by Jan Moran
Bennett’s face brightened. “Summer Beach could use another good restaurant. Have you ever operated one before?”
“No, but I worked in restaurants when I was younger,” Marina said. “And Ginger taught me a lot about cooking.”
Bennett grinned. “I heard she was good friends with Julia Child.”
“That’s Ginger for you.” Marina thought about the cost and risk of opening a restaurant with no proof of concept. “The initial outlay and overhead of a cafe would be risky, but we have a patio at the Coral Cottage. Is there any law against me throwing some dinner parties there? Sort of a pop-up cafe in the evenings for paid guests.”
Marina could just imagine sharing great food and good wine with guests and strolling on the beach afterward. Ginger could even regale them with her stories. However, if the parties were successful, she would need to expand the patio. It was only large enough for one table right now, and it was a little dark.
Bennett smoothed a hand over his chin in thought. “The state has new legislation concerning microenterprise home kitchen operations, along with temporary food service pop-ups. You’d have to apply for permits and follow guidelines, but this bill is intended to help people earn their way and entertain others. As long as there’s no pushback from neighbors.” Bennett and Ivy exchanged a look.
“Has that been a problem here in the past?” Marina asked.
“I won’t gossip about my neighbors in public,” Ivy said. “But it’s something you should be prepared to address.”
“Come over to City Hall, and we’ll get you started,” Bennett said.
“I will,” Marina said, feeling more hopeful and empowered than she had in a long time. What had started as a terrible day with her call to Gwen was now brightening considerably.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Ivy squeeze Bennett’s hand in silent appreciation. The two of them seemed so much in love. And Marina? She had to deal with a creep like Grady.
Yet strangely, she could almost thank him for forcing a change in her life.
Almost.
“I’ve got a meeting at City Hall, but it’s nice seeing you again,” Bennett said to Marina. “And if you need any taste testers, you know where to find me.”
Ivy winked at her, and Marina just smiled. She was glad to have rekindled their friendship.
As Marina and Ivy continued their shopping, Ivy introduced her to several people along the way. “This is Jen, who runs the hardware store, Nailed It. And Arthur, who knows all about antiques. You can find him at Antique Times, and his wife Nan works with Bennett at City Hall.”
“So glad to meet you,” Marina said, happily noting names and faces.
They waved at Imani, who also lived at the Seabreeze Inn while her house was being rebuilt after the Ridgetop fire. She introduced them to her son Jamir, a tall, lanky young man in the premed program at the University of California in San Diego.
Gilda was there with Pixie, the nervous Chihuahua. Marina had met the magazine writer at the Seabreeze Inn. Her ridgetop home restoration was also in progress and nearing completion.
As they were walking away, Marina spied Jack at Imani’s flower stand. The two of them seemed to be having a serious conversation. Marina wondered what was going on—not that it was any of her business.
Ivy stopped to chat with more friends who had once lived at the Seabreeze Inn. “This is Celia and Tyler. They sponsor the music program in the schools.”
“So nice to meet you,” Celia said, swinging a cascade of straight, dark hair over her shoulder. “We all adore Ginger here. If you like to sail, we’d love to have you both out on the boat sometime. And be sure to stop by our craft at the upcoming Open House at the Marina. It’s a fundraiser with a lot of food and decorations. We’re serving my grandmother’s secret Chinese recipes.”
“I’d really like that,” Marina said.
Tyler clasped his wife’s hand. “Ivy, we have some friends who’d like to take one of your sunset suites for a few weeks this summer.”
“You go ahead and talk,” Marina said. “Ginger suggested I find a woman named Cookie before I leave.”
Ivy stood on her tiptoes to see over the crowd. “There she is. The woman in the white apron.”
Marina made her way toward the woman, who was the organizer of the farmers market.
“Hello, I’m Marina Moore, one of Ginger Delavie’s granddaughters.”
“They call me Cookie,” the woman said, thrusting out a hand. “You probably don’t remember me, but I watched you and your sisters grow up here. I had the bakery on Main Street for years.”
