“Van? Yoo hoo, Van.”
“Huh?”
“Do you want a beer or something?” Dana’s face loomed over her, and Van realized she’d been in the nether. Joe was right. No more thinking.
“Would it be weird to have a cup of hot tea?”
“Definitely,” Dana said. “Milk or lemon.”
“So do you think Gigi had some kind of breakdown?” Jerry asked when Dana had finished taking her order.
“Sure feels like it,” Suze said.
It felt like it to Van, too. Actually it felt like they had all broken down. Or something had. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe not.
Dana brought their drinks. The tea was hot and calming. Van could feel Joe glancing at her. She wanted to tell him she was fine. But she wasn’t sure she was. Though of course she was. She’d made it this far; she wouldn’t give up without a fight. But she felt sorry for Gigi, and slightly responsible.
And she knew that was probably not a good thing. Funny how one little insignificant event in the past, like Dana and Joe flirting or him not having sex in the truck with Gigi, could bear such unexpected fruit down the road. Or in her case no fruit at all.
“What?” Suze asked.
“I was thinking about you and mixed metaphors.”
“Hate ’em.”
Van smiled. “I knew you would.”
AFTER DINNER THEY all walked out to Whisper Beach, though Jerry groused about his shoes until Suze made him sit down and take them off.
Van suspected he was more worried about what he was going to say to Dana than he was about getting his shoes wet. He’d told them during dinner that Bud had left town.
“Gone to Florida—his sister and brother-in-law live down there—and checked himself into a rehab center.”
“That’s good,” Van said.
“I’m not sure if he told Dana or not.”
“She’ll be better off without him,” Joe said.
“I know that. We all do, except maybe Dana. But somebody’s got to tell her.”
“Maybe she can move in with Suze and Dorie,” Van suggested. “Support group and all that.”
Suze frowned over that. “As long as she doesn’t expect one big party. I have work to do.”
“You seem pretty confident about getting that grant.”
“Actually, it has nothing to do with the grant. I’m writing this paper even if I have to work for Dorie . . . as soon as Dana and I talk her into opening for the winter.”
“When did this all happen?”
“Me and the terror bonded over my hair this afternoon.” Suze turned to Jerry. “I’m sorry you missed it. I looked really nice.”
“I think you look great the way you are,” Jerry said.
Joe looked at Van and batted his eyelashes.
Van bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Here she comes.”
Dana was standing on the pier looking down at them. “You expect me to get my feet all sandy and then have to go back to work?”
“Yeah, we do,” Joe called up to her. “Come on down; Jerry has something he wants to say.”
“Jeez, Joe,” Jerry said under his breath.
Dana slid off the pier and jumped to the ground. They could hear her grousing all the way to where they waited for her.
“So what’s the big powwow about? I thought we decided I didn’t take the damn application letter.”
“What?” Jerry asked.
“Long story,” Joe said. “Go on.”
Jerry stepped forward. “Dana?”
“Jerry?”
“I just thought you should know, Bud’s left town.”
Dana screwed up her face.
“I know you’re upset but—”
“You hauled my butt down here just to tell me that? I know. He texted me. Gone off to rehabilitate himself. Good luck with that one.”
“You’re okay?”
“Me? Hell, yeah. I feel, I don’t know, a big weight lifted off me. I hope he doesn’t come back. Sounds awful, doesn’t it? I thought I loved him, but I don’t. And I don’t think he can love anybody no matter how much he gets rehabilitated. I think he has a sickness, ya know? I’m better now.
“Dorie says I have to go to some group grope session. Say stuff like I’m Dana Mulvanney and I’m a dumb shit ’cause I let a guy beat me up. Yeah, I got it. I’ll do it. I’m cool. Is that it?”
“Dana.” Van stepped toward her.
Dana stepped back. “No group hugs or anything; I gotta reputation to maintain.”
“Dana, you’ve got a reputation you need to lose.”
“Aw, Joe, that’s the sexiest thing you ever said to me.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“No, she’s not,” Suze said. “When I’m not researching misanthropic literature of the Chaucerian period, Dana and I are going to get us some self-esteem.”
Dana snorted. “I gotta get back.” She turned and walked back up the beach.
“Are you really going to do that?” Van asked.
“Why not? You know what they say?”
“No, what?”
“ ’Tain’t what you do, it’s the way that cha do it.”
“That’s not Chaucer.” Jerry said.
“No. Ella Fitzgerald.”
Suze and Jerry decided to walk into town for ice cream, but Van and Joe stayed on the beach. The last of the Sunday crowd had gone, and they were alone except for the sounds coming from the restaurant.
“Do you think Bud will come back?” Van asked as the dusk turned into dark.
“Who knows. We’ll all be better off with him gone. I hope that he can change, but I don’t have much hope. At least the clam diggers will be someone else’s problem now.”
“The clam diggers?”
“Poachers. Bud had a real thing about them. Grandy’s coming back and he can deal with them—or not.”
