Chapter 24
I n the end, Caldwell’s husband, Mitch, agreed to meet them at the church. And as long as he was satisfied that Leo and Esther were a proper couple, with a proper commitment to the vow they were about to undertake, he agreed to perform the ceremony. After a five-minute conversation, in which they distilled their lengthy and complex history, he happily agreed to marry them. Celeste stood as witness for Esther, and Sam stood as witness for Leo, a fact which amused them all, given how much of Leo’s life had been spent tracking terrorists, many of whom had worked directly with Sam.
It was so late by the time the ceremony was over that the diner was closed. Esther insisted on stopping by the market to pick up ingredients so she could make supper, despite Celeste’s attempts to deter her.
“Let her do it, she likes it,” Leo said, and that was how Celeste ended up sitting ringside while a bride prepared her own wedding feast of the best chicken salad Celeste had ever eaten.
“So you really just cook the chicken, cut it up, and add a few other ingredients,” Celeste said, awed. Esther didn’t use a recipe, of course, so Celeste was writing down everything she said, a mishmash of shorthand with things like “probably a teaspoon of salt. Pepper if you want it, Leo doesn’t like it.”
“What did you think went into it?” Esther asked.
“Magic beans,” Celeste said. “I’ve honestly never seen a real person cook anything before. I’ve watched shows on TV, but the food is already prepped and then after they come back from commercial, it’s all ready, thereby furthering the illusion that it’s been done by secretive gnomes when no one was looking.”
“It’s very simple,” Esther assured her. “And usually the simplest food is best. A pot roast is literally a piece of meat in a pot with some salt on it, cooked until it’s tender. Mashed potatoes are boiled potatoes with salt, milk, and butter mixed in.”
“But how many potatoes? How much milk and butter? How do you know when they’re tender?”
“You’re overthinking it. Relax, trust your instincts.”
“I have no instincts.”
“You do because you know what tastes good, right?”
Celeste nodded.
“Then start there. Make a list of foods you like and practice making them until they taste right.”
“What if they’re garbage?” Celeste asked.
“Then get new ingredients and start again, taking care not to duplicate whatever you did wrong. Look at this chicken.” She stepped aside so Celeste could see the breasts she’d taken out of the oven. “This is what it looks like when it’s no longer raw. You have to check it near the end because overcooked chicken is awful. But so is raw chicken. It should look like this, with some juices still flowing. That’s how you know it’s going to be good.”
Celeste nodded, jotting notes like she was about to be graded. That was how she always felt, she realized, as if she was about to take a test for which she was wholly unprepared.
Leo was taking a shower and Sam sat at the table, head resting on his arm as he watched Celeste and Esther. During a lull while Esther shredded chicken, he caught Celeste’s eye and crooked his finger, drawing her over. When she was close enough, he pulled her into his lap and gave her a squeeze.
“I think you’re pretty cute,” he whispered.
“Have I been downgraded again?” she asked, resting her head on his chest. She tried to ignore how good it felt, this unexpected sense of belonging she felt with him.
“No, it’s an additional layer, cute on top of adorable. If you add one more, you’ll go atomic and be able to make people explode with the power of exponential cuteness.”
“Wow, you’re like a nuclear physicist or something.”
“Nah, I’m just an everyday guy who loves bombs enough to sell them to men trying to take over the world,” he said.
“Sort of an unsung hero,” she said.
“They’ll probably make a Marvel movie about me,” he agreed. “What with my tragic backstory.”
“But what is your super power?” she tilted her head to stare up at him.
“The ability to keep starting over. When we moved from Jordan to the US when I was ten, I thought that would be the only time. And then my parents died and I moved to Saudi Arabia to join my uncles, I thought that was it. Then my uncles were arrested and I became a spy, that really seemed like the end because I thought I would be killed. But everything changed again, and here I am in Montana. And I don’t know, Celeste, this time is turning out to be pretty good. Maybe the best. Might be a keeper. What do you think?”
He looked handsome and earnest as he stared down at her, but Celeste had no reply. How could she? Less than two hours ago she learned both her parents were dead and her reaction had been to plan an impromptu wedding. She was badly broken, completely in tatters, didn’t even know how chicken got to the table. What could she possibly offer this man whose own life was so painful she somehow looked like a solution?
