Surrendered

by Jennifer Sienes

  Julia’s waiting for me on her front porch, the glow of the setting sun bathing her dark hair in a reddish hue. Her mother-voice announces my arrival to the entire neighborhood before I’ve locked my car. “You’re late.”

  Slinging my purse over one shoulder, I hit the lock mechanism and close the car door. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Uh oh. Someone’s had a bad day.”

  I climb the three steps to her porch with the energy of a marathoner on her twenty-sixth mile. “Why can’t life ever be simple?”

  She reaches up for a hug. “Girl, you’re asking the wrong person. My washing machine is on the fritz, Max has outgrown ninety percent of his wardrobe, and his dad is late with the child support payment—again. And don’t even get me started on the issues at work.” She opens the screen door for me.

  I step into the house, warmer by degrees, and stumble over a miniature dump truck. Legos and more toy cars are scattered on the floor. A laundry basket filled with what I assume is clean clothes takes up half the couch, and a half-eaten sandwich is the center-piece for the scarred coffee table.

  And Carol wonders why I don’t have my heart set on children.

  “Excuse the mess.” This is Julia’s motto. She squats down to pick up a few of the cars, then uses the edge of her foot to sweep a clear path through the Legos. “The maid didn’t show today.”

  “Too busy raising an eight-year-old and working a nine-to-five?”

  “Something like that.” She grimaces. “Two more weeks and the mini-monster’s back in school. At least then I can keep up.”

  “You should have let me bring dinner from the restaurant.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Cooking’s the easy part. I have a quiche in the oven, and we’ll eat in fifteen.” She snatches the sandwich from the coffee table, swipes up the crumbs, and heads for the kitchen.

  “Can I help?”

  “Nope. Relax. I’m just going to get a salad together.”

  “Where’s Max?”

  “Next door. They’re having hot dogs.”

  I drop my purse on the floor by the couch and reach into the basket for a Max-sized t-shirt. By the time Julia’s back, the laundry’s folded and stacked.

  “You ready to eat?”

  The tiny kitchen table is set up Julia-style—placemats, cloth napkins, wine glasses, and candles. Quiche and salad at each setting. She deserves someone who can appreciate her diverse gifts. Why Steven couldn’t see what he had in her is beyond me. “This is beautiful, Jules.”

  “We’re celebrating.” She pokes her head in the fridge and returns with a bottle of white wine. A few efficient moves with the opener and she pours.

  “Celebrating what?”

  “You, silly. A couple more weeks and you’re a teacher.”

  “Student teacher.”

  “Same diff.” Setting the bottle aside, she sits across from me.

  The roiling in my gut’s become the status quo. “Don’t rush me, okay?”

  “You’re still nervous?”

  Why would this be a surprise to her? “Are you kidding me? Three months ago, my life was on a very comfortable—”

  “Boring.”

  “—path. And now, I’ll be thrown into a mob of teenagers.” I spear a bite of quiche and point it at her. “And get this. I just found out that Carol’s daughter will be in my class.”

  Julia pats her mouth with her napkin. “But that’s good, right? Someone you kind of know.”

  “I’ve never met her. And if I’m a colossal failure, the last thing I want is for Carol to hear about it second hand.”

  “You’re funny.” She stabs at her salad. “Why borrow trouble?”

  “I like to be prepared.”

  “More like a self-fulfilling prophecy. You should just enjoy each moment as it comes.” She takes a sip of wine. “Take Marty, for example.”

  I scowl at her. “Marty? How do you know Marty?”

  “I don’t, but Katie told me he’s a friend of Jake’s and has been hanging out at the restaurant lately. She says he asked about you.”

  “What, are we back in junior high school?”

  “Just promise me that if he asks you out, you’ll—”

  “He did, and I won’t.”

  She clucks her tongue. “You’re impossible. If I hadn’t been your side-kick since before puberty, I’d think you don’t like guys.”

