Straight on Toward Paradise

by Kristin Wallace

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Well, stop saying.”

  As long as he kept opening his mouth, she couldn’t ignore him or the strange effect he had on her system.

  “I bet you’re one of those people who can’t stand silence,” she said, attempting to distract herself from said fluttering.

  “Talking might help pass the time.”

  Would it? Emma doubted his theory, but if she couldn’t block him out, maybe she could think about something else. “Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

  He didn’t say anything, and the long pause made her curious enough to look at him again. Reece had propped the mop in the bucket and was leaning against the handle.

  Emma straightened from the counter. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to come up with a subject that won’t turn you into a hissing cat.”

  She bristled. “I don’t—”

  “You’re doing it now,” he said, echoing her earlier complaint. He shook his head, and a soft chuckle emerged. “If you were a cartoon character, you’d have little rays of outrage shooting from your eyes and your hair would be standing on end.”

  Emma gritted her teeth so hard she felt sure she’d pulverize them. “Just ask your question.”

  “Okay.” He snapped his finger. “How did you become a chef?”

  A bubble of almost hysterical laughter rolled up from her chest.

  “What?” Reece asked, bemusement clouding his face.

  She raised her face to the ceiling, expelling a long breath.

  “How can a question about your career breach the off-limits circle?” he asked in exasperation.

  Emma studied the pattern of dots in the ceiling tiles, wondering what she’d done to deserve being tortured with memories of her father at every turn. “Because my dad and Mona are indirectly responsible for me becoming a chef.”

  “He taught you?”

  She finally tore her gaze away from the tiles. “No.”

  “Then how you’d learn?”

  “If you remember, Mona wasn’t much of a cook.”

  “I do.” He chuckled. “She was a disaster in the kitchen.”

  “She couldn’t even boil water. Literally. When my parents were married, my mom did all the cooking. The only thing my dad could do was barbecue. He decided that if the family wanted to eat anything besides hamburgers and grilled chicken, he’d better learn how to cook. So, he signed up for a class, with Mona. Only she didn’t make it through the first session.”

  “How’d you get involved?” Reece asked, forgetting his task completely.

  “I’d come to stay with them for part of the summer. Since dad had already paid for two people, he dragged me to the class with him. I guess he thought it would be a bonding experience.”

  “Did it work?”

  It had, but not the way her father had hoped. “My parents had only been divorced for a few months at that point, and I wasn’t interested in bonding with either of them,” Emma said. “But I loved that class. I’d helped my mother out in the kitchen before, but I’d never done any real cooking. The whole process fascinated me. I bought dozens of cookbooks that summer and eventually started making up my own recipes. When I went back home, I begged my way into a job washing dishes at this little family-owned restaurant near my house. I watched everything the chefs did, and when it came time for college I chose cooking school instead.”

  “Your dad told me you used to cook for them whenever you visited,” Reece said.

  “The kitchen was the only place I ever felt comfortable in their house. Plus, no one had to deal with me if I was holed up in there.”

  “Why do you act like you weren’t part of the family?”

  “Because I wasn’t,” she said, ignoring the sharp jab to her heart at the knowledge. She was an adult. She should have left childhood hurts far behind.

  “Only because you refused to be part of it,” Reece said.

  She glared at him. “What do you know about my life? You weren’t there.”

  “I know what I witnessed. I know you hadn’t come to visit in the last two years.”

  “I was working.”

  “You never had any time off?” he asked, his arms folding as he waited.

  If he wasn’t a trial lawyer, he’d missed his calling. She faced him, matching his stance. “No, as a matter of fact. That’s not a luxury chefs enjoy. It’s a cutthroat business, especially for a woman. Take time off, and you find someone’s in your place when you get back. Besides, I’m sure everyone was happier when they didn’t have me around messing up their perfect little family.”

