by Susan Wiggs
Jenny tried to figure out which set of parents belonged to Rourke. Unlike most of the other campers, he wasn’t playing tour guide to anyone. Maybe his folks hadn’t shown up. Maybe he’d be glad to see a friendly face. Towing Nina behind her, she went right up to him and said hi. She was amazingly not tongue-tied. He looked even better than he had the first time she’d met him. He had a golden suntan and even blonder hair, and the scar on his cheek had nearly healed, though it was still visible, a small crescent moon.
“Hi,” he said. “I was just—”
“Rourke, hey, Rourke!” Joey joined them, grinning with exuberance. Unlike Rourke’s cautious smile, he wore an exuberant grin. “Hey, Jenny,” he said without a shadow of bashfulness. “This is my father, Bruno Santini.”
Jenny greeted him and introduced Nina.
Mr. Santini didn’t look a bit like the other parents. He was squat and strong, with dark, wavy hair and a way of gazing at Joey that just glowed with love. Watching them, Jenny felt a pinch of envy.
“So you made some friends,” Mr. Santini said, giving Joey a gentle slug on the shoulder. “Good job, sonny-boy.”
“That’s Jenny’s bakery over there.” Joey pointed it out. “And Nina’s mom runs the kitchen up at the camp.”
“I can tell they been feeding you well,” Mr. Santini said, beaming. “My mama used to say good food is more important than a long life.”
Rourke was very quiet, politely so, standing off to the side a little. He was eyeing Joey not with the envy Jenny felt, but with genuine affection. She knew he was best friends with Joey the way she was with Nina. Then, as Jenny watched, Rourke’s face changed, his blue eyes turning hard and cold. She followed the direction of his gaze and spied a handsome couple coming toward them. His parents, for sure. The father was tall and slender, with light hair going slightly gray at the temples. The mother wore a slim khaki dress and expensive-looking shoes. Rourke got his blond hair and blue eyes from her.
The round of introductions was much more formal this time. Jenny found herself tongue-tied, though Nina bombarded the McKnights with nosy questions, because that was what Nina did. She was nosy and fearless, demanding to know where they lived, what Mr. Santini’s and Mr. McKnight’s jobs were. When Rourke’s father said he was in the state assembly, Nina slapped her forehead. “Senator Drayton McKnight,” she exclaimed. “Get out.”
Jenny had never heard of Drayton McKnight. Who, besides Nina, would know such a thing? Of course, Nina was obsessed with politics and planned to run for office someday. She had studied every level of government from dogcatcher to state assemblyman to the president of the United States.
Rourke was clearly not enthralled by the prospect of being a senator’s son. “We’d better get going,” he said.
Jenny and Joey shared a look, and they didn’t really have to speak. They were the same, the two of them, quiet, raised by immigrants. Joey’s too-pretty eyes shone at her. After being bullied by those boys at the camp, Jenny had been ready to swear off kissing. Looking at Joey and Rourke, she was willing to reconsider.
A counselor’s whistle sounded, and Rourke nudged Joey. “Let’s go.”
“See you around,” Joey told them.
As the parents herded them away, Nina reeled and clutched at her heart. “Omigod, you weren’t kidding. He is so cute.”
“Which one?”
“Good point, they’re both cute. But Joey looks too much like my brothers.”
It was true. Joey would fit right in with the Romanos. By contrast, Rourke McKnight looked as blond and patrician as Prince Charming.
“Anyway,” Nina said, “it doesn’t matter, because he likes you, not me.”
Jenny’s face instantly caught fire. “You’re crazy.”
“Don’t deny it and don’t be all, like, he’s practically a stranger. I know what I know. Including the fact that Joey has a crush on you, too.”
A feeling of giddiness whirled through Jenny, but she was embarrassed. This whole boy business was both wonderful and terrible at the same time. “First of all,” she said, “you’re wrong, and second of all, if you say anything to either of them, I’ll tell everyone at the bakery you’re a diabetic, and to never, ever give you anything to eat again.”
