Chapter Eighteen
For her last breakfast on her last day at Casa Dubrovnik, Greta made French toast with blueberries and whipped cream cheese. She’d sort of been saving it, knowing it qualified as a finale dish, at least the way she did it.
Of course, she hadn’t figured her last day would be quite such a final finale. She hadn’t talked to any of the Dubrovniks since last night. The Hotel Grand had been dark and still when she and Hank had finally gotten back. For a few moments, she’d actually considered sleeping in the garden, but Hank had a key to the front door along with his room key.
Now he sat alone at the kitchen table, slicing into his French toast with gusto. “I don’t suppose you could just box me up the rest of this for a midmorning snack.”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t taste as good if it sat out on the table all morning. Plus this is the end of the bread. I’ll need to bake some more before I can make your sandwiches. Maybe I’ll just grab some from the store.”
He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Hell. I’m going to have to go back to making my own freaking sandwiches.”
“You can handle it.” She managed to give him a tight smile. “You did your own lunches before I showed up. I have every confidence in you.”
“Yeah,” he said slowly, “but the company’s going to suck.”
She turned back to the stove, slicing the last few pieces of bread. No way was she going to start feeling crappy this early in the morning. Of course, she might not have a choice.
The door swished behind her as Nadia entered the kitchen, slipping her pink pashmina up over her shoulders. “Good morning,” she trilled. “French toast? How lovely.” She settled at the table opposite Hank, smiling beatifically. “And how is everyone this morning?”
“Late.” Hank pushed himself to his feet, wiping the last bit of cream cheese from his lips. “Thanks for the breakfast.” He paused. “For all the breakfasts, actually.”
Greta took a deep breath, ordering herself not to get teary. “You’re welcome.”
She watched him head for his truck, trying not to think about the fact that this might well be the last time she’d see him.
“You’re leaving?” Nadia picked up her coffee cup. “I thought you’d have worked through that by now.”
“There’s nothing to work through. I said I’d be here a week, and it’s been almost a week.” Greta placed a plate of French toast in front of her. “I’ve enjoyed it—well, most of it. But it’s time to go back to the real world and face the music. I’ve got some decisions to make.”
One of Nadia’s black eyebrows arched up. “Not the real world as in the husband, surely. Or the ex-husband, to be more accurate.”
“No. Ryan’s gone back to Boston. I’m heading for Promise Harbor.” She managed not to sigh. “Where I’m from.”
Nadia took a bite of toast, nodding approvingly. “So even though the idea of opening your own bakery service in our kitchen appeals to both you and me and undoubtedly Alice if it was explained to her, you’re still leaving?”
Greta dipped another piece of bread into her egg mixture. “Alice might not be all that enthusiastic about me sticking around after last night.”
“Last night Alice lost her temper.” Nadia shrugged. “She does that regularly. She probably won’t apologize, and she will probably assume that the entire confrontation wasn’t serious enough to rate discussion.”
Greta turned, resting her hip against the counter. “Do you feel that way too?”
“I feel you did a courageous and slightly foolhardy thing. But you wanted to rescue my grandniece and you did. We could all have stood around and debated what to do for an hour while Hyacinth grew colder and stiffer and more and more frightened. But instead, thirty minutes later we took her home. I’m grateful to you.” She took a sip of coffee, smiling appreciatively. “And Alice will be too, once she’s had the chance to stop being so frightened over Hyacinth’s brush with injury or worse.”
As if she’d heard her name, Hyacinth breezed into the kitchen, smiling happily. If she had any lingering terrors from the night before, they didn’t show at the moment. “Good morning. What smells so good?”
“French toast with blueberries and whipped cream cheese. There’s also syrup if you want it.” Greta turned back to the stove.
“Yes, please.” She plopped into her chair next to Nadia. “Can we go to Promise Harbor today? I need to go to the library.”
“I suppose.” Nadia shrugged. “I need to do some grocery shopping anyway.”
Hyacinth’s forehead furrowed. “Why doesn’t Greta do the shopping? She’s cooking.”
“I won’t be cooking after today,” Greta explained, placing Hyacinth’s French toast in front of her. “This is my last day at the hotel.”
Hyacinth’s smile was instantly transformed into a mask of tragedy. “No. You can’t leave. Aunt Nadia, don’t let her leave.”
“I’m afraid it’s not my decision, dear,” Nadia said calmly. “My, this French toast is exquisite. Are the blueberries local?”
“Aunt Nadia.” Hyacinth raised her voice. “You can’t let her leave. You have to do something.”
