by Fiona Grace
“Let’s take a walk along the pier,” Ali suggested, latching onto the safest option she could think of. “We can take in the ocean view. Get some cotton candy.”
“That sounds nice,” Georgia said.
But the slight curl of a sneer in her lip told Ali what she really thought.
Swallowing down her growing irritation, Ali steered them in the direction of the big wooden pier. At least she was diverting Georgia away from Nate’s surfboard store. If only her mom could be more generous about the town Ali had chosen to make her home.
The pier entrance was lined with small kiosks selling greasy-smelling fries and donuts. The dark green gypsy caravan of fortune teller Lavinia Leigh was visible just beyond them. The small wooden door was shut, meaning she was currently giving one of her dubious readings to some poor tourist selected by her monkey Django.
“Oh, how lovely,” Georgia said, glancing at the caravan. “I simply love touristy things like that! So quaint and silly.”
Ali grimaced at her mom’s comment, and the condescending, saccharine voice she had used to say it. Even though Ali herself disliked Lavinia Leigh and her bogus predictions, her mom’s superior attitude made her want to defend it! That was the power of her mother. She could make Ali regress into a contrary teenager.
Suddenly, Ali couldn’t believe she’d actually been looking forward to the visit! It was obviously going to be a disaster. If her mom was so disdainful of the boardwalk, what would happen when she saw Ali’s small apartment? The no-frills, beachside bungalow was perfect for Ali, but her mom would surely cast her critical eye upon it. And since she’d turned up early, Ali hadn’t even had a chance to vacuum Scruff’s fur off the couch!
Apprehension began to swirl in her gut.
“Ali?” a voice called. “Ali?”
A bolt of dread went through her. She knew that voice. It was Nate’s!
Panic leapt in her chest as her gaze darted ahead. It landed on the golden-skinned surfer, who was coming right toward her with his huge, dazzling grin upon his face.
‘What is he doing here?’ Ali thought, desperately.
She looked about her but there was no escape. The very thing she’d been dreading was about to take place and there was no way out.
Ali braced herself for the biggest cringe of her life.
Nate was looking exceptionally handsome today, in dark board shorts and a tight black tee. Now that he’d taken to wearing his hair shorter, he looked more put together. His boyish features seemed to have matured, too, and his jaw appeared more defined.
He trotted up to Ali and pecked a kiss on her burning red cheek. Then he looked at Georgia and grinned. “You must be Mrs. Sweet,” he exclaimed.
“Ms,” Georgia corrected. She’d stubbornly kept her name after Richard had left, but made great pains to emphasize that she was now a Ms.
Ali began to cringe, feeling it right in the pit of her stomach.
“Ms.,” Nate corrected, affably. He held his hand out to her. “I’m Nate, Ali’s—”
“—Friend!” Ali blurted, before anything else could be uttered. “Nate owns the surf shop on the boardwalk.”
Nate’s dark blonde brows twitched inwards, then a small smirk appeared on his lips. “I’d like to think of myself as more than just a friend,” he said, making Ali’s heart spiked with panic. “I’m also your surf instructor.”
He finished with a mischievous grin and a knowing eyebrow wiggle at Ali.
She glowered at him. He’d known exactly how uncomfortable that comment would make her and yet did it anyway just to see her squirm. He clearly thought it was fun to tease her in front of her mother. Ali mentally conceded she probably would’ve found it funny in any other circumstance. But right now, it was way too close for comfort. She had to extract her mother from this situation asap.
Georgia shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“What are you doing on the boardwalk?” Ali fired at Nate, folding her arms.
“I came to speak to Cillian,” he said, pointing over to his friend who manned the juice kiosk. “About Marvin Chessley, the new councilman.”
“Oh,” Ali said, recalling her earlier conversation with Emilio. “That.”
“You must be worried,” Nate offered. “Cillian certainly is.”
