“It’s just . . . too much.” Faith attempted to digest all the zeros in the amount Merrill had just read to them.
“It’s not too much. It’s exactly what Grace wanted,” Merrill said. “And it’s all very legal.”
“How could she have known about the foreclosure?” Connie asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps she overheard something while we were here? But Grace was very intuitive. She sensed you were struggling. And she found the work you do here to be very special, and wanted to see it continue,” Merrill finished.
Her sister had designed her extremely generous bequest in a very specific way that Merrill learned about only after Grace’s passing. The money, which would be placed in a trust for Merrill to administer, would permanently reserve the second-floor rooms at The Mermaid’s Purse, with the stipulation that they initially be used to lodge Wave’s End residents left homeless by the storm.
“So that means Roxanne, Gage and David can stay.” Connie sagged with relief.
“Yes, it does. For as long as they need to. And any others, as well.” Merrill managed a smile through her tears. If and when residents returned to their homes, she continued, the rooms could then be offered to other individuals in financial or emotional difficulty and needing lodging. Grace left it up to Merrill to vet each applicant.
“So those people would live at The Mermaid’s Purse rent-free?” Ellie asked.
“Yes, with one caveat.” Each beneficiary would be required to pull their weight at the inn somehow, with jobs determined by the inn management. “Grace didn’t believe in handouts. She wants the guests to have some skin in the game.”
“As well they should,” agreed Connie. “But what if the inn closes?”
Grace had covered that possibility by stipulating that should The Mermaid’s Purse close its doors or be offered for sale, the monies would revert to a separate foundation she established to provide low-cost prenatal care.
“Grace is an angel,” Ellie whispered.
“That kind of talk would make my sister uncomfortable. She lived simply and saved well. It was her mission in life to help.”
“Her help couldn’t have come at a better time. Isn’t that right, Faith?”
Faith massaged her lower lip, bowled over by Grace’s generosity, yet nagged by the nonnegotiable bank cutoff just days away. “I’m beyond grateful to your sister, Merrill. How soon would we be able to take advantage of the funds? I know these things take time to sort out.”
“If you’re concerned about the probate period, my pragmatic sister took that into account with the other part of her bequest.” Merrill fished in her purse. “She gave this to me before she died. Asked me to deliver it in person when the time came.”
Connie’s eyes widened at the amount of the check Merrill offered.
“She knew the estate would take a while to come through,” Merrill continued. “Is it enough to tide you over?”
“And then some.” One hand on her heart, Connie held the check out in the other for Faith and Ellie to see. The donation would more than cover the mortgage payments in arrears, and several more going forward, until they could access Grace’s bequest. The check would keep them solvent until at least spring, Faith realized.
“And Grace never told you her intentions?” Connie asked.
“Not a thing. Except to say Faith would understand. Something about the shell on the mailbox?” Merrill’s brows crinkled into a frown. “Does that make any sense, Faith?”
Faith nodded, recalling the tap of Grace’s cane against the mermaid’s purse. “Yes. It makes perfect sense.”
“So what do you say?” Merrill wiped her cheeks.
“I’d say . . .” Faith glanced over at the check in Connie’s lap one more time. “Well, I’d say The Mermaid’s Purse is back in business!”
86
After setting up the women with a celebratory round of mermaid cocktails to toast Grace’s memory and generosity, Faith left them to tidy the kitchen.
To her surprise, she found the entire area in perfect order, serving trays drying in the dish drainer and stacked containers of leftovers in the refrigerator. Also chilling was a robust bowl of romaine brimmed with Kalamata olives, grape tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, capers and leftover crabmeat, ringed with red onion slices and avocado slices.
Only one person could have readied this perfect light supper for the boarders, complete with a chunk of feta for crumbling and cubed bread for croutons. David, Faith thought, closing the fridge door. She realized she hadn’t seen much of him all afternoon. This must have been where he had been hiding himself.
Reopening the fridge, she grabbed a bottle of chardonnay, then a pair of wineglasses from a shelf, and headed upstairs. Absorbed in conversation, the women barely looked up as she passed.
Faith found David exactly where she expected he would be: sprawled on a settee on the second-story balcony, staring up at the night sky and feet resting on the railing, still in his eternal shorts and flip-flops despite an outdoor temperature hovering around forty degrees.
“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked as she kissed him.
“Not anymore, now that you’re here.” David accepted the wineglass she offered. “Are we toasting the successful party?”
“You could say that. And the celebration’s not over yet.”
David listened, mouth falling open as Faith filled him in on Grace’s gift. “So I still have a roof over my head.”
“If you want it.”
“Oh, I want it. Here’s to keeping this crazy place open.”
Clinking her glass against his, Faith sat beside him, snuggling against his shoulder.
“Wait until my father hears,” David said.
“And Maeve.” Connie and Merrill would visit her tomorrow and tell her, Faith added.
“I suppose this makes your mother the official Mermaid’s Purse innkeeper.”
“I suppose it does. It at least keeps her employed for the immediate future, which is a huge load off my mind.” She rested her feet on the railing alongside his. “I admit I had my doubts about this in the beginning. But watching her these last couple of months, I know she’s up to the task.”
