“You hired them two months ago?” Brad asked, as he lifted the corner of a bag. Underneath, the grass had already begun to turn yellow.
“Yes, I did. I see now that may have been a mistake.”
“How long have these bags been on your lawn?” Ryan asked, picking up one of them and moving it to the driveway. It left a trail of mulch in its wake.
“Since Wednesday—four days.” Her expression hardened. “And I’ve been on the telephone with them every morning since, trying to get them to come out and finish the job. They’ve been unforgivably rude.”
Ryan deposited the bag on the driveway then went back to get another. “What did they say when you called them?”
“The girl said the entire crew is on another job. My friend Betty Marple has spotted their work trucks at the new construction just past the jetty. Been there for a month, at least.”
“It doesn’t take any more effort to stack these bags neatly on the driveway than it does to throw them on the grass.” Brad wiped his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt. “I don’t know why they wouldn’t.”
“Because they’re not from around here.” Mrs. Ivey pursed her lips, clearly agitated at what she must have viewed as a shoddy work ethic. “They came down with those New York City builders and if you ask me, they should go right back.”
It only took a few minutes to move the bags from the lawn to the driveway, and when they were finished, Mrs. Ivey beamed at them. “Oh, thank you, boys. I was at my wits’ end, I’ll tell you that. I couldn’t possibly have moved those darned things myself.”
From his place on the driveway, Brad glanced at Ryan and lifted his chin. Ryan nodded in agreement.
“Tell you what, Mrs. Ivey,” Brad said. “Spreading this mulch in your flower beds won’t take long at all. Why don’t we do that for you?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Brad brushed bark chips from his arms. “I’ll just go back to Grandpa’s shed and find some tools.”
“Oh, I have everything you boys need right here.” She pointed to a pile near the front steps containing work gloves, a couple of rakes, and a utility knife to open the plastic bags.
“Would you like to borrow something to wear, Ryan?” Mrs. Ivey offered. “I might be able to find something in Mr. Ivey’s old closet.”
Ryan looked at what he’d been wearing to drag the mulch bags across the yard—a ratty college T-shirt, PJ bottoms and bare feet. He laughed. “That’s okay. I don’t mind getting a little dirty. In fact, I’m kind of looking forward to it.”
They pulled on the work gloves, grabbed the rakes, and got to work.
It took the better part of the morning. Mrs. Ivey interrupted them twice; once with a tray of lemonade and oatmeal cookies as a snack, and once more to offer a check as payment for their work. They refused the check but accepted the food and sat in the shade to eat it when the work was done.
“I used to do some landscaping,” Ryan said. “During the summers, to earn money for college.”
“You worked your way through school? I didn’t know that,” Brad said.
“Yeah, I did. My parents have seven children and we had to find our own way. We always had a place to live and food to eat, but anything else we had to work for.”
Ryan remembered those summers fondly. The work was hard sometimes, outside in every kind of weather, but at the end of the day he could see the work he’d done, the progress he’d made. That didn’t always happen with the work he did now. Today, the simple repetition of slitting open a bag, emptying the contents, and raking it across a flower bed was immensely satisfying.
“Are you sure I can’t give you boys anything for your trouble?” Mrs. Ivey had come to collect the tray. “You’ve both worked so hard.”
“No, thank you,” Brad said as he stood. “We were glad to help.”
“Well then. Thank you both. I’ll see you later this afternoon at your mother’s party. I’ve got a pie in the oven.”
They found their way back to the path between the houses. Ryan paused. “I don’t know about you, but I forgot all about the party.”
“We better get back before they send someone to look for us.”
Fifteen
The commotion in the kitchen was getting on his nerves. Distracted by clattering pots and loud voices, Chase had read the same sentence so many times it no longer made sense, and his patience had come to an end. Tossing his newspaper aside, he rose from his chair and snapped off the radio. This morning, as he had in years past, Chase had retreated to the quiet of his den while Kaye saw to the details of her party, knowing that his contribution would come later, at the grill. This year, however, Kaye had hired a caterer, eager to make a good impression. She’d arrived early with a team of assistants who took over the kitchen and yard and created such a racket that it made it impossible for him to relax. Heaving a sigh, he left his den and ventured into the kitchen.
“Hi, Dad.” Stacy stood in front of a fully stocked refrigerator, pushing items aside to make room for the foil-covered bowl in her hand. “Mom says if you want coffee, you can have one cup of decaf and that I’m supposed to make you some.”
“There’s coffee in the pot,” Chase grumbled. “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s caffeinated. It’s for the caterers.”
The kitchen itself was an unrecognizable mess. Every inch of counterspace had been stacked with aluminum trays, shopping bags filled with party decorations lined the far wall, and pots bubbled on the stove, but worst of all was the constant smacking of the screen door as workers filed in and out of the kitchen.
“Where’s your mother?”
“Outside, I think.”
Chase shouldered his way around a worker carrying an armload of serving platters and made his way outside. He found Kaye leaning against a table, supervising a crew of workers. He slowed, surprised at her slouched posture and the worn expression on her face, and it occurred to him how tired she must be. They’d hosted their Fourth of July party for so many years that he assumed she enjoyed organizing all of it. He hadn’t considered that this year, with a house full of people to tend to, the party might be too much for her.
“You need any help?” Chase approached, interrupting a conversation with a worker. Why hasn’t anyone offered Kaye a chair?
Kaye straightened and reached for his arm. “In fact, I do. It seems that whoever bought the tiki torches forgot to buy the oil that fuels them. I was going to send Ryan but he’s busy setting up the soccer field, and I can’t find Brad anywhere. Do you mind going to Applegate’s to pick some up? Aaron should know what we need. I can call ahead if you want.”
“Sure. I’ll go right now.” Chase covered her hand with his and guided her to a deck chair, annoyed that these caterers hadn’t noticed Kaye needed to rest. He lowered his voice so only Kaye would hear. “These people work for you. Sit down and make them come to you.”
A few minutes later, Chase walked out the front door and headed to Applegate’s, happy to do his part.
Chase returned home from his errand to find the catering trucks had been moved away from the house and a line of cars parked along the curb. Apparently, the first guests had already arrived. He shifted the paper bag to his other arm and increased his pace. He’d been away longer than he’d planned, chatting with Aaron about the state of the world, and while Kaye might understand, she wouldn’t appreciate him arriving at her party dressed as he was. It would only take him a moment to shower and change his clothes.
A few yards from his front door, Mrs. Ivey called to him from her front porch. “Chase, wait a moment, will you?” She made her way down the stairs slowly, carrying a pie plate covered in a red-checked tea towel.
“Hello, Mrs. Ivey.” He crossed her yard to meet her. “Can I carry that for you?”
“Of course you can’t,” she scoffed, accepting his arm but holding tight to her plate. “You keep treating me as if I’m an old lady, I might start believing it myself. I’m glad I ran
into you. I was hoping for a moment alone to speak with you.”
Chase slowed his pace to match hers. “Oh, really? Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing like that.” She stopped and turned to face him, her blue eyes holding his gaze. “You know your mother was one of my best friends, and it has been my great pleasure to have lived next door to your family for almost the whole of my life. Since before you were born, in fact.”
Chase nodded respectfully, though he didn’t understand where the conversation was going.
“And you know that my policy has always been to keep my opinions to myself.”
Chase snorted.
She narrowed her eyes, but the smile below softened the impact. “This will be difficult for you to hear, but what I have to say is important and I want you to listen.” She paused for just a moment. “You remember your father had planned for you to go into business together as soon as you graduated high school?”
“I do, but—”
“But you didn’t because that wasn’t the right path for you.” As she finished her thought, she frowned briefly, a reminder not to interrupt her again. “And you were right to do so. You are much more suited for a career in finance than you would have been going into business with your father. Though no one thought so at the time and it was difficult for your father to accept your decision.”
Chase took advantage of the pause that followed. “I know it was, but I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up so many years later.”
She squeezed his arm. “Your son is so much like your father that when I look at Brad, I see Santos. I see your son trying to find his way, just like you did. Chase, you need to let him, just like your father let you.”
Chase bristled at the suggestion but said nothing. He had allowed Brad to “find his way,” as Mrs. Ivey put it. Brad had taken much longer to settle into college than his sister did. In college, when Brad changed his major from business to history, Chase made no objection, even though the decision delayed Brad’s graduation by at least two full years. And when Kaye let it slip that Brad had abandoned history to study something else, Chase still said nothing. If that wasn’t allowing the boy to find his way, then he didn’t know what was.
“You see that trellis?” Mrs. Ivey pointed to the side yard of her house.
Chase nodded.
“Your father made that for me when you were a boy because he thought I should have a beautiful place for my mother’s climbing rose to grow.” She smiled and leaned against him. “Your boys spread mulch for me this morning, as a favor, because I asked them to. Then Brad came over again to fix some water damage on my trellis and redirect the vines, all on his own because he could see it needed doing.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“He is, and I’m not sure you understand that as well as you should.”
As they made their way toward the Bennett house, Chase’s thoughts turned to his children. They both had attended elite private schools. They understood he expected excellence from them. He required them both to participate fully in all their school had to offer—academics, sports, and extracurriculars. It was Chase’s way of giving them something he never had. When Chase was a boy, he had attended a series of unremarkable public schools where trying your best was good enough, and simply graduating was an achievement worth celebrating. Chase had worked hard to better himself and he wanted his children to have better opportunities, but while Stacy had embraced the rules and thrived, Brad always seemed to need an extra push. But that was okay with Chase. Wasn’t that what fathers were for?
Of course Chase had allowed his son to find his way. Mrs. Ivey was mistaken.
After escorting Mrs. Ivey to the front door, Chase slipped to shower and change for the party. It had always been his job at Kaye’s cookouts to flip the burgers and turn the hot dogs, and he enjoyed it. In fact, it was his idea one year to add a toppings bar on a side table near the grill for anyone who wanted to add caramelized onions or extra cheese to their burger as it cooked. He hoped someone had remembered to set that up this year too.
