Chapter 10
Ten
On Sunday, Jonah glowered at the remaining piles of his dad’s stuff. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to waste his dwindling time with Rachel digging through this crap, searching for something that had probably been tossed or stolen or lost. If they hadn’t found a flash drive or financial records or anything remotely useful on the previous trip when they’d had all hands on deck, why should they expect to find something now?
Beyond all that, he could acknowledge, in the privacy of his own head, that he was anxious about what else he might find. The childhood memorabilia they’d uncovered that first day had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. It didn’t fit with the picture of the man he’d carried in his head all these years. Were there more pieces that didn’t fit? More evidence that would make him ask questions Lonnie was no longer here to answer?
Rachel’s hand settled on his shoulder. “I don’t think glaring is going to improve your X-ray vision.”
“Maybe I’m trying to incinerate it all with my eyes.”
“How’s that working for you?”
He grunted.
She only laughed. “C’mon. There’s not that much stuff left. If we push hard, I think we can get through the last of it today, and then it’s done.”
Except, if they didn’t find anything, would it be done? Did that mean there was nothing to find? If Xander had uncovered more leads to follow, he hadn’t shared, probably for fear that Jonah would interfere in his investigation. But if all the possible trails petered out, they’d be up shit creek. And who knew whether the person or people behind the vandalism and break-ins and Rachel’s attack would ever just cut their losses and give up?
Jonah didn’t want to live with that uncertainty, so he sucked it up and opened another box. Rachel did the same, and for a while, they worked in companionable silence. That was something he’d always liked about her. She was easy to be with, never pressing for needless conversation because she couldn’t handle quiet. Yet, she could just as easily talk with him for hours about anything and everything. It was a gift to be easy with both.
He checked the water reservoir of an ancient Mr. Coffee before adding the coffee maker to the donate pile and moving to the next box in the pile. On top was a manilla envelope full of photos. He slid them out, braced for… something. The sight of his mom’s smiling face was a bit of a sucker punch.
She was so young in this shot, no more than seventeen, with her arms around two guys of similar age. One was Lonnie, who’d had none of the hardness Jonah remembered of his father. He could see his high school self in the lanky frame he’d had before football and the Navy had bulked him up. The other guy was a stranger. With blue eyes and shaggy brown hair long enough to be pulled into a stubby tail, he looked like a young pirate, or maybe one of the Lost Boys from Peter Pan. Where Rebecca and Lonnie looked at the camera, this guy was looking at Rebecca, a half-smile on his lips.
Mixed in with several other group shots from some social function or other, there were more pictures of the three of them. Some of just Lonnie and the other guy. Some of Lonnie and his mom. The pictures chronicled what seemed to be a friendship between the three of them that spanned several years. The more he studied the other guy, the more Jonah felt a niggle that something about him seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place why. Maybe he knew the guy’s kid or something growing up. There were more pictures of just Rebecca that dated into their early marriage. In one she aimed that dazzling smile at the camera, her hand laid on a very pregnant belly. That would’ve been him in there, he realized.
How long after this photo had things started to devolve between his parents?
Knowing his mom might want to keep these, he set them in the keep pile and moved on to the next folder in the box. It was full of newspaper clippings. His instinct was to put it immediately in the toss pile, but he’d already discovered that Lonnie’s filing system was more like sweeping all papers from a flat surface into a single container. Or maybe that was just a result of his own hurried and apathetic packing. So he took the time to page through the contents of the folder.
He froze as he saw his sister’s face peering out from the article. It was a story from the local paper about some academic achievement or other when she was in middle school. Why had Lonnie cut it out and kept it? There were more articles. Stories chronicling Jonah’s high school football career. Graduation announcements for them both. Even some slightly blurry snapshots from each of their high school graduations, which, as far as Jonah knew, his father hadn’t attended.
“This makes no sense.”
Rachel abandoned her box and came to peer over his shoulder. As he continued to page through, her hand settled on his shoulder again, a quiet support.
“Why the hell would he keep all this shit? All this suggests that he gave a damn, at least on some level. But he walked away and made no effort to maintain a relationship with us. It doesn’t add up. Doesn’t fit with the man I remember.”
“What do you remember?”
