Serena smiled, looking relieved. “I will, honest. Thanks a bunch . . . and good luck to you, too.” She leaned over and gave Avery a quick hug then said good-bye to her coworkers.
After Serena left, a quiet, glum mood fell over the group.
They hadn’t been working together long, but somehow they had bonded, Avery realized. Probably more than usual because they were taking part in building something totally new.
Avery sat at a table, sorting out the menus, removing any that looked worn or had food stains. Gena rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you feel bad about Serena, but don’t take it personally. I’m not sure this café was really her style.”
Avery had actually felt the same thing, but Serena had been a good waitress. It would be hard to find a replacement now. On the other hand, maybe she didn’t even need to hire another waitress right now. She could save on that salary, and Gena could get more tips.
“She could have waited a little while longer. To see if that new advertising worked,” Teresa said.
Avery looked up at them. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s probably best that she left if she really wanted to. I don’t know about those ads either. If they were going to bring in more business, I think we would have seen it by now.”
“Don’t be such a sad sack,” Teresa scolded her. “So you ran a few ads. So they didn’t get us customers. So what? Run some more.”
Her moxie and tough love made Avery smile. “I guess I have to try something. But ads cost money. How much advertising can I do?”
“My sister-in-law works for the local radio station. Maybe she can get you a break on some radio spots,” Gena suggested. “That might reach more people than these local papers and magazines.”
Avery liked that idea. “I never thought of radio.”
“They have someone there who gives reviews, too. Maybe he would come over here. That would be free advertising.”
“If he likes the food,” Avery added.
“Oh, he’ll like the food, don’t worry. But a lot of places don’t even have good food or good reviews, and they’re packed. Like, that Lazy Tuna. Why is that place jumping every night and this place is like a graveyard?” Teresa asked bluntly.
Gena glanced at Teresa and then at Avery. “All those theme nights? People around here love that kind of thing.”
Avery rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously suggesting we do Two-for-One Tacos here? Did I spend years slaving away at an elite culinary institute to serve my finely prepared dishes as if this were a drive-through window on the turnpike?”
Avery had not meant to sound so cranky. But she was tired and stressed and all these suggestions were starting to drive her over the edge.
“Calm down, Avery,” Gena said gently. “We’re just trying to help.” She looked at Teresa over Avery’s head. “She’s a chef. She gets a little emotional.”
Teresa waved her hand. “Oh, bunk. Give me a break. We don’t have to do tacos. But we have to do something.” Teresa sat down next to Avery, and leaned forward, until they were almost nose- to-nose. “Let’s take on that Tuna, Avery. We can’t sit here and watch the world go by. We’ll beat that big fish at their own game.”
Before Avery could reply, Gena waved her hands and hopped up and down. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! Remember that special appetizer you made last week? How about using it for an entree theme night—Lobster sliders, with different kinds of sauces and those sweet potato fries as the side dish?”
“Brilliant! This woman is a freaking genius!” Teresa declared before Avery had barely considered the suggestion.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Avery said slowly. “Actually, it’s a good idea, a very good one. How about ‘Lobster Sliders Saturday’? It says relaxed, fun, but still gourmet.”
“If you sell them two-for-one, it says, ‘Come in and get a gourmet meal at a bargain price!’” Teresa chimed in.
Before Avery could object, Gena said, “It wouldn’t have to be forever. Just to bring people in, to taste the food and start talking about the place. To get some buzz going, Avery.”
“Word of mouth works wonders around here,” Teresa added.
Avery hoped that was true. People certainly weren’t responding to her ads. The café did need some buzz.
“Good point. We don’t have to be all gimmicky forever. Like some people,” Avery mumbled under her breath. “Okay, let’s try it.” She turned over a soiled menu and pulled out a pen. “What else should we do? This could be fun.”
“So you’re ready to take on the mighty Tuna?” Teresa asked.
“If that’s what it takes to make this place a success, yes, I am.”
Avery felt a pang making the vow, even though it was partly in jest. Mike had been so encouraging, almost a friend. Avery still wasn’t sure why he went out of his way to boost the morale of a competitor. He was a genuinely nice guy, she decided, a rare specimen indeed.
But all’s fair in business and war. And Teresa was right. Unless they declared an all-out war on the Lazy Tuna, they might not survive the summer. There was no denying that in this business it was survival of the fittest. Every tuna for themselves.
* * *
JAMIE picked up a small ceramic sugar bowl and the delicate spoon that went with it. “Mr. Rapp says he only uses raw cane turbine sugar in his coffee,” he told Claire. “I said, it was no problem.”
“That’s raw cane turbinado sugar,” she corrected him with a smile. “It’s supposed to be healthier than white sugar.”
Jamie shrugged good-naturedly. “If you say so.” He looked around the kitchen. “Anything else I should bring out?”
Claire gazed over the stove and kitchen table, checking off a mental list: spinach and cheese frittata, cinnamon scones, fresh whole grain bread, fruit salad, yogurt, and cereals. Coffee, tea and all the fixings. “No, I think that’s about it.”
