by Maddie Day
Paula pried his hand off, twisting out of his grasp. “I’m doing errands with my mother, Max. I’ll be home in time to get ready for the party.” She pressed her lips together and her jaw worked.
“Have it your own way, then.” He cracked his knuckles. “You always do.”
One of my chess-playing customers looked up and frowned at the disturbance. I watched Max leave, hearing the door close with more force than necessary, and glanced at Paula. Sue had taken one of her daughter’s hands in both of hers and was stroking it.
“Things will work out, sugar,” Sue murmured as the bell on the door continued to jangle. “He’ll get a hold on that temper of his, bless his heart. You’ll see.”
The timer on the oven dinged just after the wall clock chimed eight. We were an hour into the party and it was in full swing. I hurried over to draw out the last pan of pizzas. I slid them onto a tray, the cheese bubbling in tan spots, the aroma of fresh crust almost too alluring. I sliced each pizza into quarters and carried them to the food table. I wiped my hands down my blue-and-white store apron, which featured our logo of a cast-iron griddle held by a grinning stack of pancakes, and surveyed the now-packed room. Late this afternoon Phil and I had pushed the tables to the sides and stacked half the chairs in a corner to leave room for mingling.
Near the banner reading “Welcome Back to South Lick, Erica!” a small group of men, including Max, Sue’s husband Glen, and my green-eyed Jim, clustered with beers in hand. Paula, now made up and in a green dress that didn’t try to disguise her baby bump, sat talking with Tanya Porter, an attractive local jewelry maker who owned a gift shop in town. Phil stood behind the bar table chatting with Sue. Other townspeople, some of whom I’d met, many I hadn’t, chatted in small groups, with a few women browsing the shelves of cookware. Country music played from a couple of small speakers someone had set up next to an iPad, and the buzz of conversation over the tunes was loud.
The only person missing was the guest of honor, Erica. She was more than an hour late. I picked up an empty slider platter and headed back to the open kitchen area, smothering a yawn before drawing another pan of sliders out of the warmer. I’d made little rolls for buns, precooked the patties, and assembled the tiny burgers shortly before the party started. All I had to do now was serve them. Then maybe I could sit down for a few minutes.
As I set the platter of sliders on the food table, Tanya walked up to me.
“I really like all your cookware, Robbie.” Her full lips curved into a smile that lit up her face, and her almond-shaped eyes crinkled at the edges.
“Thanks. I do, too. Half of it was already here when I bought the store, and I’ve acquired the rest.”
“Don’t you just love thinking about who cooked with it when it was new?” she asked, gazing at the far wall.
“Exactly.”
“Do you have time for me to ask you a quick question about one piece?”
“Sure.” We moved across the room together. Tanya, four or five inches taller than me, especially in heels, walked with a fluid motion, like an athlete might. Her light-brown hair fell in graceful waves below her shoulders.
She pointed with an elegant finger that ended in the perfect white tip of a French manicure. “What’s that round thing with the two long handles?”
“That’s a sandwich press.” It featured two slightly convex cast iron disks joined by a hinge, and two long handles that extended out. “After you insert, say a cheese sandwich, between the disks, you clamp the press shut and then hold it over a gas flame or even a campfire to toast the sandwich. It makes the best grilled cheese in the world.”
“And it’s beautiful, too, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. Browse as much as you want. The pieces for sale have tags on them.”
“Thanks.” She moved on down to the shelf area.
I turned back to the party and made my rounds, picking up empty dishes, tidying the food display. I paused when I passed a smiling Jim Shermer, my new boyfriend and my former real-estate lawyer. I knew he wanted more than the occasional date, but I was so busy with the store and restaurant, and he with his practice, we usually only managed Sunday nights together, since Pans ‘N Pancakes was closed on Mondays.
“Everything looks great. And tastes even better,” he said, smoothing an errant black curl off my forehead.
He looked more delicious than any food I could make, with those emerald eyes, curly red hair that he wore a bit long and shaggy, and his trim physique. Tonight he wore a deep blue shirt with well-cut black pants, but I could get lusty for him even when he was in an old T-shirt and ragged jeans.
