The Season of You & Me

by Robin Constantine

  Then plan B materialized.

  After Tori had asked me to come up with breakfast ideas, I’d gone to the supermarket with Leslie to get supplies to experiment with. I had everything I needed to whip up a sweet version of a breakfast quesadilla. I pulled out the tortillas, cream cheese, and butter, went through the spices (which thankfully were alphabetized), found cinnamon, powdered sugar, and vanilla, and got to work. Hunter munched while I heated up the griddle.

  The muffins had cooled enough and I arranged them onto one of the cake platters. I was about to ask Hunter if he could help—he looked presentable enough; his pj’s were pretty much shorts and a tee with sharks all over them—but then got an image of him tripping somehow, and realized I’d be completely screwed and serving Apple Jacks. He could manage the smaller things though.

  “Hunter, could you bring out the cream and sugar and put it on the sideboard?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Do you think you could help me with some other stuff too?”

  “Let me get my shoes!”

  I wasn’t sure why shoes were an important part of it, but he raced up the stairs and was back in a flash with his light-up shark sandals, ready to serve by the time I’d whipped up the first quesadilla. I eyed the clock. Five minutes until breakfast service.

  “What is that?” he asked as I flipped the first breakfast quesadilla onto the plate to cool.

  “Don’t worry about it, let’s get this stuff out there,” I said, leading the way.

  There was no one downstairs yet, so I put the muffins on the center of the table, and Hunter placed the cream and sugar on the sideboard. Then I realized I’d forgotten to put coffee in the silver urn. We went back into the kitchen. I grabbed the glass carafe from the maker and ran out to fill the urn.

  “You need hot water for tea too,” Hunter said, pointing at a white carafe next to a box of tea selections.

  “I didn’t see that on the to-do list,” I said, trying not to get burned as I poured the coffee. It only filled it up halfway, which meant I had to make more. “Could you bring that carafe into the kitchen for me?”

  Hunter nodded and grabbed the carafe. I followed him back to the kitchen and put the kettle on for hot water. I cut the cooled quesadilla and glanced at the to-do list to check the number of guests again. Eight.

  Water boiled, coffee urn filled again—I got to work on two more quesadillas. They were better warm, so I figured this would more than cover anyone out there at the moment, and I could make more as people arrived. Hunter reached for a triangle of the first one. I shooed him away.

  “Please don’t touch, it’s backup breakfast.”

  “If there’s extra can I have one?”

  “Sure. Can you take out the fruit salad while I finish making these? Two hands—be careful.”

  He grabbed the crystal bowl and walked super slow, one foot in front of the other, out to the dining room. I was going to tell him he didn’t have to be that careful, but then figured best to let him do it his way.

  I finished up the quesadillas. They were still cooling, and Hunter hadn’t come back yet. Since I hadn’t heard a crash, I figured whatever was keeping him couldn’t be that bad. I cut the quesadillas into triangles, piled them on a plate with a doily, grabbed the bowl of whipped cream, and headed out to the dining room.

  Hunter was regaling two older couples with information on the kinds of dolphins they might see in Crest Haven. Glad one of us inherited the gab gene.

  The woman looked at me, which spurred an intro from Hunter.

  “This is my sister, Cass . . . she’s really my half sister, we have different moms.”

  Awkward much?

  “And what is that you have there?” she asked.

  I placed the platter down on the table.

  “These are breakfast quesadillas; they’re stuffed with sweetened cream cheese and the tortillas are crisped with some butter and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar.” It sounded so basic. Why had I thought it would make an impressive breakfast item? I inwardly winced as I waited on a reaction.

  “How different,” she said, taking a triangle off of the plate.

  “There’s fresh whipped cream and some preserves if you wanted to spice it up—I guess actually sweeten it up.” I brought the silver serving caddy with the jams and whipped cream over to the table. Had I made enough polite small talk?

