by Jessica
“No. You don’t get it. It’s over for me. I just . . . I’m sorry.” He rushed out the door to catch up with his father.
I looked at my coffee table, still covered in serving dishes that held the food that I’d slaved over. What moments ago had been a gorgeous display of culinary delights now looked hopelessly sad to me; I had never intended to have my cooking and my work used against Kyle. I helped myself to an oyster and pondered Hank’s outburst. As a budding social worker, I knew that Hank’s behavior must be rooted in his own past. He’d probably grown up in a terrible family and was now passing on his pain to his son. Still! I just couldn’t understand how any father could treat his son that way, especially in front of someone else. Granted, Hank had given Kyle the chance to write the cookbook, but he seemed to have done so mainly to create an opportunity to belittle his son. Of course, Kyle was rather incompetent, but how the hell was anyone expected to succeed under Hank Boucher’s cruel guidance? That demeaning, abusive, hateful scene was tantamount to emotional murder.
Murder. It occurred to me that Hank was in Boston when Digger died. Kyle and Hank were supposed to meet me at Digger’s that morning. When they’d arrived in the rented Hummer, Hank had been driving, so he’d obviously had Digger’s address, and might have had it the previous evening or in the early morning. And Hank was certainly a horrible person, maybe horrible enough to commit murder. Look how he had exploded at Kyle! And right in front of me. I hated to imagine how his temper flared when there were no witnesses. But what possible motive could he have had for killing Digger? As far as I knew, Hank had never even met Digger.
I nibbled on shrimp-and-Brie puffs and gave silent thanks for having parents who loved me, who wanted the best for me, and who would never, ever subject me to public humiliation.
EIGHTEEN
ON Thursday, four days after the appetizer disaster, I still hadn’t heard from Kyle or Hank. I couldn’t bear to call Kyle, who was probably licking his wounds and would get in touch with me once they’d begun to heal. In spite of my sympathy for him, I couldn’t help being curious about the status of the cookbook. I needed the job as much as ever and needed to know whether Hank had scrapped the project or whether we were still writing the book.
I was coming home from my supervision group when I noticed Owen’s obtrusive fish truck parked by the sidewalk in front of my house. Maneuvering my car into my spot, I eyed the seafood company’s logo on the side of the truck: WE’LL GIVE YOU CRABS. God! No wonder Owen’s business was doing badly. I could see Owen in his side mirror. He was bouncing his head to music and hadn’t noticed my arrival. I snuck up to the driver’s side window and startled Owen by pounding on the glass. He jumped. “We don’t want any!” I said loudly. “Get your smelly truck outta here!”
Owen laughed and rolled down the window. “You scared the crap out of me, Chloe.”
“That was the point. You waiting for me?”
“Yeah. I need to talk to you.”
“Do you want to come up?”
“Nah, I can’t stay too long. How ’bout you hop in? It’s nice and warm, and I’ve got AM radio,” he said in a singsong voice.
“In that case, sure. You know how I love AM radio. When else can I hear Paul Anka?” I rolled my eyes but climbed into the passenger’s seat. “What’s up? Is something going on with Adrianna? Or Patrick?” I wrinkled my nose at the stench. I love seafood, but the smell in the truck was a bit much, even for me. The dolphin air freshener did little to camouflage the fishy reek.
“Nah, Ade and Patrick are fine. Look, Chloe,” Owen said, running his hands through his dark hair, “I came to talk to you about Josh.”
“No you don’t!” I reached for the door handle, but Owen hit the automatic lock button. “Are you seriously keeping me hostage?”
“Yes. Just hear me out.”
I crossed my arms and sulked. “Fine. What is it?”
“He really wants to talk to you, and he says that you won’t take his calls and that you brushed him off at the Penthouse’s opening.”
“Why would I want to talk to him, Owen? He’s part of my past, and I’m trying really hard to move on, but no one will let me!” I held back tears.
“First of all, he’s really worried about this Kyle that you’re working for. He says this guy is a total jerk.”
