She sighed, her shoulders sagging. Tim hit the bell behind the counter. “Order up, Zoey . . . Charlie, when are you jumping in here? I’ve got to get home.”
“Keep your shirt on, man. I’m coming,” he grumbled without glancing back. Zoey looked like she was going to cry. He hoped not. It killed him when she cried—especially if he was the one who upset her.
“Daddy, please. Do I really have to stay?”
He felt bad now, hearing that plaintive tone. He knew how important a date was at that age. Zoey didn’t go out that much, either. She wasn’t the party type, like some kids he heard about. He was proud of her for sticking with her studies and doing so well in school.
“Honey, I’m sorry . . . but yeah. You do.” Before she could answer back he said, “Who is this guy? Do I know him?”
She shook her head, chin down. “He’s not from around here. Just visiting for a few weeks, with his family.”
“I see. Well . . . if he likes you that much, he’ll ask you out again. Don’t worry. It’s good to play hard to get. You ought to make a boy ask you out at least two or three times before you say yes. Boys like that, believe me.”
She rolled her eyes and grabbed a plate that held a cheeseburger deluxe. “Yeah, maybe back in the eighteen hundreds, when you were a kid. Maybe I should wave a fan in front of my face and act like I have fainting spells.”
He knew she was sassing him, but sometimes she was so funny, he couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, I’m not kidding. Back in the eighteen eighties, I must have asked your mother out about ten times before she said yes. I knew she was the one. I didn’t give up.”
Zoey sighed. “Lucky for her.” She stood over the garnish bar and added the appropriate extras—a pickle spear and the dreaded red onion slice, wrinkling her nose like a rabbit.
He patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. This boy will ask you out again. Or he’s a dumbbell and you’re well rid of him.”
She headed out to the dining room. “I hope you figure out that contract thing. Those trash collectors are ruining my life.”
“You and me both, kiddo.” Charlie shook his head as the kitchen doors swung closed behind her.
Nothing easy about this day, he reflected. Everywhere I turn, drama and more drama. I feel like I’m fighting a wildfire, running from one spot to the other with a water pistol.
Two more years of being mayor? I’m not sure I can make it.
* * *
Between the kitchen doors and her customer’s table, Zoey somehow conjured a smile. She set down the burger deluxe platter with extra pickle and red onion. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“All set for now, thank you.” The customer, a woman about her mother’s age who worked in the bank down the street, came in a few times a week for a late lunch. She usually read a book while she ate and was already engrossed. Zoey checked the author’s name. She didn’t recognize it, but that didn’t mean much. She didn’t read many novels these days—mostly just textbooks.
Maybe someday I’ll look down and see James Potter’s name on the cover, she thought. I can tell everyone I almost had a date with him. That will be a great story for my grandchildren.
Back at the counter, she slipped out her cell phone and checked for his number. They had been in touch over the week and had made plans to see a movie in Newburyport and have sushi after.
Zoey hated to break their date. She had really been looking forward to it, and had even planned her outfit down to the earrings.
What if James didn’t believe her or felt insulted? What if he didn’t even care that much?
She did not need dating advice from her father—even though what he said was true. Some guys did seem to like it if you didn’t seem so available. But she didn’t think James was like that. She certainly wasn’t going to wait for him to ask her out ten times more before she agreed. Once seemed like hitting the lottery.
She chickened out on calling and sent a text:
Sorry but I can’t go out tonight. My dad just said I have to stay and close up.
She hit send and waited. Should she add a frowny face? That seemed too much. She didn’t want him to think she was that disappointed. Though she was.
Should she say more? Like, “Hope we can do it another time”? As in, Can we reschedule now? I’m available tomorrow night. And the night after that . . .
That seemed too obvious. And a little pushy.
His answer was already coming back and appeared on the screen:
Bummer. Another time, I guess. Catch you soon.
Zoey sat back. He didn’t seem that concerned about it. That made her feel even worse.
I guess it wasn’t a big deal for him. He’s just bored. He would have asked out any girl his age who could fog a mirror.
Forget about James. He’s sweet, but he’s out of your league. And leaving for a trek around the world in a few weeks. Duh? Not exactly steady boyfriend material.
As Sophie would say, Things happen for a reason.
* * *
Zoey was determined to sleep in Saturday morning. She had drawn her curtains tight the night before and made sure her phone alarm was off. She was tired from last night’s long shift at the diner and feeling blue about missing her date. And she had stayed up late, watching a dumb romantic comedy she’d seen a hundred times before.
It felt like the middle of the night when someone gently shook her shoulder. “Zoey? You need to get up now. Sorry, honey.” Her mom stood beside the bed, her expression sympathetic.
“Get up? What time is it?” Zoey rolled over to check the bedside clock. It was barely seven. “No way.” She rolled over with her back to her mother. “I don’t have to be at the center until this afternoon. I want to sleep some more.”
“I know, sweetie.” She felt Lucy sit on the edge of the bed. “But we have to go down to the diner and do breakfast. Trudy and Tim opened, but they need help. Dad didn’t get back from his meeting until three o’clock this morning, and he can’t move.” Her mother sighed and gently pushed Zoey’s hair back from her face. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we’ve got to do it. So shake those pretty legs.”