“Thanks. It seems to be going pretty well, doesn’t it?” I smiled back at him.
“Except that Erica isn’t here.” He frowned. “I wonder what’s keeping her?”
“It’s not a surprise party, is it? Sue never said anything about that.”
“No, I don’t think it’s supposed to be a surprise. Oh, well. Erica has always been a bit, shall we say, dramatic.” He pulled his mouth. “She probably wants to make a grand entrance.”
I saw Sue glance at the phone in her hand and touch it a few times with her index finger.
“Gol’ dang, she’s almost here!” Sue announced with a big smile. “Get ready, y’all.”
Sure enough, it wasn’t two minutes later when the bell jangled and a woman who had to be Erica pushed in, shedding a puffy white thigh-length coat as she walked. She wore a snug red dress that crossed over in the front and nowhere near covered her cleavage. She was closer in height to her tiny mother than to Paula, and her spiky blond hair and light coloring were more like Sue’s, too. Through the door behind her emerged Abe O’Neill, a handsome guy who worked for the local electric company whom I’d met earlier in the fall. He set a case shaped like a banjo on the floor as the talking fell to a hush.
Erica left Abe at the door and swanned over to her mother on four-inch red heels. She gave Sue a hug and then waved to the room.
“Hi, everybody,” she called out. “Thanks so much for all this.”
Her father, a man in his sixties whose dark hair was shot through with silver, raised his beer. “Welcome back, sweetheart.”
A chorus of “welcome back” echoed throughout the room. Next to me, Jim raised his bottle of Cutter’s Half Court IPA. “Welcome back, Rickie.”
Erica turned her head sharply, then tilted her head in a seductive pose when she saw who had said it. She clicked on her heels over to where we stood and slid her arm through Jim’s.
“Oh, Jimmy. You’re the only person besides Jonny who can call me that.” She pursed her lips in a pout. “And he’s gone.” She stroked his arm with her other hand and cast luminous blue eyes up at him.
A shadow passed over Jim’s face as he carefully detached from Erica’s arm. Jon, his twin, had killed himself in Chicago a year ago. Jim had told me how hard it had been for him, and still was, to lose his twin, and to suicide, too. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll call you Erica from now on.”
“No, I want you to call me Rickie. Please?”
Jim cleared his throat. “Have you met my girlfriend, Robbie Jordan? This is her restaurant and country store.” He slung his arm along my shoulders, giving my arm a squeeze, a comforting gesture given how Erica had just been acting.
Erica narrowed her eyes and studied me before flashing a big smile. She held out her hand. “His girlfriend? Well, isn’t that a surprise? I was hoping to come back here and claim Jimmy for my own.”
“Nice to meet you, Erica. Welcome back.” I forced a smile and glanced at Jim, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Isn’t this a cute place you’ve got here,” Erica said. “It was a real dump last time I lived in town.”
“Robbie did all the renovation work herself, too.” Jim’s smile at me was genuine.
“Imagine that. You’re so talented,” she said in a voice oozing insincerity.
“I’ll be bringing out some hot sliders in a minute, and the pizzas
over there are probably still warm, if you’re hungry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you two have some time to catch up.” I cast a quick look at Jim before heading to the kitchen area, and if that wasn’t a panicked expression on his face, I don’t know what is. Well, he was a big boy. He could handle his former sister-in-law. Or not. I sure wasn’t going to get in the middle.
It was nine o’clock before I finally got a chance to take off my apron and sit down near my desk in the far corner. When Sue had made the arrangements for the party, she’d also made it clear she hoped I would join them when I could, that I should consider myself part of the family and not just the caterer. So I’d worn my black swingy dress with the cap sleeves and my low black boots. A multicolored chunky necklace brightened up the dress. And even though I had to wear my thick, curly Italian hair pulled back when I was working, I’d pinned a hot pink artificial flower in it for a party touch.
