“I love you, too,” he declares.
William pulls me into his arms, and I can feel his heart beating, pounding through his chest. He releases me from our embrace. I tilt my head back, hoping for a kiss…he complies, but his lips are tight and void of emotion.
“Goodnight, Delilah,” he says solemnly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” I say, and I could just kick myself for sounding so completely pathetic.
Again, he hugs me. Only, I’m not so keen on how this feels. I am reminded of how it feels to say goodbye, not goodnight. I’m thinking like a crazy person. Tomorrow, we’ll talk and everything will be right as rain. Although it’s difficult, I let him go.
“See you tomorrow,” he says and heads for his car.
I watch as he leaves and finally, the lights from his car disappear.
“It’s gonna be a long night,” I whisper and look up at the stars.
Maybe I should wish on the biggest one. It may sound silly, but the way I see it, it couldn’t hurt. So I search the heavens for the brightest and most beautiful star, and I wish with all of my heart . . . with all of my heart.
Seven
Gloomy shadows are cast across my bedroom walls. Desperately, I toss and turn, yearning for comfort and sleep. No matter what I do, my mind won’t calm down. The thought of losing William is devastating. We’ve shared some of the best times of my life. I’ve never met anyone like him and most likely never will again.
For the first time, I taste heartache—it stings.
I can’t take anymore of this. I get out of bed, grab my robe, and fling it around my body. I know what will make me feel better.
A light glows from above the stove, reminding me of a lighthouse. Perhaps it will help steer me through this torrential storm. I wander to the fridge and pull out an armful of ingredients. The only thing missing is shrimp.
“This may work,” I say, staring at a can of crabmeat.
All summer long, I’ve spent endless hours trying to perfect the shrimp etouffee recipe. Every time, I can tell there’s something missing. My father thinks I’ve lost my mind. He keeps telling me I’m wasting my time, that it is already perfection, and maybe it's time to ‘move on.’ I simply let him know it will turn out to be one of my best dishes.
Gradually, I am absorbed. My hands enjoy the texture of peppers, dicing them into tiny squares. My senses are heightened through delicious aromas from the broth and spices. I should play some jazz music and wear a few green and purple strands of beads, New Orleans style. Come to think about it, I need to visit New Orleans. I could learn how to make something fun and zesty.
When my creation is finished, I tantalize my taste buds with succulent flavors from my shrimp crab etouffee. And again, I am aware I still haven’t gotten it right. I did use crabmeat instead of shrimp, but that’s not the problem. The flavor of the broth is just sub-par, lacking somehow.
After a few hours of cooking therapy, I’ve relaxed enough to go back to bed. And sometime in the early hours of morning, I am able to drift off to sleep.
~ * * * ~
Although the morning sun has washed away the foreboding shadows, there’s little comfort in the brightness of the day. My stomach is twisted into knots, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to untie them. I don’t want to get out of bed. Maybe I’ll pull the covers over my head and stay here all day.
I close my eyes and it is William I see.
“Ugh!” I grunt in irritation, as I am forced to leave my bed and face the day.
~ * * * ~
I keep myself busy with meaningless tasks. The phone still hasn’t rung. With each passing second, I fall into deeper despair. I could call him, but that would be a mistake. William told me he’d see me later. I just wish I knew when.
By the end of the day, there’s still no sign of William, and I have to get ready for work. I stare in the mirror. Although I’ve used tons of makeup, dark circles are still visible.
Lydia’s here for me, just as she always has been. I stagger to her car, gravel crushing under my working pumps.
“Geez Louise, you look awful. What happened?” Lydia asks.
As soon as I see her, my emotions surge and I cry. Lydia hugs me close, running her hand over my hair.
“Don’t worry, sugar. You’ll get through this,” she whispers soothingly.
After a few minutes, my tears subside. I already feel stronger than before. Without another word, we head over to the resort.
~ * * * ~
Management at The Greenbrier strongly discourages for anyone to spy on guests. Fortunately for me, Lydia doesn’t mind breaking a few rules tonight. Every minute or so, she puts her head out the door and peeks in the direction of William’s table. I realize we’re acting childishly, but as I watch her run back and forth from the swinging door, I perk up a little bit.
“Well, I see his folks sitting over there, but William’s still missing.” Lydia shrugs her shoulders. “Probably, just running a bit late is all.”
The time has come for us to greet the tables. We enter the main dining area, and I immediately look for William . . . but he isn’t there. William’s mother is, however, and she is staring at me. It’s an icy stare, and hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I smile, but honestly there’s little point. After sighing, I make my way around my tables.
A few minutes pass like this, when I finally realize Mrs. Berringer’s no longer at her seat. Air from my lungs seep out, and my muscles relax. But, all of a sudden, Cynthia Berringer is standing at my side, and an entirely new shiver passes over me! Lightly, she rests her boney fingers on my arm. They feel like icicles, thin and frosty.
“Excuse me, Delilah, would you be so kinds as to help me with something? It will only take a moment,” says Mrs. Berringer, who still hasn’t released my arm.