Jonah tossed the folder aside and scrubbed both hands over his head as his temples began to throb. “He basically dropped out of our lives. Didn’t even fight for visitation or partial custody when Mom divorced him. Child support was spotty, and Mom didn’t think it was worth fighting about. She just wanted to be done, and I don’t blame her. He didn’t go so far as to run the other way when he saw us in town, but he simply wasn’t a part of our lives. Everything I saw him do was selfishly motivated. That’s part of why I went into the SEALs. I felt this need to do something to karmically balance him out. I wanted to do something honorable with my life.”
He dropped his hands. “Of course, that got blown all to hell. Literally.”
Rachel knelt in front of him, reaching up to massage his temples. “You’re still doing something honorable with your life, Jonah. You are an everyday hero. You take care of everybody and everything in your orbit. You gave Brax and Holt a purpose, a community they could become a part of. You turned an eyesore into something that’s a great addition to this town. You regularly help your family and your friends, putting everyone ahead of yourself. I know this isn’t what you expected out of your life. My life didn’t turn out the way I expected, either. But that doesn’t mean either of us is on a lesser path.”
Under her gentle ministrations, the pulsing in his head began to ease. “That’s better. Thanks.”
She brushed a kiss to his temple and moved back to her box.
Jonah watched her for a moment, debating whether to voice the question she’d opened the door to. “What did you expect out of your life?”
Methodically, she began to page through another folder of paperwork. “The things most people expect, I guess. Family. Children with the man I loved. That was really hard for me to let go of when he died.”
Jonah thought back to seeing her with Pru’s little girl the other day. She’d looked utterly natural and comfortable with a toddler on her hip, and it had been more than obvious she took joy in the child. It was easy to picture her with her own. Smiling and laughing as she instructed little hands in baking and decorating cookies or making salt dough ornaments for the Christmas tree. A live one. One of the firs that grew out on the mountain. They’d make strings of popcorn and construction paper chains, and he could lift the kid up to put the star on the top…
The sound of the screen door slapping cut through the fantasy that had taken root in his brain.
“Yoo-hoo! Y’all back here?”
What the actual hell is wrong with you, Ferguson?
Swallowing hard, he turned to face his mother. “What are you doing out here? I told you we had it handled.”
“Oh, psshh. I promised I’d still help, and what else did I have to do this afternoon? Looks like y’all have made another big dent.”
“We’re getting there. I found some pictures you may want.” Jonah jerked his head toward the tiny keep pile. “That envelope there.”
Dropping her purse, Rebecca picked up the envelope and slid out the contents. Her face immediately softened with nostalgia.
“Oh, wow. This was a long time ago.” She began to flip through the photos, her gaze lingering. Remembering when things were still good?
“Who’s that other guy in all those pictures with you and Dad?”
“That’s our friend Grey. He and your dad and I were like the Three Musketeers back in high school.”
“How come I’ve never heard anything about him?”
“Well, he left Eden’s Ridge not too long before Lonnie and I got married, and we all lost touch. I don’t know what happened to him.”
“Didn’t you ever try to stalk him on social media to see what he was up to?” Rachel asked.
Rebecca hesitated, regret clouding her gaze. “No. No, I didn’t. We had a big fight right before he left. I don’t think he’d have wanted to hear from me.” She twitched her shoulders. “It was a lifetime ago. We were all kids.”
How might her life have changed if she’d waited for someone better than his father? Jonah looked down at the folder of stuff he’d tossed to the floor, unable to hold back a question that had haunted him for years. “Mom, what did you see in Dad?” He lifted his gaze. “You’re awesome. He wasn’t. How the hell did you end up with someone like him?”
He cursed himself as pain flickered over her face.
“He wasn’t always like you remember. When we were young, he was fun and funny, and I thought we wanted the same things. We got married really young. Sometimes that works out. Sometimes it doesn’t. But I got you and Sam out of the deal, so I consider everything else absolutely worth it.”
Jonah felt like a slug for bringing it up.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. It was my choice. I don’t regret it. Now, have y’all found any evidence of his bookkeeping for the bar?”
“Not yet, but this might be something.” Rachel held out a stack of papers.
They both crossed to join her.
“They’re deposit slips for a bank in Johnson City. See? Here’s the account number.” She pointed to the bottom corner.