A group of guys over near the door, including Abe, laughed at some joke, and several couples danced in the middle of the space. Erica flitted from group to group, a bottle of beer in her hand. By the smiles and hugs, people seemed genuinely glad to have her back in town. I let the party flow around me, glad to hold a plastic cup of white wine and get off my feet. It had been a long day, but I loved seeing the place full. Part of my dream in restoring the store and adding the restaurant had been to make it a community gathering place. Just like this.
A tune that sounded like west coast swing came on and Jim strolled up, his eyes sparkling. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
We’d gone dancing at a local roadhouse on our very first date, the one that unfortunately ended in news of a murder in town. We shared a love of dance, although my experience was mostly freestyle, while he knew steps to all different kinds of dances, from swing to contra to international folk dancing. He’d told me that was how he stayed fit, by going dancing every chance he got.
I grabbed one more sip of wine, then said, “Why not?”
I extended my hand and let him pull me up and lead me to where others were shaking their booties. He was a good half foot taller than me, and it felt just perfect to lay my hand on his shoulder and have him take my other hand in his. He waited until the song started a new phrase, then led me through the steps. I tried to stay loose and follow, not my strong suit, but we’d gone dancing several more times in recent weeks and I was starting to get the hang of it. He’d told me about staying in the box, about imaging a rectangle that defined our moves. It helped. Next to us, Phil twirled the woman he was dancing with, and then bent her down in a dip. He caught my eye and grinned, then straightened and waltzed away.
The music changed to a slower tune. Jim pulled me in close, and the feel of his warm, smooth shirt under my cheek, his head bent down over mine, was heavenly. But after only a minute in paradise, a woman’s shouts broke the bubble. I pulled away from Jim. Erica and Tanya stood a couple of yards away facing each other.
“You’re lying.” Erica pointed a red lacquered fingernail at Tanya’s face. “I didn’t do any such thing.”
The room quieted, with only the music continuing. Glen Berry rushed to his daughter’s side. “Now what’s going on here?” He looked from one woman to the other, the silver at the temples of his close-shorn dark hair catching the light.
Tanya set her hands on her hips, nostrils flaring in her golden-skinned face, earrings mixing gold and silver flashing in the light. “She’s been stealing from me. She said she wanted to learn how to make jewelry. But all she wanted to do was own it.”
“It’s not true and you can’t prove it.” Erica glared at Tanya. “Why’d you come here, anyway? So you could party with a thief? Get some free food and drink?”
“I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. But that bracelet?” Tanya pointed to an intricate hoop of silver twisted with other metals on Erica’s wrist. “It’s missing from the store.”
Erica snorted. “My late husband gave me that. I wouldn’t steal your precious stock. It’s not very well made, anyway.”
Tanya took a step toward Erica. Glen stepped between them and pushed out both hands. “Now wait a chicken-picking minute, girls. Y’all don’t need to fight about this.”
“You’re right,” Tanya spit out. “Larceny is a matter for the police.” She grabbed her bag from the table and rushed toward the door. She tore her coat from the coat tree and, with a fierce jangle of the bell, was gone at the same time as the coat tree swayed and crashed to the ground.
I looked at a frowning Jim and shook my head, then hurried to the coat tree, arriving at the same time as Abe. He set it back to standing, while I gathered up a couple of coats that had fallen. I dusted them off, one by one, and handed them to him.
“Thanks. That was quite a scene.”
“I’ll say. Erica has never held back from drama, that’s for sure.” He hung up the last coat.
“Did you bring her here?” Earlier in the fall Abe had asked me out to dinner, but with my accident and all, we’d never gotten to it. Anyway, I was seeing Jim. And it looked like maybe Abe was going out with Erica.
He laughed the delightful rolling laugh I remembered. “No way. I just happened to arrive at the same time she did. But we used to go out. Long time ago.”
“How have you been lately?”
“I’m good. Keeping busy.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, which he wore with a white Oxford shirt and a gray blazer. It was a nice look, at least on him.
