by Susan Sands
So, the letter continued to burden her conscience. Maureen hadn’t destroyed it, though she’d been tempted many times during the past ten years. She had enough scruples or whatever the character trait was that kept her from destroying the truth, even if she’d made the long-ago decision to keep it deeply hidden. She had her principles. Cammie might never forgive her if she found out. But maybe, if it ever came to light, or if Maureen had a fit of conscience too strong to resist one of these days, Cammie would hopefully understand that Maureen only had her best interests at heart. Always.
Of course there was the very real possibility that someday Grey would tell Cammie about the letter. Maureen realized that by hiring Grey to work on the house, she’d made that scenario more likely than it ever would have been. Though she could hardly have turned down his help considering the generous offer he’d extended.
What would be would be, and they would all live with the consequences.
Before Maureen had met James Laroux, the father of her children, she’d been deeply hurt and disillusioned. Admittedly, her righteous intentions in protecting Cammie from heartbreak might have roots hidden within Maureen’s own painful past. This wasn’t something she wished to dredge up and examine so many decades later.
She’d hated that Cammie was forced to come back and handle the family business while she was down from this blasted surgery. But her other children hadn’t Cammie’s skills and acumen, either in business or in the kitchen; that girl was a magician with food. Maureen had known she’d discover the empty kitchen and set things aright.
She’d not had the energy or the time to restore things, but her daughter was a left-brain/right-brained whiz. Creative and organized, and could solve a problem using both skill sets like no one Maureen’d ever seen. Evangeline House’s kitchen didn’t stand a chance without Cammie in residence. Things would be set to rights in no time.
Her conscience bothered her, knowing Grey Harrison was living in Ministry again and they hadn’t alerted Cammie, but The Evangeline House was the family lifeblood. And Maureen thought he might be the reason Cammie stayed away. Maybe clearing the air—even yelling at him or finally demanding an explanation for what had happened ten years ago would gain some closure to the entire matter.
Maureen of all people understood unresolved emotions and never having the opportunity to close the book on an unfinished chapter in life. Closure was vital to move forward without regrets and what might-have-beens.
Chapter Six
‡
Cammie was excited but exhausted after last night’s exertion; she’d cleaned, organized and prepared for the weekend’s cooking frenzy. Rose arrived first thing this morning with her helpers in tow to give the place a super-duper scrubbing down.
By the time she’d dressed, gone through a few things in the office, and made her way to the kitchen, she was nearly buzzing with the anticipation of throwing herself into her recipes. Finding a clean apron hanging on a hook next to the back door, she once again blessed Rosie’s like-minded determination to set things right around here.
Her chest was still somewhat sore, but not nearly so much as she’d expected, and though she had a nasty bruise surrounding her left eyebrow, all in all, Cammie supposed the deer had fared far worse.
Allowing for her less than a hundred percent status, she’d made detailed lists by task, cook times, and temperatures, items that would require refrigeration, etc. Organization was key to efficient execution of all that required doing. This afternoon, she’d scheduled food tastings for the weekend’s events. That way, there would be no surprises when she tweaked the originally planned menus.
Completely engrossed in her pastry dough, Cammie was dragged from her sore, but happy place by a ruckus of what might be barking and—squawking—outside? This couldn’t be good. Startled, and more than a bit curious as to what the disturbance might be, Cammie poked her head out the back kitchen door.
Her attention was drawn immediately to the formerly-empty wire chicken coop. The large containment now confined chickens. Not happy chickens, unfortunately, as they were currently set upon by a large dog dead set on catching a chicken snack. The dog barked and howled madly while the flustered fowl flapped and screeched—as hens are wont to do when threatened by a hound nurturing unholy intentions.
Cammie saw Grey enter the fray. Whistling urgently for the dog to cease and desist, but likely only causing more chicken heart failure, he worked to gain control of the madness. It was almost too much. She hurried outside toward the maelstrom, not sure how best to approach this chaos.
Fortunately, her presence distracted the dog just long enough for Grey to grab him by the collar and haul him out of the wire containment.
The chickens continued their squawks of angst and outrage a few more moments before settling down.
She found her voice first. “Grey Harrison, what on earth were you thinking? Chickens? Really? You could have given me a heads-up.”
His surprise at her arrival on the scene was evident in his deer-in-the-headlights expression. He quickly recovered himself, attempting a manlier pose.
“A gift from my father.” Sleeves rolled up, tanned forearms exposed; he extended his arms wide as if bestowing on her the greatest of treasures. The boxer sat beside him, chicken feathers hanging from his mouth and stuck to his nose.
She’d been trying, since making her way out the back door to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t contain her laughter a moment longer. Her shoulders shook, and it took several minutes before she could speak without tears rolling down her face.
“What? Who doesn’t like chickens?” He was filthy and boasted more than a few fowl feathers attached to his own person.
She managed to get her mirth under control finally, and answer truthfully, “But why would I want them? I’m only here for a few more weeks.”
“Evangeline House has always kept chickens—it’s tradition.” He had her there. She was surprised he’d remembered and wondered where the chickens had gone. As far back as she could recall, there had been chickens and fresh eggs on the property.
