Chapter 20
“ C eleste, hi!” Avery called as soon as they stepped into the diner. Today she held a different baby on her hip. “Sit wherever, we’re strangely un-busy at the moment.”
Celeste and Sam chose a booth near the back. She situated herself so she could see the door, still edgy over the uncomfortable encounter.
“What’s good here?” Sam asked, studying his menu.
“I’d go with the beef,” Celeste suggested, not bothering to glance down.
“Which one? Most of the menu is beef,” Sam said.
“I don’t think it matters,” Celeste returned.
Avery arrived with their waters, which she was somehow able to carry with one hand.
“Do you keep a supply of babies readily on hand?” Celeste asked.
“I wish, but no. This one’s mine. The best perk of a family business is that I get to bring my family along,” Avery said, kissing the top of the baby’s head. “As we speak, my three year old is grilling burgers.”
Celeste laughed. “Quite a talented lineup you have there.”
Avery smiled and bestowed her attention on Sam. “You must be the boyfriend I’ve heard so much about.”
Sam looked quizzically at Celeste.
“Not from her,” Avery clarified. “No less than eight different customers in the last hour dropped by to give me the particulars. If the rumors are to be believed, you run a rug import business and have bought the ring but aren’t certain you’re ready to propose. This trip will be the bellwether.”
“It depends on how many rugs she buys,” Sam said.
Avery laughed and her baby waved its arms in delight, squealing as it reached for the string of her apron to chew. “Do you two know what you want or will you need more time?”
“We’ll have the beef,” Celeste said, gathering their menus.
“Which one?” Avery asked.
“Surprise us.”
“Tongue and liver it is then,” Avery said, tossing them a mischievous wink as she took the menus and turned away.
“It smells amazing in here,” Sam said, inhaling deeply.
“It is amazing, or at least what I had the other night was.” She stared toward the back, wondering how the magic happened. How were people able to cook things and have them taste delicious? Celeste hadn’t had a lot of time to cook between world travels, but everything she’d ever attempted ended in flaming failure.
“Where’d you go?” Sam asked, stroking a gentle finger down the back of her hand.
“Hmm?” she said, shifting her focus to him.
“Just then, you looked so sad.”
“I was thinking I’m not a good cook,” she said.
“There’s plenty of time to learn.”
“I don’t think it’s my forte,” she said. She’d bought cookbooks. It was like reading Greek, only worse because it seemed like something she should be able to understand. But all the books assumed one began with a base layer of knowledge. Celeste had nothing. Not one foster parent had ever taken her into the kitchen and showed her what a measuring cup was or how to chop something, likely because they didn’t know. With few exceptions, she’d existed on a lifetime supply of convenience and takeout food.
“You seem like the kind of person who would be good at it,” Sam said.
Her eyes flicked up, meeting his. “I do? Why?”
“You’re thoughtful, purposeful, careful. Soulful .”
She felt herself blushing again and tried unsuccessfully to push it back. But no man had ever said those kinds of things to her before, had never made commentary on more than her looks. You’re hot , only seemed like a compliment until around age fifteen. After that she’d longed for more and never received it. Until now.
“How does any of that translate to good cooking?”
“Good people make good food. Everyone knows that. It’s science,” Sam said, nodding at the profundity of his own statement.
She laughed, feeling light and buoyant. “Then why can’t I cook?”
“I’m guessing because no one ever taught you how.”
Her amusement slid to suspicion. “How did you know that?”
“Because you don’t know how to cook?” he said, sounding confused. “I don’t think cooking is an innate skill. No one arrives into the world with a chef’s knife, thankfully for women everywhere. It’s learned, passed down through generations.”
“Yes,” Celeste said slowly, sadly. Everything came back to that, her feral upbringing, the one that left her with nothing—untaught, untrained, alone.
“But it’s not too late. Find someone to teach you. Avery, perhaps.”
“She seems to have her hands full,” Celeste said as they turned to watch Avery, bending at the waist to blow raspberries on her baby’s neck. It was a poignant sight, the kind that should be captured in sculpture somewhere as the baby squealed and Avery beamed, happiness shooting out of her smile like lasers. Sam seemed equally somber and she wondered if the vision of Avery and her baby made him miss his own beloved mother. It was strange how they were both yearning for the same thing—a loving mother—though he’d had it and she never had. That was perhaps one of the most painful things Celeste was learning, that it was possible to grieve for things she’d never had. She began to fear the voids inside her might never be filled, that the aching chasm of longing for the life she might have had would go on forever.
