8. Dumplings
EIGHT
Dumplings
Lillian
T he next evening—that being the evening the day after I had breakfast with Handsome Harry Moran at the Double D, one I enjoyed in spite of all that was happening (which was a miracle)—I lay with my back resting against the arm of my couch, my laptop in front of me, while Ronetta futzed about in my kitchen.
Ronetta was my next-door neighbor and had been since we moved in.
She had two kids who were young teenagers when we arrived in Misted Pines, both of whom had since moved away. Her daughter was now a high-flying casting director in LA. Her son was a vintner in Sonoma County, and he was a big deal. His wine was always winning awards.
Back in the day, Sherise and Shane were my babysitters.
And Shane was my first crush.
Ronetta also had a husband, George, who refused to retire because he was a lot like his wife. It’d be torture for him if he didn’t have a busy schedule with lots to do.
They’d given me the idea to blow out the back of my house and add on, since they’d done it ages ago so Sherise and Shane could have their own rooms, George could have a man cave, and Ronnie could have a sunroom where she drank tea, watched birds, read books and gossiped with her gals on the phone.
It was important to note that Ronetta was one half of the whole who made up my role models.
She, like Mom (and Dad and George), was always busy. It was her personality.
Mom was all about the kids she watched and the garden she grew and keeping the house tidy and looking after her family. Nearly every day, she wore dresses because they were easy and a ponytail at her nape because that was easy too (though, she was what she called “a natural woman” (and she’d call herself that right before she sang the song, which was right before Dad would sweep her in his arms and slow dance with her while she sang it) so she rarely wore makeup).
Ronetta also had a nice garden, but cooking was her thing.
And she was always turned out. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her without her hair and makeup perfect, her outfit just right, her shoes and purse and accessories coordinating like she styled movie stars.
She was also that woman you paid attention to so you could learn, because she always did the right thing.
She knew what to wear to the cinema, or to the town council meeting, or to the farmer’s market, or to a fancy birthday party. She knew the perfect gift to buy her children’s teachers or the perfect dish to bring to the potluck.
And she was that woman who entertained like she wrote the book on the subject. Just the right floral arrangements that had just the right amount of wow factor, nothing more, nothing less. Just the right hors d’oeuvres that were creative, unique and delicious. Just the right fold on the napkins that made them look elegant and told you she cared enough about you showing that she put in the extra effort. That supremely roasted prime rib sliced to perfection with a horseradish sauce you’d pay good money to have the recipe.
She could write style and etiquette books or create her own magazine. She was Martha Stewart in a braided-hair, petite, Black woman’s body (and no shade on Martha, the woman built an empire and survived an epic takedown only to launch an even more epic comeback) except Ronetta was a lot less bossy, and a lot more sweet.
I adored her.
I put on makeup every day because of her, even if I was raking pine needles.
I wore cute outfits to go to the grocery store, because I so admired that she did the same.
She was a woman who knew she was worth taking care of herself, enjoying every facet of being a woman and not caring what anyone thought of that.
And since Mom and Dad left, she’d been my touchstone.
She was super tight with my mom. But be it my age at the time, or just that she was a mother, after they disappeared, and when we heard nothing, she slipped into that role for me and never showed how worried or scared she was about what was happening.
One could say she had an unfortunately not-very-unique perspective on what could befall people at the hands of dirty cops.
And now…
Well now, she knew what might be happening in Idaho.
So now she was in my kitchen, whipping up soul food I’d be eating for the next week, and doing what she did even when Mom and Dad were here.
Looking after me.
I was supposed to be proofing a book, something I couldn’t concentrate on while Ronetta was in my kitchen, but I was faking it because she wanted me to get on with things while she saw to me.
But since I’d been faking it for a while, I decided she might be okay with me stopping.
So I looked over my shoulder and asked, “Is George coming over for dinner?”
She stopped mixing what I sensed was going to be dumplings to go into the chicken on the stove, glanced at her iWatch with its fancy tortoiseshell band, and replied, “He’ll be here in about twenty.”
George had also been tight with Dad. He was a dad, and he looked after me too, but they’d been serious buds and he hadn’t been as good at hiding his concern, then fear, and finally sadness when they vanished and never returned.
I was worried about George now, considering what the news might be.
I was worried about Ronetta too.
The Band-Aid we’d all carefully kept glued down was losing any hope at adhesive, and we all knew it.
I set my laptop aside, got up and walked to the kitchen.
“Can I do anything to help?” I offered.
“Did you get your words in?” she demanded.
Okay, so maybe Ronetta could be a bit bossy.
I hadn’t, but I said, “Almost. I’ll finish it later.”
That appeared to be acceptable, I knew, because she turned to the pot, started dropping dumplings into the simmering broth, and she stated, “You can open the wine.”
I went to the fridge to grab the bottle she’d brought over.
I nabbed my wine opener and was going at it when I requested, “Can I ask you a question?”
Spoon raised, bowl of dumpling batter in her other hand, she turned to me and declared, “Yes. Even with all that’s going on, I think it’s a good idea you phone our handsome sheriff and ask if he wants to go see a movie.”
My throat got tight, and I could actually feel my eyes bug out.
She turned to the big pot, saying, “One thing that’s for certain about your parents, no matter what news we get, while they had them, they lived their lives like every day mattered. If your momma wanted to sing, she sang. If your daddy wanted to take his girls on a hike, he told his client he’d fix their fence the next day, and he took his girls on a hike.” She turned again and pointed a batter smeared wooden spoon at me. “You need to learn from that, girl.”
“I’m not sure Harry—” I began.
That was as far as I got.