“My dear, Greta has decided to go back home. In fact, she decided that when she came here a week ago. She never promised to stay longer than that. And we must respect her wishes. Now eat your French toast before it gets cold.” She gave Hyacinth another bland smile and returned to her own breakfast.
Greta kept her back to the table, dipping slices of bread in her milk and egg mixture. She had a feeling if she looked, she’d see Hyacinth doing puppy eyes, and she wasn’t sure she could stand it.
On the other hand, the fact that Alice hadn’t yet appeared might say a lot about her feelings at the moment. And Alice’s opinions seemed to have a great deal of weight all of a sudden since they seemed to mirror those Greta always encountered after one of her fiascos.
She sighed, and glanced back at the table. “Would either of you like more French toast?”
“I’m going to go and harvest the mint for my foot cream,” Nadia said, still smiling. “Would you like to help me, Hyacinth?”
Judging from Hyacinth’s expression, the answer was no, but Greta figured she wouldn’t actually say so. “Maybe later.”
“Not too much later, please.” Nadia’s voice had taken on a certain edge, but she smiled again. “I’ll see you at lunch if not before, Greta. I trust you’re not leaving before then.”
“I’ll be here through dinner,” Greta explained. And afterward, since she’d begun to think about grabbing one more night with Hank. Who knew? She might actually find a way out of this particular trap she’d set for herself.
Or not. As Nadia left the room, Alice entered, looking as if she were carrying a storm cloud over her head. She glanced at the table, where Hyacinth was making a desultory effort to finish her last piece of toast.
“Go and help your Aunt Nadia,” she said flatly.
Hyacinth’s lower lip jutted out fiercely. “I haven’t finished my breakfast.”
“Yes you have. You’re just playing with the food now. Go.”
Hyacinth pushed herself to her feet, still pouting. “All right, but I’ll be ravenous by lunchtime.”
“Good. You can do justice to the food by then.” Alice plopped into a chair, making little shooing motions with her fingertips.
Hyacinth threw one more tragic glance in Greta’s direction, then stomped out of the room.
Leaving her alone with Alice. Not necessarily something Greta was looking forward to. “French toast?” she asked a little stiffly.
Alice nodded. “Two slices. What are you doing for the store?”
“Banana bread. I’ve got it ready for the oven.”
“What are you going to do—sell slices?”
Greta shrugged. “Yeah. Unless you want to try selling the loaves, which I wouldn’t suggest. Don’t worry. Everybody loves banana bread.”
“Slices are all right,” Alice said sourly. She stared down at her coffee cup for a moment, then looked up at Greta again. “Thank you for saving my granddaughter.” She sounded as if the words were being extracted with pliers.
Greta stood very still, waiting for the but that she was sure would be coming. After a few moments, she realized it wasn’t. “You’re welcome. I was glad to do it.”
Alice fixed her gaze on the corner of the room. “I behaved badly last night. I should have thanked you then. I apologize.”
“Don’t mention it.” In fact, Greta meant that literally. She really wanted Alice to stop talking about it.
Apparently, Alice felt the same way. She started eating her French toast with enthusiasm. “Very good. Too bad we can’t serve it in the store.”
“That would require plates and forks, which would also require a dishwasher.” Greta shrugged. “You could consider serving breakfasts if you’re still interested in opening the dining room.”
Alice gave her another narrow-eyed stare. “You’re leaving? Today?”
Why was everybody asking her that question? Wasn’t it obvious? “Yes, I’m leaving. Today.”
Alice arched an eyebrow. “For how long?”
“Excuse me?” Greta froze in the act of putting the banana bread into the oven.
“How long do you plan to be gone before you come back here and get started on the whole breakfast pastries business? Surely it won’t take you that long to explain everything to your mother and take whatever you have coming from the town gossips. In fact, if you’ll leave behind a list of the things we need to do to get started, I can get the whole thing underway while you’re off doing penance.” She sliced another piece of French toast.
“I…don’t think I’m ready to do that yet.” Greta pushed the bread into the oven, slamming the door, then sank down at the table. “In fact, I don’t remember discussing this whole idea with you.” Mainly because they hadn’t ever done it.
Alice shrugged. “You didn’t have to. Nadia dropped a few details, but it doesn’t take a genius to see how the whole thing would work. I’d already been thinking about something along that line, but I didn’t have a cook before. Now I do.”
Greta took a couple of deep breaths. She felt a little dizzy. “I was just sort of brainstorming with Nadia. I haven’t really gone any farther than that. I mean, I have to sit down and think the whole thing through, maybe write out a formal proposal.” Which would give her some time to actually consider the idea carefully and in detail for once before jumping in with both feet.
