13. Thirteen
Thirteen
BEN
L ena and I wake up together on Saturday morning for the first time in years. I like maneuvering around her in the closet and bathroom and using both sinks as we brush our teeth. Our master suite was designed for dual occupancy, not tiptoeing around each other at odd hours.
She meets Tessa and Mr. Wickers at the bakery early to review orders and provide instructions.
Her slow movements indicate her body aches today, and her hand is swollen like an engorged balloon about to burst. Soon, she’ll return home to take over Ruthie’s care while I handle the restaurant—an agreement I insisted on.
I don’t want her stressing her injury by doing too much.
I watch from the balcony with coffee as I review my day.
Employee meeting at six sharp.
Set up for the morning rush.
Leave mid-morning with Ruthie.
Set everything right.
Stepping into Lena’s life is like joining the circus trapeze team with zero knowledge of acrobatics. Or gravity. I ground her team with military precision that’s met with grudging acceptance.
My presence doesn’t allow for the restaurant’s usual welcoming banter and relaxed atmosphere. Even now, as I hand-wash my fiftieth china plate—another area of inefficiency—I glance through the serving window and find the dining room uncharacteristically subdued.
That’s acceptable as long as the work gets done. It’s a business. Not a social event.
My phone pings, announcing an update to Saddletree’s social media pages. Lena posted the light menu we agreed on and announced a temporary closure starting tomorrow. I feel better—she’s listening to me.
Trisha, May, and June work the front end efficiently, though I could do without May and June’s excessive chatter and occasional bickering.
I tell them this immediately. They don’t like it, but they stop. Trisha appears grateful.
I assign tasks to ensure their continued focus. This also appears to be a surprise. Again, Trisha seems grateful. I suspect that these jobs typically fall to her. The other two are inefficient and lazy.
Lena’s inability to find good help isn’t her fault. Food service is difficult to employ, and our distance puts us at a distinct disadvantage despite offering above-average pay—a problem that will be rectified if Alice Harvey succeeds in her fight to incorporate a bus route nearby.
Identify the problem. Solve the problem. Simple.
I concoct a plan as I wash dishes.
A teacup breaks when it slips from my hands and falls against another dish.
It’s my third casualty. Lena’s sentimentality in using her family’s old china is understandable but misguided.
She spends more time washing dishes than baking, which is a terrible business model.
Her baking makes the business—not her grandmother’s dishes.
I have two objectives today. First, I’ll prove to Lena that there are workable solutions to reduce her schedule and increase her efficiency. She should be baking and creating, not taking out the trash and washing china.
By accomplishing the first objective, I’ll achieve my second—restoring her faith in my commitment to her and Saddletree. I still can’t believe I compared it to a dog park.
This will make up for it. After today, everything will be better.
With the café handled and Trisha (and Mr. Wickers) in charge, Ruthie and I leave for phase two of my plan.
“Where are we going, Daddy?”
“To see an old friend.”
We travel downtown, and find Mr. Deakins loitering in the sheltered area of the Riverwalk downtown.
It’s almost September, but it still feels like summer, and the homeless and home-insecure residents do what they can to stay cool.
Mr. Deakins, a.k.a. Shakespeare, was homeless but now lives in a men’s boarding home.
He cleans, does odd jobs for the landlady, and entertains his housemates with nightly poetry readings and karaoke.
He still uses the cane Lena gave him—a wooden antique once used by her mom. It thuds against the boards of the pier as he approaches.
“Ah, Ben Wright, what a joy and a pleasure… and this little sweetheart, what a treasure. Where is the love of my life? Your one, your only, your sweet, sweet wife?”
“Home. Recovering. She was in a car accident.”
“Mr. Deakins, Mom broke her hand… on land… not near sand… and Candyland! Do you play?” Ruthie rattles off awkwardly. I admire her effort. It reminds me of the first time Lena met him and tried matching his rhymes, too.
Mr. Deakins laughs like she’s told the perfect joke. “I do… on occasion. But it’s been ages. Call me Shakespeare, if you please. And I’ll say bless you, if you sneeze.”
“Deal.” Ruthie extends her hand, and he shakes it. Then, she fake-sneezes to test him.
“Bless you! Do you need a tissue? I have one right here; it’s no issue.”
She giggles dramatically. Nothing makes sense.
“Mr. Deakins, I have a business proposal for you,” I say, ready for redirection.
“Oh, Ben Wright, you keep things real. Tell me about it, and let’s make a deal.”
I tell him my ideas, though his incessant rhyming is enough to make me reconsider it.
When we return to Saddletree a few hours later, it’s busy.
Scattered picnic blankets surround the pond.
People tour the overgrown garden with baskets to get what’s left of a dwindling crop.
A small, neon-clad bicycle group meets at the carport, prepping for a long country bike ride.
A line forms near the patio for the hayride, where Lena’s weekend help—two teenagers who take turns driving the old tractor—organize the next round of guests.
I park near the barn, and Mr. Deakins, driving the small cargo van I’ve rented, pulls in beside me. He and four others exit the vehicle. I give them their assignments.
Ruthie and I don’t find Lena upstairs. A quick text informs me that she’s with Dot and will return soon, which is ideal. My plan can take effect before she arrives.
I can’t wait for her to see.
Ruthie and I enjoy sandwiches and sodas on the café patio when Dot’s van appears. They park near my Jeep, and Ruthie calls them over as soon as they exit.
Lena looks nice. Her summery dress immediately catches a breeze when she walks our way, tickling something in my chest. She’s a beautiful woman.
It’s almost comical that she felt insecure meeting Lauren.
