Chapter Twenty-One
One by one, the dinner-party pieces fall into place. Jess emails me to confirm that Mayor Bradley will be attending the party, I invite our vendors, RSVPs roll in—and still I haven’t told Marina that Jess and Solar Summit will be coming.
Which leaves today, the day before the dinner party.
Marina’s kitchen is filled with the sweet smell of butternut squash soup and spiced apple cider simmering on the stove.
Occasional floorboard creaks sound from the dining room as the electrician I hired, Stan, fixes the chandelier.
I’m slathering four chickens in an herby compound butter, and Marina, who I’d instructed not to lift a finger, is halving a mountain of brussels sprouts.
“How’s everything going with work?” I ask.
“Good,” Marina says. “It’s always hard shifting back into teacher mode at the end of the summer. But I’m in a good routine now.”
“Great,” I say. A good mood is a plus. She’ll be more receptive to the news. In theory.
“The cider smells amazing,” Marina says, peering over the bubbling pot on the stove. “I don’t know why I’m looking forward to tomorrow now.”
“Because I bake a mean apple galette and you know it.”
Marina laughs. “I know we went like a decade without talking, but I feel pretty confident that you have never baked an apple galette in your life.”
“Accurate,” I say with a grin.
“But I bet it’ll be delicious,” she replies. “As long as you don’t use Honey Mustard apples.”
“Well…” I wrinkle my nose. “Bertram did make us agree to come up with a recipe that uses them. We’ll be including the recipe in the festival promo materials. He sent over a case of Honey Mustard apples for us to experiment with.”
Marina grimaces. “You mean…” She points at the basket of apples on the kitchen island. “Those are his apples? And you’re using them in the dessert?”
I give a helpless shrug. “I have to come up with a recipe, and I have to make dessert for tomorrow. Two birds, one stone.” Seeing Marina’s dubious expression—and remembering the acrid flavor of the apples—I waver. “Maybe I’ll buy some Granny Smiths and save the experimenting for later.”
“For the love of god, please do that,” Marina says, making me laugh.
That’s when Stan pops his head in to tell us he has to replace the chandelier to stop the flickering light problem. “It’ll cost more,” he warns.
Marina turns to me uncertainly. I did say I’d cover the costs.
“No problem,” I say. I’m in too deep now. I can’t serve Mayor Bradley and our potential VIPs dinner under a creepy haunted-house flickering light. Marina gives me a smile of thanks and follows Stan into the dining room to select her new chandelier.
True, my credit card has been very tired since Ryser cut us off. But it will all be worth it once the dinner-party money comes in.
By early evening, we’re in a good place.
Stan has finished up and left, and the dining room is now filled with a warm, steady glow of soft light.
All the brussels sprouts are halved and ready to roast tomorrow.
The chickens, beautifully buttered, are prepped and in the fridge.
The butternut squash soup has been taken off the heat.
The Honey Mustard apples are…staring at me from the counter, waiting to be useful. I look away.
Marina and I decide to take a break to watch more Love Quest . We’ve been making our way through the second season in the last few weeks. While she prepares the TV, I pour out ladles of spiced apple cider for us to sample.
As I take my seat on the couch, I glance over at Marina. She’s in a good mood, her dining room is no longer haunted, she’s got a drink in hand. Maybe now is the moment, before the show starts.
“There’s something about the guest list I wanted to—”
Marina’s so quick to frown that I start to wonder if she’s psychic, until she says, “Do you hear that?”
“Well, I’m notoriously bad at hearing, so…no.” I stop and try to listen anyway. I don’t hear anything at first, until my ear picks up on something subtle and steady. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Marina walks through the kitchen into the dining room, me trailing after her. She cranes her neck upward and lets out a deep sigh. I follow her gaze to see a wet spot forming on the ceiling.
Trepidation snakes through me. “Oh, no. Did Stan bust a pipe or something?” She doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at the spot on the ceiling. “What should we do?” I ask.