Freshly shaved, and with his hair still damp from his shower, Chase made his way down the stairs, enjoying the scent of a freshly ignited charcoal fire coming from outside. Someone had started the grill for him and now it was time for him to assume the duties. He knew Kaye would have remembered to hang his big apron on the hook by the grill. She was good with details like that.
He left the house by the side door, bypassing the chaos in the kitchen and most of the guests in the yard. Despite his eagerness to get to his grill station, he paused for a moment to take it all in. His wife knew how to throw a great party, but this year she had transformed their yard into something remarkable. The grassy field next door had been set with orange cones and soccer nets, and a group of children had already gathered to play. Chase could hear their shouts and laughter from where he stood. Tables of food were arranged beneath the shady tree—a buffet of cold salads on ice, steamed clams in warming trays, corn on the cob, and new potatoes sprinkled with what looked like parsley. Desserts were laid out on another, smaller table, with ice-cream churns nearby. Old-fashioned, galvanized washtubs had been filled with ice and stocked with soda cans, and juice pouches were placed strategically around the yard and field. Chase was glad to see that Kaye had hired a bartender to serve, if only to spare herself the busy work of stocking and replenishing an open bar.
The decorations, too, were exceptional, with colors in keeping with the Fourth of July holiday weekend. Blue tablecloths stretched across the buffet, and on bistro tables in the back of the yard. Red and white paper lanterns hung from tree branches overhead, and patriotic bunting was strung along the deck’s railing. It really was something to see.
Chase made his way around the corner of the house to the grill station in the side yard, hoping Kaye would forgive him for being late.
He reached the side yard and stopped. There, behind the grill, wearing his chef’s hat and his apron, was one of the caterers, cooking and serving hamburgers to his guests.
His irritation cooled when it occurred to him that Kaye had needed someone to cook in his absence, and it made sense to choose a caterer. Feeling slightly better, Chase continued toward the grill, intending to assume his duties.
“I’ll take over now, thank you.” Chase reached for the spatula.
“Chase, there you are.” Kaye rounded the corner. She threaded her arm through his and gently guided him toward the party. “There are people we haven’t seen in years and I’d like you to say hello please.”
“Can’t I say hello when they come for their burgers?” He stopped, annoyed that she was managing him as if he were a child. Something else was going on here and he didn’t like it. “What is it?”
Kaye pursed her lips. “You might as well know now that I’ve hired the caterer to cook too, because I thought standing at the grill would be too much for you.”
“You what?” He stiffened, feeling the color rise to his face. “Without discussing it with me?”
“It’s done, Chase.” Kaye met his glare with one of her own. “Now please come greet our guests.”
Party manners prevented him from saying too much more, but he and Kaye would have a discussion after their guests left. For now, he needed a bit of distance between himself and his former job at the grill. And between him and his wife.
He broke free and strode across the lawn.
With each step, his irritation waned and he began to reproach himself for being childish. Kaye had gone to some trouble to arrange this party and she’d done an exceptional job. The weather was glorious, a few puffy white clouds gliding across a deep blue summer sky, with an occasional breeze from the bay rustling the oak leaves above them. Weather was always the most unpredictable part of an outdoor summer party, but somehow Kaye had found a way to control that too.
He slowed his pace and took it all in.
The atmosphere was welcoming. There was a soft buzz of conversation over the yard, peppered wi
th an occasional burst of laughter as summer families became reacquainted. At the bar, he heard the sound of ice clinking against a glass. Further on, he noticed the sizzle of fat against hot coals as the burgers cooked, and the smell of charcoal wafting in the breeze. Not being in charge of the grill was a bitter pill to swallow, but if it made Kaye happy, then what did it really matter?
He glanced back toward the grill station and found his wife watching him. He lifted his chin and smiled, and she smiled back. Apology offered and accepted. All was right with the world.
“Chase Bennett, great party.” A man broke away from a group of people who looked oddly out of place, as if they’d dressed for the idea of a summer party at the shore instead of the actual party. The man striding toward him gave the appearance of being casually dressed, but his Top-Siders were a little too new, the crease on his khakis a little too sharp, the cuffs on his Oxford shirtsleeves a little too precisely folded. He looked as though he were dressed for a job interview and it was odd. Chase glanced at the women in the group, impeccably turned out in black sleeveless silk, dark sunglasses and stacks of gold jewelry, and found it hard to believe any of them would be Kaye’s friends. “My wife and I were just saying how much we’ve enjoyed the little parties here. We don’t have anything like it back in Manhattan.”
“Thank you, though I can’t take the credit.” Chase accepted the man’s hand and shook it. His hands were soft, his grip a bit too eager. As a partner in a financial firm, Chase had gotten used to slick junior executives looking for a shortcut on the way up, as this man appeared to be doing. Though he hadn’t said it yet, this man wanted something.
“Rick Maxwell, nice to see you. My wife and yours go way back, I believe.” As he adjusted his sunglasses, Chase noticed a glint of sunlight reflecting off his gold Ivy League class ring and wondered if the gesture was purposeful. “Your reputation for deal-making precedes you, and I wonder if you’d mind me bending your ear for a second? I’d like your professional opinion on a business investment I’m considering.”
The Shore House: An emotional and uplifting page turner (Dewberry Beach Book 1) Page 16