Zoey finally opened her eyes. “But I’m scheduled to work at the center this afternoon. I can’t cancel on the center, Mom. They’re counting on me.”
“Just do the breakfast rush with me, Zoey, and you can go. I have the day off, and I’ll work until Dad comes in.” Lucy stood up and headed for the door. “We all need to pull together now, sweetheart. We have to pitch in and help your father until he sorts things out at Village Hall.”
Zoey didn’t answer. She knew there was no negotiating. At least she didn’t have to work all day. It was good of Lucy to stay and let her go, considering that Lucy’s nursing job was intense; she worked at least forty hours a week and often worked overtime, and she probably had her own long list of things she wanted to do on a rare day off.
I’ll have to thank her later. When I’m conscious.
* * *
The diner was a wild scene with only Trudy on the floor waiting tables. Tim, the backup cook, kept running out of the kitchen, trying to cover the counter customers.
Lucy turned to Zoey briefly as they came in, fresh recruits into the battle zone. “Keep your head down, honey. It’s a madhouse in here.”
They quickly stashed their coats, pulled on aprons, and grabbed their order pads. Lucy took the tables at the back of the room, where impatient customers waved madly to flag her down. Zoey headed for the booths at the front, moving from table to table, scribbling down orders that she hoped Tim could decode.
“And can I have some more coffee please, miss?” A customer held out her mug.
But before Zoey could reply, a hand holding a coffeepot magically appeared and filled the cup.
“Thanks,” the woman said, giving her menu back to Zoey.
Zoey turned, expecti
ng to see Lucy, or maybe Trudy. But it was James, standing a few steps back from the table and grinning at her. He wore a white shirt and black pants and carried a big empty tray.
“What are you doing here?” She tried to keep her voice down, but couldn’t hide her shock.
“I’m the new busboy. Your dad hired me yesterday.”
“I get that part,” she said tartly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She headed off to the kitchen to put the orders in, and he followed.
“I should have told you yesterday. But I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”
“Was it?” She tried to sound annoyed, but was actually really happy.
“Yeah, it was.” His wide grin underscored his reply. “That’s why I didn’t ask if you were free tonight when you changed our plans. I knew I had to work here.”
Zoey was glad to hear that. Luckily, her back was turned toward him as he followed her through the swinging doors to the kitchen, so he couldn’t see how happy she was. Maybe Charlie did have a point about acting a little hard to get. “I see,” she said simply. She clipped the orders to the metal wheel at the service window.
“Are you working all day, too?”
“Just for breakfast. I’m going to the children’s center this afternoon.” She glanced at him. He looked unhappy to hear she was leaving so soon.
A plate of eggs and home fries appeared at the window. “Order up!” Tim shouted. Zoey checked the table number.
“How about Sunday? For our date, I mean.”
The question surprised her. So he did want to see her. Her first impulse was to do a cartwheel across the kitchen. Then she realized she had to say no—again. Why is my life such a total disaster?
“I’m sorry . . . I really want to, but I have finals next week and a ton of papers due. I really have to study.”
He looked disappointed but as if he understood. “No worries. I get it. We’ll go out when the semester is over and celebrate.”
Zoey smiled again, then heard Trudy call out from the kitchen door, “Hey, new guy—get out there and clear those tables.” Trudy stared at James, looking very annoyed as she carried in a tub of dirty dishes. She dumped it near the dishwasher, then held the empty tub out to him. “I can’t seat people at dirty tables. And you can’t stand around all day flirting.”
James ran over, grabbed the tub, and headed out to the dining room. Zoey felt her cheeks redden. She placed another plate of eggs and toast on her tray and headed out to the dining room. But not even Trudy’s dark look and mortifying comments could tamp down Zoey’s bright mood. As Sophie would say, You never know what’s going to happen when you get up in the morning. Expect the best and that’s what you’ll find.
Funny how working extra hours at the diner didn’t seem like a jail sentence anymore. It didn’t seem so bad at all.
* * *
“Are you sure you have to go? Can’t someone else drive your mother and Ezra over?” Dan stared up at Emily, his fork hovering over a bowl of chili with all the trimmings.
Emily had pulled out the Crock-Pot over the weekend and, by Monday, had been armed with enough recipes to cook with it for the rest of the year. She started with chili, which was simple enough even for her. Dan and Jane seemed to like it, though there had not been enough time for Emily to eat with them—not if she was going to get to the meeting at Village Hall on time.
Jane was still eating, too; her expression told Emily she agreed with her father.
“I’m sorry. It’s too late to find them a ride and, frankly, I’m curious to see what happens.” Emily grabbed her coat and purse from the rack near the side door. It was already six. She barely had time to pick up the seniors and get over to Village Hall by half past.
“All right, whatever.” Dan shook his head and took another bite of his dinner.
She knew Dan thought she was back to her old ways, but part of her was sincerely reluctant to go. She had gone to some trouble to plan a nice family dinner and had even made baked apples for dessert. “I won’t be back late,” she said, tugging on her jacket.