“Oh yes,” Marina said, remembering how Ginger used to take them to the bakery for soft, oatmeal-raisin and black-and-white cookies. Cookie had the same round, cheerful face she recalled. “Are you still running the bakery?”
“I’m retired, except for running the farmers market,” Cookie replied. “Unfortunately, the bakery closed. An L.A. couple who bought the business thought they could be out-of-town operators.” She shook her head. “They deposited one of their wild young kids there, and he gave away the shop. Wasn’t long before it closed, but the town gained another ice cream parlor in its place.”
“That’s sad when it happens,” Marina said. “I have an idea to start a cafe, but I’d like to build up my clientele in the community first. If I can start here, selling some of my baked items, preserves, and desserts, I can get to know people.”
Cookie nodded thoughtfully. “Smart way to go about it. Are you using Ginger’s famous recipes?”
“Quite a few, but some of my own, too.” Marina couldn’t wait to start brushing up on her skills and testing new ideas for dishes.
Having lived in San Francisco, she’d dined at many fine restaurants in the city and surrounding communities. She was a big fan of Alice Waters and her restaurant Chez Panisse in Berkeley, particularly her farm-to-table concept. To her, the seasonal vegetables were works of art. Simple, fresh, and flavorful. Except for a few vacation cooking classes Marina had taken at Rancho La Puerta spa in Mexico and a vineyard in France, she wasn’t a trained chef or even a fancy cook. Still, she knew good food.
Summer Beach needed a place like that.
She needed that.
Cookie eyed her. “Don’t go spending all your money at once on leasing and decorating a space.” Frowning, she brushed her hands on her apron. “I run a community table you can join. An incubator of sorts. You’re welcome to take a corner and see if you get interest.” Her face softened. “Heard you had a rough time up in San Francisco. Bunch of bullies.”
“That’s over now.” Marina blinked in dismay. Her meme had made its way even to the locals of Summer Beach. Despite this embarrassment and Hal’s threats, she had to forge ahead. “I appreciate the spot. I’ll get ready right away.”
“Tuesdays and Fridays,” Cookie said. “You’ll meet everyone in town there.”
Marina picked out a beautiful, leafy head of romaine lettuce and added it to her bag. She bought a jar of local honey from another vendor. Soon, she’d be one of them.
Looking forward to that lifted her spirits.
As she made her way back to Ivy, she took a short cut behind the stands. Away from the crowd, Jack and Imani were in a deep discussion that looked private. She wasn’t eavesdropping, but she overheard Imani asking a question. “Can you make arrangements for the young boy right away?”
Jack heaved a great sigh. “As my son, I’ll have to.”
A child. Marina wondered what was going on. Maybe Jack had been married before—or perhaps he still was.
Yet, Jack’s personal life was of no concern to her. He was Ginger’s summer renter, not hers.
Still, the conversation disturbed Marina. Why wouldn’t Jack want to look after his child?
Chapter 9
Early that morning, Jack left Scout in the cottage with plenty of food and water for the day. He’d asked Kai to let him out once or twice, and she assured him she’d take Scout to the beach for a run. W
ith that arrangement made, Jack made the two-hour drive north to Los Angeles. On arrival, he parked in front of a near, two-story home in Santa Monica, an urban beachside community on the western edge of Los Angeles County.
Peering up at a pole that held several No Parking signs for various days of the week, hours, and overnight, Jack calculated that he was safe for two hours of parking. Doubling checking the address with the numbers tacked above the porch, he verified the house.
Vanessa’s house.
A tall banana plant arched its waxy green leaves over the sunny yellow stucco house, and bright red geraniums spilled from a railing on the front porch. A young girl and boy on skateboards whizzed past on the quiet street, and as they did, the boy turned and grinned at him, flashing a peace sign. The pair stopped, flipped up their boards, and raced into the house next door. A For Sale sign was on the front lawn.
