“Sounds like you’ve thought this out pretty thoroughly.”
“Yes, I have. I thought about it a lot last night, before I fell asleep. I prayed about it. And when I woke up this morning, it seemed clear to me. Hiring Jamie will help us—and help him.”
It seemed the perfect solution, an ideal way to keep Jamie close, help him get back on his feet, and back on a good track.
“I know you want to help him, Claire, and he’s a very nice young man. I enjoyed having dinner with him last night, I really did,” Liza began. “But I’m just not sure. You haven’t seen him in a long time. He may have changed. He may be very different from the boy you remember.”
“He’s grown up. He’s more mature, that’s for sure. But that’s a good thing. I don’t think he’s changed, not really. I’ll make sure he knows what’s expected,” Claire promised. “I’ll treat him just like any other person starting off in this job.”
“I’m sure you would supervise him. But if it didn’t work out, it could be a problem.” Liza’s expression became serious. “It could be very difficult if we had to let him go. Especially considering your friendship with him.”
Claire knew that was true. But she couldn’t help feeling as if there were some unseen hand in this situation; the amazing coincidence of Jamie finding her just when he was out of work and there was a job here, perfectly suited to him. Claire felt very sure she was not the only one who would be watching over Jamie and helping him do well here. She felt sure that the good Lord above had brought him to her doorstep for this very reason.
Liza had finished her breakfast and pushed the dish aside. “You never told me much about Jamie or your relationship with him. I can see now that it was very important to you.”
“It was. Still is,” Claire added, lifting her gaze to meet Liza’s. “Jamie was always special to me. I don’t really know why. There were so many children coming in after school every day. The center was just a big drafty warehouse, fixed up inside, painted bright colors, clean and safe. And free to their parents,” she explained.
“We gave them meals and helped with homework. We gave them school supplies and coats, or winter boots. But what they really needed most was attention. Someone who cared what sort of day they had. Someone who cared if they understood their homework or did well on a test or got scolded by their teacher. There were so many stories at the end of their day.” Claire smiled, remembering. “When my work in the kitchen was done, I would go out to the main rooms and help with the children. My heart went out to all of them, but Jamie was the one who caught my eye. Always quiet, hanging in the corners. Didn’t smile much, or have many friends. His clothes were usually dirty and mismatched or outgrown. I could see he wasn’t just shy. He was scared. It took time, but he began to trust me. I was the only one who could help him with his schoolwork. We would memorize multiplication tables or the names of the fifty states.”
He never cared how long he had to wait. He only wanted her, Claire recalled.
“As soon as he got to Crosby Street, he would come to the kitchen door and look for me,” she added. “I would give him an apron and gloves, and let him do small tasks. Something fun, like making cookies. He took it very seriously. He was very proud when we brought the cookies out to the other kids.” Claire could still see him, a skinny little boy carrying a platter piled high with treats.
“I knew that he lived with his grandmother,” she went on. “But she had problems of her own. Sometimes his father lived there, too. He drank heavily and disappeared for months at a time. Which was a blessing of sorts . . . because Jamie’s father abused him, verbally and physically.”
“Oh, dear. That’s awful.” Liza’s tone was sympathetic. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t even know at first,” Claire admitted. “Jamie was so good at hiding the truth from everyone. Ironically, he adored his father, made some sort of hero out of him in his mind. I was very angry at myself at the time for not seeing the signs. But once I did, I tried to get him out of that terrible household. He was removed once, but sent back,” she recalled. “I was applying to foster him myself, and maybe eventually adopt him, when my father needed me here.” Claire sighed, remembering one of the saddest days of her life. “My last afternoon at the center, I tried to explain to Jamie why I had to go. But he didn’t understand. He was far too young. Later, after my father died, I tried very hard to find him. Now . . . out of the blue . . . here he is.” Claire shook her head. “I can hardly believe it.”
Liza nodded, taking in the story. “Thank you for telling me all that. I knew that you really cared about him, but I had no idea the situation was so . . . so intense.”
“Intense,” Claire repeated. “I guess that is a good word to describe it.”
“I didn’t realize you had such a hard choice to make. An impossible choice,” she added. “I didn’t really understand why giving him this job seemed so important to you. Now I do.”
It had been hard for Claire to share her memories, especially the most painful ones. But it seemed a small price if Liza could be persuaded.
“It is important,” Claire admitted. “It would be a great favor to me if you would agree. If your only objection is that it might be hard to let him go—hard for me, especially—please know that I will accept the situation if it comes to that. Though I don’t think it ever will.”
Liza gazed at Claire and rubbed her cheek with her hand. Claire knew she was putting her employer—and good friend—in a difficult spot, but she felt it was for a very worthy reason. Claire believed with all her heart that Jamie would not disappoint them. Liza would look back on this conversation and wonder why she’d had any objection at all.
“All right. We can offer him the job,” Liza said finally. “You seem certain he’ll be good at it. You know how much I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you, Liza. I think with some training he will do well. I’m sure you won’t regret it.”
