A Katherine Reay Collection

by Katherine Reay

  He stopped painting and turned to me. “You were young. The school didn’t want to accept you, so I called. After a long chat, John agreed to not only let you in but to keep an eye on you. We probably talked twice a week that summer. And when you came to work for him during college, he’d call and give me updates. We only stopped chatting a few years ago. He was so proud of you.”

  “And when were you going to tell me this?”

  “Never.” Dad shrugged.

  “Why?”

  “I failed you then. I still do, I think.” He caught my narrowed eyes and continued, “You wanted to leave, but I needed to make sure you were safe. John did that for me when I couldn’t do it myself.”

  “You’re a good man too, Dad.” I leaned forward and hugged him.

  “I love you, too, Lizzy.” He squeezed me and pushed me back to look into my eyes.

  I smiled. That’s my dad.

  I stood out on the sidewalk in the afternoon light as the memory danced in my head much like the sunlight in the tree above me. I lifted my wrist again and inhaled. I’d gotten so much wrong—for so very long.

  “Elizabeth?”

  I took a quick breath and looked up. I heard his voice in my dreams; it was only a matter of time before it invaded my reality. My first glance struck upon Matt. His small face was pinched and wary. I crouched down to his level, wondering if I had hurt him, if I’d caused those hazel eyes to tighten and shadow.

  “What? No hug, big guy?”

  He looked up at his dad, and I followed his gaze. Nick had once mentioned that Matt was not affectionate with others, but that had never included me. An almost imperceptible nod gave Matt permission, and he slowly stepped into my arms.

  A quick hug and I released him. “I think you’ve grown.” That brought a small smile. I tried for another. “Kate and Danny are sitting at a counter through there.” I tapped the top of his head. “Could you please make sure they don’t eat all my cookies?” I stood quickly and looked at Nick. “If it’s okay with your dad?”

  Without breaking eye contact, Nick replied, “Bring me one, too, kiddo.”

  Matt set off at a run while Nick and I stared at each other.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “What are you doing here?” He wasn’t angry; he was dumbfounded.

  “I leased the store. I’m opening a catering business, focusing on cancer patients, and a provisions shop, exactly as you suggested . . . I thought Jane would’ve told you.”

  “I haven’t seen her. What about your restaurant?”

  “It’s still standing, but I’m not the chef.” I caught myself fidgeting with my hands and clasped them still. “I found something more out here, and when I got back to New York, I realized I couldn’t let it go.”

  Nick gripped the back of his neck and stared at me. “What’d you find?”

  “Forgiveness. Family. A life. Things I was too obtuse to know I was missing.” I couldn’t stand there any longer. “Come see.”

  He followed me inside, and I showed him the storefront space. “A huge double-door freezer arrives tomorrow morning. It’ll go here.” I spread my arms across the wall. “And I have a butcher-block top for this space. I’m leaving this counter stainless—And I have my first client. You remember Tyler?”

  “Hemingway.”

  “Hemingway.” I chuckled. “He ordered a whole bunch of meals and told me he’d pass my name around.”

  “Andy?”

  I stopped. “I thought you . . . He died the day . . . the day I saw you on the porch.” I took a tentative step toward him. “About that day, I am so sor—”

  “Don’t apologize. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Nick ran his hand through his hair and stepped back.

  I stood for a moment, not knowing what to say. I wanted to clear things between us so that we could bump into each other and not feel awkward. Now I felt foolish.

  “I made something yesterday. I think you’ll like it. Wait here.” I ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a small square of pastry, catching the honey on a paper towel, and shot back out to the front. I handed my small bundle to Nick.

  “Baklava?”

  “I’ve been practicing and finally think I got the pastry right.”

  “Greek tragedy?” His voice came out in a deflated monotone.

  “Just Greek. No tragedy.”

  Nick held the pastry in his hands but didn’t take a bite. Instead he stared at me a moment, then nodded. “We should go.”