Perhaps by the world’s standards, Lauren is more traditionally beautiful, but I prefer Lena.
She doesn’t look salon-perfect most days (or any, for that matter), but I love her natural beauty.
The way her nose freckles in the sun, the varying shades of blond and light brown in her hair, the fact that she looks pretty much the same with or without makeup, and her gentle strength when she rides horses, mixes batter, rakes the garden, or picks up our daughter.
She is and always will be the sexiest woman I know.
I stand when she approaches, the patio chair scraping the concrete under me. She smirks when I lean in for a quick kiss. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yes.” I examine her braced arm—swollen and red. “Pain level?”
“High,” she admits, slinging her bag off her shoulder. “Forgot to take my pills.”
I open her bag so she can dig through it. A thick folder peeks from the top. She retrieves the pill vial and hands it to me—she can’t twist the lid one-handed.
Ruthie giggles when Dot steals half a sandwich from her plate.
I give Lena my chair and move another from an empty table.
It’s nearly three. Families spread over the acres like pegs on a map. Lena glances around, seemingly surprised that we’re out here, enjoying the day when she’d typically be working her ass off on a given Saturday.
She tosses back the pain pills with a swig of my drink. I push my plate toward her. “Eat something.”
Dot gives Lena an urging look.
“Um, I have news.” Lena sounds nervous.
Before she continues, the tractor rolls up the driveway. From the driver’s seat, Mr. Deakins waves his arm dramatically. “Alas, we reach our journey’s end. We started as strangers, and now, we’re friends.”
The full trailer behind him breaks into applause, as they’ve done for every ride since he took over the position. He removes his hat and bows.
“Holy shit! It’s Shakespeare!” Lena laughs. “What’s he doing here?”
“He calls it Poetry in Motion . I call it working .”
The delighted look on her face makes me swell with pride—I love that look.
Her head tilts as she grins at me. “What did you do?”
“I hired extra help for the day. Longer, if you approve. Mr. Deakins has agreed to be your new driver.” I motion to the small cargo van parked beside my Jeep.
“I rented a van for him. He has a clean driving record, and his landlord has agreed to allow it in her driveway. Four or five days a week, he could arrive in the morning with help and take over the hayrides and deliveries. I have one guy on dishes and cleaning tables. Others work the gardens, fields, and pens. After closing, he’ll drive everyone home.
They get reliable paychecks. You get the help you need if you agree. ”
She gawks as two men emerge from the garden carrying armfuls of weeds. In the distance, she spots another on the ATV, refilling the horses’ water troughs.
“If you like the idea, we’ll invest in a van.
The Harveys might be interested, too. People want to work.
This solves the problem of getting them here…
at least until we get a bus stop. I also assigned Trisha as the temporary dining room manager.
Your weekenders are helping Tessa and waiting tables—it’s a much better use for them.
May and June now have to compete for tips. ”
“Wow,” she breathes out, glancing from the fields to me and back again.
“This plan will significantly reduce your workload. You can absorb the costs by charging for hayrides or renting picnic blankets—things you should do already. I have other suggestions that’ll save you time and money… if you’d like to hear them.”
“Of course, I would. Ben, this is amazing. I can’t believe you did all this.”
Lena operates on a default to doing everything herself. I don’t blame her—I do, too. But if the last few days have taught us anything, we need each other. It feels good to see her faith in me restored. “I’ve also decided not to pursue the Riley Trust position.”
“What? Why?”
I shrug lightly. “Hobnobbing with rich socialites just isn’t me.”
She smirks. “What’s the real reason?”
“There’s too much history there, and I prefer the present.”
Her reaction confirms it’s the right decision. My pride surges with her incredible smile. It reminds me of the night I surprised her with fireworks after she’d had a rough day—she couldn’t believe someone would do something like that for her then, and she can’t believe it now.
I slip my hand over hers under the table, locking it securely over her soft fingers. It’s become automatic now, but fiddling with her fingertips reminds me of sliding the rings on her finger, making me grateful.
“Thank you, Ben. I’m sorry it took this to get me to listen.” She holds up her braced arm, wincing.
“It’s no trouble. I have other suggestions to make the next two months easier while you heal.”
Lena’s pinched brow quirks with a glance at Dot. “Um, I want to hear your ideas, but I’ve got it handled.”
“Handled? What does that mean?”
“Ruthie, come on. Let’s check out this poetic hayride, huh?” Dot stands and tugs at Ruthie’s sweater.
Lena watches them descend the patio, appearing more anxious the further they go. When her eyes finally find mine again, a forced smile emerges.
With a no-big-deal shrug, she announces, “Diamond Studios wants to film a movie here. I’m closing Saddletree for two months. I signed the deal an hour ago.”
She elaborates, but I fixate on two words— closing Saddletree .
Unease festers in my stomach and a headache twinges behind my eyes.
She explains all the positives in one long oration, the pros ramming uncomfortably against the bigger issue in my head, and try as I might, I can’t see them beyond the underlying problem.
Logic tells me that she did the same as me.
She identified the problem and solved it—simple.
But I didn’t make any overarching decisions without her—renting the van and hiring Mr. Deakins and his crew for the day were only meant to show her what she could do if she agreed to make it permanent.
The fact that she did this without even a heads-up blindsides me and worries me about our future. I feel excluded and hurt that she didn’t consult me before making such a drastic move. We used to make decisions like this together.
I can’t believe she did this.
Without me.
Even worse, she did it for me. It’s happening already, sacrificing Saddletree for me. Sacrificing herself for me.
“Ben?” she says finally, her voice shaky with anxiety. “Say something.”
“I can’t. Not now.” I get up and leave her at the table.