Chapter 30
thirty
JOHANNA
“ I know you’re my big sister and all, but you totally got railed, didn’t you?” Harriet observes casually.
Wine sprays from my mouth and I slap a hand over it to stop it from shooting across the bar. Her unfiltered question wasn’t exactly quiet, either, considering we’re in a restaurant full of people.
“ Actually , don’t respond to that.” She circles my face with her finger. “ Because this says it all. Johanna , you dirty dawg.”
There’s no point in trying to convince Harriet , because she can see right through me.
“ I’m not talking about it here,” I hiss, twirling my finger above my head to remind her where we are—which happens to be Our Place on a Tuesday night, and during the dinner rush no less.
We’re perched at the end of the driftwood bar, which gives us the best spot for people-watching, and a great view of Patrick’s ass from where he’s working behind the bar.
Her head pops into my line of sight, obstructing my view, and she quirks a brow at me. “ Look at that blush. I’ll have to give Patrick my congratulations on holding off this long before getting his pickle we?—”
I slap my hand over her mouth now, checking that Patrick didn’t hear her. “ Will you behave, you little nuisance? God , you’re as bad as Booth .”
After our afternoon at the lighthouse, Patrick dropped me off outside my apartment right as the youngest Sadler brother was walking out of Just Brew It . I have a pretty good poker face, but when Booth pointed out that my sweater was inside out and that I had a hickey forming on my neck, I knew we’d been caught. He patted us both on the shoulder and congratulated us. But not before telling us public indecency is a crime.
“ Please can we change the subject,” I beg. “ How was your weekend?”
“ It was fun, great to see everyone. Now , back to you and Daddy Pat .”
“ Harry ,” I groan and bring my head down to rest on the bar. “ Listen , no one knows, well, apart from you and Booth , and it’s new and we’re… We’re taking our time, and it feels good. We never got a chance last time, but this feels right. It feels like our time.”
“ You look good. And I’m not talking about your postcoital glow. I didn’t see a lot of this Jo in Tennessee , and I love you in every shape and form, but happiness looks good on you. I’ve missed this version of you.”
She leans into me and hugs me tight.
“ I’m really happy here,” I say, my voice muffled against her shoulder. “ I loved living with you, though I bet you’re glad you don’t have your big sister invading your space anymore.”
She cranes her neck, arm still slung around me. “ I miss you like crazy, but this is where you belong. You needed me and it wasn’t a question that I was going to help you. You’ve come so far since that evening in Dad’s living room. And I’m so proud of you. For doing what was best for you, finding the help you needed, but most of all, for letting yourself be happy again.”
Her words hit me then, because I am happy. I’m really happy. And there doesn’t seem to be a limit on this happiness, not like when I lived in Tennessee .
“ I haven’t felt this happy in a long time.” I rest my temple against her shoulder.
She stiffens beneath me, mood shifting suddenly as she speaks softly, “ We can’t lose this place, Jo .” I look at her and she has a fond look in her eyes as she stares ahead. I follow her gaze and find the photograph of Mom and Ted where it belongs, in a new, shiny gold frame. Patrick asked me if it was okay that he put it back on the shelf, and let me choose a new frame. “ For them. I don’t say this to put pressure on you guys, it just feels like we’re losing the last pieces of Mom and Ted we have left.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Harriet’s worries aren’t different from my own, and as I glance at Patrick , he’s staring at us with a weak smile on his face, eyes moving between us and the photograph.
The impending news about the restaurant is one of the gray clouds hanging over our heads. The upcoming anniversary of Ted’s death is the second.
If I can’t save this place for me, I’ll do it for him. I’ve only been in town a short while, but Patrick has been here for every up and down. Putting in his all to keep this place afloat and look after his family. I can survive the loss of the restaurant if I have Patrick , but does he feel the same? And what if once he knows the full story of why I left, he thinks I’m too messy and complicated? All questions I’ve voiced with Amanda , and as much help as she is, I know I won’t know the truth until I rip off that last layer.
Harriet excuses herself to go to the restroom, and I spin on my stool to face the full house of customers we have in again tonight. The light chatter, laughter, and sound of silverware clanking together fill the room, and the mishmash of noises remind me so much of my childhood.
“ Patrick , not there. It goes there,” I cry as he tries to force another piece into the wrong spot. I jab a finger to the empty one closest to me. “ Right here.”
“ No , that’s wrong. It’s this one,” he argues, and continues to smush it down until the edges bend and it gets stuck. He looks up at me and smiles, but I’m not happy. “ Oops .”