  He passed me and pushed open the kitchen door, calling to Matt.

  I rested my hand on Matt’s head as he passed me. “It was great to see you. You can come back for a cookie whenever your dad says it’s okay.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and held, just a degree too tight and for a second too long.

  ALTHOUGH THE NEXT COUPLE OF DAYS WERE HECTIC, I found Nick creeping into my thoughts—while planning menus, wiping the counters, cutting parsley, rolling out crust for savory pies, and especially as I sat stymied by my nonexistent marketing plan. I called Jane.

  “Do you have another capable colleague who could help me?”

  “I’ve got a few, and Peter knows the entire industry here, but I think you’re being stupid about Nick. He’s a gifted marketer.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you wanted more from him.”

  “I must really be transparent . . . to everyone but me. Looking back, I suspect you’re right, but I need to let him go now, and I can’t do that if we’re leaning over spreadsheets.”

  “Ah . . . I miss a good spreadsheet.”

  “Jane, I’m being serious.” I looked out my window. “Hey, I gotta go.” I hung up the phone as Matt pushed open the door. “Hey, buddy, where’s your dad?”

  “Behind me. He’s slow.”

  “Okay . . . Do you want a cookie?”

  Matt nodded and I grabbed for a tissue and reached into the jar, occupying myself with the boy and his cookie as the dad pushed open the door. “There you go. I added walnuts. Tell me what you think.”

  “Why don’t you take that to the bench right there?” Nick pointed outside the window.

  I froze as my little shield shuffled outside.

  Nick turned back to me. “You shocked me the other day. I had no idea you were back. Were you not going to tell me? Not call me?”

  I could feel my eyebrows scrunch together. “I said some pretty awful things, and with Rebecca here . . .” I took a deep breath. “No, I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  Nick nodded. “Rebecca’s gone. She left a few days after you did to get her stuff from San Francisco. She didn’t come back. I got a text telling me to say good-bye to Matt, that she’d decided to head down to LA with some guy.”

  “Now I feel really bad. Is Matt okay?”

  “No.” He swung around and watched his son outside the window. “He cries. He has nightmares. He’s never had those.” Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and faced me again. “You were right about me too.” He shrugged. “I never meant to use him. I honestly thought I was protecting him.”

  “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  He stood for a moment, staring at me. I wondered what he saw. Rather than answer, he turned the question back on me. “Are you?”

  I looked around. “I am. For the first time in years, I feel peace. I’m not just working, I’m living. It’s different and it feels great.”

  “I understand that. Something changed in me when I got Rebecca’s text, and that’s a good way to describe it. I’m ready to live.”

  I looked at him and thought it might be true—that he, too, had gone through his own crucible and had possibly come out different and new. “I bet Matt helps with that.”

  “He does. As did you.”

  I ran my hand over my eyes. “I still can’t believe I lashed out at you. It wasn’t even about you—”

  “Elizabeth.” Nick stepped to the counter and reached for my hand, which still rested on the cookie jar. He squee
zed gently, brushing across the scars with his fingertips. “It’s forgotten. Forgiven, if you want. It’s gone. Let yourself off the hook.” He let my hand go.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now I should take my son to the park or he might be back for another cookie. Do you want to join us?”

  “I’ve got a delivery coming soon.”

  “I’ll wait.” He said the words low and slow. They carried weight.

  “For the delivery?”

  “No. For you.” He lifted his hand and waved it in front of me as if wiping away any confusion between us. “I’m not sure what’s going on here. You’re usually so easy to read, and now . . .” He paused. “But I know what I want, New York, and I’ll wait till you want it too.” He blew out a deep breath. “Just so we’re clear.”

  Chapter 44

  “DO YOU WANT THIS PIECE?” CECILIA POINTED TO THE last slice in the box. We sat on opposite ends of my couch—feet tucked under us and an entire large pizza, minus one scrawny slice, inside us.

  “It’s all yours.”