She untied the strings and slipped her apron on a hook near the kitchen door as Jamie returned to the dining room. The inn was just as busy this weekend as it had been last weekend, maybe more so. But Claire didn’t like to miss church too often, even in the summer. With some planning and preparation and Jamie’s help, she managed to have the breakfast all cooked and set out in a buffet in the dining room by eight. Liza was happy to take it from there.
Jamie reappeared in the kitchen. “Everyone’s eating,” he reported. “No more special requests, at least for now.”
“Good. I appreciate your help, Jamie,” she said. “Would you like to come to church with me?”
She glanced at him, wondering what he would say. She wasn’t sure where that question had come from. It had no sooner popped into her head then she found herself speaking it aloud.
He shrugged again and stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Okay. I guess I’ll go . . . Is it in town?”
The hopeful note in his voice could not be ignored. He hadn’t left the island since Monday, after the incident with her Jeep.
“Yes, it’s in Cape Light. The old stone church near the harbor.”
“What time do we need to be there?”
“The service starts at ten o’clock. We should leave here about nine thirty. I’m going upstairs to change.” She glanced at him. “You might want to clean up a bit, too.”
She didn’t want to seem critical, but she thought he could do a little better than the worn jeans and faded T-shirt, even considering his limited wardrobe. And he needed a shave. After all, dressing appropriately and showing respect for sacred places was part of being an adult.
When she came down at half past nine, Jamie was waiting for her on the porch. He wore the plaid cotton shirt he had worn on his first day of work and a pair of khaki trousers she had never seen before. He had also shaved, she noticed, and combed his hair.
As they approached the Jeep, she offered him t
he keys. “Would you like to drive? I’m a little tired from rushing this morning.”
He looked surprised but pleased. “Sure, I’ll drive. No problem.”
They got in the car and slipped on their seatbelts. Liza had spoken to him on Wednesday about disappearing with the Jeep and also about a schedule for time off. Claire had not brought the subject up again. It was not really a question of rules, but one of trust and respect. That’s what she was concerned about, and that was much harder to discuss.
They didn’t talk much on the way to town. Claire directed him down Main Street to the church, and he found a spot easily in the lot.
“Wow, this place is old.” He stared up at the building as they approached the big arched wooden doors. “How long has it been here?”
“Well, the first church in Cape Light was built by the colonists, sometime around the year 1600,” Claire explained. “That one burned down, though, and this one was built in the early 1800s. The typical church for our denomination is the classic white clapboard with a high steeple. But by the 1800s, the people in Cape Light knew the storms off the sea could be fierce. Since they wanted their church to be near the water, they built it from stone, low and sturdy. It’s stood firm ever since.”
Jamie touched one of the big gray stones near the entrance as they passed. “Looks pretty solid to me.”
Claire smiled, pleased that he was impressed. To her the stone church was a beautiful symbol of God’s love, a solid, unwavering structure, a shelter from the storms of life. A safe haven where she could always find peace, stillness, tranquility, a sense of belonging, and even a touch of mystery.
The wooden doors stood open and they entered the narthex. Tucker Tully, the head deacon, came to greet them and handed them each a program. He wore a white carnation in his lapel and a button that read, Best Dad in the World.
“Happy Father’s Day, Tucker,” Claire said. “I hope you have a good day.”
“I can guarantee that already,” he said as he showed them to two seats at the back of the sanctuary.
Claire had not forgotten about Father’s Day. Though her own father had passed on eight years ago, she still recognized the day in her own way. Every year she brought a bouquet to his grave, in the cemetery on the other side of the island. But more important, she looked over photos that reminded her of the happy, loving times they had shared, especially when her mother was alive as well. And reminding her of his full and productive life. She had been blessed to have such a gentle, loving, intelligent father. He had taught her so much. She still missed him.
Many people were not as fortunate. Jamie, for instance. She guessed he had mixed feelings about this day and all the tributes to fathers. She knew it had to be a hard day and her heart went out to him. But she wasn’t quite sure how to help him with that, or even how to try.
The choir soon entered, singing the opening hymn. Reverend Ben followed slowly and stood to one side of the altar, waiting for them to finish.
“Good morning, everyone,” he greeted the congregation. “I especially welcome all the fathers here this morning and wish you all a happy day.”
Soon after the opening prayers and introit, Reverend Ben announced the scripture readings. Claire liked to follow along in the Bible, and opened to the chapter and verse. The second reading was one of her favorites, the parable of the mustard seed, from the Gospel of Mark.
Reverend Ben still read in a strong, clear voice that rang through the sanctuary with authority, and he still led the church with his quiet, gentle strength. He was in his mid-sixties now, Claire knew, and had even tried to retire once, after a heart attack. But the congregation wouldn’t let him, and once he regained his strength, he realized he wasn’t quite ready to leave his post. Claire was glad of that. She knew he had to retire one day, but she couldn’t imagine this congregation without him.