Jonah frowned, trying to think through the echos of the headache. “I don’t remember there being any mention of a bank account in Johnson City in any of his stuff that went through probate. The bar’s account was here in town. So were his personal accounts. He died unexpectedly, so his records weren’t what you could call organized. I guess it’s possible an account slipped through the cracks on that front. Or maybe they’re from an old account that he closed.”
“Or maybe he hid it deliberately,” Rebecca added. “If he was doing something shady involving blackmail or otherwise illegally obtained funds, I wouldn’t think he’d want to run that through his primary accounts.”
“That’s a completely fair point. Either way, we’ll have to go through the attorney who was executor to find out.”
“While you’re at it, maybe you could get copies of the old bank statements,” Rachel suggested. “Maybe we can reverse engineer his financials from that. It wouldn’t be perfect, but isn’t that what they’re all the time saying on cop shows on TV? Follow the money?”
“It’s better direction than we’ve had up to now. I’ll call him tomorrow. Meanwhile, let’s try to get through the rest of this crap. I want to be finished.”
“And here’s your change. Thanks for choosing Bad Boy Bakers.” Rachel handed over the bakery bag to the latest customer, automatically glancing at the pass-through when she heard the kitchen door open.
Jonah strode inside.
She tagged off with Holt and went to greet him. “Well? What did he say?”
“He’ll look into it. This one wasn’t on the list of accounts he dealt with as executor, so he’s going to find out whether there is an account, and get copies of the transactions for the year prior to Lonnie’s death if there is. It all means more waiting.” Everything in his posture was restless.
“I know you hate the waiting, but it’s a positive step.” Knowing he needed to do something productive, with visible results, she nodded to the rack of proofing baskets. “Meanwhile, the sourdough is about done with its latest proof and ready to go in.”
He jerked his head in a nod. “On it.”
They fell into a familiar rhythm, juggling customers and recipes and conversation. As the scent of baking bread filled the air, Jonah’s shoulders seemed to relax. He needed answers. Needed this situation to be resolved. But once it was, would it change things between them? If he was thinking about what came after this week, Rachel didn’t know and was terrified to ask, even if she was working on an option for how she could realistically stay.
Pru’s sisters had been extremely enthusiastic about the idea of potentially bringing her on, so Rachel had been pulling together a business proposal to give them some numbers. She needed more information from them, in terms of volume of their clientele, but the creative side of her brain was running wild, thinking of the presentation she wanted to give around the food. Showing everything she could do. Above and beyond the breakfast offerings, she was thinking about the sort of food she could put together for events. They didn’t do a lot of events, and she didn’t know why. The space was fantastic. Maybe it was a capacity thing? A staffing thing? She intended to ask during her trial run next week.
Hungry again, Rachel nabbed one of the fresh boules of sourdough and sliced off a heel. The warm, yeasty taste of it melted on her tongue, and she sighed with pleasure. “This would make a fantastic grilled cheese.”
Jonah perked up. “Mmm, that does sound good. You wanna whip some up for a mid-morning snack while I get the next round of loaves in the oven?”
“Sure. Holt, you want one?”
“Absolutely.”
While the boys shifted gears to replenish stock after the biggest of the breakfast rush, Rachel browsed the walk-in for cheeses. Opting for a mix of mild and sharp cheddar, she brought the lot of it back to her station and began to slice. The scent of grilling butter on bread began to fill the kitchen, making her mouth water. Their breakfast was hours ago.
The guys barely waited for the sandwiches to hit a plate before they were snatching them up and biting in.
“You’ll burn yourselves.”
There was a lot of hissing of breath to cool off the bites already in their mouths.
“Damn, this is tasty,” Jonah moaned. “Great call.”
Holt took another bite and hummed an agreement. “It’s a big step up from the white bread and American cheese ones I grew up on. Though I still have a fondness for those. So does Maddie.”
“Everybody loves a grilled cheese.” Rachel sampled her own sandwich, appreciating the way the sharp saltiness of the cheddar balanced with the sweet of the sourdough bread. As the flavors melded on her tongue, her brain began to spin. “I think we should try an experiment.”
“Thinking about a new recipe?” Jonah asked. “I volunteer as tribute for taste testing.”
