Surrendered
Page 2
“What is it?”
Shuffling through the mail, I find the Sysco bill. “Did you place this order?”
Scanning the invoice, she says, “Yeah,” then hands it back and turns to leave again.
“Half that order is a repeat of one I placed only a couple weeks ago.”
She shrugs. “We’re running out.”
“I don’t think—”
“That’s your problem.” Tess, with Katie in tow, materializes and sucks up what’s left of the minute office space. “You don’t think.”
Given a choice, I would jump at the chance to join Sean O’Shay in paradise. It would sure beat the slow death by green-eyed glare his daughter must have perfected in childhood.
* * *
Tess
Ignoring Maris’s chuckle, I keep my focus on Jake and the flash of irritation in his eyes. Good. I shouldn’t be the only one ticked off. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m busy right now.” Jake indicates Maris with a wave of a hand. “We were discussing—”
“Don’t mind me.” She squeezes past Katie and me with the agility of a dancer. “We’re done.”
“But the order—”
“Was necessary. I have more important things to do than argue over supplies.”
Latching onto Katie’s wrist, I pull her with me into the space Maris vacated and force saccharine sweetness into my words. “Katie has a question for you.”
“Hi, Jake.” Katie maneuvers her wrist from my grasp and smiles at him like it’s a social call. “I—”
“Hey, Katydid.” Anthony’s voice floats from down the hall. “You here?”
Katie’s head whips around, long red hair flying, and I step away, my back now against the wall. Literally and figuratively. “Yeah, Tone. Be right there.” She looks at Jake. “He’s helping me with a history project. I hate history.” She wrinkles up her nose like she smells something bad. Could be the sour stench coming from Jake, who looks about as fresh as a runner after a half-marathon.
The irritation in Jake’s eyes disappears when he looks at Katie. “You have a question?”
“Oh yeah.” Katie laughs. ADD is alive and well in my baby sister. “Forgot why we’re here for a minute. Tess says you’re in charge of me.”
Eyebrows raised, Jake waits.
“I mean, is that true? Did Dad say you have to, like, you know?” She shrugs, and I stifle a groan. Could she be any less articulate?
“Katie.” Anthony pokes his head in the office door. “I gotta go. You want the stuff I got from the library or not?” He disappears again.
“Yeah. Wait up!” She turns back to Jake. “We can talk later.”
“Hold on.” I take possession of her wrist again. “We’re not done here.”
“I am.”
And just like that, I’m alone with Jake.
“Now that that’s settled…” He stands and snatches up the deposit bag.
“Nothing’s settled.” Hands on hips, I step into the doorway. No way is he going to just walk away. “Katie’s upset over this whole mess you concocted.”
“Yeah,” he says with a grimace, stepping around Dad’s desk. “She looks all broken up over it.”
“What right do you have to be interfering in our lives like this?”
He stops two feet from me and scratches his head. I’m blocking the only exit. “Look, Tess, now’s not the time. You’re upset and, as you can see”—he waves a hand down his torso—“I need to shower and change and get back here before the dinner crowd starts showing up.”
“I’m upset?” My voice cracks at the absurdity of the understatement. “You waltz into our lives, a glorified waiter, and take over like you have a right.” Tears burn my nose, and I swallow hard. I will not cry in this…Neanderthal’s smelly presence.
“None of this is my doing.”
I ignore the softening of his eyes and the sympathy in his tone. An Academy Award-winning act. A necessity for any successful con. “So, you’re saying all this was Dad’s idea? That you, a virtual stranger, get everything he held dear.”
“First of all, I’m not a stranger. And secondly, what happens from here on is up to you. I’m not holding all the cards. You are.”
“Byron Reynolds says he had you investigated.”
“Yeah?” No red flags in his response. Just boredom.
“I’d like to see the report.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“If you have nothing to hide…”
With a sigh, he rests his rear end on the edge of the desk. “Just do what your father asked. Finish school. That’s it. What is it, one year out of your life?”
How dare he presume to lay judgment on me. “I don’t care if it’s one day. No one has the right to force me to do what I don’t want to do. Not my dad. And certainly not you.”
The muscles in his jaw clench and relax, clench and relax, while he stares at the floor. Is he planning his next act or reining in his temper? Then his eyes meet mine. “Sean only wanted what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me is to retain custody of Katie and ownership of the house and this business. Sign it over to me, and you can go on your way.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You won’t do that.”
He shakes his head and stands. “I promised Sean.”
“Unbelievable.” I fist my hands until my fingernails bite into the palms. Until I can stop the flow of angry tears. “You have no right. He had no right.” What am I supposed to do now?
“I’m sorry, Tess.” He nudges me out of the doorway to pass.
“What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Excuse me?”
Turning, I face him as he stands in the dark hallway. Elton John’s Tiny Dancer wafts from the kitchen along with the scent of Mom’s spaghetti sauce—an aroma that was as much a part of my childhood as her chocolate eyes and lyrical laughter. What I wouldn’t give to have her with me now. “Are you hoping I’ll refuse to abide by my dad’s contingencies? I mean, that’s the only way you win, right?”