  “I want to try that!” Hunter said. The couple laughed. I watched as the woman dabbed some whipped cream on her triangle of quesadilla and brought it to her mouth. I should have just excused myself, not really wanting to see her reaction, but Hunter and I were glued there, like two grinning idiots. She smiled as she chewed and nodded. Her husband reached for one too.

  “It’s excellent,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I bowed my head a few times, grabbed Hunter’s hand, and went back to the kitchen, hoping my quota of small talk had been filled for the morning, but secretly happy the woman had liked my quesadilla. Or maybe she was just being polite. Whatever. The morning had begun—four down, four more guests to go.

  “Can I have one now?” Hunter asked, looking at the tortillas with wide, pleading eyes.

  “Sure, dude.”

  The rest of breakfast was uneventful. I kept all the urns and bowls filled, asked guests if they needed anything else; I even recommended a good spot on the beach. Hunter was my sidekick, offering comic relief. He didn’t have to do much except smile to get people to talk to him. I’d just started cleanup when Leslie finally came downstairs. I found her in the kitchen, standing near the counter and pouring a cup of tea. She’d dressed in a light-pink sundress, her hair pulled back off her face with a crocheted headband. The color had returned to her cheeks.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Feeling better. I have to do a checkout this morning,” she said, putting the mug up to her temple and taking a deep breath. She opened her eyes. “How’s it going? I see you had a helper.”

  Hunter threw his arms around her waist and squeezed. She laughed and held the mug out away from them. Leslie rumpled his hair, then delicately untangled from him, as if the squeeze might have triggered more queasiness.

  “Well, no one complained. That I know at least.”

  “Cass made a breakfast quesadilla! It’s so good, Mom, you should have one!”

  Leslie’s brows raised. I could already sense her question.

  “The blueberries were furry; I didn’t think you’d want to hear that this morning. So I just kind of improvised with some of the supplies we bought the other day.”

  She laughed. “Oh, wow, thanks—quick thinking. Maybe I’ll have to pick your brain for some fresh ideas.”

  “Yeah, anytime.”

  “Hunter and I can finish up here if you’d like to go back to sleep for a while, but if it wouldn’t be too much trouble could you help me make up the rooms today? It won’t take long, maybe about an hour or two. There’s only one room that needs to be completely turned over.”

  “Sure, I’ll help.”

  I went back upstairs, took a shower, and tried to relax enough to catch some z’s. Only my brain wasn’t having it. Gavin had been sending random texts since our phone call. I want to see you. Think about it. He’d even sent me a picture of us from the winter, when we had a snow day off from school and went sledding down the park. Our noses were red, our eyes bright. That had been a good day. My heart ached remembering how happy I’d been. No inkling of trouble. How we’d gone back to his house and found ways to get warm under the quilt in his room. It was a low blow on his part to send that picture. Unfair. But as Ems said—this was war. I’d thought I had the upper hand. I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Did I still care? Maybe it was time to start hooking up left and right and finally let go of Gavin. Although at that point, I wasn’t sure what left and right would be. I closed my eyes, mentally going through faces of people I’d met—the random skateboard guys from the Fourth, counselors, Wade, Matt hanging out the car window, Bryan. />
  Bryan.

  The way the water beaded on his chest when he did his blissed-out floaty thing at the pool, his humble smile that always seemed somewhere between happy and sad, those gray-blue eyes. I reached for my phone, scrolled through the pictures of us from the first time we went to the promenade together, and stopped on the one of him tasting the lavender-and-mint-infused lemon ice pop. I laughed, a pleasant tingle building up in my chest as I scrolled through the next set of pics, the ones of the two of us, right before Shay had come up to say hello. Wonder what Gavin would think if I posted that to StalkMe?

  I sighed. Sat up.

  No.

  Oh, no, no, no.

  I liked Bryan. A lot. The pleasant tingle, the flushed feeling, the way I couldn’t stop smiling at our picture together. What did I think I was doing?

  I came to Ocean Whispers to forget about a boy, not fall for one.

  I sprang up from my bed, pulled on shorts and a tee, and went back downstairs to find Leslie. I purposely left my phone in my room. It was nothing but trouble.