“You should have a baby,” Sam declared, startling her so badly she choked on air and had to take a few gulps of water before she could speak.
“What? Why would you say that?”
“Because you would be a good mother,” Sam said.
Celeste shook her head at him. “I would be a terrible mother.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“Of course I would. I have no idea what to do with children, none whatsoever.”
“So? You learn. Just because you don’t know how doesn’t mean you’ll never learn. This defeatist attitude does not become you. You are Celeste fill in your last name. You worked for The Colonel doing fill in whatever you did. You can do fill in whatever it is you want to do.”
“Wow, good pep talk. I feel very fill in unidentified emotion.”
“Inspired. You feel inspired , Celeste,” Sam said, touching his finger to her hand again.
“I might feel that way, if I had any idea what should fill in the blank at the end.”
“Fill in the other blanks for me. I’ll help you decide,” Sam said.
She shook her head.
He slipped his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. “Start small. What is your last name?”
“Smith.”
He tossed her hand away. “You’re lying.”
“I am not. That’s my actual last name.”
“I’m not certain I believe you, but you have a nice hand, so I’m willing to keep holding it,” he said, sneaking back to pick up her fingers and caress them.
“I’d like to see a Venn diagram of the things you say and the things serial killers say because I think there’s probably a lot of overlap,” Celeste said.
“Tell me what you did for The Colonel, and I’ll help you make one,” Sam offered.
She shook her head.
He stared at her in frowning frustration. “Your skin is perfect.”
“That’s going on the diagram,” she told him and Avery arrived with their food.
A s they left the diner, someone else called Celeste’s name. She turned in time to see Maybe begin to dart across the road, right in front of a pickup truck. Before she could be flattened, a cowboy darted after her, picking her up around the waist and sweeping her out of harm’s way.
“Maybe, there is some occasional traffic here. Woman, you have to look,” the cowboy said, setting her down. “Dadgum, blasted…” he might have continued, but Maybe mashed her palm over his mouth, cutting off the flow of angry words.
“They should know to look out for me by now,” Maybe replied, though she did check both ways before crossing this time, the cowboy in her wake with a grumpy expression. “Hi,” she said again, waving frantically to Celeste as though they were at a great distance and not right next to each other.
“Hi,” Celeste said, returning her wave with a weak flutter.
“I finished the list,” Maybe said.
“The list?” Celeste asked, her eyes flicking automatically to the cowboy in question. He shrugged, so obviously he wasn’t in on it.
“ The LIST. Black teeth. Eligible cowboys. Although it looks like it might be a bit late for that.” She smiled up at Sam and held out her hand. “Maybe Montgomery.”
“Sam,” he said, shaking her hand with a charming smile. He gave off such a little boy cuteness in that moment that it was nearly impossible to reconcile him with the man who’d coldly threatened a beefy cowboy only a short while ago. He took Celeste’s hand and gave it a squeeze, making her realize she was wordlessly staring at him as she tried to puzzle the two sides of him.
“Sam and Celeste. That’s adorable,” Maybe declared. She rested her hand on the cowboy’s bicep, bringing him into the conversation. “This is my husband, Baird. He provides the sanity, I have pizzazz.”
“She has it in spades,” Baird affirmed, shaking both their hands. “Welcome to Paradise. I’ve heard a lot about you both.”
“Would you like to buy a rug?” Sam asked and Baird blinked at him, a deer in salesman headlights. “Joking,” Sam said.
Baird gave a relieved chuckle. “I didn’t think that particular rumor was true, but sometimes Paradise’s rumor mill is eerily prescient.”
“Did you come to help Celeste restart the orchard?” Maybe asked hopefully, clutching her hands together under her chin.
“Did I?” Sam asked, facing Celeste.
“That seems an insurmountable task at the moment,” Celeste replied, fighting a climbing rise of panic. It felt as though the entire town of Paradise was counting on her to revive an orchard when she had never seen an apple not in sauce form until she was in basic.
“We’ll think about it,” Sam promised, smiling at her when Celeste tossed him a frantic look.
“My son, Jack, is coming home in a couple of days. Guess what he does,” Maybe said.
“Poison snake milker,” Sam said, causing Celeste to dart him a look again. “What? She said to guess.”
“That would certainly make for more interesting party conversation, but no. He’s a mechanic,” Maybe said in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Congratulations?” Celeste tried, not certain what the announcement had to do with her.