“Still playing banjo?” I gestured at the case, which he had set behind the coat tree.
“You bet. Might still drag it out tonight if inspiration strikes.” He flashed me his big smile, that same dimple creasing his right cheek, his brown eyes smiling, too.
“I’d love to hear you play.”
“Could happen. Hey, sorry we never got that dinner in. I know you’re, um, hanging out with Shermer, but if an evening ever frees up, you give me a call, okay?”
“Okay. Right now I think I’d better get back to cleaning up the food table.” I headed for the decimated dinner array, but paused at the drinks table.
“How’s it going, Phil?” I asked. A couple of bottles of bourbon had made an appearance on the table, and neither was full, by the looks of it.
“Not bad, not bad at all.” His dark face was aglow and he beamed his wide smile that always reminded me of President Obama’s. “I’m keeping an eye on a couple of folks, though. Might need a little backup from the owner at some point.” He raised his eyebrows and pointed his gaze toward Max.
“He’s overindulging?”
“Getting a little sloppy. Ms. Berry told me to take my job seriously, so I am.” He gestured at the bottles of whiskey. “But with this stuff, we could have quite a few overindulgers.”
“And Sue said it’s okay to have the whiskey?”
He shrugged, and winked one of his startlingly blue eyes. “It was her husband who brought them. So I guess it is.”
“Now,” a man’s voice said from a few tables away. I looked in that direction. Max stood in front of where Paula sat talking to a couple of women. “It’s time to go.” His deep voice carried to Phil and me.
Paula shook her head. “I’m having fun, Max. I’m staying.”
“You need to come home with me. I’m concerned about our baby.” He reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling upward.
“Max.” Now Paula raised her voice. She swatted at his hand with her free one. “Let go. It’s my sister’s party and I’m not leaving. The baby is fine.”
Max drew his mouth down and looked like he might erupt. “Get your own ride home, then.” He let go of her wrist and stalked toward the door.
Erica waylaid him halfway there. “Hey, big guy.” She set one hand on her hip and laid the other hand flat on his chest. She gazed up at him, a little smile curving her lips. “You be nice to my big sister now, hear? She just wants to have a little fun before she becomes a mama.”
“You, too, huh?” Max’s face hardene
d. “Get out of my way, Erica.” He lifted her hand off his chest. “I’m just thinking about her health, but I guess I’m the only one who is.”
“Now, now, big Max. We all love Paulie, you know that.” Erica still smiled but her voice turned as steely as my best knife. “And we love you, too. I don’t want to be seeing you guys argue.”
Max glared down at her. Without speaking he turned and left the store.
Whew. Erica sashayed back to the fold while I tried to remember what I’d been doing before that eruption.
“Oh, Robbie, hon,” Sue called from the table where she sat, waving her hand. “Can you take and bring out them cupcakes?”
Shoot, of course. The dessert. I should never have taken off my apron.
“Coming right up,” I said. I hurried to throw on a clean apron, and rushed through consolidating the rest of the food at one end of the table. I spread a clean cloth on the other half, headed for the walk-in cooler, and carried out the big box of cupcakes from the local bakery. After I opened the box and slid the foil-topped cardboard tray onto the table, I set a stack of small plates and napkins next to the dessert. The cupcakes were decorated with tiny versions of the town’s landmark Jupiter gazebo, once the site of a famous sulfur spring and spa, thus the town’s name. When I’d moved here, I’d found a name with the word “lick” in it slightly vulgar, but I’d learned it was like a salt lick—it just meant salts had been part of the mineral springs.
“Dessert, anyone?” I called out in my best outdoor voice. I stood back and watched people flock to the table. What was dinner without some sugar to top it off, especially when people were drinking.
Erica and Jim approached together. She picked up a cupcake and peeled back the paper with those red fingernails in four slow, seductive movements, watching Jim as she did. She took a bite, then ran her tongue around her lips. Jim glanced at me and rolled his eyes before grabbing a cupcake and turning away from her. I turned away, too. I had pans to wash.