That was all he needed. Just a decent opportunity and some help putting his life on a good track. There was no limit to where he could go with that kind of wind at his back. Claire felt very sure about that, too.
Liza carried her dish to the sink and put it in the dishwasher.
“Why don’t you tell him about the job when he comes down? If he’s interested, I’ll talk to him about the pay and the hours and all that.”
Claire thought that was a good plan. Liza left for her office, needing to check e-mails and make some calls this morning before working on the flower beds.
Jamie came down to the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing a clean T-shirt Claire had found for him the night before. His hair was combed back from his shower, and she noticed the red flush of sunburn on his nose and cheekbones. It was probably from their walk on the beach; he hadn’t used any sunblock. He would get into the habit once he started working here. That would be one of her rules, for sure.
As he poured himself coffee, she noticed that he had a train schedule tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. “There’s a train to Boston in an hour,” he said. “Do you think I could make it? The next one after that isn’t until eleven.”
“That’s plenty of time. I’ll drive you to the station. No need to call a taxi. There’s French toast and bacon on the table. Help yourself.”
Jamie sat at a clean place and filled his plate. She could tell he was trying hard to be polite and not take too much at once. Though he looked tempted to simply tip the entire dish of bacon onto his own.
“You’re the last one down, so don’t be shy.”
He fixed his French toast with butter, syrup, and cinnamon before taking a bite. “Mmm, this looks good. I never eat a real breakfast like this . . . unless I go to a diner or someplace like that.”
“You should learn to cook. It isn’t hard.” She was about to remind him of how he had helped her in the kitchen at Crosby Stree
t, but decided this wasn’t the right time.
“I can make a few things. Scrambled eggs,” he said between mouthfuls. “But not like this. This is really good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Claire enjoyed watching him gobble down the breakfast. She couldn’t deny that. She waited until he was almost done eating, then said, “Before you go, I’d like to talk to you about something. We need someone to help here at the inn. Liza took an ad in the newspaper yesterday. But I had an idea that you might be interested, and I suggested it to Liza.”
“Me? Working here?” He seemed surprised but pleased. “That might be cool . . . What did she say?”
“She said I could offer you the job, and if you wanted to take it, she would talk to you about the salary and hours and all the other details.”
“Sure . . . I’d like a job here. What would I have to do?”
“Oh, a little of everything it takes to run an inn. You might help serve meals and clean up the kitchen. We would need you to clean rooms and carry guests’ luggage. You might help us do small repairs, like freshen the paint on the picket fence in back or patch a window screen. Daniel Merritt does all the big repairs and painting for us, but he can’t run over every minute.” She paused. “Do you have a driver’s license?”
“Yeah, I drove a cab, remember?”
“Yes, you did tell me that. Well, then you might drive guests back and forth to the station, and do errands in town, like shopping or going to the hardware store. You might also help with the outdoor work. You’d be good with the lawn mower, I just have a feeling. Better than me and Liza.”
“It’s like, I’d be working all over, wherever you needed me?”
“That right. That’s it exactly. It’s very important for the person who takes this job to be flexible. Then again, you would be doing something different almost every day. So it wouldn’t be boring. And meeting new people all the time is never dull. The guests who come here are very interesting.”
Claire waited, giving him time to think things through. He had to make his own decision.
Jamie nodded and bit the fingernail on his thumb, a gesture she suddenly remembered from his childhood. He did that when he was nervous and didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sure you can do it. I’ll be right here, helping you every day.”
He nodded and looked up at her. “Okay. I’d like to try.”
“Good. I’m very glad,” Claire said honestly. “It’s just a summer job,” she added, making sure he realized that. “Liza will talk to you about your pay. But you would get free room and board, so you could save some money while you worked here. Until you found something better, that is.”
“Room and board is a good deal. You almost don’t have to pay me at all after that.”
Claire laughed. “I don’t think you’ll say that after you’ve worked here a day or two.”
“Do you live here year-round, too, Claire?”
“I’m here so much, most people think I do. But no, I have a cottage on the other side of the island. It is a ride late at night or in bad weather, so I have a room here, too. I stay over most nights in the busy season so I can start breakfast on time and all that. I don’t mind. It’s a lovely place to be in the summer and easier for me, too.”
“That makes sense.” He nodded. She wondered if he had heard half of her explanation. He seemed to be thinking very hard about the job offer. He suddenly stood up from the table and took his dish to the sink. “Will you tell Liza I said yes?”
“I’ll tell her,” Claire said, smiling.
Jamie cleared the rest of the dishes off the table and started wiping it off with a sponge. Wasting no time getting started. That was a good sign, Claire thought.
Everything was falling into place. As if it were all meant to be. She truly felt it was and took a moment to offer up another prayer of thanks for Jamie’s return to her life.
* * *
AVERY and her staff spent most of Tuesday morning doing more setup work in the café. There were still dishes and glassware to unpack, and cartons of nonperishables to be stored in the kitchen and small pantry that doubled as Avery’s office.