Ali really didn’t want to have this conversation in front of her mother. Knowing Georgia, she would jump right on it as evidence her bakery was doomed to failure. Which, if the proposed bill got passed, it very well may be…
“Worried about a tax increase?” Ali said with an air of flippancy, as she attempted to play it off as if it was nothing. “Not really.”
Nate looked surprised. “But it’s not just an increase, Ali. It’s a hike!”
Ali tried to communicate with her eyes to Nate that she didn’t want to talk about it, but it was too late. Georgia’s ears pricked up like Scruff’s on hearing the words Jumbo bone.
“What’s this about a tax hike?” she asked, with an edge of glee in her voice.
Ali groaned internally. “It’s just a new councilman flexing his powers,” she explained. “It’s nothing important.”
“I think you need to take this more seriously,” Georgia said in a parental tone that made Ali bristle, before gesturing to Cillian in his juice booth. “If a well-established business owner is worried, then I think you, as a fledgling business owner, ought to be as well.”
Ali clenched her jaw so tightly she was worried her teeth might crack.
And though she was actually quite concerned herself, Ali had to play it off as not a big deal, because she didn’t want to give her mom the satisfaction.
“I’m sure it will be fine!” she exclaimed, hearing the maniacal edge to her tone. She took Georgia’s arm. “Now come along, Mother. Let’s get on with our day.”
She began tugging her mother away before Nate got the chance to tell her anything else she didn’t want her to hear.
Nate watched her with an amused smirk on his lips. “Bye Ali! Nice to meet you Ms. Sweet!”
But they’d not made it five paces when Georgia let out an almighty scream.
Ali flinched with shock and turned to see Django the monkey scrambling up her mother’s back with the speed of a spider.
“Oh no!” Ali cried as the furry creature made its way into Georgia’s bouffant and ruffled it up.
“Get it off of me!” Georgia screeched, flailing her arms wildly. “Who knows what horrible diseases this dirty critter is harboring! What bacteria he has beneath his claws! What nasty infection he could give me from just one nip of his sharp teeth! And fleas! I bet you one hundred dollars he’s riddled with fleas!”
Ali had never felt so embarrassed in all her life. But she knew there was only one way to get Django the monkey off her mother, and that was to hand over a ten-dollar bill and take an unwanted reading from Lavinia the fortune teller.
Ali glanced about, and her gaze settled on Lavinia sitting on the wooden steps of her caravan, watching the whole thing with her calm, emerald eyes. Ali pulled a note from her pocket and waved it in the air. Lavinia smiled in acknowledgement and clicked her fingers. Django immediately stopped his scrabbling and leapt from Georgia onto Ali. Quick as a flash, he snatched the note from her fingers and went bounding back to the fortune teller. Lavinia stood and began sauntering toward Ali.
Ali turned to face her mom. Georgia Sweet was standing there huffing and puffing, her face red, swiping her hands all over her body and hair in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. She looked humiliated, and Ali felt awful. Luckily the whole thing had only really been witnessed by the kiosk workers and a gang of seagulls.
The intoxicating smell of sweet perfume wafted into Ali’s nostrils, and she swirled to discover Lavinia had reached her, creeping up silently behind her. “There is change ahead,” she purred conspiratorially in Ali’s ear. “The one beside you will soon be gone.”
Before Ali had a chance to really process what Lavinia was saying, her mom
spotted the woman and began to freak out all over again.
“Get away!” she cried, flapping a hand toward Lavinia. “Leave us alone you ghoul!”
Ali grabbed her mom’s hand and dragged her away from the pier, away from Lavinia and Django and the seagulls and gawking kiosk workers.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” she soothed as she went. “Are you okay?”
“No!” Georgia wailed. “I feel dirty. What if that thing gave me tetanus? I need a shower.”
Ali nodded with understanding. “Let’s go to mine.”
“No, no, no,” Georgia said bluntly. “I’ll use the hotel shower.”
“Hotel?” Ali asked, surprised. “I thought you were going to stay at mine.”
“I changed my mind,” Georgia replied flippantly. “I saw a cancellation deal on a website, and decided I’d prefer a bed to a couch.”