  “Because I won’t go out with Marty?”

  “Because you haven’t had a date in years.”

  Like I need a reminder. I chase a cherry tomato with my fork and spear it with more aggression than is warranted. “It’s not like you’re tripping the light fantastic with anyone, either.”

  “It’s not like anyone’s asking. If this friend of Jake’s is interested, why don’t you give him a chance?”

  “You think Marty might be such a great guy, you go out with him.”

  “As if it’s that easy.” She picks a piece of crust from her quiche and pops it in her mouth. “Any guy who has you on his radar isn’t going to be interested in me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She shakes her head. “Why would he settle for short and dumpy when he’s got tall and slender on the brain?”

  I dip my head to catch her eye. “Size and shape have nothing to do with it, Jules.”

  “You don’t know men very well, do you?”

  I could argue with her, but it’d be pointless. “You might find this hard to believe, but I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

  * * *

  Jake

  Last round through the dining room. Two tables left—patrons are finishing up their meals. Jeanine’s got it covered. Katie must be in the kitchen. Legal pad in hand, I march past Sean’s office and head for enemy territory. The clanging of pots and pans—punctuated with attitude, Maris-style—and heat from the kitchen reaches me before I near the entrance.

  Back to me, Maris hovers over the stove.

  “Katie here?”

  She doesn’t bother to turn. “Does it look like she’s here?” She holds onto anger like it’s her birthright.

  “Know where she is?”

  “Not my job.” She turns, face flushed, eyes hard. “I cook. I don’t order, manage, or care about anything else.”

  “Good. Then you know what the menu’s going to be for the next week.”

  She gives me her back again. “I don’t plan, either.”

  Need to ramp up the search for another chef. This keeps up, someone’s liable to die, and I don’t have time for a prison sentence. Katie’ll know what to order. But where is she?

  Jeanine’s clearing table five. “Have you seen Katie? Thought she was on until ten.”

  “Things are winding down, so I told her I’d cover it.”

  “So, she went home?”

  She lifts a stack of plates bigger than her. “Hope not. She said she’d close for me.”

  I tuck the legal pad under one arm. “Let me take those.” I motion with two fingers for her to pass the plates.

  “It’s cool. I got it. You might want to check the alley. Tony was here a few minutes ago.”

  I reach for the stack. “I gotta pass the kitchen to get there. Might as well give me those.” Don’t need a workman’s comp injury.

  Entering the kitchen, I breathe a sigh of relief. No Maris. I deposit the dishes in the sink and head to the alley. There, I find bigger problems—Katie and Anthony. He’s got her pressed up against the wall. And unless they’re researching anatomy, their relationship’s shifted past study buddies. My first instinct is to slip back into the restaurant, but I doubt that’s how Sean would handle it.

  My throat clearing doesn’t penetrate their heavy breathing. “Break it up.”

  That got their attention. The kid jumps back like I zapped him with a cattle prod. Katie, eyes dropping, readjusts her apron.

  “I believe Maris is done in the kitchen.” I jerk my thumb toward the door and track the kid with a hard
glare. Katie starts to follow. “Not you.” I take in her mussed hair, swollen lips, and flush of embarrassment. “Get cleaned up and meet me in Sean’s office.”

  Five minutes later, I’m still trying to figure out how to approach this. Never been in this position before—not as the parent figure. Do I lecture, ground, or threaten? Wish Sean were here. Of course, if he was, I wouldn’t be in this fix.

  Standing over the desk, I tap my pen to the legal pad. The blank legal pad. Work schedule’s not done. Need to figure out the food order. And I’ve got a surly giant-of-a-chef making life miserable. Last thing I need is to parent a teenager.

  Motion at the door pulls my attention. Katie, hair slicked back, clothes in order, stands in the doorway.

  She folds her arms and juts out a hip. More attitude I don’t need. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  I drop the pen. “Do you?”

