17. Chloe
seventeen
“My parents said you’re coming. Plus, you have no excuse. Your restaurant is closed on Sundays. They’re expecting you.”
That was Haley, yesterday morning at Easy Monday. There was no mention of Justin, and his pub is open on Sundays.
Plus, why would they invite me if he’ll be there? He’s their son. They wouldn’t do that to him.
Ergo, Justin won’t be there.
The town is all decked out for July 4th celebrations as I drive through it—flags and banners and red-white-and-blue flower arrangements. I’m proud the restaurant will be part of the festivities. Corine and David worked extra to create small bites and fruit punches. Samuel won’t work it, but he’s stayed courteous through the tasting, not exactly partaking in it but not shooting it down either. Corine will come and prep on Monday. I”ll make it work with just Abby and Shoshana. It’ll help our bottom line and bring the restaurant back into the community.
Why wasn’t Uncle Kevin more invested in Emerald Creek? And why didn’t Aunt Dawn ever go to his restaurant? Surely she would have done something about it’s appearance. It’s a moot point now anyway. How well did I really know them? I spent a few summers with them, but that was a long time ago. Things change. Children’s perception of things are just that. Children’s perceptions.
I veer under North Bridge onto a long, bucolic country road which Haley said leads straight to the farm (‘You can’t miss it’), but first winds through a spectacular landscape of lush pastures and thick woods. A sign at the bottom of a hill indicates I am entering King Knoll Farm, but with no sign of a farmhouse, I keep going. Just one soft hill after another, the rocky road dipping under the canopy of trees, then hopping over brooks that bubble down to the Emerald Creek.
The peacefulness of it all calms my nerves. My windows are rolled down, the air playing with my hair, bees zipping in and out of the car.
This will be fine. Having Sunday dinner at Justin’s parents will be nothing. Correction. At Haley’s parents. And Justin will not be there.
After one last turn, I happen upon a vast clearing, in the distance, a massive red barn built alongside the slope of the hill. Pastures delineated by white fencing. Woods framing the whole. In the forefront, a large, white farmhouse surrounded by a wraparound porch. People standing on the porch, looking in the distance or chatting or lounging in one of several porch swings. Around the house, children running after one other, chickens flying away as they approach.
In front of the house, a variety of cars parked haphazardly.
And Moose, his tongue lolling out, ambling like a goof to greet me.
Shoot. Nope. I can’t do that.
Luckily, no one’s seen me—I don’t think—so I put the car in reverse and twist my neck around to see where I’m going.
Just as I think I can make my escape unnoticed, Craig King waves at me through the rear window, a big grin on his face. I hit the brakes.
“You’re fine right there, sweetheart,” he says as he walks up to my open window. “No one cares about parallel parking here.”
“Um… actually.” My eyes dart to Moose, dreading seeing Justin come for him. “Something came up, and I have to go. I’ll—I’ll call Mrs. King to apologize, but it’s rather urgent.” I lift my foot off the brake, giving Mr. King the hint, I hope.
He backs up with me, his hand on the window.
“This about my son?” he asks.
“Um…”
“Justin. Knucklehead. This about what he said to you?”
I feel heat running up my face. “I’m sorry, Mr. King. I didn’t—yes—no,” I shake my head. “I really should go,” I plead on a whisper.
“Craig,” he corrects me. “You’re gonna hurt Lynn’s feelings—Mrs. King. But if that’s what you want.” He lets go of the window and stares at me like he’s the one who’s hurt right now. “My son is really an idiot. The rest of the family, we’re okay. Why don’t you find out for yourself? It’s just us and a few close friends. I understand you’re close to Haley now. She’d like to have you. Poor girl has four brothers. You can imagine.”
I glance out my windshield. Haley’s infectious laughter trills all the way here. Two little girls chase each other. Moose sets his head on the car’s windowsill.
“Made a mean brisket,” he adds sweetly.
How bad can it be? I kill the engine, grab the dish I made, and breathe in—breathe out as I follow him.
I’m barely on the front porch when Haley takes my dish and brings it inside, Mrs. King greets me with a side hug and reminds me to call her Lynn, and Cassandra ambles to me, her blueish hair flowing around her, her mysterious smile comforting me. “Every Thursday we have Game Nights in the back of my boutique. You have to come. It’ll be so fun. We’ll find someone to come and help close the restaurant so you can bring all your girls too.”
My girls? Does she mean the women in my staff? “Where…?”
“Corine knows. Bring Shoshana and Abby too. Promise?”
What can I say? “Promise.”
