One Summer

by JoAnn Ross

  With the exception of his ill-fated, short-lived marriage, Gabe had always considered himself a sensible man.

  So the thing to do, he decided the morning after dropping the mutt at the clinic, was to write the veterinarian a generous check, then get the hell out of Dodge.

  8

  Take the Cake was, as the last time Adèle had visited with Bernard, doing a brisk business. And no wonder, the way the aroma of baking pastries was wafting out onto the street. The bakery was more than just a place to buy cupcakes. It had become a gathering place for locals, with its pretty white wrought iron tables inside and out, and what the owner was promoting as the best coffee in town. A fact with which Adèle, who still made hers the old-fashioned Louisiana way, with chicory, couldn’t argue.

  As luck would have it, a couple vacated one of the tables on the front patio just as Adèle and Charity Tiernan arrived.

  Also fortuitously, the sun had made its way through the clouds, burning away the mist. After suggesting Adèle sit down, the vet went inside and placed their orders.

  “I love this bakery,” she said when she returned outside to the table. “I can see why Kelli chose cupcakes for her wedding.”

  “They were certainly popular,” Adèle agreed as the day flashed back with blessed clarity. “You caught the bouquet.”

  “I didn’t exactly have a choice, since it smashed against my chest,” the vet said with a wry smile as she peeled back the yellow paper on a cupcake topped with a seashell executed in buttercream. Adèle’s lemon coconut was adorned with a yellow rose. Along with the fabulous taste, Adèle admired the pretty blond baker’s attention to detail. It was the same sort of perfection she aimed for in her own work, whether it was serving as a housekeeper when she’d been a younger woman, painting as she used to love to do while living in the coast house, or, these past years, knitting.

  “You didn’t exactly look thrilled,” Adèle said, remembering.

  “I’m not the least bit superstitious, so I’ve never believed that old saying about the woman who catches the bouquet’s destined to be the next married.” Charity licked a bit of coconut/pineapple cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “Still, I’m not sure marriage is in the cards for me.”

  “Why not?”

  Adèle had discovered that one of the advantages of getting older was that you didn’t have to beat around the bush. You could flat out say things and ask questions that might be considered out of line for a younger person. She’d always spoken her mind, but there’d been a time when she would have been subtler.

  Now, as she entered the twilight of her years, she’d come to the conclusion that there really wasn’t any point in wasting time with tact.

  “I’m all for the idea in theory, but I’m starting to wonder if I lack a marriage gene. My parents have each been married so many times, I’ve given up trying to keep track of anniversaries.”

  “Just because they behave like butterflies, flitting from flower to flower, doesn’t mean you’re destined to. After all, you were engaged once. And called it off at the altar, from the way I heard it told.”

  Adèle cringed inwardly when she heard those words escape uncensored. Direct was one thing, but that comment had bordered on rude. Something she’d always prided herself on never being. But more and more often, especially since her fall, she’d found herself saying her thoughts out loud. There were times she worried about that, but Sofia De Luca, who’d been her closest friend for decades, had assured her that she did the same thing, even more often since her husband died. And wasn’t Sofia the most down-to-earth, commonsense person Adèle had ever met?

  If she was bothered by the idea of having her private life fodder for Shelter Bay’s gossip line, the young woman didn’t show it. Instead, she merely shrugged.

  “It wasn’t exactly at the altar,” she said mildly. “Actually, I called it off a few minutes before the ceremony. But after the entire church was filled with guests.”

  “That must have been difficult.” And, Adèle considered, brave. She wasn’t certain she would’ve had the courage to disappoint so many people. Then again, it had been a moot point, since she’d adored her Bernard.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Charity took a bite of cake. “Looking back on it, I think I was in a state of shock, because I walked down the aisle myself, which caused a bit of a stir—”

  “I can see how that would get everyone’s attention,” Adèle agreed.

  “The buzz sounded like a hive of hornets. Not that I was hearing all that well, anyway. You know how when you hold a shell up to your ear, you can hear the ocean?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s pretty much the sound roaring inside my head. Anyway, I went to the front of the church, explained in what my mother later assured me was a calm and collected tone that the ceremony was off, but since the banquet room, food, and drink had already been paid for, I hoped people would stay and enjoy the party.”

  “Everyone enjoys a party. Did you attend?”

  “No.” This time Adèle thought she caught just a hint of a shadow in those pretty forest green eyes. “Though I did snag the four-hundred-dollar bottle of bubbly my fiancé insisted on getting for the wedding toast.”

  “Gracious, that’s a great deal of money for a bottle of wine. Even champagne.”

  “That’s what I said at the time when Ethan—that was his name—insisted on it. Especially since although my taste buds know pastry, I’m no expert on wine. But at least I didn’t have to share it with him.” Her sunshinebright smile burned the shadow from her eyes. “I woke up with the mother of all hangovers, but figure it was a small price to pay for escaping a miserable marriage.”

  “Absolutely.”

