She couldn’t imagine letting any guy see her undressed, not even after the baby was born. She only wanted Luke.
Luke, taking her by the hand, dragging her into his study carrel, and locking the door behind them. Luke’s voice in her ear, telling her how sweet she tasted in his mouth. He’d known exactly what he was doing, an expertise born from years of fooling around with other girls.
She wished she’d been his first. She wished they’d been high-school sweethearts. Like Dina and Jon, and Dina’s parents. Like Abby and Charlie. Luke had told her his parents were best friends before they dated.
How romantic was that?
Had Luke loved her? For real? He’d said the words, breathless soft-sweet mumblings, uttered when he was about to come. But everyone knew that didn’t count. Everyone knew that wasn’t romantic.
She wished Luke were here, right now, with her in his bedroom.
Luke had told her his mother was strict. She’d never allowed girls in his bedroom. But even as he’d told Tessa, she’d detected the undercurrent of a smirk. Luke had been an adrenaline junkie. That was for sure. How easy would it have been for a girl to slip from the night and through the French doors? How easy would it have been for Luke to lead a girl by the hand into his bed?
How easy would it have been for Luke to cheat on her while they were going out? Wouldn’t that have given him the ultimate adrenaline rush?
Sunlight bathed the aquarium on the shelf above Luke’s desk. Starfish and sand dollars stood out in stark relief. She could imagine Luke finding the treasures in the sand. His warm hand reaching down to make them his own, the way he’d claimed her.
Tessa took the stack of hideous underwear across the room to Luke’s dresser and opened the top drawer. No tightie-whities, no boxers, no balled-up crew socks. Instead, two photo albums filled the drawer, one atop the other. She carried them to Luke’s bed, feeling as though she’d unearthed buried treasure, clues to Luke’s secret sacred self.
At the UMass memorial, Father Thomas had spoken of how Luke was taken too soon. He’d assumed Luke’s untimely death had them all searching for answers. But Tessa had been searching since the day she’d met Luke. Luke’s death had only made him harder to unravel.
She cracked open the album, flipped past a teenage-looking Abby holding Luke in her arms, a blond-haired woman at her elbow. Abby and chubby-cheeked Luke holding hands before the entryway door of Briar Rose.Would her baby have eyes like Luke’s, so intense you thought he saw inside you, even if he didn’t know you at all? She’d thought they’d have more time. Why did she always make that mistake?
Heat flooded her face, and her breath came in wet gulps.
A preschool Luke in overalls stood on a stool before the center island of the Briar Rose kitchen. A mixing bowl with a wooden spoon sat on the counter. Flour overflowed the bowl, dusting the counter, Luke’s apron, and Luke. Abby beamed at Luke, but little Luke stared straight ahead. His right hand extended before him, reaching for someone or something out of his grasp.
Tessa touched a fingertip to Luke’s tiny photo hand. Strange thought, she loved who Luke was before she’d even met him. Her left hand slid to her stomach, caressed the curve beneath her belly button. Not so strange, she already loved Luke’s baby.
Loving meant loss.
“What are you doing?” Abby’s voice, breathy and strident, startled Tessa’s hand from her belly.
Abby stood in the doorway, staring at the photo albums, or, more specifically, in their general direction. Six o’clock in the morning, and Luke’s mother looked like she’d been up for hours. Hair pulled back in a ponytail. Face scrubbed and shining, with just a hint of makeup. A natural beauty, Tessa’s mother would’ve called her. As if takes-two-hours-to-get-ready Meredith Lombardi would know anything about that. Some women needed a little assistance, Mom had told Tessa, and then she’d taken twelve-year-old Tessa out to shop for blush, lip gloss, and mascara.
“He was so cute all covered in flour.” Tessa slid her finger from Luke’s photo hand to his little boy face, traced the curve.
Abby’s cheeks pinked. The corners of her mouth turned down, and she shook her head. Gaze hovering somewhere above the bed, Abby closed the pages of the photo album, without even looking.
She couldn’t, Tessa realized.
Add that discovery to the Abby Stone file, the one Tessa had only just begun.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” Tessa said, even though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for. The fact she’d opened the albums, or that Abby couldn’t.
Abby sighed, and folded her arms across her chest. “Luke loved to bake.”
