and guilty, and that makes her vulnerable. And when she’s vulnerable, she needs someone to look out for her best interests. Hello, that’s my job.
Email from Amy O’Connell to Fabio Basile:
That’s my point. Your exact description of her: ‘quiet and sweet’. That’s not Cara. The real Cara is opinionated and feisty and adventurous. She’s exactly like me, but with less dramatic flair. I can only take credit for half of the crazy things we’ve done. The other half has been all her.
She used to travel and make art and have dreams. Now she gets up, goes to work, and goes to bed (or goes to Matteo’s and gets blackout drunk, which is also not like her). She works all the time, and even when she isn’t on the clock, she hangs out behind the reception desk with me (and yes, does more work). I feel like she’s trying to hide out. She’s trying to fill her days with something meaningless so she doesn’t have to think about anything real.
It is true though, that she’s getting a little better since we’ve been back here. I saw her with some pencils the other day, so I think she’s drawing again. I’m happy she’s finally reached a place in her healing process that she can find her art. It’s fantastic that she’s finally back to doing something she loves, but her recovery is fragile. I don’t want some jackass to cause her to have setbacks.
I want to see her be herself again, the way she used to be, before she ever met that asshole Phil. And the way to get Cara back isn’t through letting her retreat into her depressed self anymore, and it certainly isn’t through losing her to some stupid chef who will bang anyone with a pulse. She deserves better.
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Did you see this name on the reservation list?” Cara asked, pointing.
Amy shrugged. “Yeah, so? I don’t know them. Do you?”
“I think it could be Sam’s parents. Vervaine isn’t that common of a name, is it?” Cara tried to remember if Sam ever told her his parents’ first names, but she couldn’t think of them. But why would they come here? Sam said they didn’t speak anymore, though he also told people they were dead, so who knew the truth?
“Really? I always assumed his father would’ve been named Samuel. Isn’t he a junior?” Amy sounded mildly interested, but only mildly. She was busy trying to set the typeface for the next night’s menu and complaining that it didn’t look right.
“No.”
“Well, he acts like it. Damn it, now the spacing is off. Why can’t you let me buy some new software?”
“Acts like a junior? I have no idea what that means.”
Amy sighed. “Authorize the purchase of a new graphic design program, and I’ll explain.”
“Seriously, Amy?”
“It means he acts like someone who grew up in the shadow of someone else, and he is perceived to have a number of shortcomings. He is always trying to prove himself and get people to like him. A perpetual junior. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”
Cara thought for a moment. “Are you taking psychology classes somewhere? Because that’s a rather apt description. I always thought of it as little brother syndrome, but you’re right, it works for juniors. But I don’t think he is one anyway.”
“Here, I’ll settle this.” Amy grabbed one of the radios. “Desk to Sam. Sammy, you out there?”
His voice came back answering in the affirmative.
“Sam, are your parents named Samuel and Samuela?”
“Ummm . . . what? No. Is Samuela even a real name?”
“You should have said Samantha,” Cara told her, laughing.
Amy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that would have been better.” She hit the radio button again. “How about William and Linda?”
“I’m in the middle of inventorying the freezers, Amy. Stop harassing me.” Sam sounded annoyed. “Yes, those are their names. Leave me alone.”
Amy turned to Cara. “How long do you give him? Five minutes?”
“Two.”
Cara was right. It only took two minutes before Sam was back on the radio. “Hey, Amy, wait, what’s going on? How did you know their names? Seriously, how’d you guess?”
“They’ll be here tomorrow, Sammy. On the eleven o’clock ferry. Want to pick them up?”
....................
Sam felt ill. He lay awake listening to his roommate’s soft breathing and wishing he were anywhere but here. His parents were coming. His parents were coming here, to his quiet island. He would have to introduce them to his friends and see the pity or contempt in his friends’ eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. When he cut off all contact, he meant for the severance to be permanent.
After the awful, terrifying, nauseating radio call from Amy, Sam had rushed back to the staff house to phone his brother. “Our parents are coming here. Why are they coming?” he shouted as soon as Nathan answered.
“Sam?” Nathan asked, as if anyone else
would call with that question, that fear. “Is that you, bro?”
“Of course it’s me! I just found out Mom and Dad have reservations at my inn. They’re going to be here tomorrow! Did you know about this?”