She laughed. “No, I think we should test out a flash lunch special. A single sandwich option. Or maybe something with small variations like… one of these just like this, one with some apple or pear slices, and maybe one with bacon. We could post it on social media and see how many people show up.”
“Do we want to get into offering lunches?” Holt sounded skeptical.
“As a full-service restaurant, no. But having an extremely limited menu lunch special would be a way to get people in the door who might not otherwise show up. Folks who aren’t inclined or can’t show up for breakfast. There aren’t that many dining options in town. So I think people would be excited about something different. They’d come in, try the sandwich, and maybe pick up a cupcake or tart for dessert or a baguette to take home for dinner. It gets bodies through the door, which is the name of the game.”
Thinking through the whole thing, she nabbed a pencil and notepad, beginning to make notations and calculations about how many loaves of sourdough they had and how much cheese was on hand. She’d finished her own sandwich by the time she came up with a per-sandwich cost to produce. “This is how much you’d have in raw ingredients. You currently make this much profit selling the loaves on their own. Each loaf would get you four, maybe five, sandwiches, and you could toast the heels to make croutons, which would be another potential side item. There’s a higher profit margin in the actual sandwiches, depending on what you charge for them. And it means you’re less likely to have stock left over at the end of the day.”
In response to Holt’s questioning eyebrow, Jonah shrugged. “I mean, the worst that can happen is we sell three sandwiches and call it a failed experiment.”
“Let’s do it.”
While they settled on a price, Rachel made another grilled cheese to take photos of. Holt posted it to the bakery’s social media pages, along with an announcement about the lunch special of the day before the three of them devoured the sample.
“The word is out, so I guess we’ll see.”
What they saw a couple hours later was their first ever lunch rush. Holt was manning the range while Rachel and Jonah juggled orders and comments from customers.
“Oh my God, this is delicious.”
“Please do this again!”
“This is awesome!”
“Is this going to become a regular thing?”
Rachel grinned at Jonah’s flummoxed expression. “That’s still up for consideration. But please, tell everybody. The more people who show up, the more likely we are to do it again. Be sure to follow us on all our social media to see the announcements!”
Holt slid the next couple of sandwiches onto the ledge of the pass-through. “I’d say we have ourselves a successful experiment.”
“Yeah, you do!” Pleased with herself, Rachel swung toward the jingling bell of the front door. “Welcome to Bad Boy Bakers. What can we get you?”
An auburn-haired woman with a crown of daisies on her head peered around a massive bouquet, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. “I’m actually here to do a delivery, but can I get one of whatever smells so good?”
“That’ll be today’s lunch special. A grilled cheese on sourdough,” Holt answered from the kitchen.
“Sign me up. Meanwhile, you must be Rachel.”
She blinked. “I am.”
The woman extended the bouquet with a smile. “These are for you.”
“Oh. I—Thank you.” She took the vase, noting the gladiolus and forget-me-nots, among bold lilies and assorted greenery. Her throat went thick even before she pulled out the card and read the inscription.
To remembering all the good stuff. Happy anniversary. -Jonah
She’d known the date as soon as she woke up this morning. Her eleventh wedding anniversary. And it had felt incredibly weird to know that and be waking up beside someone else. To be happy with someone else. So she’d tried to put it out of her mind, not wanting to dwell on John when her time with Jonah might be drawing to an end. They hadn’t talked about what came after this week, once Mia and Brax were back. She hadn’t told him about her audition for a job at the inn next week. She’d been too afraid to rock the boat.
But he’d remembered what she’d said about wanting to remember with joy instead of sorrow, and he’d bought her flowers to do exactly that. He was a man who could help her celebrate her anniversary with another man and not be threatened that she’d had a full life and all those memories with him. How could he not be the right guy for her? How could this not be exactly where she was supposed to be?
Swamped with love and gratitude, she turned to find Jonah. His face was uncharacteristically blank, but she recognized his anxiety in the twitch of his hands. Needing to reassure him, wanting to thank him for making this so much easier on her, she closed the distance between them, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his in a kiss that had their lunch patrons cheering.
She dropped back to her feet in the circle of his arms. “Thank you.”
“Not too much?”
“It was perfect.”
And she was pretty sure he was, too.