“I–I don’t know,” she says, sounding flustered. “Jess always handled plumbing stuff.”
“Then let’s call Jess.”
Marina nods, still staring up at the spot.
“Marina?” I prompt.
She shakes herself out of it and picks up her phone. When Jess answers, she stammers out that the ceiling is leaking, listens, and sets her phone on the table. “Jess is coming over now,” Marina says, sounding like she’s in a daze. “I should get a pot, I think.”
“I’ll grab one,” I say quickly, wanting to feel like some semblance of useful.
In the kitchen, I rummage through her cabinet for a pot and scramble back to the dining room.
I set it on the table below the wet spot, which is slowly spreading larger on the ceiling.
“Is there anything else we should do?” I ask.
Marina shakes her head listlessly. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t expect her to fall into a stupor about this considering the state of the rest of her house, but I wonder if this is the final straw, one more unexpected inconvenience when she has so many to contend with already.
I want to apologize for making this happen, for pushing her into the dinner party, for picking Stan, whose rate was cheaper than the other electricians who popped up in my search.
And I want to tell her, before Jess arrives, that I’ve invited Jess and Solar Summit to this dinner party she didn’t want to throw.
But I don’t know how to say any of this when Marina is standing there blinking upward like the sky is falling. Because it sort of is.
The mood changes for the better when Jess arrives.
I’m starting to suspect Jess is a superhero.
They enter the house without knocking—they must still have a key—and immediately climb onto the dining table, producing a pocketknife from their key ring.
They stab into the wet spot in the drywall, and a small stream of water spills into the pot beneath it.
Jess cuts a hole into the drywall and pokes a finger on the pipe above it, inspecting something.
“You said an electrician was here?” they ask.
“Yeah,” Marina replies. “He was fixing the chandelier, and then he said he had to replace it.”
“Who was it?” Jess asks.
“Um,” I say. “A guy named Stan.”
“Sounds legit,” Jess says with a dry laugh. “He must have disturbed a pipe.” They climb down from the table and fold their knife. “It’s not too bad a leak, at least.” Water is steadily dripping into the pot still, but at a fairly slow pace.
Jess makes a call, squeezing Marina’s arm in a comforting gesture, and I watch the way Marina leans into them. “Good news,” Jess says when they get off the phone. “Plumber’s on his way now. Everything should be fixed before your dinner party tomorrow.”
Marina’s brow wrinkles. “How do you know about the dinner party? Oh, because of your job,” she says, answering her own question. “You invited Mayor Bradley through Jess, right?” Marina turns to me.
“Yes,” I say slowly, ignoring the suspicious look Jess gives me. “And because…I invited Jess.” When Marina’s eyebrows shoot up, I throw in, “I also invited Solar Summit.”
Marina’s eyes flash with anger. “You what ?”
“Only because I really felt like I had to,” I insist. “We need to tap into every resource we can. And Solar Summit wants to partner with us.”
“They also want to buy my house for their stupid resort,” Marina points out. “They’ll come in, take one look around, and when they see all of this”—she gestures around her, then at the hole in the ceiling—“they’ll find a way to use it against me.”
“No, they won’t,” I protest. “I promise. They’re just coming to support the festival.”
Marina harrumphs and crosses her arms. “If they say a single word about my house—”
“We’ll sic Stan on them,” Jess interrupts. “Give Stan an hour and a pair of pliers, and he could accidentally turn Solar Summit into a water park.”
Marina laughs despite herself. “Okay,” she agrees. “If Solar Summit tries to mess with me, they have to deal with Stan.”
“And me,” Jess adds.
They exchange a look so loaded with emotion I feel like I shouldn’t even be in the room.
“Thanks for coming,” Marina murmurs.
“Of course,” Jess says softly.
Marina pulls Jess into a hug, and I slowly back out of the room. I busy myself with washing dishes. As I scrub orange-colored residue off a pot, I vow not to put Marina through any more turmoil. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure tomorrow’s dinner party goes perfectly—and it will.
Just…with a hole in the ceiling.