Nina sniffed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Jenny set her hands on her hips. “Try me.”
“He totally wants you,” Nina insisted.
Jenny’s face burned with a blush. She liked both of these boys. Joey because he was funny and easy and a lot like her, and Rourke because he was handsome and mysterious and kind of troubled. When she looked at him, she felt a funny tug at her heart. This business of liking boys was complicated, she decided. Maybe it was a good thing they both lived in the city. At summer’s end, they’d both be gone, and she wouldn’t have to like either of them.
* * *
Every summer after that, Jenny would anxiously watch the campers getting off the train at the station to see if Rourke McKnight would be coming to camp that year. And there he was again, taller and more golden than the previous year. Joey didn’t change much. He was always laughing at something, and studying Jenny in a way that didn’t embarrass her but made her feel special. Rourke was quieter, and when he looked at her, she didn’t feel special but...unsettled.
The third summer, he told her it would be the last for him and Joey as campers. It was the day before the Fourth of July. She was on a bakery run to the camp and slipped away when she spied Rourke. When he told her, she had the strangest reaction. On the one hand, she was disappointed, because it meant she’d never see him again. On the other hand, her heart gave a leap, because the first thing that occurred to her was that if she wanted to get him to kiss her, she’d better work fast because time was running out.
She’d waited two whole summers for this.
She glanced around. They were alone because it was pouring, and most of the campers were in their cabins or in the main pavilion, doing crafts or playing board games. They ducked under the deck of the pavilion for shelter.
“I can’t believe it’s your last summer as a camper,” she said, taking a step toward him. She stared at his mouth, just like it said in Seventeen magazine, a nonverbal cue.
He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Yes, she thought, yes, he knows. Jenny took another step, closing the gap between them. She tried something else—putting out her tongue to moisten her lips—another tip from Seventeen.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, adorably flustered. “About that. We’ll be back. I mean, as counselors. Mr. Bellamy invited us both to work here next summer if we want.”
Oh. Maybe that was her cue to step back. She didn’t, though. But he was being so danged clueless, she didn’t know how to proceed, so she just grabbed him and hugged him. “I’m so glad, Rourke. I’m glad you’re coming back.”
For one magical moment, maybe the span of a heartbeat, he hugged her back, and it felt like in that split second she went to heaven. Then he turned all stiff and set her aside.
“So anyway,” he said, acting as if the moment never happened, “I’m pretty sure my dad will go ballistic and forbid me to do it. He’ll want me to spend my time more productively, as he puts it.”
“Does that mean you’re not coming back?”
“Nope. Just means I’ll have to fight to get my way. I always do.” He glared out at the curtain of rain sprinkling the lake.
“Do you and your dad fight a lot?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I try to pick my battles. He’s a mean son of a bitch.”
“What do you mean, ‘mean’?”
“How many kinds of mean are there?”
She figured it was a rhetorical question. She tried to adjust her thinking about the McKnight family. Like everyone else, she considered them picture-perfect, living the American dream. “You’re just
lucky to have a dad,” she told him.
“Right.” He snorted.
“Sometimes I want a father so much, I’d even take a mean one,” she stated.
“Then you’re crazy.”
“Am not. I was once bitten by a dog,” she said, “and it turns out the reason the dog was mean was that it was abused.”
“A dog doesn’t know any better.”
“I’m just saying, there might be a reason. When people get hurt, they turn mean.” Or they just turn and run. She thought that might have happened to her mother.
He glared at her, and she saw that scary flash of temper he sometimes exhibited. Too bad, she thought. She wasn’t backing down. “How did we get on this topic?” she asked him. “All I wanted was—” She hesitated. Could she say it? Could she tell him? “I wanted you to kiss me. I still do.”
A soft sound came from him, a sort of groan. “No,” he said, “you don’t.” Then he stalked away, striding right out into the rain, not even hunching his shoulders in the downpour.
Jenny felt stupid. Tears smarted in her eyes. She hated Rourke McKnight. She would hate him forever. With that thought firm in her mind, she waited for the rain to stop, and then went to help her grandfather. As they finished the delivery, the sun came out again, and a rainbow arched over Willow Lake.
She walked around the side of the panel van and there was Joey Santini, waiting for her, a smile on his face. They spent a few minutes talking and laughing about nothing at all, and she reintroduced him to her grandfather.
Grandpa beamed approvingly as Joey shook his hand and said all the right things, like how much he liked Gram’s maple bars.
Thank God for Joey. He made her feel content and valued, and he was never on the verge of exploding. She was so comfortable with him. He never made her feel awkward or stupid. He never made her feel like crying.
The next night, she and Nina went up to Camp Kioga for the Fourth of July fireworks display at Willow Lake. And Joey made his move. A group of kids was sitting together on a blanket at the lakeshore, and he pressed his shoulder close to hers, leaning over to whisper in her ear. “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he said.
Jenny didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she wanted that or not. And even as Joey was scooting closer to her, she glanced over at Rourke. He stood nearby with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his shorts. He was staring at her with the oddest expression on his face. She tried to ask him with her eyes if there was a chance for them, but either he didn’t get the message, or he didn’t care. Then he easily slipped his arm around some girl’s waist and leaned down to whisper in her ear until she giggled.
* * *
Rourke hoped it had worked. He’d spent half the evening with the Giggler. He couldn’t really remember her name, but he needed her. He didn’t know what else to do. Jenny was starting to fall for him; he’d fallen for her long past, but he couldn’t let that matter. Joey liked her, he had from day one and there was no way Rourke would take that away from Joey. Rourke just needed to make Jenny believe he was a son of a bitch, which according to his father, he was. Then she’d stop liking him and start liking Joey, which was the way things were supposed to be. Joey deserved her in a way Rourke never would. Joey knew just how to treat a girl like Jenny. He didn’t feel as though someone had set him on fire, the way Rourke did, burning with feelings so intense they would consume them both.
For the rest of the summer, he made sure she saw him with any number of girls. Just to remind her—he was a son of a bitch, and she was better off with Joey.
Food for Thought
BY JENNY MAJESKY
Happy Cake
Here’s something I bet you never noticed. But once I point it out, you’ll never fail to notice it again. A small, family-owned bakery is a happy place. Think about it. When was the last time you walked into a bakery and found a cranky person? It just doesn’t happen. The people behind the counter are cheerful. The customers are cheerful. Even the sounds and the smells of the place—totally cheerful.
I bet if a study was done on the air quality of a bakery, pheromones would be found. One of the happiest recipes in my grandmother’s arsenal is this one. It’s actually a pound cake, but Gram created a neologism for it: Szcze´ssliwe ciastko. Roughly translated into English, that means—you already guessed it, didn’t you? “Happy Cake.” This is distinguished by its sunny yellow color and by the fact that it’s impossible to eat a slice and not feel happy.
HAPPY CAKE
1 pound cake flour (3 cups)
1 pound eggs (about six)
1 pound (4 sticks) unsalted butter, softened (don’t substitute)
1 pound (about 2-¼ cups) sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup buttermilk
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
Preheat oven to 325°F. Grease and flour Bundt or tube pan. Beat butter until light and gradually add sugar, vanilla and then eggs, one at a time. With mixer on low, add buttermilk. Sift together all the dry ingredients and add slowly. Pour batter into pan and bake for about 1 hour and 20 minutes, until a thin blade or toothpick comes out clean. Allow cake to cool 15 or 20 minutes in pan. Then gently remove it, and serve at room temperature with fresh fruit or lemon curd. Makes 12 generous servings.