“For real?” At school, they’d taken most of their meals in the cafeteria. Luke’s dorm room boasted the world’s smallest microwave and a dorm fridge that, last seen, housed crunchy peanut butter, grape jelly, and a hot dog of questionable vintage. No one would claim the dog, so no one dared to toss it.
“Everything and anything.”
Luke Connors liked to bake. Add that to her Luke Connors file, the one Tessa had started on the day she’d met Luke.
“Hungry?” Abby asked.
“Only when I’m awake.”
“Go wash up. I’ll get you something to eat before I put you to work in the kitchen.”
Tessa imagined working alongside Abby, elbow-to-elbow in batter, and knee-deep in conversation. Then Tessa imagined screwing up so badly Abby sent her away before she could learn more about Luke. She imagined losing her opportunity to know Abby. “Are you sure? I need to shower. I don’t want to hold you up.”
“Twenty minutes,” Abby said. “You’ve got plenty of time.”
The last time Tessa had made breakfast with her mother, Tessa had scalded the hot chocolate, burned the pancakes, and accidentally set the kitchen on fire. Three weeks later, Mom was in Paris, sipping champagne and nibbling crepes, free from a daughter who’d tried too hard to please.
Coincidence?
“But, Abby, I don’t know what to do. I’ll only get in the way. I’m no—”
“Breakfast service starts at seven for the guests. If you’re family, you’re expected to help out.” Abby flashed Tessa the smile she’d shared after Luke’s memorial, the one that had drawn her closer then. The one that drew her now.
If you’re family.
Was that an offer or a dare?
To Abby, cooking eggs Benedict was a dance requiring two in-sync partners, an almost clairvoyant communication between like-minded individuals, a give-and-take that could upend the most kitchen confident individuals. When Hannah called in sick, Abby could’ve managed breakfast alone. Whisk and cook hollandaise sauce, poach eggs, warm Canadian bacon, toast English muffins. She’d done it before. She’d been planning on doing it again.
Until she’d checked in on Tessa and found her poring over Luke’s photo albums, eyes puffy, expression determined to punish herself. If left to her own devices, Tessa would’ve stayed in Luke’s bed, turning the pages of Luke’s life, pressing a thumb into her ache to freshen the pain.
Why else would Abby have hidden the albums away from herself?
“Stir until bubbles form. Until.” Abby grabbed a pot holder and moved the simmering hollandaise sauce in front of Tessa to a cold burner, seconds ahead of an unsightly, and wasteful, curdling.
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Abby slid English muffins from the toaster, slid slabs of Canadian bacon from the pan, scooped poached eggs from their bath. “Now, you drizzle the sauce over the eggs.”
Tessa grabbed the hollandaise sauce pan by its metal handle. “Youch!”
“Pot holder.”
Tessa held her hand by the wrist, face set in a grimace.
Abby inhaled the savory ham and eggs, shook her head, and ran the tap. She held Tessa’s palm under the cold water and then patted it dry with a dish towel. “Better?”
“Much,” Tessa said, even though she looked as though she might cry again, when that was the last thing Abby had intended. “I be
t Luke never burned his hand,” Tessa said, and Abby had the urge to place a kiss in the center of her palm, the way she had when Luke had tried a similar stunt.
“Sure he did.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Yes, and it’s also true.” Pot holder in hand, Abby drizzled hollandaise over two sets of eggs Benedict and placed them on a serving tray.
“I told you I’d get in the way. I warned you I didn’t know how to cook or—”
Abby passed the plated breakfasts to Tessa, forced cheer into her voice. “Deliver these to table one, please!” Tessa wasn’t going to learn how to cook by whining about her inability. And she wasn’t going to get over her grief by wallowing in it either.
The thought conjured Lily Beth, her voice loving, but her expression take-no-prisoners serious.The day Abby long feared had arrived. Sure enough, she’d become her mother. Soon, she’d be bathing crystals in sea salt and spinning fairy tales.
“Table one?” Tessa asked.
“Couple by the window, practically sitting on each other’s laps,” Abby said, and a grinning Tessa headed into the dining room.
After Charlie had left for college, Abby had done her share of wallowing until Lily Beth had dragged her from her bedroom and back into the world. The baby she’d been carrying should’ve been enough to give her purpose, but all she knew was that the boy she’d loved forever was gone. She’d thought her life was over, instead of beginning anew.