“No, no way. If I had known, I would’ve warned you and maybe sent you a plane ticket. Shit, I don’t know why they’re coming. I haven’t talked to them in a couple of months. Last time they visited us, Mom told Iris it’s a shame she hasn’t lost the baby weight yet and she needs to start taking better care of herself if she wants to keep her husband. Then she bought her a membership in some diet club. Like, really? Iris laughed it off because she knows how Mom is, but I was pretty offended by it.”
“That sounds like something Mom would do.”
“Yeah, and Dad was worse. He told me I need to discipline my children harder because Elliot spilled juice on the table. Apparently, I was supposed to paddle him. He’s two; kids make messes. I told him I’m not raising my sons the way he raised us, and he said I was weak and nobody would ever respect me.”
“Oh, yes, respect,” Sam said bitterly. “That’s what we feel for them. I don’t know why you still talk to them, Nate. The best day of my life was the day I realized I could cut them out of it.”
“College funds,” Nathan sounded resigned. “With three kids, we really need the money, and they keep dangling it over our heads.”
So that was it, his brother didn’t know either, and somehow, that made Sam more nervous. He had the brief sick and hopeful thought that maybe they were coming because they were dying, and they tracked him down to tell him in person. Sorry for the way we’ve treated you. We both have stage 4 cancer and will be dead in six weeks.
Or maybe it was an unlucky coincidence? They happened to be vacationing in the area and had no idea he was here? If that were the case, he could hide in his kitchen, have one of his line cooks cover the omelet bar at breakfast, and avoid them entirely. He wished that were a real possibility.
Chapter Fifty
“So, Sam, I guess the zombie apocalypse starts today,” Cara said.
“What?” Sam asked, startled out of his reverie. He had been staring at the wall, thinking about stress and dread and would his parents recognize him if he slapped on an enormous fake mustache and spoke with an accent?
“This is the day your folks rise from the dead,” she reminded him. “I’m so glad my mom was cremated, so I don’t have to worry about her showing up.”
“That’s not funny, Cara. I’d rather deal with zombies. I don’t know why they’re coming here.” He knew she was just trying to lighten things up, but nothing could help. A cloud of doom hung over his head. Too bad it was sunny outside. He wished it was stormy and raining to match his mood, especially around the time his parents would be on the ferry. His mother hated getting wet.
“It won’t be that terrible, will it?” She reached out to take his hand. That was an unexpected bright spot. Cara’s touch could make a lot of things better. He squeezed her fingers gently and ran his thumb over her knuckles. How was her skin so soft?
Holding her hand made him confident enough to open up, just a little. “I told you I cut off contact with them a while ago, and I had good reason to do so.” He paused to collect his thoughts. How much was he willing to admit? He always avoided talking about his parents, both because he didn’t like stirring up those memories and because he didn’t need sympathy. But something about the way Cara looked at him, like she was actually interested, like she actually cared, made him want to say more. “They’re toxic. Wait till you hear what they think of me: I dropped out of college, so I’m an uneducated failure. I don’t have a permanent residence, so I’m no more than a homeless bum. I’m not married and have no children because nobody will ever love me. I’m a loser who will never amount to anything, and they wasted too many resources raising me.”
“That sounds awful, Sam. You know, that may be what they think, but that’s not what anyone here thinks. You are an amazing man, a wonderful chef, and you have a great life. Everyone here on the island loves you. Really.” She looked him right in the eyes as she spoke, and for a brief moment the knot in his stomach untied.
“Everyone?” Sam raised an eyebrow and tried very hard not to smile. She blushed and looked away. Now he let himself grin. At least the day started off on a high note.
....................
Sam drove the nicest electric cart down to the ferry, Sato by his side. He was so nervous his hands were sweating, and he kept wiping them on his pants. He didn’t know what to expect when they arrived, how they would react to seeing him. Had they changed? Based on his conversation with Nathan, he was sure they hadn’t, but he couldn’t help but hope.
“You excited to see your folks, man?” Sato asked.
Sam shook his head. “Nope.” He parked the cart and stood up to watch the ferry arrive at the dock. He shaded his eyes with his hand, scanning the passengers.