Drawing a deep breath, Jack paused to collect his thoughts.
If what Vanessa had told him was true, he was about to meet his son for the first time. Jack stroked his smooth chin. He’d shaved his stubble and put on his best jeans for the occasion, but he wondered if he should’ve dressed up more to show respect.
His gut churned with anxiety. He’d never felt so lost in facing a situation. At times like this, he wished he could call his mom or dad to ask for their advice, but they’d passed away a few years ago. More than ever, he appreciated what they had done for him as a child. Perhaps he’d call his sister in Texas later, but he could just imagine what she’d have to say. He’d call once he figured out what was going on.
Imani, whom he’d retained as counsel, had cautioned him to try not to lead with his heart, but to assess the situation first. Although that was part of his professional training, he wasn’t sure he could do that.
“I can come with you,” Imani told him when they’d met at the farmers market.
“No, I owe Vanessa the respect of meeting with her. As old friends and colleagues.” And intimate friends. During that hazardous assignment, some reporters, including the two of them, had been caught in a crossfire of bullets. One reporter had been critically injured and airlifted to a hospital. After that, everyone was on edge. Crazy things happened in tense situations, and he and Vanessa had sought out each other for comfort. No one knew if that day would be their last.
“Ask her for the name of her attorney,” Imani had advised. “If she’s as organized as you recall, and she’s thought this through to the point of contacting you, then she is probably getting her affairs in order. If she doesn’t have a lawyer, that’s a red flag.”
Jack had held Vanessa in high esteem as a fellow reporter. He’d tried to call her several times, thinking that they might pursue a relationship. When she’d finally returned his call, she told him that what they’d had was over.
He’d followed her byline for a couple of years. Several times, he had commented on a story she’d written. Vanessa had been cordial, but she gave no indication that she wanted anything other than a professional relationship with him.
Now, the movement of a curtain in the window caught his eye. Reflexively, Jack reached for a cigarette in his breast pocket before he remembered he wasn’t smoking anymore. If ever he needed a few puffs, now was that time. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel and drew another breath. In a matter of moments, his life would change. Jack got out of the car.
The front door cracked opened before he got to it. He barely recognized the thin woman who peered out.
“Jack.” Vanessa smiled and held the door open.
She wore a vivid orange and yellow scarf around her head, its fringes falling over one shoulder. Gone was the luxuriant mane of shiny black hair he remembered, but he recognized the dark eyes that shone with intelligence and compassion.
“Vanessa.” Jack stepped onto the porch, trying not to let his shock register on his face. “I’m glad you called.”
Laughing softly, she said, “I’ve changed a lot, haven’t I?”
His heart breaking for her, Jack shook his head. “You’re as beautiful as you’ve always been.”
She lifted a corner of her mouth. “Now I know you’re lying, but thanks for the memory. Come in.”
“Vanessa, I’m so sorry that you’re sick.” Feeling awkward, Jack went to hug her, but she stopped him with a touch of her fingertips to his chest.
“My immunity is quite low,” she said, taking a step back. “Thanks for understanding.”
“Oh, sure,” Jack said, feeling like an idiot. “Are you feeling okay?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. “I’m sorry, I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?”
Vanessa shook her head. “It’s all right. This is tough on everyone.” She paused. “In case you’re wondering, what I have is a rare illness. It’s termed an orphan disorder, which means it’s so rare it’s hardly worth studying, except for those who like oddities.” She managed a wry smile. “I’m being facetious. I have wonderful physicians, nurses, and medical providers of every type. However, they’re not magicians.”
Jack had to ask. “Are you in much pain?”
“Only when the meds wear off,” Vanessa replied. “And don’t worry, I’m not contagious. My condition was exacerbated by years of smoking, so I fervently hope you stopped.”
“Uh, yeah, I did.” A cold sweat broke over him. Why did this have to happen to her? He wished he could trade places with her. Even though no one survived planet Earth, to go this way didn’t seem fair to her or her son.