“He can take a look at your machinery,” Maybe said, clapping her hands together a few times in delight.
“Oh, I don’t want to bother him,” Celeste said.
“I think he would love it. He enjoys a challenge,” Maybe said. “I’ll send him out sometime, after he gets home. He’ll be in town for a couple of months and is sure to be a bit bored, back with his parents after living the high life in LA.”
“Awesome,” Sam said, saving Celeste a reply, which was good because she had no idea what one should be. It felt like too much to have a strange boy promised to look at her decrepit machines and try to make them work again. If he could do so, it might change her entire world. Was she ready for that?
“It’s settled then,” Baird said. “In the meantime, you should come out for a meal sometime. Maybe’s too modest to tell you she’s the best cook around.”
“I wouldn’t say that because it’s not true,” Maybe said, but she flushed pleasantly at the compliment. Celeste was glad to see other women had the same embarrassing reaction to nice words sometimes.
“We would love that,” Sam said and Celeste had to tamp down the urge to shoot him another exasperated glare. Why was he speaking for them as if they were actually a couple? Was he that good of an actor or was he that desperate for social interaction with the townsfolk? Maybe both things.
They said goodbye to Maybe and Baird, but before they could get in the car, someone else waylaid them.
“Celeste, wait.”
“Not this guy again,” Celeste muttered, bracing herself for another flow of crazy as she turned and forced a smile for Fletcher Reed, the town Boo Radley.
He was a bit breathless when he finally reached her. He bent over, pressing a hand to his side. “Oh, man. Going to fire my trainer. That fetal monkey growth hormone he injected into me was totally worthless.” He held up a finger. Celeste tossed Sam a pleading look, but he didn’t catch it because he was smiling at Fletcher like he found his shtick adorable and not certifiable.
“Okay,” Fletcher said at last, taking a deep breath as he finally stood upright. “So I was thinking about your orchard.”
“Please don’t,” Celeste blurted. The last thing she needed in her life was another delusional man roaming her property. “That is, please don’t concern yourself on my behalf.”
“It’s no trouble, especially because I think I found a solution.”
“Which is…” she prompted when he remained staring at her with a Cheshire grin, as if she should be able to plumb the depths of his unfathomable brain.
“Jack!” he waved both hands in the air, a jazz hands finale. Celeste couldn’t stop herself from flinching away from him in terror, flattening her back against the SUV.
“Maybe’s son?”
His happy smile dimmed. “Oh, did Maybe already talk to you? I was hoping to impress you with my mechanic connection.”
“Well, I mean, he is her son,” Celeste said.
“Yeah, but mine too. I mean, basically. Almost. Soon. Probably. We think,” Fletcher said, nodding and tapping his temple.
Celeste’s hand began creeping toward her door, trying in vain to open it so she could flee. “Yeah, okay. Well, you take care then.”
“Wait, I wanted to ask you. Did you see Chloe the other night at the diner?”
“You mean the woman you kept frantically pointing to and mouthing, This is Chloe, that woman?”
He nodded, grinning again. “Well…”
“Uh…” Celeste darted a look at Sam who gave her a shrug. “She’s very beautiful.” She was beautiful, proving there was no accounting for taste sometimes. It was sad, really. Her life must be volatile in the extreme, married to someone as unstable as Fletcher apparently was. Not to mention the stigma over being married to the designated town crazy person.
“Yes,” Fletcher said impatiently. “Obviously. She’s gorgeous. But didn’t you notice anything else about her? Didn’t she look familiar somehow?”
“Uh…” Celeste glanced at Sam again, pleading for help. This time he mouthed, no idea, along with the shrug.
“I mean I guess maybe she looks a little like my former coworker’s roommate’s sister or something?” Celeste tried. Maybe he was one of those people who demanded an answer to every impossible question and would be happy, no matter how nonsensical it was. And when he threw back his head and laughed—hard—she thought that must be it.
“This is fantastic . Wait until I tell her. And Ira. He doesn’t believe me. You’ll have to tell him yourself.”
“Okay, Ira, sure, okay, yes,” Celeste said, nodding in agreement. Anything to keep him calm and happy. Her fingers finally found the door and she yanked it open. “Gotta go, bye.” She opened Sam’s door for him, tugging him hard when he was slow to sit down.
A few seconds later they were peeling away. Fletcher remained in their rearview mirror, smiling and waving cheerfully as they disappeared.