  For not the first time Adèle thought how fortunate she was to have met her Bernard while home on summer vacation from convent school. Suddenly the idea of becoming a nun had definitely paled in comparison with marrying the handsome young fisherman and having his babies. He was, decades later, not only the love of her life but her best friend.

  And speaking of her husband . . .

  Her memory might be failing her, but the one thing the accident hadn’t been able to change was her absolute awareness of her husband. She looked up and there he was, walking toward her with that ambling, wide-legged gait of a man who’d spent most of his life on fishing boats, backlit by a shimmering rainbow that was arcing over the harbor.

  He might be in his seventies, but his shoulders were still wide, stretching the seams of his denim work shirt. His arms were well muscled from years of hauling in crab pots, his stride long and strong.

  She might be in her seventies, but that didn’t stop her heart from doing its familiar tumble at the sight of him. Then she suffered a pang when she viewed the naked concern in his gaze.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him before he could start in on how she’d promised never to leave the house alone since that damn fall.

  Sometimes she felt more like a child than a wife. Especially since they’d moved in with their son and daughter-in-law, and while family was special, there were times when Adèle missed the privacy they’d once shared.

  Not that they’d had all that much reason for privacy, given that he’d been treating her like a piece of the delicate crystal they’d never been able to afford. Which had been fine with her, since to her mind knickknacks were just more things that required dusting.

  She stood up as he reached the table and was immediately enveloped in a bear hug. She couldn’t tell which of them was trembling. Probably both.

  He put her a little away from him. The trouble in his eyes eased. “So,” he said, as if she hadn’t probably scared him half to death, “how are the cupcakes?”

  “Same as always,” Adèle said. “Mouthwateringly wonderful. Would you like one?”

  “I wouldn’t turn down a red velvet,” he said, with that touch of sexy Cajun patois he hadn’t left behind in Louisiana. “Maybe I should pick up a box of assorted for the kids while I’m
here.”

  “I’ll get them,” Charity said, practically jumping up from the table. Adèle couldn’t decide whether the vet was that eager to help or just wanted to escape and give them a private moment.

  “That’d be real nice of you.” He reached into his pocket. Charity hesitated as he held out the bill; then watching her carefully, Adèle could tell the younger woman was afraid to risk offending him by offering to treat.

  “She’s a lovely girl,” Adèle said as they watched her go back into the bakery.

  “Not going to get any disagreement there.” He turned a chair around, straddled it, and touched his hand to her cheek. “How are you, chère? Honestly,” he tacked on before she could lie and assure him she was as fine as a fiddle.

  “I had a few nerve-racking moments.” After fifty-plus years of marriage she knew he’d spot a prevarication. “But they passed.”

  “You were lucky the vet was there to help.”

  “I know.” She blew out a breath. “It just gets so blasted frustrating.”

  “I can understand that. Bein’ how you’ve always been an independent female.”

  “A trait you weren’t always so wild about, in the beginning,” she reminded him.

  “I was young. And stupid. And had been brought up to believe a man was supposed to be the boss of the family.”

  And hadn’t everyone she’d known back then? “But you changed.”

  “Got smart,” he corrected with that grin that could still make her weak in the knees. “We’re both hardheaded, independent cusses, Del, darlin’. Which is why I know, as well as anyone could, how you feel since that accident. But Dr. Conway said you’ll probably continue to get better.”

  “I know. It’s just taking so long.” There were times, like today, when she felt as if she had a big red D for dementia stamped on her forehead.

  He linked their fingers together. Lifted their hands and pressed his lips against the back of her hand, which wasn’t nearly as smooth and pale as the first time he’d held it. “Independent and impatient.”

  Unlike him, who appeared to have been born with the patience of Job. Accustomed to always being on the go, Adèle had long ago decided that she’d go crazy within a week of being a professional fisherman.

  “It’s hard,” she said, “always needing to ask someone to go with me when I want to leave the house.”

  “Being with you has never been a hardship, Del.”

  She laughed as another memory suddenly flashed back. Yarn! She’d been on her way to buy yarn. “Why don’t you say that after our trip to the Knitting Nook?”

  “I’d sure enough rather hang out at Mac’s Boat Shop,” he said honestly. “But if that’s what you want, that’s what you’re going to get.”

  “You’re a good man, Bernard Douchett.” It was her turn to pat his weathered cheek. “Which is why I married you.”

  He looked around, to make sure no one was listening, then leaned close, his lips at her ear. “And here I’ve always thought you married me for the sex.”

  This time her laugh was bold and free and banished the last of the clouds caused by her earlier fear. “Well, there is that.”

  9

  “They are so sweet together,” Charity said as she and Sedona Sullivan watched the elderly couple through the front window.

  “If I ever found a man I thought would still look at me like that after fifty years of marriage, I’d marry him on the spot,” the baker said as she tied the pink box shut with her signature Take the Cake ivory ribbon.

  “Do you think they even exist anymore?”

  “I like to believe so.” Sedona sighed a bit as Bernard Douchett lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “Then again, since my parents have been together for thirty-five years, I suspect I’m probably more of an optimist than a lot of women.”