“Yeah, what the hell is his problem with Kyle, anyway? He certainly can’t be jealous! Besides, I don’t care what Josh thinks.”
“Maybe this is just an excuse for Josh to be in touch with you, but he wanted me to tell you that he and Digger went to culinary school with Kyle, so he knows more about Kyle than you think.”
What? Kyle had never once mentioned that he’d gone to culinary school. Yes, he’d said that he’d gone to school briefly in Boston, but he certainly hadn’t said a thing about culinary school, and he hadn’t told me that he’d known Digger. I couldn’t remember whether I’d mentioned Josh’s last name when we’d discussed Simmer, but Digger was another matter entirely. There weren’t all that many Diggers in the world to begin with, and a guy named Digger who was a Boston chef? I was willing to bet that there’d been only one, and I couldn’t believe that Kyle had failed to reveal his connection. Furthermore, as I’d learned on the night when I’d cooked with Ade, Owen, and Kyle, the famous chef’s son couldn’t even cook! As for his taste buds, practically every dish we’d tried during our restaurant outings had tasted good to him; even when food was mediocre or downright awful, he thought that it was just fine. “Oh. Well, I didn’t know that Kyle had gone to school with Josh. And so what if Josh doesn’t like Kyle? Big deal.”
“He misses you, Chloe. Josh really misses you.”
“No.” I shook my head and looked straight ahead. “No, he doesn’t. He’s fooling around with Snacker’s girlfriend, Georgie. I saw them together the other night.” I sniffed and forced a smile. “So how are you doing? What’s been going on at your house?”
“Smooth change of subject there,” Owen said. “But I’ll let it go for now. The truth is that things are sort of tough. The fish business blows, and I promised Adrianna that I’d look online for another job. In fact, that’s where I’m headed now. There just has to be something more reliable than this. I really thought that I could make this work, you know? I thought that by now I’d have a bunch of regular restaurants that would give me all of their business and that I’d be making fat commissions off all of them.” He shrugged and looked solemn and disturbingly un-Owen-like.
“I’m sure you’ll find something soon. Who wouldn’t want to hire you? You’ve got tons of experience in so many areas,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on Owen’s erratic work history.
“We’ll see. Adrianna and Patrick are going to be gone for a while tonight, so I’ll really be able to concentrate on this job search. It’s hard to pay attention when my beautiful wife and entertaining son are around.”
“Where is Ade going? I could watch Patrick for you guys if you need me,” I offered.
“Thanks, but she’s going to a clothing swap set up by her online mothers’ group. I guess they’re meeting at one of the mom’s houses for a potluck. Ade has a big bag of clothes that Patrick has already outgrown, but mostly I think she’s getting out of the house to make me stick to my job hunt. She knows me too well.” He laughed and then turned serious again. “I feel like I’m letting her down.”
I leaned over and gave Owen a hug. “She adores you, Owen, and you could never let her down. Never.”
“Thanks, Chloe. I love her, too.”
“I know you do.” I kissed Owen on the cheek and stepped out of the truck. “You better get off to that job search, mister.”
“Hey,” he started, “please think about talking to Josh. I think you’re blowing things here. He is still in love with you, Chloe.”
“Tough!” I shut the door.
“And you’re in love with him!” Owen called out the window as I walked away. “You know you are!”
“Shut up, Owen!” I la
ughed over my shoulder. He meant well, but he wasn’t doing much to bolster the supposedly independent-woman theme I had going.
I was wiped out. When I reached my condo, I immediately yanked off my mental-health-professional clothes and pulled on cozy sweatpants and thick socks. I was going to hunker down in front of Thursday-night television and work my way through a carton of ice cream. I rooted through my dresser for a top and pulled out the first one I got my hands on, a worn red T-shirt. Seeing what I’d yanked out at random, I pressed the tattered shirt to my face as my eyes welled up. The T-shirt was Josh’s. I’d forgotten that I still had it. I inhaled deeply, hoping that a trace of him still lingered on the shirt, but it just smelled like laundry detergent. I knew I should have shoved it back into the dresser or, better yet, thrown it in the trash, but I pulled it over my head, wrapped my arms around my chest, and hugged the fabric against me.