  There were five rooms in total to clean. Leslie made the beds; I did the light dusting, emptied the wastebaskets, and made sure each fresh flower arrangement still had enough water. It was the first time I’d spent more than a few minutes in the inn section of the house. Each room was decorated differently in some variation of floral and frilly, with antique furniture and doilies on every flat surface. While not exactly my taste, the rooms were warm and inviting. The fifth room was huge, the only one with a private bathroom and balcony with rocking chairs. It was also the one we needed to turn over.

  “This is our master suite, booked every day for the summer and through the fall,” Leslie said.

  “It’s really nice,” I said, trying not to imagine what went on in the master suite. The room was pretty impressive, with a king-size four-poster bed and an electric fireplace. Quite the love nest. I helped Leslie pull off the fitted sheet and stuff it into the laundry bag.

  “So why a bed-and-breakfast?” I asked. Leslie pulled the fresh fitted king sheet out from the linen pile on the rolling cart. She smiled, shrugged.

  “It was sort of an impulse buy,” she said, her tone casual. She sounded as though she was talking about a pair of shoes. “Your father and I were down here, taking a long weekend one December, and we went on a house tour. Well, I went on a house tour, and dragged your father for as long as he could stand it. You’ve seen the town at Christmas, right? How magical it all looks? I just fell in love with it. The owner of this place talked about how she was moving to open another bed-and-breakfast in Taos, and we started talking, and before we both knew it, the touring time was over and she gave me her card and it all just . . . felt right. I could see us here.” She unfolded the fitted sheet and fanned it out. We started tucking the opposite corners.

  “But you had such a cool job before,” I said.

  She laughed as she tucked the sides. “I guess it was sort of cool, the movie stuff, but that seems like a lifetime ago. My publicity skills have come in handy here. We were both ready to slow down a little bit. Ha, were we in for a surprise! You know, the guests who checked out today said they loved your quesadilla. I’d like to add it to my rotation. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

  I smiled. It felt nice to hear the breakfast had been a hit. “I don’t really write anything down, but I guess I can.”

  “Would you mind if we put it in the newsletter?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I . . . ooh.” Leslie leaned against the bed and put her hand up to her forehead.

  “Feeling sick again?”

  She nodded. “A little. Maybe I’ll go lie down after this. Do you think . . . could you help with afternoon tea, too? That’s really just putting things out and making sure they’re replenished for the hour. On a gorgeous day like this there might not be many back for tea, but you never know.”

  “Sure, I’ll keep Hunter busy too,” I said, anticipating the moment he woke up from his nap, if he’d even taken one like Leslie had suggested.

  “Thanks for letting him help, Cass. I should let him do that more often. He really loves having you around.”

  Before heading down to tea, I raced up to my room and grabbed my phone. My heart lurched when I saw I had a voice mail, but then calmed when I saw it was from my mother. I did owe her a phone call.

  Afternoon tea consisted of pitchers of iced tea and lemonade, which I was relieved to find out, because who wanted hot tea when the street was melting? The cookies and fruit salad were already made, and service consisted of checking the table every once in a while to make sure nothing needed to be replenished and it all looked pretty. A lone woman sat on the front porch in a rocking chair, reading a book and sipping some iced tea. Another couple—the youngest I’d seen yet—came up, grabbed some lemonade and a plate of sweets, and wandered up to their room.

  I sat down on the top step to call my mother.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I said.

  “Cass! We haven’t talked in forever, but I take that to be a good sign. How are things?”

  “Let’s see, it rained all last week, so they canceled field day; Leslie was sick this morning, so I had to make breakfast for the guests. You know, same old, same old.”

  “Wait, what? Really? What did you do?”

  “I whipped up breakfast quesadillas. The ones I make sometimes at home.”

  “Mmm . . . the ones with the cinnamon? Wow, Cass, I’m impressed. Is Leslie okay? Where’s your father?”

