Worth a Thousand Words

by Doreen Alsen

  He even laughed and told her it was about time she learned, hands on, about the back of the house.

  Then he’d asked about the head chef, a woman named Alma whose ancestors hailed from Sweden—yes, the Sea Crest Inn had a Swedish chef—and told her to scope out the recipes.

  He also told her to look out for Kermit, Gonzo, and Miss Piggy.

  She shook her head. Whatever.

  She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and attached it to the top of her head with more than a few bobby pins.

  Sighing again, she plonked a straw hat over her hair and pulled on her sunglasses. She went out onto her front porch, sat in a poppy-colored butterfly chair, and waited for Tim.

  And when had she ever waited for a man? Not until now.

  She thought of Tim’s exquisite gentleness last night. Maybe he was worth waiting for.

  ****

  “Wow, you look gorgeous,” Tim told Angie as he walked up to her house.

  She blushed and touched the scar on her cheek. “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “I mean it.” He barely noticed the scar. It didn’t make one bit of difference to him. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “Are you ready to go?”

  She stood and nodded. “Where are we going?”

  “Mariner’s Fish Fry. Have you been there yet?”

  “No. I really haven’t been going out much.”

  “Well, you might want to get a jacket. It might get a little chilly later.”

  “Be right back,” she said.

  He watched her go into her cottage, enjoying the graceful sway of her hips as she moved. Cliché maybe, but sheer poetry in motion, like that old song said.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” She smiled as she closed her door and locked it.

  Who could notice a scar when she gave them that dazzling smile?

  He felt himself grinning like an idiot. “Great.”

  ****

  Angelique laughed to herself when Tim led her into Mariner’s Fish Fry, thinking about what Lucien would say about this restaurant.

  Would he even grant it the title of restaurant?

  In the past? No. But lately, he’d become a little more tolerant.

  Now he’d say the food would tell the story.

  Before he met Hope? Not so much.

  “Hey, Tim,” a tall blonde said as they walked into the restaurant. “Here for dinner?”

  “Hey, Katelyn. Yeah, we are. Got a quiet place on the back deck?”

  Katelyn grinned. “Sure do.” She looked Angelique in the face, her expression was friendly, but Angelique could tell that she’d noticed the scar.

  “You look so familiar to me,” she said as she tilted her head to the side. “Have we met before?”

  Angelique’s palms started to sweat. “No, I don’t think so. I’m new here in town.”

  “Given your accent, I can tell. It’s just that I have a good memory for faces and I could swear I’ve seen you before. Anyway,” Katelyn sighed, “let me get you a table.”

  Tim rested his hand against the small of her back as they followed Katelyn to the deck.

  Rustic kitsch, she decided. They’d decorated the ceiling with multi-colored lobster buoys. Outside, weathered lobster pots were stacked against the wall. A lighthouse stood off to one side in the harbor. Picnic tables lined the patio and little red, white, and blue fairy lights glittered around the seating area.

  Here was your first clue, and it was a big one, that you were now in Maine.

  “This should be private enough.” Katelyn set their menus on the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Do you want something?” Tim helped Angelique onto the wooden bench.

  “Some sparkling water, please.”

  Tim slid next to her then looked at Katelyn. “A sparkling water and a Thunder Hole Stout, please.”

  “Um, we’ve got club soda, is that all right?”

  “Oh.” Angelique blinked. “Sure. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be right back with your drinks and to take your order.”

  “So, what do you think?”

  “Think?”

  He gestured to their surroundings. “About the ambiance here at Mariner’s Fish Fry.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “It’s pretty…fishy.”

  Tim chuckled. “That it is.” He picked up a menu. “The lobster boil is good here, but everything is fresh so it’s good. My family used to bring us here and order a full clambake. It was awesome.”

  “What’s in a clambake?”

  “What isn’t? Lobsters, clams, mussels, potatoes, a sausage called linguiça, corn on the cob, seaweed.” He rubbed his belly.

  “That’s a lot of food.” She looked at her menu. The lobster boil sounded a lot like a crawfish boil, only with the seaweed.

  Just the thought of crawfish made her miss her brother and her Grand-mère. It came out of the blue, unexpected and unwanted. She cleared her throat.

  “You okay?” Tim looked puzzled.

  “Of course. I just got something caught in my throat.”

  “I didn’t even ask if you like seafood.”

  “I do.” She studied the menu. Fried this, sautéed in butter that, slathered in the New England aberration called tartar sauce, no thank you. “Do you think they’d just broil me a piece of the catch of the day?”

  “Probably. The kitchen staff is usually flexible. Ruark and Dawn, the owners, run a tight ship, but are always accommodating to their customers’ wishes.”

  Angelique knew all about restaurant owners running a tight ship. “Talk about!”

  “Say what?”

  Oh dear. “I’ve worked in a few restaurants for some very tyrannical chef slash owners.” True. Sooooo true!

  It helped to think of Lucien as a tyrant. She didn’t miss him as much if she clung to that thought.

  Katelyn showed up with their drinks. “Are you ready to order?” She set the beer and water on the table.

  “What’s the catch of the day?”

  “We got some nice yellow-tail flounder in. You want the fish and chips?”

  Tim shook his head. “Is it possible to get a flounder filet broiled with,” he looked at Angelique, “the vegetable of the day?”

  Angelique nodded at the vegetables.

  Katelyn’s mouth quirked up at one end as she tapped her pen on her dupe pad. “Sure.”

  “Great!” Tim beamed. “And I’ll go for those fish and chips.”

  “Flounder or Haddock?”

  “Flounder, please.”

  “Gotcha.” She picked up the menus. “Flounder coming right up.”

  Looking at Angelique, she asked, “Do you want any like herbs and stuff on your fish? I’ve got to warn you, the only right answer is oregano.”

  “Oregano sounds lovely.” She hated oregano, especially on its own as it was so bitter, but when in Rome

  “Awesome. Be right back in three shakes of a lobster’s tail.”

  Tim moved a little bit away from her as Katelyn left. “I don’t want to complain, but do you think you might take those sunglasses off sometime in this century? I’d like to see your pretty eyes when I talk to you.”

  Panic clawed at her throat. The waitress already thought she looked familiar. If she took off the glasses, that woman might put it all together.

  And Tim would find out that she was Angelique Durand, notorious, disfigured supermodel. She didn’t want to let him in on the secret yet, not until she knew him better.

  He already knew about the scar, how could he not. It stood out like a bright red slash of ugliness.

  No make-up could hide it.

  She shook her head. “When it gets a little darker.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. It seems like a shame to keep those gorgeous peepers of yours covered.”

  “Peepers?” She laughed.

  “Yeah, like the song, you know, ‘Jeepers, creepers, where’d you get those peepers? Jeepers, creepers, where’d you get those eyes?’�
� He’d belted it out.

  Okay, that was a little embarrassing. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “You must have had a sheltered childhood.”

  “I did.”

  “Where did you grow up?” He poured his beer into the chilled glass Katelyn had brought him.

  “Down south.” She might as well tell him. It would look stupid and suspicious not to. “New Orleans.”

  “Really? Great city. I’ve been there a bunch of times. Kind of hard to be sheltered there, I’d think.”

  “Yet I was.” When she’d been holed up on the bayou. She’d blown that popsicle stand in short order.

  “This one time I was there I made sure I had dinner at Lucien Durand’s flagship restaurant L’Enfer New Orleans. It was amazing, well worth the trip. Did you ever eat there?”

  Oh, dear. “Yes. The food is very good.”

  “Good? The guy is a genius. I met him, even. He’s pretty intense, but then most artists are.”

  Oh, if Tim only knew how intense Lucien Durand could get. Time to change the subject. “Where did you grow up?”

  “Here during the summers and down in Addington, Massachusetts during the school year.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “It was a good childhood.”

  Addington? Addington! Her brain swam so much she got dizzy. What fresh hell was this? She could in no way let him know about her Addington connection.

  It didn’t bear thinking about.

  She took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Is that why you’re here now? Just for the summer?”

  Tim’s expression darkened. “Something like that. I’m taking some time off from work and doing some sailing. Have you ever sailed?”

  No. She’d been in a couple of pirogues, poled through the bayou, but that had been hot, sticky, and buggy. Nothing that she’d ever want to do again. “No, I’ve never been sailing.”

  “You have to come out with me sometime. There’s nothing like it.”

  “How so?” Just keep him talking about himself so he won’t ask too many questions.

  “It’s just you and your boat and the elements, flying over the water, propelled by the wind. You just feel so alive and free.” He looked out over the view of the harbor, out beyond the squat lighthouse, out to the breakwater. The slight breeze ruffled his hair and he squinted against the late rays of the sun.

  A man surveying his kingdom.

  “Do you have a big boat?”

  “No. I have a Melges 24, which is pretty small. But it’s the fastest thing out there, total state of the art. The hull is made from lightweight fiberglass and the mast, rudder, bowsprit, and keep fin are made from carbon fiber. They also designed it so you don’t have to do any work on the foredeck, even flying the spinnaker.”

  “I have no idea what any of that means, but I’m sure it’s wonderful.” She smiled at his embarrassment over his enthusiasm.

  “Sorry. I get a little crazy about sailing.”

  “Here you are, guys!” Katelyn showed up with their food. “Broiled sole with summer squash and fish and chips with coleslaw. Can I bring you anything else? Another beer, Tim? More water, uh“

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce you. Katelyn, this is Angie Doucette.”

  “Nice to meet you, Angie. Want another club soda?”

  Ah, the sodium. Total bloat city. She sighed. “Yes, please.”

  “You got it. Be right back.”

  Angelique glanced at her broiled fish. They’d put butter on it, which of course defeated the purpose for getting broiled fish.

  Damn. She really did miss Lucien.

  Who lived in Addington, Massachusetts, exactly where the handsome man she was currently on a date with, came from. The world had become very small.

  Too close for comfort.

  Chapter Seven

  “You want to take a walk out to the lighthouse? We have to work off all those calories you packed in,” Tim teased Angie as he led her out of the restaurant.

  He couldn’t believe how little she ate. At least he’d gotten her to take her sunglasses off.

  He also noticed every time he asked her something about herself, she turned the conversation back to him.

  Sooner or later, he’d learn all her secrets, without giving up any of his own hidden demons.

  He was tricksy like that.

  Okay. And maybe he should stop watching the Lord of the Rings movies. Like soonishly.

  “I don’t know. I have to work tomorrow, bright and early.”

  “You didn’t tell me where you work.”

  “I’m working at the Sea Crest Inn. I’ve got the breakfast shift tomorrow.”

  He grinned. “Really. I’ll have to stop in. Alma bakes a mean Danish, for, you know, a Swedish chef. It’s kind of like hur-dee-duhr-dee-deena-danish.”

  She snorted at his Muppets reference. She had a lot in common with Miss Piggy. “I know, right?” She slapped his arm. “Behave! Alma is very nice. I’ve heard they’re very good.”

  “Haven’t tried one yet? You’ve got to. I like the cheese ones the best, but everyone else likes the blueberry. You know how it is around here. All blueberry, all the time.”

  This time she exploded in a true belly laugh. “Only when it’s not all lobster, all the time.”

  “Jeez, can I get an amen for that? I think the worst is the cartoon logo Lionel the Lobster for the October Harvest of the Sea Festival.” He shivered. “I had bad dreams about Lionel for a long time after I first saw him.”

  Something creeped up from his feet to his head. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned having bad dreams.

  It felt too much like tempting fate.

  “What’s so bad about poor Lionel?”

  He shook the mood off. “Well, since he’s red, that means he’s cooked, which means he’s dead, with these black bugged out eyes and a smile only a zombie lobster mother would love.”

  “Zombie lobster? There is such a thing?”

  “I don’t know, but do you really want to find out?” He snapped his fingers. “Our boy Lionel probably has the B-52’s ‘Rock Lobster’ as a theme song. It plays in the background as he feasts on his next victim’s brains. Nanh-nanh-nanh-nanh-nanha-nanha-nanha-nanha,” he belted out like he was Fred Schneider.

  “That is so gross.” She laughed so hard she could barely speak. “And you can’t sing!”

  “I’m cut to the quick! I’ll have you know I sang in the chorus in high school. I was an exemplary student.”

  “You? In chorus? I don’t believe it.”

  Tim pulled her down along the pier with him. “Actually, it was not one of my finer moments. Me and my buddy got stuck in choir because we needed a fine arts credit to graduate and chorus was the only place to go. We were not happy, so we made the teacher not happy, which caused her to flunk us and put us on the ineligible list.” He shook his head at what a tool he’d been.

  “What’s an ineligible list and why is it important?”

  Wow. She must have been really sheltered. “I was a senior and one of the captains of the football team. When you’re ineligible, you can’t do any extra-curricular activities, such as football. But never mind. I wised up and passed chorus in style. Finest kind for sure.”

  “I still can’t imagine a group would let you sing with them, but never mind. I can’t sing either.”

  “You’re not a little songbird?”

  “Can’t warble a note.” She stopped walking and looked at her watch. “I really should get home.”

  “Afraid of the zombie lobsters? I promise I’ll be brave and save you from them.” He didn’t want the night to end. He just…didn’t.

  “No, just afraid of not being able to tell one Swedish Danish from another.” She clasped her hands in front of her as primly as the most pious and fearful of nuns.

  The sound of a bunch of motorbikes started out low in the background and grew as they came toward them. Angie’s eyes filled with some extreme emotion. Fear? Panic? She leapt to the side, out of
the light of a street lamp, into the closest shadow.

  What the hell? “Angie? You okay?” He stepped toward her.

  The roar of the bikes peaked and died away as they passed by the pier. He watched as she breathed slowly and carefully. “Can you take me home now?”

  “Okay. I’ll take you home.”

  He didn’t want to. Son of a bitch, he didn’t want to. But something had flipped a switch and terrified her, giving him an excuse to play the hero.

  He could do that. It had been a long time since he’d been anybody’s hero. He found he relished the chance. “Let’s go.”

  ****

  Angelique knew how to handle men. She was born knowing how to wrap a man around her finger, starting with her father.

  She didn’t remember much of them, her parents, but moments with her father stayed bright and clear with her. Him taking her out on his pirogue, or then a boat, and taking her fishing. She’d caught the first fish.

  He never said no when he had stuff in front of him that he knew she wouldn’t eat. If she wanted to try it, he just smiled and let her. He loved hot peppers, what Cajun didn’t? She’d never eaten one, but wanting to impress him, she chomped on a chili. Her mother had said no, but he smiled like the devil himself and told her to go ahead. So she did.

  Then there was the time when he took her out to dinner. Just her, no one else, not her mother, not her brother. She ordered the exact same thing that he had, including the appetizer, oysters on the half shell.

  Raw oysters on the half shell.

  Even though he knew she’d hate them, he hadn’t told her ‘no.’ He let her discover for herself.

  Then she’d lost them both, mother and father, the loving guide who made her follow all the rules, then the one who gave her permission to make mistakes. She lost them both at once when they died in a car accident.

  Grand-mère took over and then there was just work. Dirty, sweaty, smelly work. She knew she was loved, Angelique knew that better than she felt her own heartbeat, and she’d done what she had to do to help out.

  But they’d never known the wildness in her, the part that would try to eat something no five year old would even think of eating, to please her father, yes, but also to fulfill the hunger in her to experience everything. She’d wanted more, at least for the chance to wear a fragrance more intriguing than eau de diesel. Angelique longed to be away from the stupid, backward, leering idiots of the bayou and out into the bright lights of the cities of the world, where everyone was sophisticated and no man had axle grease under his fingernails.