It all fell together then for Ali. That’s why her mom was here early. Not to give her no time to prepare but because of some deal on a hotel website.
Feelings hurt, Ali nodded. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”
But as she watched her mother walk away, Lavinia’s prediction echoed in her mind. The one beside you will soon be gone. Was she talking about her mother, who’d been physically standing beside her at the time the prediction was uttered? What did gone mean? Gone as in back home? Or gone as in… dead?
With a shudder of apprehension, Ali headed back in the direction of her bakery.
But as it came into view, Ali spotted a commotion in the seating area outside of Marco’s pizzeria. Something was happening. Something bad. With a hitch of anguish in her chest, Ali hurried toward the crowd.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A small crowd of people were clustered around, watching what appeared to be a very heated debate going on between Marco and a man in an expensive Gucci suit. Marco seemed very agitated, yelling, “I don’t even know who Bo Bronnigan is!” while gesticulating wildly with his arms in a very passionate, Italian manner. Meanwhile, the man in the gray suit appeared entirely unmoved by Marco’s protestations and was calmly holding out a brown manila envelope.
Ali felt a sinking sense of dread in her stomach as she realized what she was witnessing. Marco was being served papers. But for what reason, Ali didn’t know. She could only hear one half of the conversation. The gray-suited lawyer was not audible from this distance.
All prior worries exited Ali’s mind, and she hurried straight past Seaside Sweets, making a beeline for Marco instead, concern for her friend and fellow business owner trumping her own problems.
She drew up behind the onlookers and gently pushed her way between their elbows. She was close enough now to hear the lawyer’s voice.
“My client, Bo Bronnigan, suffered an allergy in your restaurant,” he said, jabbing the envelope at Marco.
“An allergy?” Marco cried. He snatched the envelope from the man’s hands and tore it open. He began leafing through the bundle of papers contained within, flicking through each page with mounting anguish.
“He’ll be seeking compensation,” the lawyer continued. “For physical and emotional distress. We’ll see you in court.” And with that, the lawyer shoved his way out of the crowd and marched away.
A stunned murmur went through the onlookers. In the middle of them, like some kind of circus animal on display, Marco stood holding the stack of papers, looking shell-shocked and desolate.
Ali felt her heart hitch for him. Giving a customer an allergic reaction was every food vendor’s worst nightmare. She felt a sudden need to protect him.
“Can everyone get back, please?” she said firmly, marching right into the center of the crowd. When no one moved, Ali used her arms to shoo them back. “Please? There’s nothing to see here!”
People started to stagger back, grumbling audibly like disgruntled children. Ali couldn’t help but feel slightly frustrated with the bystanders and their insatiable need for drama. Couldn't they see a man was hurting here?
Finally, they started to walk away, and Ali was at last able to turn her full attention to Marco. The poor man looked utterly desolate. Almost on the verge of tears.
“Are you okay?” Ali asked him, rubbing his upper arm supportively.
“I’m being sued for giving a customer an allergic reaction,” Marco explained.
“Does it say what allergy?” Ali asked.
“That’s the thing,” Marco cried as he waved the manilla envelope in his hand emphatically. “It’s a dairy allergy!”
Ali frowned. “Dairy? As in cheese? As in one of the three fundamental ingredients of pizza?” There must’ve been some kind of miscommunication. Maybe Marco had incorrectly labeled a pizza as cheese free or vegan when it was not, or mistakenly included an ingredient he thought was dairy free only to find out after the customer’s reaction that it was not?
“You don’t get it,” Marco said, grabbing a menu from the table and showing it to her. “I don’t list the common ingredients! I simply say, our deep-dish pizza, or our stuff crust pizza, or our thin and crispy pizza. Yes, the dough, tomato and cheese are implied, but it’s not expressly shown.”
“But… didn’t he know what a pizza actually was when he ordered it?” Ali queried, wondering if perhaps Bo Bronnigan was a foreign tourist on his first visit to the U.S.
“I guess not,” Marco replied. “But he spoke perfect English. And he didn’t have an accent.”