Abby prepared two more plates of eggs Benedict and delivered them to the guests at table three, a young couple spending their first visit at Briar Rose. “And here you go,” Abby said, sliding the plates before appreciative oohs and aahs.
Tessa stood talking to Lisa and Ronnie at table one, a hand at her back, arched, as if to make sure they noticed her pregnancy, despite the vertical stripe camouflage of her sundress. They hadn’t touched their food. Their breakfast sat before them, their eggs growing cold, and their forks remained atop their folded napkins. They leaned slightly forward, necks craned, elbows on the table, listening to Tessa.
A buzz of warning hummed in Abby’s ears. “Enjoy your breakfasts,” Abby said, and she headed across the room for the coffee carafe, conveniently situated next to table one. She slid the carafe from the warming plate.
“I didn’t know I was pregnant until a couple of weeks after my boyfriend died.” Tessa’s hand went to her belly. The expression on Tessa’s face, two parts regret with one part awestruck pride, flashed a wave of sadness through Abby’s chest. The carafe of hot coffee trembled in Abby’s hand, and she breathed through her nose.
“Wow.” Lisa widened her eyes, and she tilted her head to the side. “How long were you and the boy together?”
Abby had forgotten to give Tessa the employee talk, to explain to her the difference between public and private information, to install privacy settings on her mouth.
Never let the guests see you grieve. Rule number one on Abby’s official list of appropriate B&B employee behavior from this day forward.
In the last five months, she’d only had to tell guests about Luke’s death a few times. Each time, the guests had been blessedly respectful, allowing her to briefly describe what had happened and then change the subject. Each time, she had the nagging worry that brushing over her loss diminished it. And then she’d buried the uncomfortable feeling under a pile of chores.
“Only a few months,” Tessa said, “but we wicked loved each other.”
Ronnie nodded. “I get it. Fell in love with Lisa on our first date.”
“So romantic,” Tessa said.
Good, turn the conversation back to the guests. Abby moved to table one and refilled Lisa’s and Ronnie’s mugs. “How are you two doing this morning?”
“Fantastic, as always,” Lisa told Abby, but her gaze remained on Tessa.
Ronnie covered his wife’s hand with his own. “So, Tessa, how do you know Abby?”
The humming in Abby’s ears roared. She and Tessa hadn’t shared a clairvoyant connection in the kitchen, but she tried for one now. Please don’t tell them, please don’t tell them, please don’t tell them.
Tessa glanced at Abby, the whites of her eyes indicating her belated awareness of the faux pas. “Luke?” Tessa said.
At last year’s Ronnie-and-Lisa visit, Luke would’ve been getting ready for college, dashing through B&B chores en route to his friends and the beach. Last time Ronnie and Lisa had visited, her son might’ve served them breakfast, pausing at their table to inquire about their lives, and thereby drawing them into his own lighthearted flirting.
He was the polar opposite of Tessa sucking the guests into a melodrama that included Abby.
“Friends with Luke!” Lisa said to Tessa, and a grin spread across her face. She turned to Abby. “How’s that handsome boy doing?”
“We keep meaning to ask you,” Ronnie said. “Why haven’t we seen him?”
Lisa nodded. “Such a nice boy. Is he home for the summer? Last year, I remember, he was all excited about starting school in the fall.”
“Got into every school he applied to,” Ronnie said.
“Decided on HRTA at UMass.”
“Wanted to work in hospitality, like his mom,” Ronnie added.
Inside Abby’s apron pocket, she rubbed her forefinger against her thumb, wishing for a pencil to break, a box of pencils. Her beautiful boy should’ve been reaping the rewards of having studied himself to the top of his high-school class. He should’ve finished his first year of college. He should’ve come home to her with a long list of dinner requests and overflowing bags of stinky laundry. He should’ve come home to her. “Luke’s not home.”
“Stayed on at school, then?” Ronnie said. “First summer after I started school, I didn’t want to—”
“He’s not at school.”
Lisa lifted her coffee mug, as though intending to take a sip. Then, her gaze caught Abby’s, and something in Abby’s face made her set the mug down. Lisa shifted back in her seat, as though trying to skirt the impending blow.
