Then again, she was helping Dorie fix up the Crab.
But would she be interested in helping him? And would he want her to? There was a time when he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with her, but that was a long time ago. He hadn’t found anyone since that he’d felt as strongly about, who he could share everything with—until today. The first couple of times they’d met this past week, it was awkward and she was definitely standoffish, but today . . . today it had almost been like before. Her enthusiasm fueled his. He’d fallen into an energy he knew so well, so quickly, that it was kind of scary. And she had, too.
Was it worth it, just to see where it would go? Was he totally self-destructive to take the chance? Was this a temptation that was bound to fail?
“Are you going to eat that last ravioli?”
Owen had finished his spaghetti, and a slice of pizza. Joe pushed his plate across the table. The kid would make himself sick eating so much, like a feral puppy afraid his next meal might not come.
Joe motioned to the waitress, a woman he’d known in high school, and ordered a large spaghetti and meatballs to go.
DORIE LOOKED AROUND the kitchen of the Blue Crab as she sipped a cup of coffee. The whole thing needed upgrading. But she didn’t have the money to do it right. Hell, she didn’t have the money to do squat. If Van really did take on the Crab as a project, Dorie would have to pay her on time.
At least she’d put aside enough money to keep going for a while in spite of Harold’s sticky fingers. He had his shortcomings, but, hell, he’d never raised a hand to her.
Dorie chuckled. She’d like to see him try. Harold wasn’t so bad in the scheme of men. But it seems the older he got, the more discontented he got. She kept thinking he would run out of steam, but no.
Though she had to admit, she’d rather have him running around than sitting around after work watching television and doing nothing. They suited each other.
But the kitchen, on the other hand, had fallen to an all-time low. It was clean—hell, she didn’t need health department problems—but the appliances were old. And she’d accumulated so many utensils and God knows what, she wouldn’t even know where to begin sorting and organizing them.
But Van did. She’d walked right in wearing that little bikini, taken one look, and started moving things around. The kitchen already looked less cluttered, and with a little effort they would uncover enough counter space to accommodate an extra food prep station or two.
Yep, the Crab could be hopping again instead of hanging on by its pincers, crowded in the summer, closed down in the winter. Most people were still willing to wait for a table, wait for the food. Dorie had kept prices down by hiring a young waitstaff, giving work to a few kids during the summer while keeping her costs down.
But she should have been giving them more training. And she should have kept a few regulars on for the transition between seasons, not have to hire new staff at the end of the summer.
The waitress-busboy collision in the restaurant yesterday was one of many.
Dorie crossed to the fridge and pulled out two boxes of frozen lobster ravioli. Another large container of her vodka sauce. It was homemade; she knew because she’d made it herself. The ravioli weren’t, but they were from a local market who made them.
She tried to buy local when she could. She chuckled. She always had. Now it was something called “artisan.” Restaurants charged an arm and a leg for some of the same food Dorie served for a song.
But local markets were becoming scarcer with the loss of one family business after another: Whitaker’s poultry farm, Fratelli’s bakery, the Enthorpes’ dairy farm. She’d been through three different vegetable markets and finally had to move to a wholesaler for most of her produce.
It couldn’t be helped, but it wasn’t the same. Maybe she should let Van go on to her vacation and call it quits.
VAN HAD THOUGHT she would apologize and leave, and that would be that, one more loose end tied up. But she didn’t feel like she’d tied anything up, except maybe tying the past more firmly to the present, and maybe her feeling for Joe tied firmly to the man.
For a few minutes looking at the photos of the vineyard, it was almost like she’d never left. So much so that she was almost surprised when she stood up from the computer and they were in the present again, both a decade older.
Dangerous, she told herself. Dangerous to pretend that things could be the same again. Besides, it was impossible. Why was she even thinking like this?
Dana was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when Van returned to the house.
“Back so soon?”
“It’s not so soon.” Van gave her a sour look, though she wasn’t even annoyed, more amused than anything. “Catching up on current events?”
Dana held up a pencil. “Looking at the want ads.”
“Any luck?”
Dana returned Van’s sour look. “Same old, same old.”
“Dorie said you studied to be a manicurist.”
“Yeah. Dumb work, looking at other people’s fingers for a living. But better than waitressing where you’re on your feet all day.”
Van thought she should be thanking her lucky stars to even have that, instead of grousing, but that was Dana, through and through.
“Suze back?”
“Nope. But Dorie said if you’re interested, she’s over at the Crab.”
“Great. Want to come?” Van asked as an afterthought.
“No . . . thanks.” Dana went backing to perusing the want ads.
Van went upstairs to get her notes, then headed over to the restaurant.
She found Dorie standing in the middle of the kitchen, not exactly a queen surveying her kingdom, but close.
“You’re back. How did things go with Joe?”
“Okay.”
“Just okay?”
Van went over to the coffeepot. “They went fine, but don’t get any ideas. How old is this coffee?”
“Fresh. What kind of ideas?”