“Then you’ll move back to the farm?”
“Yeah, I’ll have to bunk in the main house since I loaned my house to my foreman and his family.”
Van shuddered.
“What?”
“Just thinking about Gigi living back at home.”
Joe laughed. “Don’t worry; my mother would never put up with that kind of stuff.”
“I know. She’s really great. Your whole family is.”
“Well.”
“Don’t say it.”
“What? I was just going to repeat what she told you, that you’re welcome anytime.”
“Thanks.”
“Think you’ll get out to see us before you go back to the city?”
Van shrugged. “Tomorrow I start overhauling the Crab. Everyone’s coming in at noon.”
“That should be interesting. The Crab has been hobbling along the same way for as long as I can remember. You might want to stick around an extra week or so, to make sure they can find everything once you fix it.”
“I can’t. I’ve already been away from work too long.”
“They can’t manage without you?”
“I’m afraid they manage just fine. One of the reasons I need to get back.”
“You said you were going to expand. Have you decided where?”
“No. I’ve looked at Boston and Philadelphia; those are the most obvious choices. But the overhead is high and I’m not sure it will be cost-effective. I doubt if they’ll pay in Philly like they do in Manhattan.”
“Hmmm. Have you ever thought about doing something here?”
“Here? The Crab is an act of love and payback to Dorie. And I’ll look into some ideas for the winery. But after that . . . look around.”
“I don’t mean right here. But what about Suze’s town? Some of those families have started living here year-round. And the ones who do come down are entertaining all the time.”
“I’m sure they have a staff for that.”
“Maybe. But the overhead would be lower and you’d have this.” He looked out to the ocean, rolling dark against the sand, the shush
-shush a slow lazy counterpoint to the surf.
“It’s tempting. But I don’t think so. I’m not sure I could ever be comfortable here again.”
“Van, I’m sorry for all that nonsense I put you through. I was just dumb. I wished you had just said something. We always told each other everything, didn’t we?”
“It wasn’t your fault. I kind of lost my head. Life at home was unbearable, and I jumped to conclusions. I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things. Maybe I was wrong about everything.”
“Not about how we felt about each other.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
The lights in the restaurant went off. Joe put his arm around her, and she relaxed into his shoulder. It was comfortable. Undemanding. Safe. But the feeling belonged in the past.
“We’d better get back. Dorie will want to go over a schedule for tomorrow.”
He jumped up and pulled Van to her feet. Then he pulled her against him. He kissed her, gently. And for a moment they were young and looking forward instead of two people who had gone their separate ways.
Chapter 27
DORIE’S HOUSE WAS EMPTY WHEN JOE AND VAN WALKED UP the front steps. “Suze and Jerry must still be out,” Van said.
“Looks that way. Dorie and Dana, too.”
“Well, thanks for lunch . . . and dinner.”
“I’ll see you before you leave?”
“Sure. I’ll be working at the restaurant for the next couple of days. I’ll probably go back on Saturday to give myself a day to get back up to speed. Send me some ideas you like, or photos, and a list of what you need where, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”
Joe nodded.
“Well, I’d invite you in but . . .” She breathed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
“I have a few ideas, but I don’t think we’re there yet.”
She shook her head.
“Maybe never.”
She shrugged.
“Or maybe later.” He smiled. Raised his eyebrows in a way that had always made her laugh, and she fell into a place she knew so well and felt so comfortable in.
“I’m staying out at the farm. Call me if you need anything. Or if you want to come out.”
“Thanks, I will.”
“Save Friday for me.”
She hesitated. “Okay. But Joe—”
He kissed her, fast, unexpectedly, cutting off the rest of her sentence.
“See you on Friday. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He walked out to his truck, waved over the hood, and drove off into the night.
Van watched him go. She couldn’t decide whether what she was feeling was surprise, disappointment, or confusion; whether things were closing or opening. And whether she should accept the former or hope for the latter.
OKAY, HE PROBABLY should have maneuvered her into prolonging the night. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It’s just that he didn’t want to make any rash moves with Van.
He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to risk getting involved with her again. He drove to the farm. Maybe someone would still be up.
The porch light was on, and a light in the kitchen glowed through the café curtains. Joe pulled into the drive and stopped at the house. The kitchen door opened and his mother stepped out.
“Joe? I thought you were coming tomorrow.”
“I was but— Hell, I don’t know.”
“You’d better come in. Your father and I were just having some decaf.”
Joe stepped into the kitchen. His dad looked up in surprise. “What brings you here again so soon?”
“Indecision.”
“Would this have anything to do with Van?”
“Yeah.” Joe pulled out a chair and sat down.
His mother poured him a cup of coffee and sat down. “You both seemed very relaxed today. Actually I was surprised at how easily she fit back into the family. I expected her to be a bit skittish. She always had this edge that made me think she was on the verge of running. But not today.”
“Probably because she knows she’s leaving.” Joe took a sip of hot coffee.