Grace walks up to me, shoves a glass of lemonade in my hand, and introduces me to Emma, a young mother who’s the only CPA in town. I swap phone numbers with Emma, and she promises to come by the restaurant to sort things out during the week, when we’re closed.
“Enough talk about work,” Grace says. “Come, let’s grab food. Sides are in the kitchen, barbecue is outside.”
The farmhouse is stunning, with its wide floorboards, rehabbed fireplaces, and simple decor incorporating natural elements in an understated elegance.
We load our plates with sides in the kitchen. Grace takes a bite of the dish I brought—maple glazed veggies on a bed of herbed quinoa—and loads another side plate with just that, then we make our way outside through the back deck.
I tense as I see Justin manning the barbecue, stopping on the top step. His back is turned to us as he crouches to talk to a little girl, his muscles straining under the dark tee, the faded jeans. My heart flutters at the sight of him, then leaps when the little girl wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a kiss, then runs away.
Grace leans into me. “He makes the best barbecues,” she whispers.
Justin stands and turns, and our eyes meet. His body tenses, his lips straighten, his face shuts off.
He didn’t know I was coming.
And he does not want me here.
My stomach clenches, and I turn around and go back inside.
“You okay?” Haley asks. “You look like you need a real drink. Here,” she says, “Bees Knees.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve forgotten all about Justin. That’s because the girls commandeered the front porch, and me, Haley, Grace, Emma, Cassandra, Lynn, and girls I’m just meeting now—Willow and Thalia—are sharing Bees Knees, and Autumn is telling us about her latest dating disaster.
After that, we all help ourselves to sides in the kitchen, everyone but me goes to the barbecue station, then we convene around the long trestle table set outside. I find myself between Hunter and Logan, two of Justin and Haley’s brothers. They share the family’s fair complexion and easy-going attitude (that is, except for Justin, as my internal jury is still out on that), and I’m beginning to warm to their presence, their easy banter, to the point where I don’t forget Justin (how could I ever?), but I’m able to somewhat enjoy my time without wondering what to do with myself.
Until a distinct scent of spice and soap mixed with barbecue smoke fills my lungs, and a corded forearm with tattoos I’m intimately familiar with gently sets a plate of brisket in front of me. “You forgot this,” Justin says softly, then disappears and doesn’t come back to the table for a while.
And when he does, it’s with what’s left of my veggie and quinoa dish. “Anybody know who made that?” he asks. “And who wants more before I finish it?”
“Ohmygod, yes? That was the bomb,” Haley says, extending her plate.
“Mom? There’s only a bit left.”
“You go ahead, honey.”
“You sure? It’s… spectacular. Have you tried it?” Justin insists, my inside warming at his words.
“No.” His mother extends her plate. “Okay, just a bit, I’m really full.”
“It was yummy! I finished it aaaall,” a little boy declares from the kids’ table.
“Anybody else?” Justin looks comically worried that there won’t be any left for him, and I begin to feel heat creeping up my forehead.
“We’re too full,” several voices whine.
“We wouldn’t want to take any food from your mouth,” Hunter says. “You finish it.”
“I’m offering it to you, dummy. Did you even try it?”
“Nah, I’m good. Veggies…” He makes a face.
“Don’t know what you’re missing.” Justin slides three seats down and across from me, squeezing a stool between Haley and Cassandra. He chews slowly, eyes half-closed. “The vegetables are… they’re perfectly cooked yet not soggy. I wonder…”
A la minute seasoning. Draws out the excess moisture.
“And then they’re perfectly coated.”
Well duh, tossed them, didn’t drizzle them.
He continues, turning his forkful in front of his eyes. “And look at those colors! And the way the flavor just bursts in your mouth! It’s like walking in a vegetable garden and eating right there except there’s the caramelized taste…”
High-heat roasting. Best way to do it.
“Balsamic vinegar. They added balsamic to the glaze,” he says.
Balances out the sweetness of the maple syrup.
“And the coup de grace…”
Saffron.
“Get him his meds!” Logan jokes. “When he switches to French, he’s about to have a food seizure.” Laughter ripples around the table.
Justin closes his eyes, exhales through his nose. “What is it?”
Saffron!
“Turmeric,” Justin drops.
Oh no! Justin.
“Turmeric. Interesting. I’ll try that in my casseroles,” Lynn says.
“This isn’t just veggies. This is… poetry in the kitchen. This is love.” His eyes slice to Lynn. “Seriously, Mom, you made this. Come on, admit it.”
“I did not!” she shrieks and laughs at the same time.