Shaking his head, he drifts toward the back door and his voice hangs in the shadows. “You do that, Tess, and no one wins. Least of all me.”
“Can I see the report?” I call after him.
His response echoes long after the door closes behind him. “It’s not my past you should be concerned about.”
Chapter 3
Tess
Moving among the red-checkered covered tables, I light the centerpiece candle with a utility lighter and make sure everything’s ready for the dinner crowd. Hostess duties, Dad called it. It’s a job I’ve had so long, it’s now second nature. My comfort zone, just as it had been Dad’s.
From the time I could reach the stove top, it was clear cooking wouldn’t be my forte—much to Mom’s disappointment. She’d envisioned passing the family recipes on to her first born. When that didn’t pan out, she held out hope for Katie. It’s such a shame she didn’t live long enough to see that her culinary gene did, in fact, live on. Just not in me.
There’s a sense of joy that comes from being the first person the patrons see when they step into the restaurant. It’s become a game for me to ascertain the mood of each person and see what I can do to raise it a notch or two before they leave an hour or so later. This, I can now do without breaking a sweat. I can’t think about how that’s going to change soon. At least not yet.
For as long as I can remember, the Marino family has reserved the same table on the same night of the week at the same time—back corner, Wednesday at 6:00—and tonight’s no exception. The number in the party changes every now and again, like when Melody went away to college last September and Marcus landed his first job as a stock boy for The Lumber Mill. That was short-lived. Turned out Marcus didn’t like manual labor. “I like to use my noggin,” he told me two weeks later when he reappeared with the family for dinner. Yeah, when a sixteen-year-old boy uses the term noggin, I know the brainiac crowd’s a better fit.
“Hey, college girl.” The words wheeze their way past her tight hug. “When did you get home?”
She steps back with a pretty pout, perfected since her last visit, and pins me with sad eyes. “I’m so sorry about Sean, Tess. It’ll never be the same here without him.”
Anger with Dad hasn’t tempered my grief, and I fight the tears that threaten with her sincere sympathy. “No,” I manage. “It won’t.”
She squeezes my hand before heading for the usual table, and I accept a hug from the rest of the Marino clan—all six of them. They, like so many of our regulars, don’t need to be seated. They’re as good as family and are the heart of our business.
After seeing to their immediate needs, I motion Jeanine, our head waitress, toward me. “I just seated the Marinos.”
“Got it.” She turns to leave.
“Hey, J?”
With a whip of her ponytail, she turns back.
“You seen Katie yet? She was supposed to start”—I check my watch—“ten minutes ago.”
“In the kitchen.”
I greet and seat another family before slipping in the back. Katie’s musical laughter fills the hallway, drawing me like the Pied Piper. “Hey, Kitkat.” I step into the kitchen expecting to see her and Maris strategizing, so a zing of irritation snags my words when I spot her with Jake instead. Where is Maris? I focus on my sister. “I need to see you.”
Katie spreads her arms, her slim figure encased in black from Converse shoes to the work apron embellished with the words Bella Cucina on the bib. “Here I am.”
Containing a growl, I ignore Jake’s baby blues. No doubt he’s amused by my discomfort. And just like that, the joy of a few minutes ago dissipates. “Alone.”
Before she can argue, I leave. If she’s got the brains God gave her, she’ll follow.
Moving down toward Dad’s office, I wait. One, two, three…what’s taking her so long? Five, six…I step out of harm’s way when Jeanine whooshes through the swinging door, orders in hand.
“Hey, Kate, I can use your help out there,” she says, drawing my eyes to the other end of the hallway.
“Be right there, J. Big sister needs a word first.” They pass each other with an elbow bump. “What’s up?” She blows a wayward strand from her face and plants her hands on non-existent hips.
Glancing around to be sure we’re alone, I lead her by the arm into Dad’s office, closing and locking the door. Every time I enter his domain, I expect him to appear. It’s his space, but not. The books and pictures lining the shelves on the wall behind his desk are the same. But instead of his usual clutter, I can see his desk, which reminds me he no longer inhabits this room.
The scent of his cigars has permeated the walls and furniture. How many times did he grouse about a law that didn’t allow him to smoke in his own office during non-business hours? How many times did he pay the fine rather than succumb to “big brother”? And yet here I am, a chess piece in his own form of manipulation.
“So?” Katie throws her hands up and leans against the door.
It takes a moment to shake off Dad’s essence. “What was that today?”
Furrows form between her brows. “What was what?”
“You bailed on me this afternoon.”
“I…what?”
“Our confrontation with Jake.”
Her eyes clear and she shrugs. “It’s no biggie. Tony would have left, and I realized it really doesn’t matter either way.”
Are we even inhabiting the same universe? “Meaning?”
“I’m sixteen, not six. What do I care if Jake’s ‘co-parenting’”—she uses air quotes around the word—“with you. Just one more person bossing me around.”
Shaking my head, I scramble for the words that will make the most impact. “He becomes your legal guardian, Katie. Not just one more person bossing you around—the only person bossing you around.” I want to shake her until she gets it.
