Greta #2
“To run away?” Greta finished the sentence for him. Now there were no secrets. Except for one. “Would you go with her?”
Oliver swallowed. The hesitation was all Greta needed. She crossed her arms against her ribs, holding herself together. “You should go with her.”
“What? But she hasn’t made up her mind yet.”
“What about your mind?” Greta exhaled, a fresh wave of hurt filling the space where foolish hope had just burned. Was it rage she was feeling? Yes, she decided.
“No, you don’t understand,” Oliver began. “She just needs to know I’m here for her.”
“That’s not the question, Oliver. The question is whether or not you want to be here for her.”
When he said nothing, Greta turned away.
A server came in, followed by another. The dessert course was over.
Servants passed in and out, carrying empty plates.
In and out, like the breaths Greta was straining to take.
She and Oliver were being swallowed by the rush of activity, like a tide, and Greta did not fight it. “I have to get back to work,” she said.
Later, when the dishwashers were humming and the dining room emptied and the last pots scrubbed, Oliver came back. He was holding the opossum. “Can you watch him for me? I don’t know yet how long for.”
Greta felt her mouth open and close. Then she felt her arms open and close as she accepted the opossum.
She was aware of his warm bulk, of his little nose pressing into the crook of her arm.
And of Oliver, leaning in, quickly, his lips brushing her forehead.
The words “Thank you” leaving his mouth.
And the side door closing as he exited into the night.
That’s when the kitchen door swung open. When Francine and Holly and Linus and Bee came and took one look at her and circled around her. That’s when the tender part of herself tucked behind her ribs, the part her mother always warned her to keep separate, fractured just a little bit more.
“Sissy can’t do this to her legion of fans,” Linus said now. “They’ve been following her wedding weekend post by post. Tomorrow is the big day! She can’t just cancel on them.”
“Her fans?” Holly sputtered. “What about her fiancé? And her family?”
“This is all very disappointing,” Francine weighed in. “Everything was so beautiful tonight. Like something out of a fairy tale.”
“And now the prince may be left at the altar.” Holly slumped onto a kitchen stool.
“So what?” They all turned to Bee. “If this girl does not want to get married, it’s none of our business.”
“Oliver,” Linus said. “He’s kind of our business.”
Everyone grew quiet again.
“If Sissy does cancel the wedding, and if the Suttons find out he’s involved, they may blame him. In which case, aren’t we at risk of losing final payment?”
“They wouldn’t blame us,” Francine said. “Would they?”
“They might,” Holly said miserably. “Our job is to host. Oliver is staff. If things fall apart with his hand in it, then aren’t we also somehow liable?”
Linus rubbed his temples. “We need a lawyer.”
“We do not need a lawyer,” Holly said. “But we may need a new gardener.”
“Are you firing Oliver?” Francine looked alarmed.
They all looked at Holly. “I’m not firing anyone. I’m just not sure he’s coming back.”
A small noise escaped Francine and they turned to her, startled. “Franny, are you alright?”
Francine shook her head, ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, but this is all very upsetting. The wedding, and Oliver, and all the hard work you’ve put in. And it may all go to waste!” She reached for Bee’s hand. “I think I would like to go home now.”
Bee took Francine’s hand. “We’ve seen enough for one night.”
Holly walked them out. When she returned, Greta and Linus had pulled stools up to the kitchen island in mutual misery.
“I really thought this venture would turn the inn around,” Holly said.
“The wedding industry is booming here on the coast. The revenue opportunities are huge. But all it’s been is one headache after another. ”
“You can’t blame yourself for a hedging bride,” Greta told her.
“Besides, she hasn’t called it off yet,” Linus added. “It may just be a bout of cold feet, and tomorrow could be perfect like the rest of the weekend.”
“Perfect?” Holly coughed out a small laugh. “The whole weekend has been a disaster. The clambake was canceled, we held a forced lobster boil in the side yard. The brunch…” She looked at Greta and decided not to finish. “Tomorrow may very well be the final blow. And Francine trusted me.”
“She trusted me, too,” Greta said. “The brunch was on me.”
“But you saved us with the lobster boil,” Linus added. “And tonight was perfection.”
“Until I gave Oliver the note. I shouldn’t have.”
“She would’ve found a way to get to him somehow.”
“Still,” Greta said. “When I came over from Sweden, this place felt like home.”
Holly nodded. “Growing up here every summer, this place was home.”
“I’d never even been to Cape Cod when I answered Francine’s ad for an inn manager,” Linus admitted. “Coming from the Midwest, I thought a Boston Whaler was a fish.”
“And yet here we all are,” Holly mused sadly. “A bunch of wash-ashores.”
No one complained when Linus disappeared and came back with a bottle of Sissy’s good champagne and three fresh glasses.
Greta watched as he uncorked the bottle expertly.
This time there was no celebratory pop, but, fittingly, a gentle carbonated sigh.
When Linus passed her a glass, she took it, waiting for Holly to say something.
Holly couldn’t. So she did.
“To the wash-ashores,” Greta said, as they clinked glasses. “Tomorrow, come what may.”