“So what’s the problem?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know that there is a problem. She’s willing to do some work on the winery, just some organizational stuff.”
“Good. And?”
“Well, she’s changed.”
“Oh my goodness,” his mother said. “Of course she has. Are you hungry? Can I make you a plate?”
Joe laughed. “Thanks, but we went to the Crab with Suze Turner and Jerry.”
“Jerry Corso? And Suze is the college professor, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I never,” said his father. “Bet that was an interesting night.”
“You can say that again. Suze had to go to this cocktail party and needed a date.” He told them about Gigi freaking out and attacking Suze.
“And she always seemed like such a nice girl,” his mother said.
“Those nice girls’ll fool you every time.” Joe Junior winked at his wife.
Joe looked away. A combination of TMI and envy.
He wanted what his parents had. He hadn’t found anyone he thought he could spend his life with, except Van, and that had been a lifetime ago. Especially for Van. And there wouldn’t be any children.
“So do you think maybe there could be a future for the two of you?”
Joe shrugged. He didn’t know why he was feeling so ambivalent.
“ ’Cause there haven’t been that many women visiting the old farmstead.”
“I know.”
“Did you ask how she felt?”
“No. I don’t even know how I feel.”
“Well, then, don’t rush into anything.”
“I know, Dad, look before I leap.”
His mother laughed. “Unlike your father. And look what he got.”
“I was lucky. And I know it. But Van is carrying a lot of baggage. Make sure she’s the one for the right reasons.”
“I feel a little pressed for time. She agreed to see me on Friday, but she’s leaving on Saturday.”
“New York is only a train ride away. What? Two hours max.”
“Besides,” his mother added. “Neither of you should make any decisions until you get to know each other better.”
“For crying out loud,” called a voice from the living room. “Marry the girl already; you’ve waited long enough.”
Joe’s father called out. “Thanks for your input, Pop. Your grandson has his own ideas.”
“If you don’t want her, I’ll marry her.”
“Good night, Pop.”
“He means well,” his mother said.
“That’s what’s got me . . . I don’t know if I want to invest the time and emotional wringing out that finding out might entail.”
“Well, that’s something only you can decide.”
“I know, but why didn’t I try before now? I knew where she was. We all did, watched her career. I never once called her, went into the city to see her. I figured it was over. I knew she would never come back here, and my life was here on the farm.”
“Well, she did come back,” his father said. “If only for a couple of weeks. Is it any different now?”
“Not really, but I’m beginning to think the commute might not be that bad. I mean, just to see what might happen.”
“I think that’s an excellent plan.” His mother patted his hand. “And there’s no reason you have to wait until Friday to see her. Go make yourself a fixture. See how things play out.”
“Listen to your mother, son. She’s been playing me for years.”
“Joseph Enthorpe.”
Joe covered his eyes with his hand.
“Look, you’ve gone and embarrassed the boy.”
“Me?” Joe’s father said innocently.
She threw her napkin at him. “Go to bed, both of you. And in the morning, Joe, you’re going back into town and see what happ
ens.”
“Yes, ma’am. I guess that’s what I’ll do, but I wanted to take a look over the fields.”
His father waved the idea away. “The fields will be here when you get back. Van might not be. And, son, this is going to sound old-fashioned, but—”
“Enough, enough,” said Joe, standing. “I’m not going to do anything that I would normally be inclined to do. Not with Van, not with her history.”
“All or nothing isn’t a bad thing,” his father said.
Joe nodded. He definitely felt that way about Van. That was one thing he was sure of.
“Joe, come let me get you a fresh towel. Honey, you can put our cups in the dishwasher.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Joe followed his mother to the linen closet. She handed him a towel and face cloth, but held on to them. “I didn’t tell your father about Van not being able to conceive. I didn’t think it was something that is any of his or Pop’s business. But if that’s what’s holding you back, then think long and hard before you make any commitments.
“But don’t feel like you’re obligated to carry on the family line. We won’t lack for grandchildren, and there are plenty of poor children in the world who need loving families. They’re just as important as every other child on this earth. Remember that.”
“I will, thanks.”
She let go of the towels, and Joe went down the hall to bed.
ON MONDAY MORNING, Van was drinking coffee and listing priorities when Dorie and Dana left for the Crab.
“Suze and I will meet you there at noon,” she said distractedly. That would give the staff four hours to complete their usual Monday morning cleanup. Then while they were taking a break, Van, Dorie, and Cubby could organize the afternoon.
“Make sure Suze gets to the post office first,” Dorie said. “I’m getting used to having her around.”
“Will do.” Van went back to her notes. She’d have Cubby divide them into teams; hopefully, there would be enough volunteers to have several teams. Two for the dining room and the rest in the kitchen.
Whenever a nonrestaurant thought intruded, like what to do about Gigi or whether she should pursue any kind of relationship with Joe, Van flipped to the back and wrote it down. Not that those things on a back page were of less importance, just of less immediacy.
Whisper Beach Page 32