“Jeez, Just’,” Hunter says. “Why do you get so bent out of shape over a dish?”
“Food is love, and I need to know who made that freaking amazing dish.”
I’m burning right now. I should have come out and told him right away. We wouldn’t be having this conversation at all. Now, by not saying anything, it’s pretty much the equivalent of lying. Thank god no one is paying me any attention.
Hunter rolls his eyes.
“How can you work on the farm and have that perception of food?” Justin asks his brother.
“He’s good with fences,” Craig tells Justin, and I feel Hunter tense next to me.
“Fences are important,” I whisper to him, hoping to help avoid a family-wide brawl that I feel responsible for creating. I don’t think he heard me, so I repeat, “No fence, no farm animals,” louder this time and of course, this happens right in a sudden beat of deadly silence.
“Well said,” Lynn says. “Thank you for keeping the peace among my boys. Sheesh! You should come more often.”
My eyes glide involuntarily to Justin. Our gazes cross for a split second, then he clears his throat and looks away as I stay frozen, his profile doing all sorts of funny things to my insides.
“So, Chloe,” Lynn adds, her tone suddenly serious. “How long will all this… take?” she asks, her fork twirling around the air like it’s supposed to indicate what “this” is.
“Um…sorry?”
“This closing down the business.” Conversations around us die down.
My head spins. What is she talking about? “Wh…?”
She leans over to make her point clearer. “Closing down Kevin’s Fine Dining. What does it entail? I’ve been wondering why they had to send someone to do it, instead of just, you know—putting a sign on the door, emptying the fridge, turning the lights off, and leaving the keys with Justin.”
Wh… what?
My gaze turns stupidly to Haley, who’s looking at her mom like she’s growing another head, then back to Lynn. Does she know something I should know?
Around the table, an embarrassed silence settles in. “Mom,” Justin growls, his eyes closed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
Yup. There’s definitely something I should know. Blood wooshes through my ears, and my vision narrows to my glass as I try and make sense of what she’s saying.
Lynn is still looking at me like she asked the most innocent question. I’m sure she has, in her mind. I just wish I’d been sent the memo.
I don’t want to look stupid. I don’t want to create a scene. I just wish this dinner could continue the way it started.
“Oh, yeah, yes-yes-yes, of course.” I nod and wipe my clean mouth. Take a drink of water. “Um,” I shake my head, “There’s still some loose ends and uh—” My cheeks burn. Ohmygod. Is he breaking the lease? What will happen to Aunt Dawn?
“The restaurant will participate in the fair,” Cassandra cuts in.
“Right, and next week we’ll be open on the Fourth, although it’s a Tuesday and until now the restaurant’s been closed on Tuesdays. Trying to make a little extra money.” I feel all my eyes on me when I continue rambling. “Anybody who wants to work a couple of hours instead of having fun on a holiday, just pop into the restaurant!” I force a laugh. “But basically yeah, you know,” I glance at Justin, who’s studiously avoiding my gaze by scraping off the rest of my veggie glaze with his fork, sticking, it seems, individual grains of quinoa to the back of it, “we’re in the ironing-out-details phase of it.”
“Interesting! So how are you going about it?”
“Um… well, we—um. It’s… lots of moving parts.”
“But what’s the target date?” Lynn turns to Justin. “Don’t you need a date?”
He clenches his jaw. “Nothing’s set in stone yet, Ma. We’re still just talking things out. You’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” he adds with a bite in his tone.
“Well, I’m just asking a perfectly valid qu—”
Craig sets a hand on his wife’s hand, a gesture that carries enough gentle force to make her stop talking and turn to him. “Honey,” he says. “He’ll figure it out. Like the kid says, you’re getting ahead of yourself, and you’re not helping.”
“Oh okay,” she says softly. “I was just asking because, you know, Justin needs… and um, I thought that’s why Chloe was here, to you know, iron things out like she said.”
My heart stammers and my throat tightens. Luckily people are politely avoiding looking at me, and the general conversation now moves on to Justin’s community dinners. I take a sip of water, then another, the voices around me fading.
Is Lynn just ill-informed? Is Aunt Dawn unaware of something? Or was she aware of the agreement to close down the restaurant, and she didn’t want to tell me? But then why bother? And surely I would have found something about it, some correspondence, emails, notes. Something.
I didn’t.
Who’s keeping what from me?
Just as my thoughts are taking a dark turn, I’m jostled back to the present by Craig’s question, “Why don’t we ask Chloe what she thinks?” and everyone falls silent as their eyes narrow in on me.