Jack stepped inside, glancing around a spacious living room furnished in bright, cheerful colors. Vanessa’s taste was impeccable. A woven serape in red, blue, and green covered a cornflower-blue sofa. In a light-filled corner, a collection of ferns and orchids filled pottery painted in vivid colors. Large pieces of artwork hung above dark, carved furniture polished to a sheen. The faint aroma of orange oil hung in the air.
Following his gaze, Vanessa said, “My parents collected the work of Mexican artists—Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, Rufino Tamayo—long before it was fashionable. When my parents died, they left a large part of their collection to a museum near Wilshire and Brea. These are my favorite pieces. They’re not as valuable as those from the master painters, but they have meaning for me. I’d like Leo to have them.”
Jack was at a loss for words. He looked around, wondering where the boy was.
“Let’s sit down,” Vanessa said, looking tired. Reading Jack’s body language, she added, “Leo is next door playing with a friend.”
Jack eased onto the sofa. “Does he have a skateboard?”
“Why, yes.”
“I saw them when I arrived. Good-looking boy.” They were wearing helmets, but what else could he say? “Vanessa, this is my fault. I should have been more careful, and I should have called you more—”
“Jack, let me talk.” Vanessa reached for a glass of water and took a sip. “I knew what I was doing. Although I hadn’t planned on getting pregnant just then, I was happy. I never wanted to get married, though I knew my mother would be thrilled with a grandchild. And she was.”
That much Jack could understand. In their profession, many marriages had ended under the stress of too much travel and worry.
Vanessa pressed a hand to her heart and looked at a collection of framed photographs on a baby grand piano in the corner of the room. “Here are my mother and father, with Leo.”
Jack rose to look at the photos. “They look like they were having a great time.”
Vanessa nodded. “They spent a lot of time together, and Leo loved them so much. I wish they were still with us, but that’s life.” She smiled wistfully. “I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure that you would understand.”
Jack joined her again, sitting in a chair near her, but being mindful of keeping a safe distance. “Seeing you like this…you don’t have to explain. We both know what happened back then.”
Vanessa took another drink of water. “Let’s be honest. We were never in love, a
lthough I always respected you. I could have—and probably should have—told you about Leo, but my parents were very traditional. To make it easy on everyone, I told them I didn’t know who Leo’s father was. I lied because I refused to be forced into a marriage.”
“But, Vanessa,” Jack began.
She held up her hand. “Had my father known who you were, I can’t imagine what he might have done with that anger. Papa was a good man, but he wasn’t perfect. Especially when it came to defending my honor. Nothing good could have come from revealing that you were the father.”
Jack nodded. “Okay, I can see that.” He had to be honest with himself, too. “Vanessa, if you’d told me, I would have done the right thing. Married you, supported you, whatever you wanted.”
“I got what I wanted,” she said, lifting her chin in defiance. “I didn’t need your money, and I didn’t want to be married to anyone. No offense. For me, marriage simply wasn’t necessary. My grandmother inherited a large ranch from a 19th-century Mexican land grant. The original hacienda still stands on the property as a historical monument to the time that California was part of our neighbor to the south. My grandparents sold parcels over many years and put the funds in trust. I’ve been well provided for, as Leo will be. I’m not asking you to support him. I’m only asking you to step into his life now.”
Her words chipped away at Jack’s masculine view of himself. Yet, she had a point. “I guess you didn’t need rescuing.”
Vanessa smiled. “My mother might have liked that, and I think she would have liked you, too. Mama always dreamed of a lavish wedding in the church for me. Having a child out of wedlock was hard enough, but I was not going to compromise my principles or what I wanted.”
Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, Vanessa paused for a breath, and then went on. “That makes Papa sound terrible, and he wasn’t really. My parents were proud people, and they were worried about me. But they were still clinging to the past.”
“I understand,” Jack said quietly. The world around them had changed so quickly, and Vanessa was their precious daughter, their future. He might not agree with her on everything, but he respected her views.