  Like a woman whose marriage collapsed moments before the vows, Charity suspected Sedona was thinking but was kind enough not to say. The truth was, despite her parents’ track record, and her own debacle in Chicago, she was encouraged by Sedona’s parents and the Douchetts.

  “Tell Mr. Douchett it’s on the house,” Sedona said when Charity held out the bill. “And don’t let him argue. That wedding has already brought me so much business I’m having to hire extra help.”

  “Guess that means you’re still too busy to take on a dog.”

  “Absolutely. Dogs need walks. Attention. Something I’m in short supply of these days.”

  “I totally understand.”

  “Damn. I’ve been practicing my carefully thoughtout argument against pet ownership since we talked at the wedding. And now it’s totally wasted.”

  “I’d never push an animal on anyone that wouldn’t be a good fit. And I can see you’ve got too much on your plate right now to give attention to a shelter dog. Especially since they often come with issues. Though, I do have a suggestion.”

  Sedona arched a blond brow. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “How about a cat?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

  When her voice drifted off, Charity pounced, just like the cat she had in mind might after a fat mouse. “I took in this Persian the other day,” she said. “An IT computer programmer and father of three was just transferred to Hawaii.”

  “Lucky them.”

  “Lucky that they’re going to spend the next two years in paradise. Not so lucky they just adopted a kitten a month ago who won’t have time to qualify for a prequarantine pass.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that when it lands in Honolulu, it’ll have to spend one hundred and twenty days in a cage.”

  “Which, needless to say, they don’t want it to have to do.”

  “Apparently the kids started crying at the very idea.”

  “Understandable. I grew up with pets that were part of the family.”

  “As well they should be. The thing is, the dad really can’t turn down this opportunity. Especially since a lot of guys in his department are being laid off. Which is how the kitten ended up back with me.”

  “And now you’re looking for a new home.”

  “Good guess.”

  “It’s hardly a guess since everyone in town knows to cross the street when they see you coming.”

  Charity laughed with Sedona. It wasn’t exactly the truth. But she knew she had a reputation for being tenacious when it came to placing the animals she took in.

  “A Persian’s easy,” she said, pressing her case. “Think of them as the couch potatoes of the cat world.”

  “They also look as if they have high-maintenance coats.”

  “Just a little combing every couple days will keep them free from matting. You can do it while you watch TV. Besides, it gives you a warm body to cuddle with. Until you find that perfect man.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Sedona held out the box. “Now please get out of my shop before I end up with a menagerie.”

  Knowing when not to push, Charity took the box, but exchanged it for a business card. “Call me,” she said. “It’s really a sweetheart.” Pressing just a bit more, she pulled a photo out of her purse. “See? Isn’t she pretty?”

  Who could resist those wide blue eyes set in the middle of that sweet, flat white face?

  “She is cute,” Sedona allowed.

  “With the best personality ever. Persians are much more of a lap breed than a lot of cats. She wouldn’t mind you being gone during the day, but she’ll just eat up any attention you want to give her when you get home.”

  “I test recipes at night a lot.”

  Even as the baker made yet another excuse, Charity, who’d run into tougher cases—like Marine Gabriel St. James—could hear the crashing sound as barricades began tumbling. Block by block.

  “You could always put a little bed in the kitchen so she could keep you company. When the breed was brought back to Europe from Persia along with silk, jewels, and spices in the seventeenth century, they were viewed as status symbols.”

&n
bsp; “I’m not much for jewels and silks. Though I do like spices.”

  “Just consider it,” Charity advised. “Though I’ve got to warn you, she’s going to go fast. The only reason I haven’t put her on the weekend TV Adopt a Best Friend spot or her photo up on the shelter Web site is that I wanted you to have a chance to see her first. Because I honestly believe you’d be a perfect match.”

  Sedona’s only response was a long sigh. But she did glance down at the five-by-seven glossy Charity had left on the counter.

  Her duty done, at least for now, Charity carried the box of cupcakes outside to the Douchetts, wished them both a lovely afternoon, then continued home, looking forward to the opportunity to spend a quiet summer afternoon on her front porch with a pitcher of lemonade and Gabriel St. James’ photography book she’d bought at Tidal Wave Books before running into Adèle Douchett.

  10

  Salem, Oregon

  It seemed to fifteen-year-old Johnny Harper that he’d spent his entire life packing. Every few weeks—or, if he was lucky, his travel reprieve could last as much as a couple of months—his mother would come into his bedroom, shake him awake, and tell him to grab whatever he could, and off he, his mother, and his sister would go, one step ahead of the landlord and the sheriff who were on their way to throw them out of their rented house or apartment.

  Even during those times they’d settle down for a while, he spent much of his time waiting for his mom to come home. Sometimes she’d just stay away overnight. Other times she’d disappear for two or three days. Not knowing that every four-year-old didn’t heat up his own SpaghettiOs on a propane camp stove because the electricity had been turned off, for a long time Johnny hadn’t realized that his life could have been different. Towns, houses, even people, all were a vague blur in his mind. But there were some that stuck out more often than others, replaying over and over, like a bad dream.