I flipped on the computer, sat on the bed, and checked Facebook. I’d been out of the Facebook loop for a long time; I’d barely checked in since Josh had left. Despite having blocked all of his attempts to contact me, I hadn’t had the heart to remove him from my list of friends. I clicked on his name and saw my chef’s profile picture, a gorgeous shot of him with a ridiculously perfect ocean behind him, a photo obviously taken in Hawaii. His tanned face smiled at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. When I browsed through a bunch of photos from Hawaii, it seemed to me that he had been having a jolly good time there frolicking on the beach with new friends, slinging back drinks on a lanai, and snorkeling off a boat in stupendous waters. Ugh, and there were lots of stupid, bikini-clad bronze goddesses in the pictures. I scoffed at the photos but felt pasty and bloated at the sight of those girls.
When my cell rang, I haphazardly picked it up. “Hello?” I said, still staring at a glistening Josh emerging from the water after his first attempt at surfing.
“Chloe, it’s Kyle.”
I decided right away that I’d make no mention of the nastiness with his father. If Kyle wanted to bring it up, I’d certainly be there for him, but I was in no mood to exercise my social-work skills. “Hey, Kyle.”
“Hey yourself. Do you want to try another restaurant tonight? I found this great- looking Cajun place tucked between an all-night laundromat and a goth bar.”
“That sounds great,” I lied, “but could we do it another night? I’ve got so much schoolwork to catch up on.” Truthfully, I didn’t feel like spending another night out at a bad restaurant. Kyle just didn’t seem to know how to pick good ones. But our project was evidently still on.
“Of course. I know I’ve been asking for a lot of your time lately. Maybe Adrianna is free? And Owen, of course? They might like to have dinner out.”
“That’s a great idea,” I murmured as I glared at a photo of Josh in between two brunettes. “It’s really generous. But I just talked to Owen, and Ade is taking Patrick to some moms’ group tonight, and Owen is chained to the computer to look for a new job.”
“He’s giving up on the seafood business?” Kyle asked.
“Apparently. If he can find something better, which at this point could be almost anything.” I paused. “Your father can’t go with you?” I suggested tentatively.
“My father is having dinner with someone else tonight.” He dropped the name of a very famous Food Network chef. I was duly impressed.
“You weren’t invited?”
“No, I wasn’t.” Kyle couldn’t hide his bitterness. “Anyway, I think I’ll go out and try this place by myself. If it’s worth it, then maybe you’ll come back with me another night?”
“Definitely.”
“Now, you sure I can’t lure you away from work? A little gumbo? Creole? Etouffée?”
I had no appetite for anything but soothing ice cream right now. “Sorry. But another night, I promise. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I hung up and clicked back to Josh’s profile page. One of my favorite things about Facebook is being able to see what friends are doing. When Facebook offers me the fill- in-the-blank opportunity to tell people what I’m up to myself—Chloe followed by a space to enter whatever I like—I usually update my status by supplying silly things like “Chloe is considering buying a BeDazzler so she can stud all her clothes with rhinestones” or “Chloe is wondering why she has the theme from Superman running through her head.”
Josh’s status had been updated twenty minutes earlier: “Josh is still missing her.”
My cell rang again. I figured that Kyle was calling back to reel off more Cajun cooking terms and repeat his invitation to go out. I was wrong.
“You picked up this time,” Josh said.
“It was an accident.” I clicked off his profile and hit the Status Updates button, the one that let me know what all of my online friends were doing at that Facebook moment.
“What are you doing right now?” he asked.
“Looking through Facebook. Isn’t that exciting? My life is terribly scintillating. No wonder you moved to Hawaii.”
“Don’t say that.”