Alice shook her head. “You can do that if you need to—maybe it’ll help you get it straight in your mind. But I can see how this is going to work. Can’t you?”
Greta rested her head in her hands. “I’ve got some very questionable history on things like this. I’ve rushed into a lot of things in my life and screwed up royally. How do I know this isn’t going to be another disaster?”
“You don’t.” Alice walked to the coffeepot to pour herself another cup. “I’d say our chances are decent to make back our outlay, but that’s without knowing how much our outlay is going to be. I’ll need to get somebody from the county in here to inspect the kitchen, and he’ll probably want some changes. Hell, it hasn’t produced anything but family meals for years. And I’m not sure Nadia’s cooking even qualifies as meals.”
Greta nodded slowly. “You’ll have to do some updating. And they’ll probably require some equipment replacement. And as I said, you’ll need a dishwasher.”
“Right. So there will be some expenses involved. Which, in turn, will mean we’ll have to expand to as many stores as we can reach. How are you on salesmanship?”
Greta shrugged. “I’m decent, I guess. I believe in my own stuff.”
“As well you should. So are you ready to go with this?”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t make a decision like that, Alice. I just can’t. It’s too big, and it’s too important. I need time—for once, I need to actually weigh pros and cons before I get invested in this. I’ve made too many mistakes because I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing.”
“You also rescued my granddaughter from a fifteen-foot pine tree,” Alice said quietly. “You didn’t stop to think and you got her down.”
“One of my rare successes,” Greta muttered.
Alice sighed. “All right. I have to open the store. Bring me some banana bread when it’s ready. And you might spend some time thinking about the future.”
Greta gathered the dishes in the sink after she’d gone. She could pretty much guarantee she’d be thinking about the future from now on. She just couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to come to any decision. From being somebody who jumped into anything that presented itself, she’d suddenly changed into somebody who couldn’t make a decision to save her soul.
Maybe I need to talk to my mother. She closed her eyes. Talking to her mother was probably the first thing she needed to do.
Fifty minutes later, she started slicing up the banana bread, covering it in squares of plastic wrap. If we were to do this full time, we’d need more help. It takes me too long to wrap these suckers as it is.
She paused. If we were to do this full time… Her shoulders ached with tension. What if it all goes south? What if I make another mistake? And this time it would break my heart in more ways than one. She took a deep breath, arranging the slices of banana bread on a sheet pan, and headed for the store. She wasn’t going to do anything now. She didn’t have to. She’d have other chances—no matter what Alice said, she didn’t have to make up her mind this very minute.
And she had other possibilities she could consider. She could always go to Boston and work in Mary Ellen’s bakery. Or go back to Promise Harbor. And move in with her mother.
She closed her eyes. Okay, so she didn’t necessarily want to do that. There might still be other possibilities.
The customers in the general store were lined up four deep this time, watching her like pigeons eyeing a bag of peanuts. She placed the tray in front of Alice. “Here’s the first batch.”
Alice frowned. “Best get the next batch out as soon as you can. We’ve got a lot of hungry people this morning.”
“You’re leaving?” somebody called out. “Whose idea was that?”
“Mine,” Greta muttered, turning back toward the door.
She let Hyacinth take the next tray of slices out to the store once she’d finished wrapping them. Nadia was busy processing mint at the sink when Greta came back in. “Do you need to wash anything in here?” Nadia frowned. “We’ll need to work out logistics once you start cooking larger batches, but I expect we’ll also need to invest in a dishwasher and perhaps some more prep space.”
Greta bit her lip as her stomach gave another twinge. Other possibilities, damn it! She headed back toward the door to the hotel. “If anybody wants me I’ll be in the lobby.” Or somewhere. Basically, anywhere she wasn’t being pressured to commit herself one way or the other.
She wandered out to the front porch of the hotel. The wooden rockers looked as if they’d been worn smooth by generations of butts. Sighing, she slipped into one of them, then closed her eyes and began to rock slowly.
If she stayed, she’d make little or no money for a while, maybe a long while. And she might have to invest some money herself. All their profits would have to be plowed back into the business. If she stayed, she’d be living with the Dubrovniks. Hell, she’d probably become a Dubrovnik herself. If she stayed, she’d have to explain to her mom why she was willing to commit herself to a group of relative strangers who couldn’t promise her much beyond a kitchen and a starting place, although she’d only known them for a week.
If she stayed, she’d have to figure out what to do about Hank.