“Maybe it’s because you finally allowed yourself to see her that way.”
Faith turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s be honest here. You get a little bit of a rush from being in charge. Now hold on,” he said as Faith set her wine down hard on a side table. “Don’t get all defensive. It’s just that I know how she feels.”
“Do you? Are you saying you feel like I control you?” Sitting back, Faith crossed her arms.
“Of course not. I’m talking about me and Bruce. I’ve lived in his shadow all my life.”
“My mother never lived in my shadow,” she scoffed. “And your father seems very proud of you.”
“I think he is, today. I’m just saying we can’t escape the roles our family assigns us. But then, you won’t have to play the responsible daughter much longer, will you? With that money, Connie can hire a real staff, and you can go back to your exciting life in New York. If that’s what you want.”
David got up and leaned against the railing, raising his glass to her. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Faith Sterling.”
Enjoyed? Confused, Faith got to her feet. Was he dismissing her? She had been so relieved about the foreclosure solution she hadn’t thought about the options it offered her. Was David so ready to blow off this thing between them, whatever it was? “You’re forgetting I don’t actually have a job at the moment. My boss thinks it might be a year before the seaport is up and running again.”
David ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “There are other restaurants,” he said slowly.
“I know.” So she had just been a fling for David. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be suggesting she move on. Why had she wasted her time with him? This was what happened when she allowed those lines to blur. “Manhattan’s a big place,” she said airily. “There ar
e tons of jobs. Xander said he’d put in a good word for me.”
“I’m sure he would.” David set his glass down beside Faith’s. “But what if you didn’t have to look as far as the city?”
Now Faith was totally bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about reopening The Blue Osprey.” David pulled some papers from his shorts pocket. “I got the breakdown from the insurer. With some state money, and some help from my father—” David held up his hand to stop Faith from speaking. “I know. Don’t even say anything. I’ve decided to let my dad cosign a loan.”
With Bruce’s backing, and a top-notch construction crew, he could reopen the damaged restaurant by summer, David explained. “My dad thinks it will be good for community morale if I do that. And it will send a message to vacationers that Wave’s End will be open for summer business.”
“That would be great. But what does all this have to do with me?”
“I’ve been thinking: given how well we collaborate in the kitchen, maybe you would consider coming on board. As a creative partner. I have to admit it, Faith. I’m really impressed by your talent.”
Faith rubbed her lower lip. It was one thing to surrender to a fling with this man, and quite another to leap into a business arrangement with him. “Are you really serious about this? Because we have very different culinary styles. And I’ve seen that kitchen, remember? It’s so small we could end up killing each other.”
“Which probably would scare the customers away,” he said, smiling. “Seriously, I’ve considered that. The new kitchen will be much bigger after the remodel, and open to the dining room, like a brasserie. We could sit down together, rework the menu. There are some local favorites I want to hold on to, but with so many New Yorkers here in the summers, I’d really like to take the food up a notch. Maybe do some wine pairings. Bruce is working on getting a seasonal liquor license . . . sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“It’s fine. I can see how excited you are.”
“This is what it comes down to.” He refolded his papers and stuffed them in his pocket. “I think we could do amazing things together in the kitchen. Beyond that . . . well, the sky’s the limit.”
What did that mean? Turning away, Faith gazed up into the heavens. When she had first climbed the stairs, the night had been spectacularly clear, but now wisps of translucent cloud blurred the night stars. Moon and stars. She gulped a lungful of wintry air. “I’m very flattered, David.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“I didn’t say that. So much has happened here tonight. I need some time to digest everything.”
“Take whatever time you need. The remodel’s going to take a few months.” He stood behind her, his arms circling her waist, and nuzzled her hair. How simple it would be to accept his proposition and explore their chemistry outside the confines of The Mermaid’s Purse.
“On the other hand, if there’s anything I can do to persuade you . . .” Gently pulling aside the neck of Faith’s sweater, David proceeded to kiss the length of her collarbone. She shivered, less from the exposure than from the scorch of his mouth on her bare skin.
“Hey. You’re not playing fair,” Faith protested weakly, leaning her head back. But what was there to think about, really? She couldn’t deny their mutual attraction. And from a career standpoint, most chefs would give their right arm for the opportunity David had just dangled in front of her: to get in on the ground floor of a new, or renewed, restaurant.
David would make out on this deal as well: without being overly boastful, Faith knew she brought a certain culinary cachet to David’s modest eatery—not to mention her New York following.
As David’s efforts moved to Faith’s other shoulder, a nagging thought reduced their searing effect a degree or two. What if David had been flirting with her all along in order to butter her up for this proposition? What if he was wooing her well-honed skills to polish his restaurant’s reputation?
Abruptly, Faith straightened up and adjusted her sweater. “I’ll sleep on it,” she said curtly, crossing her arms across her stomach.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Hey?” he asked, turning her around. “Did I do something wrong?”
Faith shook her head. “No. Just . . . long day.”
Nodding, David stared at her a moment before gathering the empty bottle and glasses and heading inside.