  “I’m done too.” She closed the box. “I got a couple new clients for you, by the way, or I should say Tyler did. They asked me to pass their numbers to you and for you to call them. They’re pretty overwhelmed, so I agreed.”

  “I remember that. You can be so stunned you can’t reach out, even to help yourself.” I rested my plate on the coffee table in front of me. “As I’ve cleaned and built stock for Evergreen, memories keep coming, stuff I haven’t felt in years—like that one. Dad and I were zombies until . . . quite recently.”

  “Very funny.”

  “But you know I’m right. Jane, too, in her own way.” I bit the side of my lip, considering Jane. “Has she changed?”

  “You both have.” Cecilia smiled and tapped my foot. “You two aren’t so different, you know.”

  “I know.” I smiled back. “Will you miss it?”

  Cecilia grabbed a pillow and squeezed it. “I think so. It sounds odd, but the Infusion Center is a special place. I enjoyed my time there, but that’s the thing about healthy boundaries—you’ve got to keep checking them. I need to move on.”

  “Babies could be hard too.”

  “I haven’t settled on neonatal yet. I’m talking to HR and a good guidance counselor. My reviews have been strong, and Donna gave me a wonderful reference. Who’da thunk?” She smiled. “I’m taking this one step at a time, as they say. But in the meantime, make up some business cards. People are asking about Evergreen.”

  “I have to design them first. I tried to do that today and could only get one image to upload. My name was on the back and the front with nothing else.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Ugh . . . I can’t take it. I have to hire someone. Did you know Twitter only lets you use one hundred and forty characters, and if you use the name @chefelizabethhughesevergreen, you’ve used twenty-nine already and said nothing at all? Stupidest name or handle or whatever you call it. I’ve got to change that too.”

  Cecilia laughed. “It’ll all work out.”

  “That’s what you say, but it doesn’t feel like it. No wonder Paul hired Trent. This stuff matters.”

  My cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen and mouthed, Nick, to her before answering. I couldn’t say hi before he launched.

  “Elizabeth, I’m sorry to call. This isn’t your problem, but . . . can you come over?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Matt. I don’t know what to do. We go through this every night. He was always so comfortable with you, and I thought since you lost your mom—I know it’s not the same, but please . . . could you come see him?”

  I looked at Cecilia, my eyes wide with surprise and a good dose of panic. “Sure, I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” I hung up the phone. “Matt’s upset and Nick thinks I can help.”

  “I’m sure you can.” She got up and gathered her stuff.

  “Stay. I won’t be long.”

  “I don’t want you to think of me waiting here. You should be all there. Call me tomorrow.”

  “What could I possibly say to him?”

  “Just be there. Maybe that’s all he needs.”

  I nodded and gave Cecilia a quick hug before searching amid the boxes and mess for my keys.

  Nick must have been watching for me, because the front door opened as my foot hit the first porch step. “I’m really sorry to bother you. I just . . .” He dropped his hands to his sides.

  “I’m glad—that you called, not that Matt’s struggling.” I put my hand on his arm as I moved past.

  He caught it and pulled me around. We faced each other for a moment before he whispered, “Thank you.”

  Nick stayed in the kitchen as I headed upstairs to find Matt. I peeked into the first bedroom, clearly Matt’s, and found it empty. The door next to it was open, so I ventured there. Nick’s room. It had white walls with a huge single painting between the windows. No rug, just a dresser and a large armchair. It was so Nick. In the queen bed, tucked in to a white comforter and practically lost in fluff, I found Matt.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. Nick had left his bedside table light on. He had several books and magazines, a photo of Matt, an alarm clock, and . . . I reached down and touched the plastic bag. My spice mixture.

  Matt was lying with his back to the light. I lightly ruffled his hair. “Hey, buddy, your dad says you’re having trouble sleeping.”

  He rolled over. Tears rested on his long lashes, and his lip quivered. He nodded against the pillow. I wanted to scoop him up and hug him tight, but instead only pushed his hair off his forehead.