“I assume the chickens went the way of my mother’s kitchen, but I will say thank you. I have a ton of cooking to do and I prefer to use farm fresh eggs. Once I get things back up and running, and Mom is back to her lively self, I can’t imagine her not wanting the chickens.”
“You’re welcome. My dad asked me to bring them over and put them in the coop and check on you and your mother. How are you both, by the way?”
“Please tell him we appreciate his thoughtfulness,” she said. “Mom’s obviously still in the hospital, but recovering nicely, thanks.”
“You’re quite the sight, aren’t you?” He seemed amused by her appearance.
“I tried to cover the bruise with makeup, but figured it didn’t really matter.” Comprehension dawned on Cammie that he wasn’t referring to her bruised face, but at what a hot mess she’d become during her cooking frenzy. Her apron was literally coated with remnants of the ingredients she’d used in several recipes thus far.
Lifting a flour-infested hand, she patted her hair in a Marilyn-esque fashion—she’d twisted it into a messy bun and quickly clipped it up out of the way. Based on what she could feel, half of the messy bun was down and she felt some pretty significant chunks of—what was that?
Cammie pulled something out of the back of her hair, and realized it was a medium sized blob of dough. She smiled sweetly at Grey and held out the offering, “Hungry?”
His lips twitched as he unsuccessfully tried to control his smirk. Those same lips that made her ache with sensations she hadn’t fully understood as a young woman.
“Um, nope. Just ate.” Chuckling a bit, he turned toward his truck, whistled for his dog, and ducked as the dough flew past his head, then he flashed her a grin.
Realizing there wasn’t hope for a graceful exit, Cammie simply said, “You have a little—I mean, be careful you don’t get any chicken shit in your truck.” She stared meaningfully a
t his rear end, pointing. It was hard to hold a grudge against a guy who had chicken shit on his butt and had just done a nice thing for her mother.
“Hang on; I’ll get a paper towel from inside.” Her face was burning, as was the rest of her, and Cammie was relieved for the quick escape. What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t be noticing his butt. Or any guy’s, for that matter. She hated guilt.
*
Grey pulled up beside Samantha just as the bus rolled away. She’d just begun her slow walk, dragging her heavy backpack down the gravel drive. The home was set off the road about a quarter mile. Grey tried to meet her at the bus at the front of their property whenever he could. Some days, since he’d been working for the Laroux family, she got off the bus at Evangeline House with Lucy. “Hey there. Did you have a good day?”
She didn’t look up, just made her way to the passenger’s side door, head down. “You’re late.”
Was she crying? Her eyes appeared a bit pink and slightly puffy, but he couldn’t really tell as she hadn’t yet looked at him straight on. Her behavior was erratic at times, and he knew to tread carefully. She climbed in and shut the door. “The bus just pulled away. I wasn’t early, but I wouldn’t call it late.” There was definitely something going on here. “I delivered some chickens to Lucy’s aunt so she would have fresh eggs for her cooking.”
“Why do you like her so much? You never talk to other ladies like you do her.”
“Do you see how Grandpa’s house and Miz Maureen’s house are separated by a gate in the backyard?” He asked.
She nodded.
“Well, I grew up with all of Lucy’s aunts and her Uncle Ben. Ben and Cammie were the closest two to my age, so we went to school together and were all friends when we were kids and went back and forth to each other’s houses. That’s why I’m comfortable talking with her; it’s because we grew up together.”
Samantha took that in, then nodded solemnly again. “Okay, Daddy. It’s good to have friends. I’m glad Lucy’s my friend.”
Grey felt a pang of guilt in telling a partial truth to his very intelligent daughter. He also worried that the whole truth would somehow find its way out at some point. But while Samantha was so fragile, he’d take things as they happened for now.
“So what’s happened to upset you today?” Grey asked softly.
“Sophie’s having a birthday party, and she was talking about her mom and dad putting up decorations and how they were going grill out and how her mom was taking her to get her nails done.” Samantha gave him a sorrowful stare. “It made me sad.” Her lip quivered.
“Aw, baby, I know.” He pulled her in close. Then, he extended a hand where she could see it. “My cuticles are awfully rough. How about a mani-pedi?”
He heard her giggle through her tears. “Daddy, I don’t think so.”
“Aw, come on. I wouldn’t embarrass you.”
She pulled back and said very seriously, “Thanks for trying, but Mommy and me never got our nails done together anyway.”
He sighed. She was right. Deb just didn’t do many normal mommy kinds of things with her daughter. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. I have some killer callouses,” he said, trying to lighten the mood between them again.
“Got it.” She moved back to her side of the truck, and seemed pretty much back on an even keel, for the moment.
*
Cammie’s tasting meetings for this week’s events with the Forrester’s and Dupree’s went quite well. She’d tweaked the menus slightly, but closely followed the original orders, adding a few embellishments. The clients’ approval greatly relieved her mind, because frankly, she wasn’t certain what she would’ve done otherwise. Tomorrow was Thursday, and she still had a few last minute items to attend in the kitchen tomorrow, but she’d completed the bulk of the cooking today.