That last thought really made her shoulders clench. She’d only been divorced for a couple of weeks. She’d only been on her own for two or three months. How could she be ready to jump back into a relationship so soon? Was she actually jumping into a relationship or was she just doing the rebound thing?
Her stomach gave another twinge.
The easiest thing to do would be nothing. To get into her car and drive back to Promise Harbor. To pretend the last week had been a really nice vacation and then get ready for the rest of her life without Tompkins Corners.
The Rest Of Her Life. Her whole body ached all of a sudden. She wondered if she was coming down with the flu.
Oh yeah, Greta, the rockin’ pneumonia and the indecisive flu.
A car pulled in to one of the parking spaces in front of the hotel, and she opened her eyes. And stared.
Her mother climbed out of the driver’s seat of her Accord. Owen Ralston climbed out of the passenger’s side. Before Greta could gather herself for a dash back inside, her mother glanced up and saw her.
Greta licked her lips. “Hi, Mom,” she croaked. “Long time, no see.”
When Greta hadn’t shown up at the site by lunchtime, Hank finally decided to head back to Casa Dubrovnik. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t brought any lunch with him this time. He hated to admit it, but he’d begun to worry that she might have taken off. He didn’t think she’d leave without talking to him, but he was afraid she might. She’d been sort of antsy ever since last night.
He gave Marty an hour for lunch, with strict orders to sieve dirt if he got back first. Hank really hoped that didn’t happen since he didn’t trust Marty to do anything on his own, but he didn’t know how long it would take for him to track Greta down.
And if she’d left, he would track her down. Of that, he was absolutely certain. Of course, what he’d do when he found her was another question.
He started to head toward the carport where he usually parked, but he slowed when he reached the front of the hotel. Greta was standing on the porch, talking to an older man and woman. She looked…nervous. On impulse, he pulled his truck into a spot down the street and climbed out.
Greta glanced up as he mounted the steps. Her eyes widened slightly. Terrific. Now he was making her nervous too. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Hi,” she murmured, rubbing her hands on her thighs. “Um…this is my mom. Mom, this is Hank Mitchell. Professor Hank Mitchell. He’s an archaeologist and he lives here at the hotel.” Her smile looked more like a grimace.
Mrs. Brewster—he assumed that was her name anyway—gave him a slightly more genuine version of the same smile. “Pleased to meet you, Professor.”
“Likewise.” He glanced back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was going on. “Are you taking Greta back to Promise Harbor?”
Amazingly enough, Mrs. Brewster’s face turned faintly pink. “No, we’re actually going the other direction. That is…” She turned toward the man sitting in one of the rockers at the side. “This is Owen Ralston. My friend, Owen Ralston. We’re just…headed toward the coast.”
Ralston leaned forward, grinning as he shook Hank’s hand. “Vacation,” he said. “Need to get away. From those old hens in the harbor.”
Oddly enough, Hank was pretty sure he knew what Ralston was talking about in spite of his somewhat elliptical phrasing. “Taking some time off would give them time to find something else to talk about, I guess.”
“Damn right,” Ralston said placidly.
Greta ran her fingers through her hair, leaving it standing more or less on end. Hank discovered he liked it that way. “How did you know I was here?” she asked.
Mrs. Brewster shrugged. “Ryan told me.”
Greta’s expression became guarded. “Ryan’s in the harbor?”
“So far as I know, he’s in Boston. But he stopped by long enough to tell us you were here before he drove on home.”
“Oh.” Greta blew out a breath. “Well, good. I mean, I was coming home today, honest.”
“And, of course, you wouldn’t have found me if you had,” Mrs. Brewster said briskly. “Since Owen and I are going to Greenbush Island for the weekend.”
“Oh,” Greta repeated. “I just… Could I maybe talk to you for a minute?” She sounded a little desperate.
“You mean in private?” Mrs. Brewster shrugged. “Why not. You boys can take care of yourselves, can’t you?”
“Sure.” Hank gave them both another reassuring grin. “Don’t worry about us. We can wait.”
“Good.” Mrs. Brewster turned back to Greta. “Well, then, shall we go inside? I assume they’ve got a lobby here.”
“More or less,” Greta mumbled. She held the screen door for her mother and then followed her.
Hank glanced back at Owen Ralston. “They may be a while. Would you like some iced tea or something?”
Ralston shook his head. “Nope. Good time for a nap.” He settled back in his chair, closing his eyes.
Hank watched him for a moment, then dropped into the chair next to him. All of a sudden, a nap seemed like a fine idea.