Chapter 1 #2
Her mother had a lot to say about men, little of it good or useful.
Her parents had been divorced since she was a kid, and her brother Hugo was an infant.
When her mother wanted to move to Mexico with a boyfriend, Jo brought her brother to Crown Island, enrolled him in school, and bought a rundown house on Sunshine Avenue for them to live in.
Hugo had helped her make repairs and paint. And now he was studying at the university, something she’d never had the chance to do, except for a few community college courses.
That’s why she wouldn’t compromise. The last thing she wanted was a situation like her mother had been through.
Sylvie wasn’t bad, but the men she chose were.
Jo and her brother had to call one of them Dad, even though they hadn’t seen him in years.
Poor Hugo wouldn’t know him if he saw the guy on the street.
Their grandmother, Sylvie’s mother, had been the calming influence in their young lives.
Jo stood to check on her customers.
“Please listen to me.” Blue caught her hand across the counter. Despite seeing her cringe, he went on, an edge of urgency in his voice. “My mother needed me, and I’m the only son she has left. I hope you understand why I went. I love you, Jo.”
She drew her hand back. She wasn’t ready to cave at his touch. “So how is she feeling?”
Blue blinked. “She’s fine. Nothing but nerves. You know how she is.”
Jo understood and felt sorry for the woman. She couldn’t imagine losing a son, and when Blue left, his mother Rhonda must have felt like she was losing another one. But Blue insisted his life was here, and his mother needed therapy. He’d told her many times he’d never return to Chicago.
His sisters weren’t helping the situation, even though they lived in the same neighborhood. Jo wasn’t heartless. She knew they were all grieving and had been for years.
Yet if he wasn’t going to make a decision about their future, she would.
Blue leaned in. “You seem upset.”
“You think? You spent our entire vacation time there. I told you I could join you for a few days. Candy would have covered for me.” If his mother wasn’t that ill, why did he stay so long?
When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’d rather not talk about this here.”
Blue stroked his smooth jaw. “It’s complicated, you know?”
“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”
Blue only shook his head.
She returned to reorganizing the shelf behind the counter. How did he think she was going to react?
He shifted on the stool. “Mom is doing a lot better than I thought, but she’s not getting any younger.”
She looked up. “Your words or your sisters?”
He ran a hand over his hair. “Jo—”
“Are your sisters looking after her?”
“They are. Fortunately, Mom’s symptoms turned out to be a panic attack, not the heart condition she thought she had. Still, it could happen.”
“Anything could happen, Blue.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Jo wished she could take them back. She busied herself with the glasses again.
The worst had happened in his family. Blue and his brother had served together on the Chicago police force.
Charles was a detective, and suffered a fatality during an early morning, multiagency raid.
After he was laid to rest, Blue had packed a bag and driven west the next week, heartbroken.
He’d had to start all over with the police force on Crown Island.
Seven years ago. That’s how long they had been dating.
Jo slowed down, organizing her glasses, her gaze landing on his shiny badge. She was at a loss for words now. She’d cried them all out over the last two weeks.
Blue’s direct gaze held hers. “We really need to talk, Jo.”
Her chest tightened, and she clenched her jaw. Her father had said those words the night he left their family.
“I can come over later tonight after my shift.”
Jo shook her head. “I have plans, Blue. Enjoy your coffee. I have work to do now.”
She hurried into the kitchen before he could stop her. If he thought he was having lunch here, it would be Candy serving him, not her.
He didn’t have to tell her because she already suspected what had happened in Chicago. His mother and his sisters had been trying to get him to return.
Not them as a couple. Just him.
Later that evening as jazz played in Jo’s kitchen, she pulled the enchilada pan from the oven. Her homemade verde sauce bubbled at the edges, rich with the aroma of tomatillos, onions, and peppers.
Chicken enchiladas were one of her specialties, and she served them with homemade guacamole. At the diner, she included rice and beans as a dinner special, but that was more than she and Junie needed.
“That smells delicious,” Junie said as she sat on a stool at the counter. “Need some help?”
“You can get napkins and silverware for us.” Jo nodded toward the drawers, then remembered Junie knew where everything was.
She glanced around the kitchen of her cozy cottage on Sunshine Avenue.
Against the vintage tile backsplash sat a professional-grade stand mixer, a mandoline, and a set of carbon-steel knives that most home cooks would envy.
Top quality, all of it, and seldom used, because she spent most of her time at the diner now that her brother had left for university.
One change she’d made in the last year was to promote Candy to assistant manager, freeing up her weekday evenings. She had done that to spend more time with Blue and work on her new project. Now she’d rather fill extra time with friends like Junie and her sister Maileah.
She wasn’t waiting around for Blue anymore.
Turning to open a cupboard, the Crown Island Police fundraising calendar caught her eye. Blue was on the front of it, Mr. January, staring at her with his bright blue eyes and alluring smile.
“I’ve had it with you,” she said to his image. She snatched it from the wall and stuffed it into a drawer.
Junie raised her brow. “Whatever makes you feel better.”
“It sure does.”
Jo opened the cupboard and took down her grandmother’s dishes. The hand-painted vintage set with the scalloped edges, dusty pink roses, and olive-green branches always made her think of Sunday dinners they’d once shared. Jo placed two dinner plates and bowls on the counter.
“Those are gorgeous dishes,” Junie said.
“These were my grandmother’s. She gave me the entire set when she moved to her independent living home in San Diego. The pattern is called Franciscan Desert Rose, and there’s a story behind them.”
“How is she doing?”
Jo smiled. “Mamie Rose likes all the activities, and she’s with friends. She doesn’t seem to miss her old house.”
“That’s good to hear.” Junie collected the utensils. “So, what’s the story behind those dishes?”
“My grandmother cherished these because she’d befriended the designer, Annette Honeywell, who created this pattern back in the 1940s in Los Angeles. My grandmother was much younger and looked up to her.”
Jo traced the scalloped edge of her plate with her finger. “She liked the idea that a woman created these. I do, too. Sadly, this pattern is discontinued.”
Junie admired a plate. “That’s fascinating. Wasn’t there a significant pottery movement in California around then?”
“That’s right. Many works were originally inspired by Mexican pottery, like these dishes.” Nodding toward her backsplash, Jo added, “And those are Batchelder tiles I found at a salvage shop.”
“This pattern feels like a California garden,” Junie said, examining a plate.
“The sweetest part of the story is that my grandfather bought this set for her. ‘Roses for my Rose,’ he said. And she loved to tell people that Jacqueline Kennedy used the same pattern in the White House for casual dinners.” Jo smiled.
“Maybe she did. Those who know said her mother-in-law Rose Kennedy used these dishes in her Palm Beach home in the 1960s.”
“Another Rose,” Junie said.
Jo smiled. “It was a popular name then. Still is.”
She had once imagined serving her family on those plates and telling her children the story. But she couldn’t depend on Blue anymore, she thought, chewing her lip.
“Let’s eat in your garden tonight,” Junie said, adding a pair of pink napkins to the utensils she held.
“Sure, it’s a nice evening.” Jo plated the enchiladas, ladled more green tomatillo sauce over them and finished with scoops of guacamole and salad. “There,” she said with a flourish. “Mamie Rose would approve.”
Jo carried the plates out to the small patio off the kitchen, where a vintage wrought-iron table and chairs sat, surrounded by jasmine and gardenias. The sweet floral aromas filled the evening air.