“Really? My mom’s visiting this fall for like two months to help out, and I can’t wait. They’re your parents. You should be excited.”
“I have a feeling you and I had very different parents,” Sam replied.
He spotted them in the debarking crowd, looking exactly the same as they always had. His father still stood firm and tall, with broad shoulders, in excellent shape despite his age. He had been in the military and maintained a strict physical regimen throughout his life. His mother still dressed elegantly and kept her gray hair perfectly styled. She was always concerned about looks, presentation, and portraying herself as better than anyone else.
The Vervaines were among the last off the ferry. Sam straightened his spine and clenched his jaw as they approached. He told himself he was prepared, but his stomach was churning, and he wished he could pass out now and wake up after they left.
“Samuel, you’re here!” His mother hugged him briefly. “You look well, though you desperately need a haircut.”
Even though the hug was quick, he could already smell her perfume clinging to his clothes. That hadn’t changed either. She still wore the same scent. It smelled of rotting flowers, and fear, and shame.
“Son.” His father nodded at him and extended a hand. His handshake was crushing, as always.
“Mother, good to see you. Father, good to see you too, sir.” His voice sounded stiff and formal to his own ears. Seeing his parents made his heart beat faster and triggered his fight or flight response. How soon would the blow strike?
“They have you picking up passengers? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of cook, not a servant. This is really what you’ve chosen to do with your life? Well, I suppose it’s easy though, working in some tiny hotel in the middle of nowhere. Definitely don’t need a degree for that.” Boom, there it was.
Sam dug his fingernails into his palm, trying to calm himself. Breathe. “Father, I don’t normally pick up guests, but when I heard that you were coming, I offered to do so as a courtesy, so that I could greet you.” The lie twisted awkwardly in his mouth.
His father stared at him for a moment then shook his head. “You knew we were coming? This hotel gives out guest information to anyone who asks? That sounds like a privacy violation. I suppose they gave you my credit card information as well?”
Sam gritted his teeth. I will survive this visit. “No, Father, they noticed your name and asked me if we were related. Our last name isn’t exactly common.”
“You do still use the last name then? No time for the family, but you’ll keep the family name? That’s fine, I can’t stop you.” He snapped his fingers at Sato. “You, load up our bags, carefully. Do not damage them.” Without another word, William Vervaine got into the electric cart.
Sato raised an eyebrow at Sam but made a show of smoothly and gently placing the suitcases in the back.
Linda Vervaine was more polite than her husband, but not by much. She sat primly on the edge of her seat as though afraid she would get dirty. “Well, this is quaint. No cars? What an interesting place you’ve
chosen, Samuel. Of course, you always were a rebel. Nothing we did could make you happy, but I’m sure you’re doing just fine here in your little corner of nowhere.”
“I’m so glad you came to visit.” Sam managed to get the lie out in a pleasant tone. His parents, here. It was like a dark cloud descended on his peaceful island home. He caught a look from Sato. I get it now, that look seemed to say, and he nodded.
....................
Sam took his parents to the inn’s lobby and held the doors for them. He saw Cara behind the desk speaking into her radio, and when he glanced back at the cart, Sato winked. Sam took a long slow breath and followed them in. Having them here made him feel like a little kid again, always worried that he might do the wrong thing. Would he ever be able to overcome the deep conditioning of his childhood?
Cara greeted them politely. “Welcome! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Vervaine. We are so pleased to have you staying with us. Chef Samuel has become such a respected member of our island community, so it is a great honor to meet his family.” She was laying it on a bit thick, and Sam was pretty sure his father was smirking as she spoke.
Cara went on, giving them information about the inn and the island, and made suggestions as to where they could go for lunch. “And one of our staff members will always be available for transportation to and from the village. Now, I do hate to do this to you, Chef, I know today is your day off, but Mr. Conaghan has requested a meeting with you. The village council is working on the plans for an upcoming festival, and they’d like your professional input. Again, I’m so sorry about pulling you away from your parents like this. It shouldn’t take too long.”
“No, that’s fine,” Linda answered for them all. “I’m just glad my son is important somewhere. We wouldn’t want to take you away from your . . . work. We’ll meet up later? I’m sure you’d love to show us around, but I need some time to refresh.” Somehow, she made it sound like she was speaking of something distasteful.
That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Page 21