Ronnie’s gaze slid from his wife to Abby and then back again.
The week Luke had died, Abby e-mailed scheduled guests to say there had been a family emergency. That was as close to personal information as she’d wanted to get. Months later, when guests who hadn’t known Luke asked about her year, she gave general positive pseudo private information. She’d updated her menu to include vegetarian and vegan selections. Mid-winter treat-your-sweetheart packages were now posted on her website. She’d joined a wine-of-the-month club. She’d finally learned how to knit. Well-thought-out tidbits led guests to think they had a connection, when they didn’t know her at all.
Abby’s cheeks tingled. She probably looked as red-faced as Tessa. The phrase, Luke died, played in her head, but she couldn’t coax it to her mouth. “I lost—” she started, but that word seemed all wrong, too.
You lost sauce-splattered handwritten recipe cards in the confusion of a busy kitchen. Socks worn thin at the heel went missing in the dryer. A child’s nubby red mitten fell from an open backpack.
You lost your way.
Lisa nodded for her to continue, the woman’s expression turning grim.
Abby cleared her throat. “There was an accident,” she said, and the statement sounded like a lie, an impossible horror that happened to other people. “Luke was Tessa’s boyfriend.”
Lisa’s hand fluttered to her mouth, and she shook her head. “Oh, Abby. How horrible.” Her sad-eyed gaze slid from Abby to Tessa, and the corners of her mouth trembled upward. “And wonderful, too.At least you have the baby to look forward to,” she told Abby, and Ronnie nodded in agreement. “Lots of visits. Lots of baby love.” Lisa directed her statement to Tessa.
Tessa’s hand fell from her belly. “I don’t know if I’m keeping the baby,” she said, even though no one had asked.
No one had asked.
Abby’s cheeks stung, third-degree burn. Sun poisoning.
&nbs
p; “Oh.” Lisa’s voice trailed off. Her gaze drifted to Abby, lingered, deposited the dreaded pity. Ronnie glanced at his wife and then offered the straight-lipped grimace-grin of discomfort.
Tessa stared at the table.
“Why don’t we let Lisa and Ronnie enjoy their breakfasts?” Abby placed a hand on Tessa’s back to prod her along, but Tessa didn’t budge. Instead, her breathing deepened, and she shifted from foot to foot.
“I need your help in the kitchen,” Abby said, hoping to head off hysterical crying, an outburst, whatever was brewing behind Tessa’s shifting countenance.
“I’m so sorry, Abby. We didn’t know,” Lisa said, her eyes turning liquid before Abby. Ronnie rolled his lips into his mouth until they disappeared.
Heat flushed Abby’s chest, the sensation of her heart breaking wide open, in public. “Of course not,” she said, and she excused herself to go back into the kitchen, leaving Tessa behind.
Abby lifted the cast-iron fry pan from the stovetop and set it to cool in the sink, hoping the muscle required would stop her hands from shaking. She ran the water until it burned the tips of her fingers, and then, gloveless, wiped the cooked-on ham grease.
A hand touched Abby’s shoulder. She shut off the water and spun around, expecting Tessa.
Instead, Lisa stood in her kitchen, pink-faced and teary-eyed. Wrong person. Wrong place. Wrong expression for a vacationing guest, if Abby wanted return business.
“I apologize, Lisa. Tessa shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to make you sad.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lisa said, and her tone strode across the line separating a polite guest from a concerned friend. “I only wish you’d told us sooner about Luke.” In one swoop, Lisa took Abby into a bear hug.
Abby let out a faint yelp of surprise, and Lisa released her grip. “Ronnie and I have always looked forward to seeing Luke. Don’t know if I’ve told you before, but we tried to have kids for years, even tried a few rounds of fertility treatments.” She shrugged. “But it never happened for us.”
Abby had assumed Lisa and Ronnie’s childlessness was by choice. She knew they lived in a suburb of Boston. That Lisa had relocated from Connecticut for her job in banking. That Ronnie had family in West Palm Beach. But she’d never known of their greatest disappointment. She’d never considered they were anything but dual-income, no kids, who enjoyed walks on the beach and indulged in loud sex that shook the walls of the B&B. She never knew anything other than what they chose to show her.
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