  He let out a soft grunt and returned to his mopping. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”

  She slapped the rag down on the counter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He continued mopping, not bothering to look at her anymore. “Nothing, Emma. Maybe you’re right. Let’s stick to cleaning.”

  “No way, Mr. Casings. If you’re accusing me of something, just say it.”

  He dropped the mop, and it clattered to the floor. He took two steps, until he had her backed up against the counter. She sucked in a breath, conscious of heat from his body wrapping around her.

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, Miss Bertram,” he said, staring down at her. “I’m telling you the truth, even if you don’t want to hear it.”

  “What truth is that?”

  “That the only person who kept you from being part of the family was you.”

  Chapter 10

  The terror of the carpool lane had begun to recede. At least, Emma didn’t have to white-knuckle her way through anymore, though she still lived in fear that she would rear end one of the thousands of cars trying to navigate the circle of hell. Even better, Emma had to get through two of them since the girls went to different schools.

  After managing to make it through both drop off lines without killing any students, Emma turned in the direction of The Paradise and her new job. Her mother had set out on some sort of field trip with Grayson Kendall and Annaliese Matheson earlier. Apparently, a college nearby was upgrading their theatre equipment and they were willing to donate their old stuff. Meanwhile, Emma needed to make a list of everything she needed to outfit the kitchen so she could present it to Layla.

  Emma had a feeling the list would make Santa Claus hyperventilate by the time she was done. The kitchen didn’t even have spoons, for heaven’s sake.

  The dining room was empty when Emma arrived. No reception line to welcome her this time, but she actually preferred a quiet entry.

  Things were not so quiet in the kitchen, however. Layla and Beth McCarthy were standing over a stainless steel cylinder that had a crank on one end and a narrow tube on the other. “What do you suppose this does?” Layla asked, staring at the machine in bemusement.

  Beth McCarthy shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “It’s a sausage stuffer,” Emma answered as the doors swung shut behind her.

  Layla glanced over. “Oh hey…” She frowned down at the machine once more. “I still don’t get it. What does this actually do?”

  “You use it to stuff ground up sausage meat into a thin casing.” Emma pointed to the round canister. “You put the meat in here, attach a casing on this end, and then use the crank to force the meat inside.”

  Layla wrinkled her nose. “That sounds disgusting.”

  “Did you think sausage just naturally came in ready-made packages?” Emma asked, with a little chuckle. She wondered how many people actually did think all meat came into the world wrapped in cellophane.

  “I’d prefer to believe that,” Layla’s head bobbed up and down as a grin played about her lips.

  “Me too,” Beth McCarthy said.

  Emma turned toward the other woman. She hadn’t forgotten her friend’s warning about playing nice with the magically reappearing mother.

  “Let me guess, you’re no better in the kitchen than Layla,” Emma said.

  “Oh,
we’ve already determined that whatever gene translates to cooking abilities has been phased out of the McCarthy women,” Beth said, without a trace of regret.

  “Except for my aunt,” Layla put in. “She somehow escaped the curse.”

  They were both such heathens. “Fortunately, you hired me,” Emma said, even as she thought that it might have been nice to have someone to consult with about the kitchen. She should have insisted her mother stay here today.

  Layla grinned. “I did. A good boss knows when to delegate.”

  “That’s what you’re here for,” Layla said. “You tell us what you need, and I’ll make the list. Then I’ll get on the phone to see what I can find.”

  Emma shook her head. “How about you make the list, and I’ll make phone calls?” she said. “If we rely on you we’re liable to wind up with an ice cream maker instead of an ice maker.”

  Layla gave her a blank look. “There’s a difference?”

  “Lord save me,” Emma muttered. “Come on, let’s start the tour of horrors.”

  Layla hesitated for a moment, biting her lip.

  “What?” Emma asked. “You’re not scared, are you?”

  She shifted on her feet. “No, it’s just that I can’t stay. My grandmother has an appointment with her cardiologist this morning. Mom and I trade off going. Gran refuses to have both of us hovering over her.”