  “Are you sad?”

  He nodded.

  “I felt that way when my mommy left. I was a little older than you are now, but it was scary and sad and I felt lonely. It took me a long time to realize that those feelings were okay and that they wouldn’t last forever.” Like a couple weeks ago flashed through my brain. I left out that detail.

  “Where’d your mommy go?”

  “My mom . . .” I almost lied, afraid to make things worse by telling the truth, but knew no good could come from that. “She died, and I felt very alone. Los Angeles can feel pretty far away, too, can’t it?”

  Matt nodded.

  “It is. I was in New York a few weeks ago, and that’s even farther away, but I thought about you a lot, and I bet your mommy does the same from Los Angeles.” I smoothed his hair again. “Do you know what I miss most about my mom?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “Her hugs. She really squeezed you tight. She gave bear hugs. None of that silly back patting, arms-only stuff that people do these days. Here, sit up.”

  Matt pushed himself up.

  “This is what most people try to get away with.” I squeezed him, then pushed him out, pulled him in, patted his back, pushed him out . . . I repeated this a few times until a tiny, soft giggle escaped.

  “But not my mom. This is how she hugged.” I pulled him in and held him tight, talking as I squeezed him securely. “See, no pushing and pulling. It feels safe. This is a hug that lets you know you are loved, completely and forever. When I miss my mom, this is what I need.”

  I let him go but kept my hands on him. It felt important to keep contact. I rested one hand on his shoulder and used my other to brush a tear from his cheek. “When you miss your mom, go to your dad, and I bet he’ll give you one of those. Did it help?”

  Matt nodded but said nothing.

  “Do you need another?”

  He nodded again.

  “Come here.” I pulled him across my lap and felt his arms loop around me. I closed my eyes to hug him tighter and give him that elusive feeling of unconditional love and complete safety. The feeling we seek but, in this life and in this world, perhaps never quite find.

  I whispered over his shoulder, still holding tight. “You’re good at this, kiddo. In fact, I may come to you next time I need one.”

  He squeezed my neck. “I love you, Miss Elizabeth.”


  Tears sprang to my eyes and my heart broke the tiniest bit. I hoped I hadn’t, in my attempt to help, offered too much and set him up for more loss. I closed my eyes and held him and tried not to travel a road not set before me. I could be Matt’s friend now, and maybe that was enough. “I love you, too, buddy.” I gently released him. “It’s late and you’ve got school tomorrow. Are you ready to sleep?”

  He nodded again, this time surer and stronger.

  “Shall we go to your room?”

  I reached for his hand and closed mine around each short, warm, and wonderfully small finger as we walked to his room next door. It was full of Thomas the Tank Engine and dinosaurs and emergency vehicles. The rug was a road map, and trucks and ambulances were scattered across it like there had been a horrid wreck.

  I stepped over a fire truck to get to his bed and tucked him in. His eyes were already closing. “God bless you, Matt. He will watch over you tonight and every night. You are loved and you are safe.” I kissed his forehead and left.

  I walked down the stairs.

  I found Nick sitting at the kitchen counter, papers scattered all around him. He looked as undone as Matt had felt. “I tucked him in. Maybe he’ll sleep.”

  “I heard you.”

  “I hope I didn’t say anything wrong.” I squeezed my hands tight to stop my fidgeting.

  “You said everything right.” He turned to look at me, his eyes so full of sadness.

  “You’re a good father, Nick. He’s going to be fine.” I shrugged and turned toward the door. “Call me again if you need me.”

  “Wait.”

  I turned with my hand on the knob.

  “This is for you.” He shoved an envelope into my hand.

  I held it up. “What is it?”

  “A note.” He pushed his hands in his pockets, straightening his elbows. “Read it now, read it later, but read it. Please.”

  I looked at the envelope, then back to Nick. His face revealed nothing so I turned and left, but I only made it a couple blocks before I pulled over under a streetlight and tore open the envelope.

  “I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach . . .”