by Irene Hannon
“Ah, here she is, Delores.”
A delighted smile lit Cara’s face as she stopped beside them. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson! What a wonderful surprise!”
The man and woman held out their hands in turn, and Cara took each in a warm clasp.
“My dear, we’re the ones who are surprised,” the man told her. “We were passing through town and saw the ad for this restaurant in your local paper. After the wonderful meals we enjoyed at the restaurant in Philadelphia where you worked, Delores and I agreed that we had to stop and have dinner here. In fact, we’re staying at the inn. That’s how we finagled a reservation despite your sell-out crowd. We’re driving to Colorado to visit our daughter and her family for our fiftieth anniversary celebration.”
“How wonderful for you. Fifty years—that’s quite an accomplishment.”
The woman chuckled. “Indeed it is. There were days when we weren’t sure we’d make it to twenty-five, let alone fifty, isn’t that right, Bill?” Affection softened her features.
“That’s a fact. But you helped, you know,” he told Cara.
“How did I do that?”
“Well, Delores and I always agreed that it was important to spend time together, and to mark notable occasions in distinctive ways.” The man reached across the table and took his wife’s hand. “Going out for a nice meal is a great way to do that. And your food is the best we’ve ever eaten. That’s why we came so often to sample your fare.”
“Remember that wonderful veal cutlet in lemon butter sauce that we had on our forty-eighth anniversary, Bill?” Delores spoke up. “And we thought it was such a sweet gesture when you came out with a complimentary dessert for us at the end. You made our special day extra special Cara. We never forgot that night.”
After a few more exchanges about their cross-country trip, Cara slipped back to the kitchen. But long after the conversation ended, it replayed in Sam’s mind as he looked around the restaurant, studying the patrons with a fresh perspective.
At one table, a young couple seemed oblivious to the world as they sampled each other’s desserts, their hands joined, their heads bent close. At another table, an older couple was breaking bread with a younger couple, and Sam watched as they raised their glasses in a toast. At the big table in the back room a joyous birthday party was in progress, and he glimpsed the guest of honor blowing out the candles on a cake amid much laughter and soft applause.
Although he’d always admired Cara’s ability to work magic with food, Sam had never recognized the impact her career had on people’s lives. As a surgeon, he’d believed that his lifesaving skills made a far more important contribution to society than his wife’s culinary abilities. But if he had saved lives, Cara helped make them worth living.
The insight both startled and depressed him. It seemed that his lack of appreciation for his wife’s profession was yet one more way he’d failed the woman he loved.
As Sam returned from rounds in Rolla the next afternoon, he ran into Cara in the driveway, headed to the inn. Their paths had barely crossed since Tuesday, except when he was eating at the restaurant.
“I guess I’ll see you later for dinner?” She opened the back door of her car and tossed her tote onto the seat.
“Not tonight, unfortunately.”
Surprised, she looked at him as he stopped beside her car. “I thought you said you were coming every night?”
“I’d planned to. But I overheard a young couple talking with Marge last night. They stopped in to try and get a reservation for dinner tonight. Turns out they’re on their honeymoon. The restaurant was booked solid, so I offered to give up my table. I figured I could survive without your food for one night.”
As she looked at him, an idea took shape in Cara’s mind. “If you don’t mind sitting in Marge’s breakfast nook off the kitchen, you’re welcome to eat at the inn. Of course, the ambience won’t be quite the same. I can’t guarantee a relaxed meal, but at least it won’t be fried.”
Delighted by the offer, Sam wasted no time accepting. He couldn’t care less about the ambience; he’d much rather be in Cara’s presence than sitting at a table alone in the dining room, anyway. “That would be great, if you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”
“No. It won’t be a problem. But don’t expect a lot of attention. Things can get pretty hectic in the kitchen. I may forget you’re there.”
Even as she said the words, Cara wasn’t sure they were true. And six hours later, with Sam ensconced in Marge’s breakfast nook, watching the proceedings in the kitchen, she discovered how inaccurate they were. She was acutely conscious of his presence, and at first it took all of her willpower to shift her focus from the man across the room to the Chicken Marseille she was preparing.
But as the evening went on and Cara became engrossed in preparing the food, orchestrating the servers, monitoring her assistant cook and tweaking the presentations, she did forget he was nearby. The hectic tempo and need for absolute concentration didn’t allow for the luxury of daydreaming.
As Sam enjoyed his meal, out of the line of action but with a clear view of the activity, he gained yet another insight into Cara’s work. She’d often told him, when he expressed surprise that she could maintain her weight despite preparing gourmet food everyday, that kitchens were a busy place and she burned a lot of calories.
He’d always met that response with skepticism. Now he revised his opinion. He was used to seeing her putter around the kitchen at home. The grueling pace of a commercial kitchen was a whole different ball game. By the end of the evening, he was tired just from watching her, and he had a whole new respect for her organizational and management abilities. No wonder she’d always looked a bit frustrated when he’d condescendingly scoffed at her comments about the taxing nature of her work.
It seemed his list of infractions kept growing, he thought, his demeanor glum as he stared into the dark depths of his coffee. In her place, he wondered if he’d have stuck with the relationship as long as she had.
“How was the dinner?”
At the sound of Cara’s voice, he looked up. Although fatigue had etched fine lines at the corners of her eyes, her face was animated and energized, reminding him of how he’d always looked after surgery. Tired, but exhilarated.
“Great, as usual.”
“Good.” She gave him a pleased look. “We’re in the cleanup phase. You don’t need to wait if you don’t want to. I’ve been managing the trip home alone without a problem. And a restaurant kitchen isn’t the most relaxing place to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee.”
“No, but it’s been enlightening.” His enigmatic comment raised her eyebrows, but before she could reply, he spoke again. “I’ll wait, unless you’d rather I not.”
“I’d like that. But I’ll be tied up here for at least another forty-five minutes.”
“That’s not a problem.”
By the time she sent the waitresses and the assistant cook home, said good-night to Marge and joined him in the breakfast nook, Sam was finishing his third cup of coffee.
“Would you mind if I have a cup? It would be nice to sit and breathe for a minute.”
“Not at all. But won’t coffee keep you awake?”
“After this marathon? You’ve got to be kidding. I’ll be asleep the second my head hits the pillow.” Retrieving the pot, she filled a mug to the brim. “Would you like some more?”
“Sure.” He’d pay for his caffeine binge later, but drinking coffee gave him something to do with his hands.
With a sigh, she sank into the chair beside him. “I always heard that running a restaurant is like being in a Broadway show every night. Now I know why.”
As she sipped her coffee, silence descended on the kitchen. Only the tick of a clock on the far wall broke the stillness. It was the first time since Tuesday that they’d had a few quiet minutes to sit together, and Sam wondered if Cara had switched gears and was thinking about them, and their future, as he was. He wasn’t going to push the discussion she’d
promised to have, but after his recent insights about her profession, he did have a few other things he needed to say.
Clearing his throat, he set his cup down and folded his hands around it. “I made a couple of interesting discoveries these past two nights.”
“Oh?” She gave him a curious look over the rim of her mug as she raised it to her lips.
“Mmm-hmm. I overheard that little talk you had with the Wilsons last night.”
“They’re a sweet couple.” A smile toyed at her lips. “They were regulars at the restaurant in Philly. I can’t believe they found me in this tiny town, and altered their plans so they could eat at the inn.”
“After eavesdropping on your conversation with them, and taking a good, hard look at the other patrons, I can.”
She remained silent, her expression curious as she sipped her coffee.
“You know, I used to think surgery was such a hotshot profession. So important to society.” Sam gripped his cup with both hands. “But I now realize that what you do is just as important. The memories people take away from the special times you help create will sustain and comfort them their whole life. Surgery could never do that.”
For years, Cara had prayed that Sam would recognize the value of her profession and appreciate it. But never in her wildest dreams had she allowed herself to hope that he would understand the reason she found such joy and satisfaction in her work. Yet he’d nailed it dead on.
Before she could collect her wits enough to think of a response, he continued. “And tonight I learned something else. Being a chef is difficult, physically demanding work. You used to tell me that, but I never understood what you meant. Tonight, while I watched you juggle multiple balls without drooping a single one, I realized the incredible stamina and coordination and skill it takes to work in this profession. I’m amazed—and impressed. I’m just sorry that it took me such a long time to recognize that spending all those hours on your feet, working magic with your hands, attending to dozens of details, was as taxing as any surgery I’ve ever done.”
As she stared at Sam, it was hard for Cara to imagine what those two speeches had cost him. Even in their best days, he’d never spoken with such humility or freely admitted being wrong. Nor had he often opened his heart this wide. He’d told her when she arrived in Oak Hill that he was working on his communication skills. If tonight was any example, he had progressed far more than she’d ever dreamed possible.
It also reminded her that she’d promised him they would discuss their future. Since Tuesday, they’d both been too busy. And despite the fatigue she knew would soon set in after her hectic evening, the mood seemed suddenly right.
Setting her mug on the table with exaggerated care, she took a deep breath and looked at Sam. “I think this might be a good time to talk.”
Chapter Fourteen
Although Sam had been waiting for this moment, now that it was upon him the metallic taste of fear turned the flavor of the rich coffee he’d just sipped rancid. Settling his cup on the saucer, he realized that his hands were trembling, and he took a steadying breath. He hadn’t expected to have this discussion tonight. But he wasn’t about to let the late hour deter him from his mission of convincing her to stay.
“Are you sure you aren’t too tired?”
“No. I’m wide-awake from the adrenaline rush of the evening. Unless you’d rather wait.”
“No.” His response was immediate, but he qualified it, giving her another glimpse into his heart. “To be honest, though…I’m scared.”
Once more, Cara was taken aback. Sam had never, ever, admitted to being frightened by anything, just as he had never admitted that he needed help. Even after the attack, when he’d been in both physical and mental pain, he’d kept his feelings inside, struggling to cope on his own. That he was willing to set the stage for this discussion by laying his fears on the table endeared him to her more.
“Me, too,” she acknowledged in a soft voice, meeting honesty with honesty.
Needing something solid to hold on to, he once again wrapped his fingers around his cup. “I have a lot to say. But it’s hard to know where to start.” He tried to smile, but all he could manage was a slight twitch of his lips. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about a lot of things these past few months, Cara. Especially us. And when I look back, I can’t help but wonder why you ever fell in love with me. I was no great bargain. Even before all of our problems began, I wasn’t a very good husband. Communication was hard for me, and you deserved someone who was able to open up and share at the deepest levels.”
“You tried, Sam. You let me in more, back then. And we had some good times.”
“I know. For me, those early days with you were the most wonderful of my life. I couldn’t believe someone so caring and compassionate, so fun loving and intelligent and beautiful, had agreed to spend her life with me. I wasn’t much into religion in those days, but I used to go to bed at night thanking God for the incredible gift He’d sent me in you.”
Awed, she stared at him. “I never knew that.”
A rueful expression settled over his face. “That was one of my mistakes. I should have told you. But it was only one of many.” He looked down at his coffee and shook his head. “There’s so much to apologize for I hardly know where to begin.”
His words came out in a hoarse whisper, and he was startled when Cara laid her fingers on his scarred hand, her comforting touch as gentle and warm as a soft summer breeze.
Moved by the gesture of support, Sam looked at her. He could sense that she was receptive. Whether she could forgive him, whether she would agree to give their marriage a second chance, was another matter. But at least she was willing to listen. That was a start.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, praying that the Lord would help him find the words that would touch her.
“Since I came to Oak Hill, I’ve taken a long, hard look at my life,” he began. “And the picture that emerged wasn’t pretty. When we met, I was struggling to get established. The workload hadn’t yet grown to unmanageable proportions—nor had my ego. Our relationship was new, and I recognized how much it meant to have someone to love. Those were our good years.
“And then came success. My work took precedence over everything. As my stature grew, so did my arrogance and conceit. I started to feel invincible, better and more important than everyone else. That’s why religion wasn’t as important to me as it was to you. I didn’t think I needed anyone…including God. But over the past several months, I realized that I’m not as self-reliant as I thought. I do need God…and I need you. And I also realized that while I was good at what I did, I wasn’t perfect. If I had been, Claire West wouldn’t have died.”
“You were cleared of wrongdoing in that case, Sam.”
“I know. But deep inside, I’ve always wondered if one of my mistakes led to her death. I should never have gone into the operating room that day. And I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did.” Cara might be willing to cut him some slack, as had the medical review board, but Sam wasn’t as generous. He would live with the burden of guilt over the deaths of Claire and her husband for the rest of his life. “In any case, I can’t change that. And Bill West made sure I never have the chance to mess up an operation again.”
In the past, when Sam had spoken of the incident that had robbed him of his career, there had always been an acrid bitterness in his voice. Now, his tone was resigned, threaded with a distant echo of sadness.
“After the attack, my world caved in. Whatever closeness we’d once shared had already been strained by my distant manner and preoccupation and selfishness. Since I had nowhere to go with my anger, you bore the brunt of it. I repaid your compassion with rejection. I know I pushed you away, yet when you’d taken as much as you could and backed off, I felt…forsaken. There’s no other word to express it. I can’t begin to describe the darkness that swirled around me. I started drinking at that bar…and you know the rest.”
Her fingers still rest
ed on his, and he covered them with his other hand, afraid she’d pull back. He needed the physical connection to give him the courage to continue. Looking up, his gaze locked on hers.
“The night our paths crossed at the movie was the first—and only—occasion that I saw that woman out-side of the bar, Cara. I was at the lowest point I’d ever been. I wish I could tell you that I would have come to my senses on my own and walked away from her, but I can’t guarantee that would have happened. It was like I didn’t know who I was anymore. I’d failed as a surgeon. I’d failed as a husband. The future looked bleak. To be honest, I’d begun to think about ending it all.
“But for some reason, every time I was tempted to take that step, I would hear that phrase you loved from the Bible. ‘Come to Me, all you who labor and are overburdened, and I will give you rest.’ It was odd, because I’d never been a religious sort of guy. Yet that passage kept popping into my mind.
“So I was trying to hang on, wanting to believe that things would get better. But that evening, I felt like the darkness was closing in on me, that I couldn’t make it through another desolate, endless night alone. In fact, I was afraid to be alone. And that’s how I ended up at the movie.”
Swallowing again, he tried to smooth out the roughness in his voice. “When I saw your devastated face, it was the wake-up call I needed. In that instant, I realized that the answer to my problems didn’t lie in a bottle. Or with some waitress whose last name I didn’t even know. It was you I needed. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. The only woman I ever want to love. But I also knew that I’d burned a lot of bridges, and that it would take a miracle to undo the damage I’d caused. Yet from that moment on, I was determined to put my life in order, to straighten out my priorities and to win back your love.”
He leaned closer, his eyes intent and earnest. “I’ve done the first two, Cara. I’ve built a new life, and I understand now what’s important. I’ll never lose sight of that again. As for winning back your love…I had no idea how to go about that, beyond the letters and messages and flowers that you ignored.