  Layla was abandoning her on her first day. Emma bit back disappointment. She’d been looking forward to catching up with her friend. She wanted to know more about the mysterious Grayson Kendall, and the even more curious Beth McCarthy. Still, Dr. McCarthy’s health certainly came first, and it wasn’t like Layla would be much help anyway.

  “Go take care of your grandmother then,” Emma said. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “Oh, I’m not abandoning you completely,” Layla said. “My mom is all set to help.”

  Beth McCarthy held up a notepad and pen. “I’m ready to serve, Chef.”

  No wonder Layla looked so nervous. She was sticking Emma with the mystery mother. Of course, she had no choice but to agree to the setup. Layla had already made it crystal clear that Emma must accept Beth McCarthy or look for a new job.

  Emma chose the job.

  “Sounds good to me,” Emma said through gritted teeth.

  Layla beamed. “Excellent. I’ll see you all later.”

  Emma turned back to her new assistant while the door was still swinging. “I supposed we should get started.”

  Beth gave a little salute with her notebook. “Lead on, Chef. I promise not to touch anything.”

  “You’re that bad in the kitchen?”

  Beth’s green eyes sparkled with mischief, making her look younger, and closer to the image in the pictures that had once been scattered around Layla’s house. “It’s one of my many and varied faults, Chef.”

  “Just Emma will do.” Emma’s mouth twitched with the desire to laugh, but she held back. She wasn’t sure she was ready to find anything about Beth McCarthy amusing quite yet.

  “And I’m Beth.” The twinkle in her eyes dimmed, as she grew more earnest. “I realize my presence here is a bit awkward for you.”

  “My whole life is awkward lately so what’s one more thing?” Emma said, with a shrug.

  Beth tilted her head. “Things aren’t going well at home?”

  The last thing Emma wanted to discuss was the state of her home life. “We should start the inspection or we’ll never finish.”

  Beth splayed her hands wide and bowed her head. “Right. Where to first?”

  The range along the back wall might have been used in a log cabin before electricity became a thing. Certainly, it looked to be original, which meant Aunt Grace had likely eaten dinners prepared on it. Emma didn’t dare turn it on for fear of catching the whole place on fire.

  “This will need to be replaced,” Emma said. “I’d recommend one of the combination ranges that comes with gas burners, a griddle, char broiler and a fryer. They also come with attached convection ovens, which might be best for this space.”

  “Uh huh…that sounds about right,” Beth said as she scribbled in the notebook.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Stop me if I go too fast.”

  Beth looked up from the page, a grin tugging at her mouth. “I know you’re speaking English, but you lost me right after combination ranges. Don’t worry though, I wrote everything down, and I’m sure you will understand what you want.”

  “How limited are your cooking skills?”

  “I’m a whiz with the microwave…usually.”

  “You’ve got a young son, right? How do you make meals for him?”

  “I had a wonderful neighbor, Aunt D,” Beth said immediately. “She loved to cook. Now, Aunt Grace is having fun trying to keep up with the appetite of a growing boy.”

  “So you had him before you got sick?” She almost bit her tongue off for asking. Beth McCarthy’s life was none of her business, and Layla wouldn’t appreciate Emma’s probing.

  Beth didn’t seem upset in the least, though. “Josh was my first wake up call. He made me finally grow up and face the utter mess I’d made of my life. Cancer sort of sealed the deal. It’s impossible to face the prospect of imminent death without taking stock of your life. I made a vow to myself that if I beat my disease, I’d come back and face everyone I’d left behind.”

  She spoke with such calm assurance. Emma couldn’t fathom having that kind of peace, especially if it meant facing the people she’d disappointed. “I can’t imagine it was easy to come back here.”

  “I think it was scarier than dealing with cancer,” Beth said. “I’d left a lot of damage in my wake. My mother and daughter both suffered because of me. I always felt like a disappointment to my mother. I didn’t fit in her life. She was this groundbreaking surgeon, and I was just her very pretty daughter.”