“You know the kind where Joe and I fall madly in love again like some Hallmark movie.”
Dorie snorted. “I wouldn’t be so naive. But did you get along?”
Van poured herself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, actually we did.” She sat down, looked across the table at Dorie. “It was kind of freaky,” she admitted. “For a few minutes it was like it always was. He showed me photos of the vineyard. It’s amazing, he’s amazing. He just reinvented himself when the dairy farm closed.”
“See, you still have a lot in common.”
Van raised her eyebrows. “Reinvention.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
Van shrugged. “He said if I’d like to go out to the farm and see the family, to call him.”
“That boy.” Dorie heaved a huge sigh. “Are you going to call?”
“No. I mean, it just seems like something that doesn’t need to be done. I’ll be leaving in a few days, and that will be that.”
“And is that how you want to leave things? ‘That will be that’?”
“Dorie, I left things long ago. It’s senseless to revisit them or open up any old wounds.”
Dorie stopped. “Yours or his?”
It took Van a second to respond. “Both, I guess.”
“Huh.”
“I— I still like him, I think. He’s growing grapes. I know he must have been pretty devastated when they had to sell the dairy farm. It’s all he ever wanted to do. Run the family farm. But he figured out what he could do and did it. You have to admire that.”
“Yes. you do. What about the rest of him?”
“The rest of him?”
“Don’t be dense.”
Van smiled, though she didn’t want to. “That’s nice, too. It always was. Now do you want to talk about the Crab or not?”
“Hit me with it.”
“I’ve made some notes, mainly about traffic patterns and cosmetics. Come out to the dining room.”
Dorie pushed open
the swinging door.
“First problem. Do you know how many near misses you have every time a new order comes up?”
“Don’t tell me. I just cross my fingers and hope for the best.”
“That is not a plan. We’ll have to look at a few options and choose one to implement.”
“I don’t have a lot of money to spend on upgrades—or to pay you for your expertise.”
“Really, Dorie? After all you’ve done for me, you think I’m going to let you pay?”
“Damn straight you are. But the other . . .” Dorie trailed off.
“We’ll come up with a compromise. Now here is another major problem, but an easy fix. I was working from memory, so this is not exact.” Van showed Dorie the schematic of the dining room she’d gridded out on the graph paper. “I know you’re strapped for table space in the summers, but you have to lose at least one of these tables by the kitchen door. You’ll save on glasses and china. It’s just a matter of time before someone trips and dumps food all over the diners sitting there. If we move this one and reroute waitstaff and bus staff, we should be able to . . .” Van explained her ideas for making the transporting of food more efficient.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Dorie asked as she stood at Van’s shoulder comparing the drawing to the current arrangement of tables.
Van grinned at her. “Because then you wouldn’t need me.”
Dorie laughed. “What else?”
“I’ve got a lot of suggestions, but we won’t be able to implement them until after this weekend when I mean to watch the staff in action.”
“That makes sense.” Dorie turned on her. “You’re not going to get everything discombobulated, then leave me before it’s done?”
“No, of course not. We can get the major points accomplished next week. Then there are some other long-range projects you can start at your leisure, if you even want to do them.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” Van said, hedging, “those of us who have been coming here forever love the ‘ambiance.’ But if you were serious about staying open off-season, you’ll need to appeal to a wider demographic.”
“English, please.”
“If you want some high-class diners to come here, you might want to dust the plastic flowers or even put fresh flowers on the tables.
“You can spiff things up without losing the old feel of the place. I mean, when was the last time you painted?”
“Painted?”
“That answers my question. The wood trim is fine, dark—and rich if given a good oiling, but you need to move out of the dark-doesn’t-show-dirt restaurant mentality and brighten the place up at bit. Small things but a big difference. Then with the table rearrangement, there will be several clear paths to the silverware and condiment station, which you can camouflage with a decorative screen or something; that will give you a lot more space out of sight of the diners. I mean, do people really want to look at trays of mustard and ketchup while they ‘dine’?”
“Nobody’s complained yet.”
“And they won’t, because it’s all fine, but you’re the one—”
“I know that I said I wanted to save this old albatross. And you’re right. I’m not going to make it on the cops coming in when they get off their shifts. Or the old regulars who come once a week if I’m lucky but usually only a couple of times a month.
“Hell, I wish there was a way to predict if it will be worth the bother.”
Van dropped her clipboard and put her hands on her hips. “What do you want?”
Dorie wrestled with a smile. “Oh, all right. I said I wanted to upgrade the joint. What else do I have to do?”
They spent the next few hours studying the restaurant from front door to kitchen. Dorie telling Van what she envisioned for the Crab, and Van making a list of ways to achieve it. They argued about several things. But they were minor, like redesigning the paper placemats or whether they could dispense with them altogether by refinishing the tables.
But Van didn’t want to get too carried away or she might find herself back in Whisper Beach on weekends. Not that it would be so awful, she thought. Especially if Suze would be staying over the winter. Actually, it sounded sort of relaxing.