Her smile slips. “That’s if you don’t go back to school like Dad wants.”
“Exactly.”
“But that’s not going to happen, right?”
Folding my arms across my chest, I stand tall. I am, after all, the adult here. Even if I don’t feel like it. Even if I could easily see myself stomping my feet like a four-year-old, begging Katie to let me stay home. “I have no intention of going back to school.” And I sound like a grown up when I say it.
Her eyes narrow. “Dad’s been telling me my whole life that college isn’t an option. I gotta go. So, what’s the deal?”
“I’ve already been. I got my degree.”
She snorts. “In what? Restaurant management? ’Cause if this is your idea of a career—”
“Psychology.” The joke’s on me.
Eyes widening, she smiles. “Are you serious? That’s…why didn’t I ever know that?”
“You never asked. Besides, it was years ago. Before Mom died.”
“I don’t get it. Why did Dad say you have to go back if you finished?”
“Post-graduate school. I was going to be a teacher.”
“How long will that take?”
I blow out a sigh. “Katie, you’re missing the point. I don’t want to go back. I mean, really, there’s no reason. But it doesn’t matter, because Jake can’t be your guardian if you choose to fight it.”
“But you said we’d lose the house too. And the restaurant.”
Better than facing my shame. I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just stuff, kiddo.”
Tears pool in her eyes and she steps back. “No, Tess. It’s not. It’s…everything.”
“Katie.” I reach out for her again, but she pulls away and fumbles with the lock. “Listen to me. We can work all that out.”
“No.” Yanking the door open, she looks at me. “This is everything I know. This is Mom and Dad and my whole life. And you want to throw it all away because…because why? I don’t even know.” She swipes at the tears tracking down her cheeks. “Because you’re too selfish to go back to school? How lame is that?”
“Listen, Katie…” But she doesn’t. Instead, she slams through the swinging door, hell bent on escape. Jake stands in the hallway outside the kitchen. He starts to say something, then disappears into his hideaway.
Chicken.
* * *
Jake
I duck into the kitchen to avoid the condemnation in Tess’s eyes and the echo of Katie’s temper, but my relief is short-lived. Maris appears, arms laden with supplies from the root cellar, and throws me a smirk as if she has a front-row seat to my thoughts. How Sean dealt with the female attitude, I’ll never know.
“Making points again, boss?” The title is infused with sarcasm. She deposits her load on the chopping-block island and takes position in front of the industrial stove. Pots of sauce bubble and steam, adding a good twenty degrees to the room.
The old adage “If you can’t stand the heat” pops into my head. If it wasn’t for that asinine promise I made Sean, I’d high-tail it to a safer environment—San Quentin, or maybe Somalia.
Before I can deflect, Katie bursts into the room. “You have my eggplant parmesan and two orders of lasagna?”
“Coming up,” Maris says without turning.
Katie passes me, snatches up a tray, and makes a beeline for the fridge. What? I’m invisible now? “Everything going okay out there?”
Her back to me, she says, “What if Tess won’t go back to school?”
So that’s it. “Look, Katie…” I flick a glance at Maris’s backside. This isn’t the time or place.
“You’re really going to kick us out of our house?” Katie whips two salads from the fridge, slides them onto the tray, and turns for more. Not once does she look at me. That ability to co
mmunicate through lack of eye contact—must be the double X chromosome.
Stalling for time, I clear my throat. She’s going to make it the time and place. “I…this…I mean…none of this is my idea.” Wimp.
Snatching up the tray, Katie breezes past me with a “whatever” and backs her way through the swinging door.
Maris, her larger-than-life backside still facing me, snorts. “You better hope Sean’s ghost is hanging around to give you a hand. The O’Shay girls’ll eat you alive.”
Don’t I know it.
Better to deal with Maris’s disrespect and derision than the double set of green-eyed condemnation in the dining room. “Need a hand in here?”
Maris turns, face flushed, marinara-covered spoon in hand. “Yeah. You can set up two plates of lasagna while I get Katie’s eggplant.”
Relieved to have something to focus on, I grab an apron and jump to do her bidding. Whatever happened to my being the Master of Compartmentalization? Used to be I was laser-focused—set aside anything that might throw me off my game. Never thought that game would be juggling angry, grief-stricken sisters and a giant-sized sidekick.
The whoosh of the swinging door draws my attention like a magnet. Katie’s back, loaded for bear. “And what about this restaurant? You going to run it all by yourself? ’Cause if you think I’m going to work here for you”—she snatches the prepared plates from me, maneuvers them into one hand, and accepts Maris’s eggplant—“you’re delusional.”
“I—”
“Whatever,” she says again before slipping past Jeanine, who’s holding the door open.
“Hey, Maris. We need three specials and one…”
I grab three plates from the sideboard to fill Jeanine’s order. How’d I end up wearing an apron and working in a kitchen? If my father could see me now…
Hang on. What if Tess doesn’t go back to school? It never occurred to me this could turn out to be my life. A simple promise. One year, tops. So Sean said.