“‘. . . Then He said, “To what shall we liken the kingdom of God? Or with what parable shall we picture it?” ’” Reverend Ben paused a moment to let his listeners absorb the echoing words. “‘ “It is like a mustard seed which, when it is sown on the ground, is smaller than all the seeds on earth;” ’” he continued, “‘ “but when it is sown, it grows up and becomes greater than all herbs, and shoots out large branches, so that the birds of the air may nest under its shade.” ’
“This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God,” Reverend Ben concluded.
Claire closed the red Bible and glanced at Jamie. She couldn’t tell if he was enjoying the service or just sitting there to appease her. Maybe he was just so bored and church was at least some place to go and something to do.
She recalled taking Jamie to a church near Crosby Street when he was younger. But they had only gone together a few times—on Christmas and Easter, maybe?
She did recall he sat quietly and had not fidgeted, like some children. She remembered that he liked the candles and the stained glass windows there. But she couldn’t recall much more than that. She wondered now if that was the last time he attended a service. She had a feeling that church was not part of his life now.
Reverend Ben stepped to the wooden pulpit and settled himself, preparing to begin his sermon.
“Father. A simple word that can have so many different meanings. For each of us, a particular image comes to mind, of our own father, living or deceased, present or absent. A figure in our childhood and often, all through the years since. The word stirs our memories and our hearts.
“Today is the day we honor fathers everywhere. Fathers that raised us, and for some of us, the men who stood in that place. Our grandfathers, too.”
Claire was concentrating on Reverend Ben’s words and didn’t immediately realize that Jamie was restless, shifting in his seat, unable to get comfortable. He took a deep breath and turned his head, looking back over his shoulder at the door.
She leaned toward him. “Are you all right?” she whispered.
“Yeah, I’m okay . . . It’s a little stuffy in here.”
Claire didn’t think so. It wasn’t a very hot day, and the doors and windows were all open. Large overhead fans spun in quiet, slow circles, creating a pleasant breeze.
But Jamie did look drained and pasty under his tan.
“. . . But there is one Father we all know and love. The same Father to all of us, showing each of his children the same magnificent love and understanding. The same forgiveness . . .”
Jamie bowed his head a second and pressed a hand to his forehead. Claire touched his shoulder, wondering if he was going to faint. “Jamie, put your head between your knees and take a few deep breaths,” she said quietly.
He turned his head sharply and stared at her, practically wild eyed. Or had he started crying? “I have to get out of here. Sorry.”
He stood up abruptly. A hymnal that had been on the seat next to him fell to the floor with a dull thud.
He stumbled out of the pew and down the aisle, then out the sanctuary doors.
He was suddenly gone and she wasn’t sure what to do. To stay in her seat—or chase after him?
Chapter Seven
TUCKER caught Claire’s eye, then mouthed the words, “I’ll go check on him.”
Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She had a feeling Jamie needed space right now, some privacy. But she still wanted to know he was all right.
Tucker returned a few minutes later. Reverend Ben had finished the sermon and the choir was singing a hymn. Tucker walked up to Claire and touched her arm. “He’s fine,” he whispered. “Just needed some air. He’s out in the park, waiting for you.”
Claire felt relieved. “Thank you, Tucker,” she whispered back.
She was tempted to go out to him a few times as the service continued. Then she decided it was best to leave him with his thoughts awhile. A few minutes in the park, watching the harbor, might do Jamie good.
/> When the service ended, Reverend Ben stood in the narthex, near the center doors to the sanctuary, and greeted the congregation. Claire usually liked to get in line to say hello and thank him for his thoughtful sermons. But now she slipped out the side door and headed along the path to the green, checking the benches for Jamie.
She walked down to the harbor. The benches, which stood in a long row, were all filled, but there was no sign of Jamie. She turned and walked around the small park, past the big gazebo where community concerts were held all summer and past the path to the shady playground on the far side of the green.
He might be waiting for me at the car, she realized. Claire then followed a path that led back to the church. She could see the Jeep in the lot, practically the only vehicle left. But Jamie was not in it or anywhere around.
She settled herself on a bench in the shade, wondering if she should call his cell phone. She decided to wait. There’s no reason to panic, she told herself. He must have just taken a walk in the village.
Claire sighed and looked out at the water. The bay was filled with boats, many crowded against the public dock, and more moored out on the water. The green was filling up now, families and old people, couples holding hands. She scanned the faces walking near the water but still didn’t see Jamie.
When she looked back at the church she noticed Reverend Ben coming out a side door near his office. When he saw Claire, he waved and walked toward her.
“Hello, Claire. Everything okay? You don’t have car trouble, do you?”
Claire realized she was a curious sight, sitting in the park alone at this hour on a Sunday. If she made it to church at all during the summer, she usually bustled right back to the inn.
“Oh, no. I’m fine. Just waiting for somebody. Happy Father’s Day,” she added, trying to change the subject. “Any special plans?”
Reverend Ben had two adult children and grandchildren. Was it three or four by now? Claire couldn’t recall.
“Rachel and Jack are having us over for a barbeque,” he said, mentioning his daughter and son-in-law, who lived in town. “And I might do a little surfcasting later. I have a feeling my special gift today is another new rod and reel set,” he added with a laugh.
The Way Home Page 10