“What?” Dorie asked.
“I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“You wouldn’t want to know.”
They finally called it a day when Suze phoned to say she was back and complaining about starvation and the absence of happy hour.
“Uncork the wine,” Van said. “We’re on our way.”
“I can’t find the corkscrew,” wailed Suze.
Van thought. It had been on the toaster, then Suze had used it last night and put it on the . . . “It’s next to the kitchen telephone.”
“You’re brilliant. Hurry up.”
Van hung up. “She’s hungry and couldn’t find the corkscrew.”
“Gotta love her,” Dorie said.
Van packed up her papers and put them in her carryall. “Did Suze tell you that she’s thinking about staying for the winter?”
“Sure. We talked about it weeks ago. I’ll be glad to have her.”
“And did the two of you plot to get me to come back for Clay’s funeral?”
“My, my, you do think you’re the center of our universe.” Dorie headed for the door.
Van hurried to catch up. “No, I don’t. I just—”
“Stop being so prickly. I bet you dollars to donuts you don’t act this skittish around your other clients.”
“You’re sort of more than my client, Dorie.”
“Well, that’s good to know. But no. I called her after I e-mailed you. And told her what I’d done.”
“So you coerced her into coming.”
“Not really; she was coming anyway, but not until after she got the grant. Come on, we can walk and talk at the same time.”
They locked up and crossed the street. There weren’t many cars today. They might get a few more weekends of foot traffic, but there wasn’t much else around here to draw in crowds during the off-season.
“I’m an idiot.” Van turned around and looked back toward the beach and the ocean stretching out to the horizon. “You’re one of the few restaurants right on the water.”
“So?”
“Is the Crab weatherized?”
“Yeah, from back when the hotel was open three seasons.”
“Oceanside dining. It would appeal to the trendy set, I bet. I’ll make a couple of calls and get a second opinion. It could stay the beach joint for the season, then streamline in the off-season to accommodate people in the know. It might work.” Van looked at Dorie. “If you think you really want to put that much work into it.”
“Can I charge higher prices off-season?”
“I bet you can; that’s one of the questions I’ll ask.”
“I’d need it to make a profit enough to support me. Between you and me, Harold has spent everything. There’s nothing left for our retirement money. Harold has spent it all on one scheme or another.”
“Dorie, why do you let him spend your money? Why do you let him keep coming back?”
They were walking shoulder to shoulder down the sidewalk. Now Dorie slowed.
Dorie shrugged. “We’re a pair like salt-and-pepper shakers, different as different, and yet we go together.”
Van thought she sounded an awful lot like Dana.
“He’s still looking for that pie in the sky. And if he finds it, I know he’ll share it, he always did.
“Worse comes to worse I’ll turn the house into rentals, or maybe I should just sell the damn thing.”
Van did a double take. “The house?”
“The Crab.”
“You’d consider selling?”
“I’ve gotten some pretty hefty offers.”
“And?”
“And? For one, what would I do with myself? And two, I know Harold would manage to blow it all and then where would I be?”
/>
Van hoped that was a rhetorical question, because she didn’t have a clue. For a wild second she thought, Silent partner. She’d been planning to expand her business into another city. But she could invest in the Crab instead. And have Harold steal her money, too?
No, Dorie would just have to do the best she could, with a little help from her friends.
When the two arrived back at Dorie’s, Suze was sitting in the parlor, an open bottle of white wine on the table, and the air-conditioning going full blast.
“How was your day?” Van asked.
“Hmmph,” Suze said.
“Oh dear, not going well.”
Suze threw herself back into her chair, one hand over her forehead like a melodrama heroine. “Nothing’s going well. The work is fine, but I still haven’t heard from the grant people. What is so hard about returning one of my fifty calls?”
“Can we just drive over and pick up the forms? I have a car.”
“To Cincinnati? Scholars from all over the country have applied for this money. I worked my butt off to make it down to the finalists, and for what.” Suze groaned and switched hands. “But that’s not the worst.”
“There’s worse?” Van wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more bad news.
“My mother is having a ‘drinks’ party on Sunday.”
“Oh.”
“She just never lets up. She did her down-the-nose thing at me staying here at Dorie’s. Really got frosty when I told her we were having a reunion.”
“I’d hardly call it that.”
“It is sort of, and besides I was being gratuitously ornery.”
Van laughed. “I like that—‘gratuitously ornery.’ I’m going to remember to use that with a few of my clients. So you had a fight?”
“One doesn’t fight with my mother. She just hands down edicts. Like my attendance at the ‘drinks’ party.”
“That seems a small price to pay.”
Suze rolled her eyes. Van swore they were all turning into Dorie. “She wants to take me shopping so I won’t embarrass her in front of her guests.”
“She didn’t say that.”
“No, she said there would be single men there and she wanted me to make a good impression.”
“Ouch. So are you going shopping?”
Whisper Beach Page 20