Jo Jo would be her right hand on Saturday, along with any other family members she could manage to hog-tie and drag in as party helpers. Cammie wasn’t certain if they’d scatter like roaches once she hit the scene, leaving most of the work on her shoulders. Normally, a couple sisters and various in-laws pitched in when there were two events going on, or so Mom had led her to believe.
When she’d been young, Cammie had thrived on the buzz of anticipation right before an event. The satisfaction of playing an important role in making someone’s most special day memorable infused her with great delight.
The butterflies she now experienced reminded her of those past weddings, graduations, anniversaries, and all the many and varied other kinds of parties she’d been a part of in the history of this business that was her family legacy.
Cammie would do her best while she was here to see her family’s business thrive. She would deal with the fact that Grey might be the best person to help preserve this heritage. Hopefully, once Mom was back on her feet, she could scuttle right back to Virginia and Jason and the tatters of her career.
*
Cammie was just putting the finishing touches on the Dupree lemon petit fours when she heard the swoosh of the kitchen door and a loud catcall from behind. She carefully lifted the icing tip away from the last, luscious square before turning around.
Her big, gorgeous brother Ben frowned. “Hey, are you sure you’re up for all this?”
“And if I wasn’t, do you have a replacement in mind?”
He surveyed her bruised face as if to reassure himself she was indeed on the mend.
“Alright, pretty boy, stop lollygagging and help me get these desserts into the ballroom.’
“Pretty boy? Ew, Cam, that’s gross. I’ll help you if you promise never to call me that again.”
“Fine, but I could use an extra set of hands, here.”
He bowed, “At your service, ma’am.”
They carried the trays to the beautifully decorated ballroom, everything at the ready for the Dupree wedding reception. The guests would be arriving shortly.
“Wow. This all looks awesome. Who’s getting married?”
“Wanda Dupree is marrying Logan Townsend. Do you know them?” She glanced over her shoulder and registered the sick look of fear on Ben’s face.
“Yeah, I know Wanda.”
“By the looks of you, you know her pretty well.” Cammie wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure if she should, judging by his panicked expression.
“We, uh, dated awhile back.”
“Was Wanda prior to the two-date rule?” Ben recently enacted a two-date maximum per woman. This applied to all women. He’d been having issues with them getting too attached. But in the spirit of fairness, he couldn’t play favorites.
“She was the reason for it. Well, the main one.”
“Well, if you don’t want to renew your—relationship, you’d better clear out, little brother. The wedding party should be arriving any second if everything went off as it should at the church.”
“You don’t need to tell me twice. Oh, you in for football later?”
“What?” No one had mentioned football to her.
“Are you kidding? Alabama’s playing Auburn tonight. You telling me you didn’t know? We’re all watching the game—like we always do, Cam.”
Surely he was joking. They were all going to hang out and watch football while she handled two events at the same time? Her open-mouthed irritated glare must have given Ben a clue.
“Oh, come on, the game’s not ’til eight. Plenty of time to wrap this up and join the family at kick off.”
“You all suck, you know that?” She tried to hide the fact that her eyes had grown suspiciously moist. She had a few extra hands from the rental company staff picking up the empty glasses and such, but she would be running her tukus off trying to keep up with both parties. Jo should be down in minute to help, but even the two of them would struggle with all this.
He grinned a great big sneaky grin. “Aw, honey, we’re not so bad. Who gets married in Alabama on game day, anyway?” Then he walked out, leaving her fuming and sputtering at the uselessness of her siblin
gs.
She hadn’t gotten a firm commitment from any of them, had she? Cammie had assumed, like when they were kids that everyone would pitch in on the weekends. She supposed it was her own fault. No wonder her mother’s back had gone out.
Just when she’d begun slamming things around in the kitchen and was about to start screeching at the top of her lungs, one-by-one, her siblings, their spouses, and available children showed up, dressed in appropriate serving attire.
“Thank goodness you showed up to help out. I was about to get in my car and drive home.” She put them to work, but it seemed they already knew what to do and where to help out.
The evening was a blur of activity, but Cammie fell back into it with an easy familiarity that came with lifelong experience.
Besides bride Wanda getting stinking drunk, and making a scene by stumbling into the anniversary party during the toast after she’d cried on Ben’s shoulder on her way back from the bathroom, everything had been a smashing success.
Cammie was exhausted, and fortunately minimal damage control had been necessary to smooth any ruffled feathers caused by the inebriated bride.
After the crowd had departed and her siblings had pitched in to help clear away any remaining dishes, she headed upstairs and changed from party attire into jeans and an Alabama sweatshirt. Hair in a ponytail, she headed to the kitchen to construct a few tailgating favorites. No football game was complete without the perfect appetizers. She checked her watch. There would be just enough time if she hurried.
Downstairs, much of the noise was male, but included thunderous footfalls of children barreling across old hardwood floors, her sisters’ laughter, and the occasional parental correction of a niece or nephew thrown in. They were sounds of home, of fall, and family experiences so common, she’d nearly forgotten them. Cammie paused, tearing up like a ninny outside the large living area housing the enormous flat screen her brother bestowed a couple years ago upon the room for Christmas. It was simply called, the football TV.