Jane looked up at her. “Are we still going to practice for my debate?” Emily had forgotten that plan, but caught herself. “Absolutely. I’ll be home in an hour,” she promised, dropping a quick kiss on Jane’s hair. “See you later,” she said, avoiding Dan’s gaze as she headed out the door.
By the time she guided her mother and Ezra into the meeting room at Village Hall, nearly every seat was filled.
“Just my luck. I hate to sit in the back,” Lillian grumbled.
“A hot ticket. I had no idea,” Ezra said.
Emily had been hoping to sit in the back and found three seats in a distant corner. She had told Dan the truth; she was curious to see what went on tonight but had no intention of getting involved. You handed out those flyers and gave them some good pointers on drafting their counterproposal. You’ve done your part, she reminded herself.
Charlie sat in the middle of a long table at the front of the room, flanked by the town council. They talked quietly together, Charlie with his hand over his microphone.
A podium with a microphone was set up in front. It looked exactly like one of her meetings, except that Charlie held a gavel. Emily didn’t like being so formal and rarely had trouble keeping order or getting the crowd’s attention. She wasn’t surprised by the accessory. It suited his personality.
“Good evening, everybody. Thanks for coming out tonight and taking part in running our beautiful village,” Charlie began cheerfully. “First item on the agenda—K&B Carting Company, contract negotiations.” His gaze swept over the audience. “Is this settled yet? No, not yet. But trust me when I say that we have been working night and day to come to terms with this company. For reasons I won’t go into here, this company thinks we’re soft and willing to give them whatever terms they ask. That may have been true in the past, but it’s a different ball game now. We have to show them we’re not pushovers anymore. Even if it takes a little longer to get the job done right.”
Emily felt her mother’s pointy elbow dig into her side. “You know who he’s talking about, don’t you, you soft old pushover?”
Emily ignored her and did her best to ignore Charlie’s thinly veiled criticism. He made her regime sound like a candy store for town contractors. Of course he had to make some excuse, and it was easy to blame this situation on her. For now, at least.
“The handout shows you what they’re asking and what we want to pay. And the difference is substantial. The floor is open for comments. Two minutes per speaker,” he warned.
Nina Barnes was the first to the microphone. “What’s the sense of having free parking if shoppers have to climb over trash bags to get to my store? I just want to see this settled, the sooner the better. We don’t have to make some big showdown out of this, Charlie.”
A chorus of agreement rose up in the audience. Charlie banged the gavel. “Order, please. If you want to talk, line up at the microphone.”
Tucker Tulley was up next. “I think we should stay the course, like Charlie says. If all the firms that do business with the town ask for more money, that’s going to raise our taxes.”
“Just my point. Thank you, Officer Tulley,” Charlie said.
“Officer Tulley? They’ve only known each other since kindergarten,” Lillian said.
“Longer than that. I delivered them both within days. They were in the infant ward, side by side,” Ezra corrected her.
“That must have been a sight,” Lillian murmured.
Audience members asked questions—how long was the new contract and could the town call in a professional mediator?—and all the council members had their say.
“I propose the council take a vote on whether to accept the K&B offer or stand tough,” said Karl Nelson, the town attorney.
“I second the motion,” added Art Hecht, who owned Hecht Insurance and
had always been one of Charlie’s supporters.
Emily wasn’t surprised to see the vote fall in Charlie’s favor.
“It’s still the honeymoon phase. They haven’t gotten tired of him yet,” Lillian said with a shrug.
Charlie banged his gavel. “Motion carried. The town will continue negotiations with K&B and hold the line. Item two: New zoning. A draft of the revised zoning is in the handouts. As I’ve said, I feel certain this change will have a big payoff for Cape Light—mainly increased revenue to repair our roads, improve our schools, and create more housing for young families and seniors. We’ll open the floor to comments, with a two-minute limit per speaker.”
“He’s quite pleased with himself,” Lillian grumbled. “But I think the wind will be blown out of his sails pretty soon.”
“We can hope,” Ezra quietly agreed.
Emily wasn’t sure. Charlie seemed to be steering the ship of state with a steady hand so far.
George Krueger jumped up and took the microphone. “Mr. Mayor, I have a petition here signed by over a thousand residents who support the new zoning proposal. This is something long needed in this town. We can no longer pretend we’re living in some bygone day. We may as well rename our town ‘Cape Light Historic Restoration Village.’”
His quip brought laughter from the pro-zoning group.
Lillian sniffed. “An obvious plant from the Bates camp.”
“Krueger couldn’t possibly have thought up that line,” Ezra agreed.
Perhaps, Emily thought. She had to admit that Charlie’s side was effective. A string of supporters for the new zoning spoke in detail and at length.
Finally, someone from the open-space group shouted out, “Time limit, Charlie? I thought you said two minutes per speaker?”
“Right you are. Thank you. Next speaker please?”
Martin Becker was next in line, presenting his petition of over a thousand signatures. “These citizens strongly oppose any change in the zoning, especially in the outlying areas of the village, the marshes and farmland. This area is home to an abundance of wildlife. Any sort of development will pose a great threat to these beautiful natural habitats, which are—”
Thomas Kinkade's Cape Light Page 13