“It smells so good in here. I’m starving,” Leo announced cheerfully from the doorway.
“You’re always starving,” Esther said, but affectionately.
“And you always feed me,” Leo said, easing close to hug her from behind. The sweet action reminded Celeste it was their wedding night and they were about to eat supper with strangers. She jumped up and began pulling out dishes while Esther arranged their food and Leo poured everyone’s drink.
The meal was cozy and warm and affectionate. It made the house feel the way Celeste had always wanted things to feel—alive, peaceful, loving, and fun. She avoided Sam’s eye the remainder of the evening, but she felt him watching her. And his words kept a continuous echo through her brain. This time is turning out to be pretty good. No matter how many times she kept shoving them away, they circled back around. She wanted nothing more than to escape to her room, this time with her journal, but she couldn’t allow Esther to clean the kitchen on top of everything else. She volunteered, and this time Esther and Leo were happy to make their escape together, holding hands and trying not to sprint in order to cocoon themselves in the privacy of their room.
Celeste watched them go with a fond smile.
“You look happy,” Sam noted, reminding her he’d stayed behind and still needed to be dealt with.
“They’re sweet,” she said.
“Why are you so afraid of me?”
She tensed, almost dropping a slippery glass. “I’m not.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
“I’m an excellent liar.”
“You can tell me why you’re so bunched up inside. Was it the job? Did something happen? Is that why you retired so early?”
“I can’t talk about my job,” she said.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
He came to stand beside her and picked up a dishtowel.
“You can’t dry dishes with one good arm,” she said.
“I know, but I hate feeling useless.” He tossed the towel onto the counter with a frustrated sigh. “Celeste, I’m thirty two years old, and I’ve only ever had one girlfriend. There have been other offers, other opportunities, but I haven’t wanted any of them because the possibility was never there, the indefinable connection. I feel it with you, that potential for something more. But I need something from you, anything. Some assurance that I’m not hanging on this thread alone.”
She pulled her hands out of the water and faced him. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”
“You could start by telling me that maybe you feel it too, this pull between us. That it’s not all in my head.”
She gripped his shirt in both her hands, feeling relieved. The now was easy to handle. It was everything before and after that terrified her. “Of course I feel it. I felt it that first moment I walked into the kitchen. Bad guys aren’t supposed to be boyishly cute. It’s very confusing.”
“I’m a reformed bad boy,” he reminded her, kissing the tip of her nose.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “As for the other stuff, I don’t have a lot to offer.”
“That’s not true. You have everything to offer,” he said.
That’s because you can’t see inside me. You don’t know about my past. Instead of saying any of that, she hugged him. Her ear pressed over his heart, comforted by its steady thump. He hugged her in return, as best he could with his injured shoulder. His head nestled against hers and it was so perfect, so right. If only they could freeze time and not have to worry about the future or the past.
“My trees are alive,” she murmured.
“My heart’s like a turnip,” he returned.
She snorted a laugh. “What?”
“I don’t know, I thought we were using garden euphemisms. What are you talking about?”
She eased back so she could see his face. “Esther said the fruit trees are alive. If I can figure out how to take care of them, I think I could grow apples again. This could be an actual working orchard.”
His jaw dropped. “That’s spectacular. Isn’t it? You don’t look happy. I thought you’d be happy.”
“I’m too overwhelmed and terrified to be happy,” she explained.
“It’s going to be okay,” he declared.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Because it’s my super power, starting over. Starting over doesn’t get much bigger than spring renewal and growing new fruit from once dead trees. Also it turns out I’m deep now, since arriving in Montana. Got to start writing this stuff down for my memoirs. How do you spell unfathomable greatness?”
“E-g-o,” she said.
“You can’t trick me. That’s eggo,” he said and Celeste collapsed against his chest in a fit of giggles. On the day she found out both her parents were dead, it wasn’t how she expected to end the evening. But as Sam waited for her to turn out the lights, walked her to her door, and kissed her goodnight, she didn’t think about her parents or her journal or anything but the warm feeling of contentment spreading through her chest.
And for the first time in forever she fell asleep without journaling, snuggling beneath the covers warm and happy, a slight smile on her face.