  “And I was just the daughter from his other life,” Emma muttered.

  Emma had never felt as if she belonged in her father’s new family. The distance – plus her resentment and anger – had yielded a lifetime of estrangement.

  Beth wrinkled her nose in a gesture so reminiscent of Layla that Emma started.

  “What?” Beth asked.

  “The thing you do with your nose,” Emma said. “Layla makes that same gesture all the time. I forget how much you two look alike.”

  Beth chuckled a little. “I forget, too, sometimes. I remember when I had beautiful hair and a body that made other women jealous. I don’t think anyone would feel threatened by me now.”

  Somehow, Emma doubted the claim. Beth McCarthy might not have the same physical appearance, but there was something entrancing about her. Perhaps it was her genuine openness and the complete lack of vanity. Emma was starting to understand why Layla had eventually learned to forgive her mother.

  “I’m just grateful that I got the chance to make things right with my mother and Layla,” Beth said. “It’s been the greatest blessing of my life to rid myself of the guilt.”

  A feeling Emma would never experience. Her father was gone, and it was too late to beg for his forgiveness now. Too late to heal the broken limbs in her family tree.

  Chapter 11

  Emma had been wrong about the number of items needed to turn the kitchen into a functioning space. It had taken a week to complete the list. She’d spent another week searching online and making phone calls for equipment. The cost of outfitting a commercial kitchen was steep, but to her credit, Layla hadn’t balked at the price. Sure, her skin had become pasty for a while, but she hadn’t passed out. She’d even come up with a probable solution. A restaurant in Sarasota was closing down, and the owners were selling everything. There was a better than even chance Emma would be able to negotiate a great price for nearly everything she needed.

  So, the Wednesday after Labor Day, Emma and Layla set out on their own road trip.

  “I want you to know that I am ever so grateful that you stuck me with your mother this week,”
Emma said, as she slipped into the passenger seat of Layla’s car.

  During Emma’s quest to develop her master list, Beth McCarthy had become something of a personal assistant-slash-shadow. She was cheerful, helpful, insightful, and all around delightful. She also had the air of a Tibetan Monk, which made it uncomfortable to be around her. Emma wasn’t ready to delve into her psyche.

  Layla’s head whipped around as she started the car. “I didn’t stick you with her. I gave you a capable assistant.”

  “An assistant who is some sort of Zen Master,” Emma retorted. “I feel like I’m stuck in an ongoing therapy session. I come to The Paradise to get away from my problems, not rehash them endlessly.”

  Layla rolled her eyes as she backed out of the space. “Be grateful I didn’t pair you with Noah Johnson. That one has a way of seeing right into your soul. I’m still not convinced he’s human.”

  Emma tended to agree. Her dealings with the carpenter/set designer had been minimal, and that was partly by design. Noah Johnson seemed to have an uncanny ability to read minds. “Do you think he’s an alien? A supreme being with sophisticated intelligence?”

  Layla pulled onto the highway. “I’m still going with angel, although Noah denies it.”

  “Would an angel admit he is one?” Emma posed as the flat landscape rolled by. “And why would an angel decide to hide out in Shellwater Key of all places? There has to be other towns or big cities in greater need of help.”

  “I don’t know about that, the misfits of The Paradise are pretty messed up,” Layla said with a wry chuckle. “At least, I used to be. You are one huge ball of neuroses, however.”

  Emma folded her arms and shot her friend an accusing look. “So, you are admitting that you stuck me with your mother on purpose. Do you think I need to be fixed?”

  Layla glanced over from the corner of her eye. “I think you need someone to talk to, and sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger. Are you able to share your true feelings about your sisters with your mother? Or your hot lawyer friend?”

  “He’s not my friend,” Emma said, wishing Layla had picked any other topic. Her feelings for Reece Casings might be even more complicated than the ones she had for Imogene and Paige.