“Of course Mrs. Berringer,” I say and escort the woman away from my tables. Finally, William’s mother releases her firm grip and walks by my side.
“Delilah, may I have a word with you?” she asks.
Although she is smiling, it lacks sincerity. I stop walking, plant my shoes firmly to the tile floor, and stare at her.
“What can I do for you?” I inquire.
“I hope you don’t mind if I speak candidly?” Mrs. Berringer says in a tone both soothing and polite. She starts to say something. I can hear her, but I’m not really listening. I wonder how many other helpless victims have been able to see through her façade. I look down and stare at the black and white tiles beneath my pumps. The floor's shiny and arranged in a checkerboard pattern. I can almost see my reflection.
“Very well then, since you won’t answer my question, I will let you in on a little secret. As a mother, I have concerns about the well-being of my son. Since our arrival, I have noticed a change in him.”
The woman’s words swirl around the vacant hallway, but I barely hear. Another few seconds go by. She’s probably waiting for me to be a part of this discussion, but I remain mute. I mean, how am I supposed to react to this woman? I want this moment to end and I wish she’d finish her little speech already. I still don’t grasp the point of this private conversation. What does she want from me?
Finally, more words seep from Mrs. Berringer’s paper thin lips, and I tune into them, “You seem like a very pleasant girl. I honestly don’t wish to see you hurt. However, I believe it would be best if you let him go.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“As a concerned parent, I can’t sit back and watch as the two of you make a ‘mistake’ and have to spend the rest of your lives paying for it.”
What did this woman just say? Did she just imply . . .
Before I am able to respond, she continues, “My hope is, if you truly care for William, you will see it in your heart to allow him to live out his dream.”
“Would that be your dream or his?” Oops! I bite my lip.
“Mr. Berringer and I hold our son’s best interest as a priority. You have only known him a few short m
onths, whereas we have raised and nurtured him his whole life.”
“I may have only spent two months with your son, but I believe I’ve gotten to know him very well. Perhaps, in some ways, I may even know him better than you do. I know he dreams about designing buildings with the inspiration of the great cathedrals and the cutting edge vision of Frank Lloyd Wright.” I take in a deep gulp of air and continue giving her examples from William and my frequent discussions. At last, I finally pause for breath and say, “I also know he wants you to be proud of him.”
“I see this conversation isn’t going anywhere. This must be extremely uncomfortable for you. I am truly sorry I have imposed."
She begins to walk away, but I grab her arm. “Wait a minute! I realize you see me as a small town girl with little ambition. But for your information, my dream is to become a great chef and own an entire chain of phenomenal restaurants! You probably didn’t know that about me . . . and William believes in me,” I say loudly, and a tear slowly trickles down my cheek.
“Hopefully, you can find it in your heart to do what is right. Thank you for being so gracious with your time. I won’t bring up this subject with you again. Good evening, Delilah.”
I release Mrs. Berringer from my grasp and she swiftly returns to the dining hall. I am left behind, feeling dejected and confused.
I try to see my relationship with William from his mother’s perspective. Although I hate her, I think I understand her . . . a little.
Before returning to my tables, I wipe away my tears and lift my head. I am not going to look over at Mrs. Berringer. I can’t believe she had the nerve to insinuate that William and I might make a ‘mistake’ and she’d wind up taking care of it. How dare she say such a horrible thing! I still can’t wrap my mind around how someone could be so, so . . . rude!
Oh no, I just looked over at William’s table and there he is, right next to his mother! What am I supposed to do? The kitchen! I race as fast as I can through the swinging door. I made it out of there, just in time. My breathing is shallow and my head is light. I must be hyperventilating! To steady myself, I grasp for the table. Thank goodness, Lydia has found me.
“Take a deep breath. There you go. Do you need some fresh air or somethin’?” Lydia says, but her mouth moves too fast. I can’t understand what she’s trying to say. Lydia loops my arm over her shoulder and helps me outside. She sits me in a chair and fans my face. The steady flow of air feels nice.
“I’ve never seen you like this, before. Sugar, you look white as a ghost. What happened to you out there?” she asks in a raised voice.
After composing myself, I tell her about my conversation with Mrs. Berringer. Lydia’s face turns a shade of red like I’ve never before seen.
“How dare that woman treat you like that! Who does she think she is, anyway? Why, you’re the best thing that boy could ever hope for! Humph!” Lydia rants on like this for another minute.
“Thanks, you’re a great friend,” I say and hug her. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get back in there before we both get fired.”
I must put my emotions on hold and go numb. I will move around like a zombie and no one will even notice.
Just to grind salt into my wounds, Camilla is now sitting at William’s table. She is such a tart, and his mother is a royal pain. Worse, my shift won’t be over for another hour.
“Geez Louise, won’t this evening ever end?” I mumble under my breath.
~ * * * ~
This night has truly been one from hell. I don’t think it could possibly get any worse. I stand corrected—it can.
Lydia rushes over to me and whispers, “You might want to speed it up a bit. ‘Cuz here he comes, now.”
Great, just what this unbearable night needs—a nice little visit from William. I really don’t want to face him, but I know I can do this. I wait a second before spinning around.