“Stop it,” she ordered. “I’ve been paying close attention to that boy since he got hired. He wasn’t like the rest. Had to admit, I got more than a few jollies at just how deep under Dern’s skin Harry Moran got, just by giving a damn about his job and doing it right. George and I opened a bottle of champagne when we heard he won his seat as sheriff, and since Dern was busy getting incarcerated, the man ran unopposed. We still drained that bottle dry.”
“Ronetta—”
She spoke over me.
“So what I know is, he never took a pretty girl to breakfast after he gave her bad news.”
Oh yes, the entire town was buzzing about that. I had a multitude of texts from Kay, Molly, Janie and Jenna about me going to the Double D with Handsome Harry Moran.
“I don’t think now is the time to?—”
“When is the time then?” she challenged just as the front door opened.
Guess George was early.
I looked to the door and watched his handsome face light up when he saw me, his full lips starting to curve into a smile, then he turned that to his wife, his smile died, and his brows formed a V.
“Woman, tell me you aren’t giving our girl a lecture,” he demanded, shutting the door behind him.
Ronetta returned to the pot. “I don’t want to hear it from you.”
“You didn’t want to hear it from me last night when you were on about this,” George said to his wife’s back. Then to me, “Darlin’, you take your time with Sheriff Moran. Boy’s not stupid. He knows a good thing. He’ll wait until you’re ready.”
It was like they thought something was happening with me and Harry.
Okay, in another universe, when I wasn’t on the verge of experiencing another trauma as pertained to my parents, I might get into a zone where I was feeling this.
But Harry’s wife had died years ago, and he was gorgeous. He could have any woman he wanted. He just never (ever) had a woman. Not after his wife.
If there was ever a confirmed bachelor (or in his case, bachelor widower), it was Harry.
“He’s just looking out for me as we go through this identification process,” I protested.
George’s brows hit his hairline. Ronetta again turned to me and hers did the same.
“Seriously,” I punctuated my statement.
Ronetta dumped the bowl with the dumpling batter residue in the sink, declaring, “I cannot with all my babies. Sherise is too busy to look for a man. It’s not like the apparatus down there works until she’s a hundred and fifty. She’s gotta get moving if she’s going to give me grandbabies. Shane’s got his face in a wine vat half the time, and when he doesn’t, he refuses to discuss anything with either of us, except us moving to Sonoma, which is not going to happen.”
“To be fair, Ronnie,” I cut in, “we’ve had two serial killers, a deranged fan who burned her celebrity author crush in a barn after shooting him and his wife, a serious sex scandal that exploded globally that involved not one, not two, not three, but four local couples, and a gaggle of women who formed a no-men-allowed coven and took over a housing development whose members were featured in an interview on Elsa Cohen’s show on Netflix. Shane’s far from crazy to be worried his mom and dad are right in the middle of all those messes.”
“Well, things have calmed down since all that happened,” Ronetta sniffed.
I didn’t have the heart to remind her that they hadn’t, seeing as we were awaiting the identification of two bodies who were probably my parents, and her dear friends.
But I saw it when it came to her anyway.
I felt George’s change in vibe, but I was closer.
So I got to her first.
I pulled her into my arms.
“I’m good, I’m good,” she muttered, resisting my hold.
“Stop it, you’re not, I’m not. But I’m a big girl now, Ronnie, you don’t have to hold the world at bay for me anymore. I can handle this.” I took my arms from around her and framed her beloved face with my hands. “And I can handle it because you taught me how.”
That did it.
Her face started collapsing, I drew her into my arms again, she pushed closer, and I felt her body buck with a sob.
George got near, gently pulled her from me and into his own arms, murmuring, “Mind the dumplin’s, darlin’.”
I nodded and did as he asked.
I gave them space, and now it was me futzing around my kitchen, looking for busy work while Ronetta, who wasn’t big on showing emotion that didn’t include joy, love, humor, encouragement, and when it was deserved, disappointment, pulled herself together.
I knew she’d gotten a handle on it when I heard her whisper, “I’ll just go fix my face.”
“You do that, love,” George whispered back.
He was finishing my job with the wine when I walked to him with some glasses.
“If it’s them, it’s good we know,” I said softly.
“You’re right, doll,” he muttered glumly, taking a glass from me and starting to pour.
I got into what I was going to ask Ronetta earlier.
“I haven’t told my grandparents.”
He shook his head. “You’re right not to. Let’s get the news. Save them from this awful…” His mouth tightened before he finished, “Waiting.”
I felt it coming over me too, the return of the tears, because Mom and Dad would be so relieved about this.
Honestly, if they’d been told what would happen, I swear, they’d say, “Well, at least Ronnie and George are right next door.”
And they would be right.
“We were so lucky to move in next to you,” I whispered, and George looked at me, his familiar brown eyes startled. “ I was so lucky.”
Those eyes warmed.
He cupped my cheek and stroked the apple with his thumb. “That feeling is mutual, Lilly Bean.”
The smile I gave him was trembly.
He took his hand away but kept hold on my gaze. “And for what it’s worth, Sonny would be over the moon a man like Harry Moran was in his daughter’s life. Dependable. Loyal. And he’s proved to us all the depths of his love, sadly doing it after he lost his wife, but he also did it before. He doted on her and he didn’t care who saw it. That’s a real man, Lilly Bean. That’s the kind of man your father would want for you.”
Dang it!
The tears hit my eyes.
I was able to stop them from falling when Ronetta swept in, asking, “Is no one looking after my dumplings?”
I sniffed hard and raced to the pot.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. She’d taught me to cook this dish when I was fourteen. Essentially, you just let them simmer.
But it took my attention elsewhere so Ronnie could do another thing Ronnie was adept at doing: demonstrating stealth love. She did this by coming up behind me, rubbing my back, then wrapping her fingers around my waist to give me a squeeze.
And then, before I could turn and catch her eyes, she left me and went to her husband for her glass of wine.