Both of us were silent, but I stared at the computer screen as Josh’s status update changed:Josh is on the phone with the most beautiful girl in the world.
Josh is sorry. He made a huge mistake.
Josh is outside a brown house in Brighton.
Josh is walking up her back stairs.
Josh is hoping against hope that she’ll let him inside.
Josh is totally and completely in love.
My hands started to shake. I walked slowly from the bedroom into the living room and looked down at the floor for a moment before lifting my head to the window on the back door. Josh waved his BlackBerry at me. I dropped my phone.
Josh and I locked eyes, and I rushed forward and opened the door. It didn’t matter to me at all that I had on crummy clothes or that my hair was in a ratty ponytail or that I was wearing his old shirt—in a desperate attempt to feel close to him. He stepped inside, putting his body inches from mine, and shut the door behind him.
Josh slid an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “I love you,” he breathed. Everything became blurry as he slowly kissed me.
I pulled back slightly. “I don’t love you,” I said, and then took his face in my hands and kissed him hard.
“But I still love you,” he whispered, walking me backward toward the bedroom.
“But I still don’t love you,” I whispered back, smiling and fumbling to pull off his shirt. “I don’t love you at all.”
NINETEEN
A good hour later, I rolled onto my side while Josh held me in his arms and kissed my shoulder. It felt as if no time had passed since the last time we’d made love, but I was keenly aware that everything was different now.
“Josh?”
“Yeah, babe,” he said as he ran soft kisses across my skin.
“What about Georgie?” I shut my eyes, waiting for his answer.
“What do you mean?”
I sighed and scooted away. “I know you’re together, Josh. You and Georgie.”
Josh rolled me onto my back and laughed. “Have you totally lost your mind since I’ve been gone?”
My expression became serious. “Actually, yes.”
He hung his head. “I’m sorry. But what would give you the idea that I’m with Snacker’s girlfriend? I talked to Owen before I called you, and he told me that you had this crazy notion that I’d hooked up with that girl. There is no truth to that idea whatsoever.” Josh slid his body on top of mine and brushed the hair from my face. “None at all.”
“But I saw you two together. Last Friday.” I didn’t particularly want to reveal that I’d been hiding behind a potted plant, spying on him. “I just happened to be coming out of the ladies’ room when you told her how hot she was. Not that she isn’t, but . . .”
“You nut!” Josh said with a smile. “Didn’t you notice that a lot of the food that night was lukewarm when it got to the table?”
“Yeah.”
“I wa
s taking Georgie and all the other servers to task for ruining the food. They were all so incompetent. They kept letting the plates sit too long before taking them to the tables.”
“Oh.” I gazed into his blue eyes and gently ran my hand down his back. “So you’re not interested in Georgie?”
“God no. There is only one woman I’m interested in, Chloe.”
“Oh,” I said again.
“But you’re right about one thing. Georgie is not above cheating on Snacker.”
“I know. Digger, right?”
“Yeah. How’d you know that?”
“That was another conversation that I happened to overhear.”
“My, you heard a lot that night, didn’t you?” Josh teased. “I can tell you that Digger wasn’t the only guy she was cheating on Snacker with. I never thought Snacker would be the faithful one in a relationship, but he seems really into her. I feel bad for him, although he’s probably earned it after all the messing around he’s done in his life.”
“You don’t think . . . you don’t think that Snacker could have . . .” I started.
“No. Snacker did not kill Digger.” Josh shook his head.
“Did Snacker know that his girlfriend was having an affair with Digger, his close friend? No one—not even Snacker, who has his own knack for philandering—would like that.”
“I can’t believe that he would ever do something so gruesome. He loved Digger, just like I did.”
“He did benefit from Digger’s death, though. He got the executive chef job at the Penthouse.”
“I hate to admit it, but Snacker’s not the most honest, upright person I know, and yes, he did need the money. But that’s all.”
“Do you know he stole some of your recipes? You couldn’t have missed the spring rolls he put on the menu. He thought you’d be in Hawaii and you’d never know.”