Only when one hundred percent certain David had gone to bed, Faith slipped back inside, drained from the day and craving sleep. Downstairs, she wandered the rooms in search of her phone, finally locating the device on a dining room table. As the screen came to life, she grinned at the endless stream of emojis from Xander: row after row of palm trees, martini glasses (no doubt he had indulged in a few of these himself, judging from this message) and bikinis, followed by silverware, shellfish and three different models of boats thrown in for good measure. Wherever you are, boss, hope you’re having fun, she thought, scrolling and scrolling.
Finally, Faith arrived at the text portion of Xander’s message:
Hey, right-hand chef: Are you down for winter in MIAMI? Pop-up location too sweet to pass up. Need you in kitchen NOW to heat this UP!
87
No one understood Faith’s decision to go to Miami, least of all David. She tried to explain it to him on neutral territory, over lunch at a fast food restaurant.
“That’s ridiculous.” He threw down his napkin. “You can’t deny we have something here.”
“What exactly do we have, David, beyond playing house and cooking a few meals together?” Unable to admit David’s offer had terrified her, she trivialized their connection, seizing on Xander’s proposition and the chance Miami offered as an escape. She needed to get away and figure out how she felt about David without the pressure cooker of a long-term commitment.
His face darkened. “That’s not fair. You know it’s more than that. You just don’t want to give this a chance.”
“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is.” She dipped a French fry in mayonnaise. “Anyway, I just told you. I am giving us a chance. I’ll be back in a few months, once I help Xander get back on his feet. He gave me my start, you know. I owe him that much.” Hadn’t she had almost this exact conversation with David’s father not so long ago?
“Right. And doesn’t the guy still owe you, like, ten grand?”
Faith pinched her lip, regretting having confessed the loan to David. “By my helping him, he’ll be able to pay me back faster.”
“That is truly twisted logic.”
“That’s your opinion. But I can still help you from Miami. I can track the construction progress by video chat. And proof the menus by e-mail. It’s not as though the restaurant will be open before I get back.”
“And what about your mother?”
“What about her? You heard Roxanne. She’s ecstatic to take my place.” Gage’s mother had been shadowing Faith in the kitchen the last few days, turning out a mean pulled pork and macaroni and cheese for dinner the previous night.
And with Grace’s financial support, Faith could now leave Wave’s End without feeling she’d left her mother in the lurch.
David sat back against the molded booth and surveyed her. “I guess that’s it, then.”
“I guess so.”
“Hmm.” He tapped the tip of a plastic straw on the tabletop. “Could I ask you to do one thing before you leave?”
88
David’s wetsuit landed in Faith’s lap with a plop.
“You promised,” he said. “Now, zip yourself into that. Don’t worry. It’s a cold-water suit.”
Glaring at him, Faith took the hooded suit and climbed out of the jeep, shivering as she quickly stripped down to her long-sleeved T-shirt and leggings. As she stepped into the damp wetsuit, she held her breath against its dank, fishy odor. “Surfing in January: is this your idea of a compatibility test?” she called.
David laughed as he lifted the surfboards out of the car. “You could say that
. Come on. Grab a board.”
Still grumbling, Faith picked up a board, surprised by its lightness, and followed him to the water. She surveyed the surf, so picturesque when viewed from the jeep a moment ago and now so intimidating as she prepared to enter, waves swelling and thundering onto one another nearly in slow motion. Feeling a tug, she looked down to see David fastening the board’s Velcro cuff around her ankle. “That’ll keep you connected. Now, follow me.”
“It’s cold,” she complained as she waded in behind him, gasping as the waves washed over her.
“You’ll warm up in a second. Now, pull yourself halfway onto the board belly down, like this, and paddle out with me beyond the break.”
On her stomach, Faith cupped her hands as David demonstrated, navigating alongside him to more tranquil waters.
“Okay, now show me how to get up,” she demanded.
“Not yet.” He shoved her board lightly. “Paddle back and forth a few times, following the shore. The way I just showed you.”
“Really? Didn’t we already cover this?” Sputtering, she followed his instructions, paddling north, turning around well before an imposing jetty and stroking furiously back to David. “So I paddled. What’s next?”
“I’m not feeling the love here.” He grabbed her board to steady it, and the two bobbed in tandem. “Nice out here, isn’t it?”
Faith stuck her tongue out at him, a gesture David missed because he had already turned away to demonstrate “duck diving”: pushing the surfboard down and then undulating one’s body like a sea horse in order to duck under a wave.
Faith hastily mimicked the maneuver.
“I get the picture,” she said.
“Remember it. You’ll need it if you get stuck. Okay, so how to stand: first, get up on your knees, like this.”
Following his example, she knelt on her board.
“Next, you start out low.” David crouched like a cat on its haunches, feet planted beneath his shoulders, and effortlessly raised himself upright. “Now, you try.”
Eyeing him dubiously, Faith tentatively planted one trembling leg then the other on her board, frozen in the doubled-over position and fearing she would tip into the sea at any second. “Okay. I’m up. I’m feeling it.”
At Wave's End: A Novel Page 24