“Delilah, can we talk?” he asks faintly.
“I just wish we didn’t have to. I wonder if it would be easier to leave things be,” I say, sounding both weary and deflated.
“I’m sorry for all of this. You were right about my parents. And you do realize I had nothing to do with Camilla being at our table. That was yet another one of my parents’ brilliant ideas,” William says. He wears a familiar smile, but his face looks different . . . hollow.
“Parents generally are full of brilliant ideas, aren’t they?”
“My parents always have been,” he pauses, and my heart goes out to him. His anguish’s written plainly across his face. “As meddlesome as they are, their intentions are good. They don’t know any other way.”
“I thought I’d see you before work. I hoped we would straighten out this mess. Now I’m not so sure if that’s even possible.”
“I had every intention of coming over. Instead, I had to endure a long discussion with my parents. I did manage to tell them about switching my major,” he says with a twinkle.
“I know all about that. It didn’t go over very well for you, did it?” I ask, but he looks confused by this. So I further explain, “Your mother informed me of your little discussion, today.”
“My mother? When did you two talk?”
“Just before you arrived at dinner, we had a nice little chat,” I say, half-heartedly.
William’s hand rubs roughly across his forehead. “Then, for that I apologize, as well. I had no idea she could sink that low. What did she say?”
“I think you already have an idea. Besides, it doesn’t really matter.”
“It does matter. I’d like to know what she said to you,” he says, his voice strained.
“Look, she’s just concerned. She seems to be under the impression I‘ve been a bad influence on you.”
“Delilah, I understand you’ve had a rough day. Having my mother speak to you like that is unacceptable. I can promise, she will never do it again,” he says and places his forehead to mine. “I should’ve come by your house today. Obviously, I chose a bad time to talk with my parents.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Goodbye, William.”
His eyes widen, and I can see sorrow behind them.
“What’re you doing? Please tell me you aren’t going to allow her to scare you out of my life.”
I step back, using the space as a shield. “The truth is . . . our relationship was over before it even started.”
“That’s ridiculous! There’s absolutely no reason we shouldn’t be together! The next few years may be difficult with both of us being away at school. But we can work it out.”
“It could never work. What’re you doing with a small town girl like me, anyway? Your mother’s probably right about one thing. You are too good for me. We were both caught up in the thrill of summer. It’s only a matter of time before we enter back into the real world and realize we don’t belong together.”
“I can tell you this much, I believe we can survive in it, together, but not if you aren’t even willing to try. I’ll tell you what, why don’t we just say goodnight. We can sleep on it and talk tomorrow.”
“All right, goodnight then,” I agree, but the truth is . . . I doubt I’ll ever see him again.
I turn away, but he reaches for my hand and wraps his arms tightly around my waist. I want to fade away into his embrace, and for a fleeting second, I allow myself to enjoy the moment.
“No matter what happens, I will always love you,” he says before releasing me.
Tears swell in my eyes. I know I can’t hold them off any longer; I want to run for the door.
“I need to leave,” I say meekly.
At last, he loosens his hold. Swiftly, I slide out of his arms and back away. He doesn’t stop me. And although my back is now facing him, I know he is watching me go. Before slipping through the door, I look back and mouth the words, “I love you, too.”
~ * * * ~
My body has gone numb. I don't recall walking to Lydia’s car, and the ride home is a distant memory. I’m exhausted and yearn for sleep. Instead, I find
myself fiddling around in my kitchen. I pull out pots and pans and scatter them across the counter. I reach for spices and lighten the fridge of some of its contents.
My hands know what to do; they start by washing and then chopping veggies. I toss peppers, onions, garlic, and celery into a pot with butter. Ah, that familiar sizzle and popping sound. I add a handful of flour to make my roux. When it is the consistency and color of peanut butter, I pour in diced tomatoes and broth. I add spices to the mixture—a pinch here, a spoonful there.
After an hour of preparing my dish, I take a bite . . . and it tastes good, but something important is still missing. I’ve altered the ingredients and amount of broth and tomatoes. I just can’t seem to get it right.
“Oh well,” I sigh.
Just before I clean up my mess, I realize what’s missing. I leap over to a cabinet and search. Back there, sits a lonely bottle of paprika. I throw in a spoonful and stir. I taste the etouffee . . . and my face lights up with delight! I jump around the room, punching my hands into the air!
“I’ve finally done it!” I squeal and fall into a chair.
I can’t wait for Shep to try this for lunch tomorrow. He has been teasing me all summer long about my crazy behavior, preparing the same meal over and over. Now he’ll see why I’ve anguished over this for a couple of months. It’s absolutely delicious! Probably the best thing I’ve ever prepared!
For a minute, I forget all about William and his mother. I forget about how my heart has been run through the grinder. I forget about how cruel life can be at times. For now, I’m Delilah, a chef who’s about to own the best restaurant the world has ever seen.
After packing up the food and cleaning up my mess. I stumble back to my room and change for bed. Ah, comfort. Instantaneously, two things happen; my head hits the pillow and I drift into a deep sleep.
~ * * * ~
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