“ I told you!” I turn my head and cross my arms across my chest, not wanting to hear him say sorry for wrecking another puzzle.
“ I’m sorry, okay. I can fix it. And my mom bought me a new Sonic the Hedgehog one we can do together at my house next week.”
“ I don’t want to do one of a dumb hedgehog.” I can see him making funny faces, twisting his mouth in weird directions, trying to make me smile with no luck. This is the second time I’ve tried to teach him how to do puzzles, and he sucks at it. Stupid boys.
The scrape of his chair and thud of his sneakers against the floor lets me know he’s left the table. Leaving me to sulk.
I look up to see him talking to his dad, who is standing next to mine at the end of the bar. My dad has a big Band - Aid on his hand from when he and George were building the bar. Patrick and I learned a lot of new swear words when they were putting it together, and we made almost one hundred bucks.
Patrick and his dad disappear into the kitchen, right as my mom walks out, carrying a couple of plates. She spots me in the corner, but her smile falls when she sees my face. Dropping the food off with the customers, she comes over and sits across from me.
“ Mayflower , what’s up? I don’t like it when you frown,” she says.
I throw my hand out toward the ruined jigsaw puzzle. “ Patrick messed this one up too. He’s no good at it, Mom . Why do boys suck?”
She laughs and moves the puzzle piece Patrick got stuck. With a few wiggles, she sets it free and hands it over to me. “ They can be smelly sometimes. They also make good friends too. He just wants to enjoy something you do, because he knows it makes you smile. Like when you go out and play dirt bikes with him and Dexter .”
“ I like that.”
“ I know, but you don’t like it when they ride off quicker than you. You’ll get the hang of it, just like Pat will get the hang of doing puzzles.”
I fiddle with the puzzle piece and look up at my mom. “ I think I upset him.”
“ I think he’ll be okay. Don’t tell anyone, but I think he’s about to get you a surprise.” She leans over the table, kisses me on the head, and heads back to where my dad is standing.
I don’t know what surprise Patrick is getting me if he’s in the kitchen, but I hope it’s not bean-hole beans, because they smell like my little sister’s diaper. I wait patiently, glancing up anytime one of the servers walks through the swinging doors.
After a couple of minutes, Patrick steps out with his dad, a tray in his hands with something balanced on top.
Please don’t be beans. Please don’t be beans. Please don’t be beans.
“ Um , Jo , I got you something,” he says, standing in front of me, with the tray wobbling in his hands. “ I got Gloria to make you your favorite, plus I swiped us a couple of cookies.”
He places the tray next to the puzzle, and my tummy grumbles when I see the gooey grilled cheese on the plate. It looks really yummy, but I need to say sorry first.
“ I’m sorry for shouting at you, I just really like playing with you. Do you want half?”
Sitting down in his seat, with half a cookie already in his mouth, he nods his head and swallows. “ I’m sorry for breaking your puzzle. I got some money for doing my chores and my dad said he’d take us to the store. I’ll get you a new one.”
I hand him the puzzle piece my mom freed, and smile at him, laughing when he smiles back with chocolate-coated teeth. “ It’s fixed. I don’t care what game we play. So long as it’s with you, I’m happy. ”
Life was so much easier at that age. When the worst of your worries were broken puzzles, and not hearts.
As I scan the tables of customers, my heart warms when I spy that exact table in the corner of the room. We spent hours in that spot, doing our homework after school or arguing over where the puzzle pieces should go.
My eyes wander around the room some more, but when I spot Mrs . Stewart , the grumbly councilwoman, sitting at table thirteen, my mood sours. She’s been very difficult since my return, from putting in an “anonymous” complaint about the makeover we did on the outside of the restaurant and trying to block our application for the fair. Booth assures me this type of behavior is very on trend.
I swivel around at lightning speed, hoping she hasn’t spotted me, and find Patrick already watching me. My mind immediately goes to the afternoon in his truck, and suddenly I don’t care about the tables of families behind me, or Mrs . Stewart . I care more about dragging him into the stockroom to feel his hands on me again, to hear the dirty things he knows I love, to feel the bite of pain and pleasure as he enters me.
When I sense Harriet return to the bar, I’m about to excuse myself, however, when I turn, I let out a cry at who is actually standing there.
The older woman stares at me without an ounce of emotion on her face. Her face is pinched as usual, inky hair pulled so tight it looks like she’s had a botched face-lift. Are her grandchildren as scared of her as I am?
“ Oh , Mrs . Stewart , I didn’t see you there. Can I help you?”
“ No , thank you. I didn’t see you at the fair this weekend?”