  “Yeah, she thinks it’s just a twenty-four-hour thing. Dad’s fishing—some annual teacher excursion or something like that.”

  “Fishing? I can’t picture that.”

  “Me either,” I said. My father’s idea of outdoorsy was firing up the grill. I couldn’t imagine him on a boat trying to catch a living thing.

  “So, I thought I’d come down next weekend for a visit; would you be up for it?”

  “Yes, definitely. Is Nan coming too?”

  “No, but I thought I might let Emma tag along, if that’s okay with you.”

  I stood up. “Omigod, really? Emma!”

  She laughed. “Why didn’t I get that reaction from you?”

  “I’ll be happy to see you too,” I said.

  “I’m getting a motel room for us, so we can all stay together.”

  “You didn’t want to stay here?” I asked.

  “There’s no vacancy,” she said. “Thought you might enjoy getting away for a night too.”

  “When are you coming?”

  “I figure we can come early on Saturday, maybe hit the beach, go out to dinner or something, then I’m sure you’ll want to show Emma around. Sound good?”

  “Sounds great,” I said.

  Hunter clomped out onto the porch and sat next to me, playing a handheld video game.

  “So we’ll see you then, Cass.”

  “Bye,” I said, shutting down the phone.

  “Oh, wow.” Hunter pointed toward the street. My father pushed through the front gate holding a large, silvery-gray striped fish about three feet long, still attached to some sort of fishing line. Hunter put his game down and went sprinting toward him. My father grinned from ear to ear, his face ruddy from the sun. I picked up Hunter’s game and walked down the stairs to greet him and see what the giant fish was all about.

  “Look at this! I wouldn’t even let them gut it for me. I have to show this to Leslie, she’ll never believe it. I’ve been on this trip four years in a row and this is the first time I’ve ever caught anything.”

  He took off toward the back door before I had the chance to say anything.

  “Hey, um, Dad,” I said, following him with Hunter at my heels now too. Dad was like a little kid, racing toward the yard with his prize. By the time we reached the back deck, he was in the kitchen. We took the stairs two at a time and followed him inside. Leslie was sitting at the table, cup of tea and magazine in front of her.

  “Ta-da,” he exclaimed.
“Four years and I finally caught something.”

  Hunter ran his hand along the fish. “Ew, it’s slimy.”

  “Les, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be thrilled for me.”

  Leslie’s face contorted. She got up from the chair, leaned over the sink, and vomited.

  A couple of hours later, Ocean Whispers was as quiet as its name implied. The offensive striped bass had been taken out somewhere to be gutted, cleaned, and then grilled at home by Dad with some rosemary and garlic and fingerling potatoes. Leslie had turned in early, Dad was busy working on something in his office, and Hunter begged me to watch some special on great whites to kick off Shark Week.

  In the midst of all the excitement, Bryan had texted me about meeting up with him, Wade, and Tori at Sip N’ Freeze. I wanted to go, I did. The thought of him and his blue eyes made that pleasant warmth rise up again. Definitely not safe. Sure, he would be a distraction, but . . . that’s not what I wanted him to be. He deserved more than that. Maybe I was wimping out by staying in, but I didn’t care. I was taking Tori’s advice. I was being careful with him.

  I texted Bryan.

  Helped at inn.

  Kind of tired.

  See you Monday.

  I knocked on the doorframe to Dad’s office and wandered in. He was dozing lightly in his office chair, the Whispers Weekly newsletter up on his computer screen.

  On the first page was a headline for my breakfast quesadilla. I laughed. It made it seem so official. My father startled.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “You put my recipe in the newsletter.”

  He yawned. “Well, it was all Hunter could talk about. Thanks for today, Cass. Leslie said she couldn’t have managed without you.”

  “It was fun, I guess. Interesting to see how you guys run things. It’s tough.”

  He laughed. “Yes, it can be sometimes. Did you want something?”

  “Just wanted to see if you were going to watch that shark thing Hunter keeps talking about. I think it starts in ten minutes . . . I came out to make some popcorn.”