  “I’m too young to be dating Tony.”

  I motion toward the alley. “Is that what you call what you guys were doing? Dating?”

  Her mouth tightens, but color rises on her cheeks. “I’m not a little kid, you know.”

  “Jail bait is what you are.” I push a hand through my hair. How the heck do I reach her? “I questioned him about your relationship.”

  Eyes wide, her mouth drops open. “What?”

  “Asked him what the deal is with you two. He said you’re like a sister. Nothing going on between you.”

  “He was just covering is all.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Don’t think so. He’s a young guy. You give him what he wants, he’s going to take it. Doubt it means to him what it means to you.”

  She thrusts out her chin. Sure-fire pre-cursor to an argument. “I can take care of myself. It’s really none of your business.”

  So tired of hearing that line. “Your dad made it my business.”

  She flings out a hand. “Well, he’s not here, is he?” The well of tears in her eyes takes the sting from her words.

  Time for another tack. “You’ve discussed this relationship with Tess?”

  “Yeah.” But she drops her eyes and shifts her feet. Sure sign she’s lying.

  “She knows you’re making out in the alley with him?”

  She scowls. “Did you talk about those things with your parents?”

  “We’re not discussing me, Katie. I’m telling you—”

  Maris steps in, leans against the doorjamb. “Better be careful, Kitkat. Before you know it, you’ll just be a pawn in the boss man’s game of life. He’s all about control.”

  I give Maris a pointed look. “Private conversation. Unless you have next week’s menu…”

  “Clocking out.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I hear you’re keeping tabs.”

  Katie watches Maris leave and turns back to me. “Is something going on I don’t know about?”

  I blow out a breath, drop into Sean’s chair, and wave Katie to the other. “When do you go back to school?”

  She sits. “Next week. Why?”

  “There’s been a…difference of opinion between Maris and me. I think she should plan the meals; she doesn’t.”

  Katie’s nose wrinkles. “That’s always been part of her job.”

  “Apparently, she now feels it’s negotiable. Do you think you could help me out here?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m old enough to pick up Maris’s slack, but I’m not old enough to date?”

  “Something like that. What d’you say?”

  “Do I get to go out with Tony?”

  “Not my decision.”

  “Tess?”

  I nod.

  She grins. “Well, if you say I can’t, chances are Tess’ll say I can just to annoy you.”

  “I don’t think so.” I plant my hands on the desk and push up out of the chair, stifling a groan. In the span of a few months, I’ve doubled in age. “Only thing your sister cares about more than getting back at me? You.”

  She folds her arms and looks up at me. “So, what do I get for planning the menu?”

  “Undying gratitude?”

  She shakes her head.

  “How ’bout a raise? Dollar an hour.”

  “That’s a start.” She jumps up. “I’ll see what else I can come up with.”

  “You might want to consider something.”

  Halfway out the door, she swings around. “What’s that?”

  “This is your restaurant I’m trying to save here.”

  “A lot of good it does me. If I know Dad, he put some crazy stipulation in his will that I only get it after finishing college. He’s been known to do that, you know.”

  Lord willing, I won’t still be hanging out in this insane asylum then.

  Chapter 16

  Tess

  Living in a foothill community has its drawbacks. Like, all the hills. For the most part, that’s not a problem, but when the last leg of a four-mile run is uphill, I take issue. Or I would if I didn’t have to focus all my energy on breathing. And then there’s the steep flight of stairs to reach my front porch.

  Why do I torture myself this way?

  Stepping through the front door, I’m hit with the tantalizing scent of bacon and pancakes. Bless Kitkat’s little heart. That’s why I torture myself. Guilt-free feasting. A detour to the bathroom and I’m ready for my second cup of coffee and breakfast. Whatever inspired Katie to rise before noon?

  When I push through the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen, my breath and feet come to a screeching halt. Jake’s masculine physique poses in front of the stove, dressed in tank top and running shorts. Muscular arms and legs sprinkled with dark hair render me speechless.