“ Oh , did you come by?” I know she did, because I hid behind the chest freezer when I saw her approaching. “ We must have missed each other, what a shame. How’s your meal this evening?”
“ That’s what I came over to tell you. ”
And here we go .
One of the first things Booth warned me about, was that she comes in twice a week with her husband, and every time, she finds something to complain about. The plate being too hot. The hollandaise being too thick or too thin. The clam chowder being too “clammy.”
“ My husband had the beef burger; he’s never been one for seafood. Honestly , we live in Maine , I’ll never know. I had one of the specials. The bean-hole beans. I was shocked to read that it was a twist on the classic, something my own grandmother made for me growing up.”
Oh fuck. I almost gag at hearing the name of that dish, and also panic, because the bean-hole beans are one of our experimental specials, an ode to Maine traditions. Something we want to put on future menus, if Booth is allowed to make the changes he’s been desperate to make. I suggested we test it out with the customers first. I regret that decision now, especially when my ass cheeks start to sweat as I wait for her onslaught of criticism.
Booth is going to blow a gasket when he finds out who ordered one.
“ Imagine my surprise when it arrives, and I take my first bite…” Here it comes. “ And it reminds me of my childhood, despite it looking nothing like the original, and the smokiness…” She smacks her lips together, as if trying to relive the flavors. “ Peculiar , yet it worked so well. Give my compliments to the chef.”
I think I’m drunk or dreaming. Maybe both. There’s no way she is saying nice things, and there’s no way…she’s smiling. I didn’t know her face could do that.
“ Oh wow, that’s so great to hear.” I’m surprised I can form sentences. “ I’ll be sure to let Booth and the team know. Thank you.”
“ Good . My table is sticky though, please send someone over to clean it.” And with that, she walks away.
Well , we can’t win them all.
Almost robotically, I stand from my stool, calmly ask one of the bussers to wipe down Mrs . Stewart’s table, and push my way through the swinging doors into the kitchen.
I keep my face neutral, despite the excitement bubbling inside. Booth spots me from across thestainless-steel pass and pauses when he sees my face.
“ What ? What’s wrong?” he asks, placing down the sizzling pan in his hand.
“ Mrs . Stewart was at table thirteen,” I say.
“ Oh my god, who sat her at that table? IT’S UNLUCKY !” he cries. “ What did she order? Someone get me that check now. I’m going to throw up.”
Simon searches through the pile of completed checks and hands him table thirteen’s.
“ The bean-hole beans?” Booth squeaks out, his voice pitching abnormally high. He paces around the kitchen, and I walk over to him and grab him by the shoulders.
“ She …” I don’t know why I’m dragging this out, other than it’s fun to fuck with him.
“ She what, Johanna ? Oh god, someone get me a shot of vodka. No , that isn’t strong enough. Just sedate me.”
Deciding I’ve tortured him long enough, I look him dead in the eye. “ Booth . She loved it. Ate it up and said word for word, ‘ Give my compliments to the chef.’”
He’s actually crying now. His arms shoot up toward the ceiling and he lets out an almighty whoop, and then picks me up and spins us around the kitchen.
“ Holy shit, we did it! We cracked her.” He runs his hands through his hair, his face still glowing with wonderment. “ This is all you, Jo . I would have never thought to have trialed it as a special first.”
“ It was all you. You came up with the dish and your team executed it perfectly.”
The creak of hinges diverts our attention to the doorway, where we find a curious looking Patrick peering in.
“ What are you two cheering about?” he asks.
“ Big bro,” Booth says and claps Patrick on the back once he approaches us. “ I quit, because my only goal in life was to make that old bird happy.”
I laugh at his dramatics, knowing damn well he isn’t quitting.
Patrick’s eyes meet mine, eyebrow quirked in question. “ She liked it?”
With a huge grin on my face, I nod my head, and before I know it, he’s wrapping me up in his arms and spinning me around too.
As we celebrate the small success together, I can only hope that whatever the outcome next month, we can get through it together.
Each day that passes, hope returns to Patrick’s eyes. Every time a new customer enters the restaurant, or we beat the previous week’s revenue, I see the stress stop weighing him down. We’re running out of time, and even I’m shocked at how much of an improvement we’ve made. Will it be enough?
I know losing the restaurant would devastate him. It would gut me, but selfishly I’m more worried about what it would mean for us.
He’s been open and honest with me since the moment I returned to town, and as he tucks me under his arm and kisses me on the cheek, I chastise myself for thinking the outcome of the restaurant would change things.
Because it wouldn’t, right?