Avery had bought some of the cookware used, at the same auction where she found the tables and chairs. Her new kitchen helper, Teresa Biggs, did not approve of the careworn pots and pans, and spent most of the morning scrubbing them down in the deep sink.
Like most professionals, Avery had her own special sauté pan and a set of knives that traveled with her wherever she cooked. She had not put those items out in the kitchen yet and wouldn’t bring them in until Friday. For one thing, she didn’t want Teresa to pounce on her prized, seasoned pan and possibly scrub a hole in it.
Teresa was a small, sturdy woman who wore her brown hair in a knot at the back of her head, and a red bandana tied low across her forehead. She needed a stepstool to take command of the big sink, where she wore long yellow gloves that reached over her elbows. But her bare arms, visible above the gloves, were pure muscle, and she handled the pots—some as big as she was—like a pro.
She told Avery that she worked in the school lunch program during the year and needed a summer job. A cafeteria was not the best recommendation for the fine cuisine Avery planned to serve, but Teresa was so amiable and clearly hard-working that Avery knew instinctively she was tough enough to take the heat in a small, shorthanded kitchen.
Avery also felt lucky to find an experienced waitress, Gena Turner, who lived on the island with her husband and three children. Gena’s husband, a fisherman, had already given Avery some good contacts for finding fresh seafood at a local market.
Gena was a few years older than Avery, but they had hit it off instantly; Avery felt they were becoming friends.
“I would love to have my own restaurant someday, but it’s pretty intimidating,” Gena confessed as they worked together, carefully hanging wineglasses on wooden ceiling racks above the bar.
“Yeah, it is,” Avery admitted. “But I’ve gotten this far. It will all be over by Friday. Once the doors open and we’re serving customers, it won’t feel so scary anymore.”
“I think you’re right. We just have to get the ball rolling. Are you inviting anyone special, like your family?”
Or a boyfriend, Avery knew Gena wanted to ask. But she was too polite to pry about her new boss’s social life—or lack of one.
“I really wanted my mom and sister to come up from Connecticut, but my sister, Christine, can’t get the time off and my mother can’t drive here on her own. They’ll come later in the summer. It might even be better not to have them here for the opening. That way, I won’t be distracted.”
Avery was trying to look at the upside of the situation, but secretly she was disappointed that her family would not be there to celebrate her big night.
“That’s too bad. But I think you’re right. Sometimes when you’re trying to impress your family, it can drive you crazy. I can give great table service to perfect strangers but totally screw up a holiday dinner.”
Avery thought Gena must be exaggerating. She had only known her for a week or so, but so far Gena seemed capable in every way, with an easy, no-fuss attitude that seemed immune to stress.
“That’s the way it is sometimes, in my family, too.” Avery didn’t bother to mention that her sister was the only person she knew who could make a lemon out of lemonade. It would certainly be easier to face opening night without worrying about one of Christine’s critiques.
The café had not received all the scheduled food deliveries yet, especially the perishable items. Avery planned to shop at local markets herself for most of the fruits and vegetables. For that day’s lunch, she had picked up some big sandwiches and salads at the General Store, and her staff sorted them out.
First, though, they would try a dish that was pure Café Peregrine. She and Teresa had be
en experimenting with a recipe for sweet potato chips with a creamy yogurt dipping sauce. The staff was now going to sample their efforts and offer reviews. Jack, the busboy, pushed a few tables into one, and they all sat together. There was something for everyone, and they all seemed satisfied with their choices.
The chips and sauce got raves, and when lunch was done, it was time for some training. Avery was not looking forward to the session, but it had to be done.
At the Tulip Café, Paul had been in charge of the staff. He had a way with the employees, especially pretty waitresses. Avery tried not to dwell on that now. But she did try to remember how he ran the sessions.
“Okay, everyone, I hope you enjoyed your food. I just want to review the type of service we’re aiming for. You guys, out on the floor, are as important as the food, the decor . . . even the ocean view. We all know of great meals that were ruined by poor service. The success of Café Peregrine is literally in your hands. So, from the start, I’d like to be clear on what our goals are.”
Avery had made a point of saying “our” goals. Not simply “my” goals. She wanted everyone to feel invested in the enterprise and building its success. She so wanted the café to be known for great service—polite but not fawning; courteous but professional; friendly and helpful but not overly chatty. But how to convey all that—and without insulting anyone? Avery knew she was treading a fine line.
She scanned her small audience, wondering how best to reach them. Jack, the busboy, and Serena, a college-age waitress, both seemed bored. Jack was checking his text messages under the table, and Serena was checking her manicure. Gena and Teresa sat together at the other end and were giving her their full attention, which Avery appreciated.
“Let’s try this. I’ll be a customer, and we’ll just act out serving a meal.” Avery smiled as if to say, “Hey, kids! Won’t that be fun?”
Serena looked at Jack and practically rolled her eyes. Gena slipped Teresa a small, tolerant smile. Sort of silly, but she’s the boss . . .
The Way Home Page 5