Chapter Eight
All of Jenny’s earthly possessions fit in the back of a rented panel truck. And actually, she was mildly surprised that the salvage operation had managed to recover so much. Everything had been cleaned up and placed in marked containers, then loaded onto the truck. She was supposed to go through the salvage and determine what to keep and what to discard, but she had no perspective on that, none at all. For the time being, she would store the items. She stood back and crossed her arms, shivering and stamping her feet. She had lost her favorite gloves in the fire, the leather ones with the cashmere lining.
Rourke pulled up in the driveway behind the truck. Today, as part of his crime prevention initiative, he had visited the local junior high, and he was dressed accordingly. He believed the police uniform, or even a suit, was a barrier to communicating with kids, so he was wearing loose cargo pants and boots unlaced to the ankles, an oversize jacket and knit cap, and he looked more like a snowboarder than the chief of police. “’S’up?” he said.
“Everything’s up,” she said, gesturing at the loaded truck. “How was your school visit?”
“I think they like me. About a dozen kids signed up for community service projects.”
She couldn’t imagine how anyone, kid or adult, could resist him. Kids could spot a phony a mile off, and Rourke seemed to know that. He was completely at ease in the casual getup. It wasn’t just to patronize the students. “How’d you get so good with kids, Chief?” she asked.
“You listen to them and show respect, and after that, it gets easier. And you’re looking at me funny. Is it the clothes?”
“It’s not the clothes.” She hesitated. What the heck, she thought. “Do you ever wish you had kids of your own?”
He stared at her in astonishment, then burst out laughing.
“I’m not trying to be funny,” she said. “I can’t help but wonder what sort of father you’d make, what sort of family man.”
“No kind of father, and no kind of family man, thank you very much.”
“Oh, come on, McKnight. You’re not the first kid to have a lousy childhood. That’s no excuse.”
“There’s also the small matter of how to acquire those kids you’re so convinced I want. It’s not so easy for a guy.”
The way he was looking at her was way too intimate. “Listen, we really need to have another talk about this...living arrangement. It’s crazy, me staying with you.”
“Why is it crazy?”
&nb
sp; “We have no current relationship.”
“Maybe we should,” he said. “Roommates.” He turned away abruptly, going around the back of the truck to check out the work the salvage company had done.
Roommates, thought Jenny. What the heck did he mean by that? She couldn’t figure out a way to ask him, so she changed the subject. “One truckload. Kind of pathetic, huh?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It’s not pathetic. It’s just something that happens.”
“Pathetic,” she repeated. “How about you let me wallow a little?”
“All right. If it’ll make you feel better.”
“It won’t. But it’ll make you feel worse and that will make me feel better. I’m a taxpayer. It’s the least you can do.”
“Fine.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Seeing this stuff, seeing that it’s all that’s left of your house—makes me feel like shit. Okay?”
A massive four-wheel-drive pickup truck with a snowplow blade pulled up. Out jumped Connor Davis, and then Greg Bellamy. Greg was Philip Bellamy’s youngest brother, which made him Jenny’s uncle, though he was only a few years older than she was. Recently divorced, Greg had moved to Avalon with his two kids, Daisy and Max. Daisy was going to be working at the bakery, Max was in the fifth grade. Like all the Bellamys Jenny had met, Greg had that affable, effortless charm, coupled with the natural good looks of the well-bred. She didn’t feel at all like a Bellamy, and those sunny, upper-crust looks had definitely passed her by. Everyone who had known her mother swore she looked just like Mariska—who of course was beautiful, but in a totally different, dark and earthy way.
“Hey, guys, thanks for coming,” Jenny said.
“No problem at all,” Greg assured her.
As she introduced him to Rourke, she reflected that the three men together—Rourke, Connor and Greg—looked like the kind of fantasy a woman didn’t want to wake up from. Each was tall, strong, sexy. And there was something about the presence of heavy equipment and work to be done outdoors that seemed to cause the testosterone level to rise.