  “Just in time.” He smiles at me like I’m expected.

  And why shouldn’t I be? This is my house. I’m prepared to set him straight, too, when that irritating little voice in my head reminds me of the shame that accompanied me the last time I did so. Instead, I plaster on a smile and conjure up the rules of etiquette Mom drilled into me years ago. “What a…pleasant surprise.”

  He glances at me, spatula in hand. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “You do this often?” Of all the nerve.

  Eyebrows raised in question, he flips a pancake.

  “I mean, this is the first I’ve seen you in here. Cooking.”

  “I don’t suppose peanut butter and jelly counts.”

  There it is again. The heat of shame. How petty of me to be irritated with him using the kitchen to make his own breakfast when he’s been making me a lunch for close to three months. Then it hits me. “How have you been fixing your meals? I mean, with no kitchen in the guest house.”

  Scooping up a hot mitt, he opens the door to the oven and retrieves a plate of cooked bacon. Crisp, just the way I like it. “Have one.” He offers me the plate.

  With thumb and forefinger, I take a piece from the top of the pile. There’s enough to feed a third-world country.

  “I have a microwave in my cell. And a camp stove. Thinking about getting one of these.” He points to the toaster oven.

  “Your cell?” I bite off the end of the bacon and it practically melts in my mouth.

  “Inside joke. Care to join me?”

  The table is set for two, and unless this is all for Katie, he was expecting me. I’m still waiting for payback for the hose incident, so I’m hesitant to accept.

  “Don’t trust me?” He goes back to the oven and collects a plate stacked with pancakes.

  “I’m raising the figurative white flag for the moment. This is…nice.” Sliding into the corner of the nook, I take in the feast. Aside from the bacon and pancakes, there’s a bowl of fresh strawberries, a pitcher of orange juice, and two different syrups. “Hope you’re not expecting me to return the favor.”

  He snorts. “Don’t worry. Your reputation precedes you.”

  Unexpected laughter bubbles up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He passes me the pitcher of
orange juice, then sits. “There’s a reason Sean wanted you to find a career away from the restaurant. Far, far away.”

  “So I can’t cook. Sue me.”

  “We let you in the kitchen and that’s what’ll happen.”

  The thought of Maris and the accordion file sucks the humor right out of me. My mind playing over how to broach the subject, I spoon strawberries over my stack of pancakes and add syrup. “I didn’t take your file to Brent Jackson’s office.”

  “Oh?” Jake makes a production of cutting up his food, eyes down, but I catch the clench of his jaw.

  “There’s no point. I believe you…you’re right. I looked at the receipts myself and Maris has been embezzling from the restaurant for quite some time. Since you came into the picture, anyway.”

  He hesitates, eyebrows hitched, then pops a forkful into his mouth and chews.

  Where’s his I told you so? I know he wants to say it. “I’ve been trying to figure out how Dad would handle this, but…” I shrug. “Do we fire her? Do we take the evidence to the police?”

  Laying down his fork, he wipes his mouth. “Is that what you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. I still can’t believe she’s been stealing. If Dad had known, it would’ve broken his heart.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “So, do you think we should fire her?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  My arm twitches, and I drop my fork with a clatter. “For crying out loud, Jake. You were upset that I didn’t believe you, and now that I’m on your side, you suddenly don’t have a thought?”

  “We’re short-staffed. Didn’t want to try and replace Maris behind your back.”

  “Okay, so you want to fire her?”

  “Sure. Fire her. Then who’s going to cook? Katie can’t do it. Even if you had the time, you’re certainly not qualified.”

  “Here we go again.”

  “Relax. Just saying. I’m not qualified either.”

  A headache’s forming, and I rub at my temple. “I don’t want to fire her.” There has to be something more we’re not seeing here. “Can’t we just leave it as is for now? It’s not like she can take any more.”