Ali frowned. “Even if he didn’t know what a pizza was, what did he think all the stringy yellow stuff was on top of it was when it arrived?!”
Something about this whole scenario wasn’t adding up for Ali. She started to get the distinct impression that something fishy was going on...
Marco sighed. “It doesn’t matter what he thought. I’m in the wrong and I’m getting dragged through the legal system.”
Ali shook her head. She wasn’t having this. Something wasn’t adding up. A man having an allergic reaction to a very commonly known ingredient in a restaurant that just so happened not to have listed it on the menu? It seemed, almost… planned.
“Marco, I think you’re being hoodwinked,” she said.
“What?” Marco queried. “What do you mean?”
“I think this Bo Bronnigan is an opportunist!” she cried, tapping the stack of papers in Marco’s hands.
Marco frowned, his thick, dark black brows drawing in together. “In what way?”
“Do you remember the case of the woman and the hot coffee? How she successfully sued because she was scalded by coffee, because the cup didn’t say it was hot? That’s why every cup now has to state that it ‘contains hot liquid in it.’ Well, what if Bo Bronnigan has done this before? What if he prowls around finding small business owners like you, where the ingredients aren’t listed, and deliberately gives himself a reaction. Then Mr. Rolex Watch swoops in and sues for his client, knowing full well the business owner won’t be able to afford the counter suit.”
“It would take a crazy person to pull off such a stunt,” Marco said.
“You’re right,” Ali agreed, shaking her head. “And if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that people will do crazy things for money.”
Poor Marco looked desolate. “What am I going to do?”
Ali’s heart broke for him. What an awful predicament.
“It will be okay,” she reassured him. “He won’t get away with this. It would take a really stupid judge to lean in his favor. Anyone with common sense knows that pizza has dairy in it. You shouldn’t need to advertise it. The judge will surely rule in your favor.”
“That’s not the point,” Marco replied. “I can’t afford a lawyer, and Mr. Bronnigan clearly has enough money to afford an expensive one. Did you see his Rolex?”
Ali grimaced. Marco had a good point. The most wily lawyers charged a lot for their services. If they didn’t get good results, they wouldn’t be able to. Bo Bronnigan and his lawyer certainly had a good shot here.
“Well, whatever they�
�re up to, it’s going to drive me out of business for sure,” Marco lamented. “With the proposed tax hike, too? I don’t stand a chance.”
“Look,” Ali said, taking him firmly by the shoulders. “I won’t let this sink you. No way. I’ll help raise some money to pay lawyer fees.”
A glimmer of hope flitted through Marco’s troubled expression. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Absolutely,” Ali said with a decisive nod. “I’ll ask all the vendors. We’re all in this together. It could be anyone of us.”
“Thank you, Ali,” Marco said.
He turned and slunk back to his store, looking like a dejected figure, with his head hanging low.
Ali was determined to help. Although if Marvin Chessley’s bill passed, it might all be for nothing anyway. She couldn’t help Marco if she was out of business herself.
But as she headed back to the bright boardwalk and cast her eyes at her bakery positioned next door to the pizzeria, she suddenly heard Lavinia’s prediction from earlier repeating in her mind. “The one beside you will soon be gone.”
Could it be Marco?
*
Lavinia’ premonition and Marco’s predicament weighed on Ali’s mind for the rest of the day. Even while going through the new Danish launch with Piper, it was constantly at the back of her mind, ticking away like a nagging fishwife.
“’Night, Piper!” Ali called to her assistant at the end of the day.
“See you for Danish day,” Piper replied with a grin, and headed off in the other direction.
Ali locked up the bakery and began the short walk home to her beachside apartment. As she went, she mulled over who Lavinia’s prediction may be referring to. The one beside her could mean any number of things. Her mom—who’d physically been standing beside her when the psychic's cryptic words had been uttered. Or perhaps Nate, the one who was currently beside her in a romantic sense. But it could also mean Marco or Emilio, who were geographically beside her with their respective stores.