I could hear him breathing, voices rising in the background. The Vincent house was never empty.
“I’m good,” he finally answered, “but you called to talk to Mom, right? Hold on just a sec.”
There was static as he pulled the phone away, his voice muffled when he shouted for his mother. There was a distant reply, running feet, and then an out of breath, “Hello?”
“Mrs. Vincent?” I chuckled, “Not chasing grandkids, are you?”
My question was met with a laugh. “Lawd, one of these days, they’re going to be the death of me, Hawthorne. I’m guessing you’re calling about the order from this morning?”
“I am. You gave Rebecca a really good idea of what you’re looking for, but I can usually get a little more creative if I have an idea what it’s for.”
She pulled the phone away long enough to chastise a child before returning to the conversation. “It’s for Mams. You know her birthday was a few months ago. Ninety-three, can you believe it? Anyway, we didn’t really do a big gathering because she was feeling a little down, but …” she paused, her voice lowering, “she doesn’t have long. We all know it. The fact she’s made it as long as she has, and lived to the age she is now is a miracle. We’d like to have one good, last hurrah with her.”
There was silence, and then I asked, “Can I change up what you’ve asked for? I have something in mind.”
“Absolutely, child. I trust you. Honestly, I’m so glad you decided to do this … you know, the catering business and all that. It wouldn’t have been the same if you weren’t the one doing it. Besides, the closest place other than yours is almost an hour away.”
I smiled. “It’s good to be home. It’s even better to be a part of this town.”
Again, there was a momentary silence. “We’re proud of you, Hawthorne. Your uncle would have been so very proud.”
My eyes burned, my throat closing up, my words coming out deeper when I replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Vincent.”
“Lynn,” she admonished, “and it’s the truth.”
A few extra details, the date and time (three days), and a few catered meal ideas, and we hung up, Heathcliff’s voice still ringing in my ears. He was home.
Despite the two imminent orders waiting in front of me, I ran up the stairs to my room and pulled open my closet, my gaze falling on the pair of tennis shoes sitting just inside. The marker on the side had faded, the words almost gone, but my mind saw them as clearly as my eyes had seen them five years before. Keep me.
Chapter 23
For the next two days, Rebecca and I worked hard in the kitchen, filling orders, making deliveries, and clearing our schedule so that we could spend the day on the Vincent order. It was a last minute party, and I wondered if that meant Heathcliff was leaving again. It didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter that I’d more than likely have to spend most of the night cooking. I’d do anything for Mams.
“What did you come up with for the cakes?” Rebecca asked.
I grinned, taking the sketch pad in front of me and turning it to face her.
She gasped. “Oh, Hawthorne! Wow! There’s a lot of love in that design.”
Shrugging, I laid the book back down and returned to mixing ingredients. “It’s for Mams.”
Rebecca joined me in the kitchen, taking over the mixing while I started on other things, my mind occupied. If I was being honest, I’d spent the past two nights listening for Heathcliff’s truck, the loud sound of it coming up the drive. It was insane, really, the idea that he’d even have the desire to come out to the plantation. It was even crazier that he’d come to see me. We’d been together during a time I needed him the most. I’d be forever grateful for that, but that didn’t mean he needed me. He’d loved me, I knew that, but love and need are often two very different things.
There was a radio in the kitchen Rebecca had insisted we had to have, and she turned it on, dancing to the music, before bumping me with her hip. “Forget he’s here for a moment, Hawthorne. You dated a French man, for God’s sake. You’re cultured now.”
I snorted. “If you think that, you don’t know me very well.”
She laughed. “True. When you finally get a television in this place, then we’ll talk cultured.”
I threw her a grin, my head bouncing to the music as we worked, Rebecca’s lighthearted attitude contagious.
My gaze flicked to her profile. “Have I told you lately how glad I am you’re my friend?”
She glanced at me. “You don’t have to.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I do. You took me under your wings years ago when you didn’t have to.”
She froze, the music droning on in the background. “You did just as much, Hawthorne. You gave me a place to go, and you didn’t ask questions. You just let me stay.”
Her words surprised me, and I stared. I guess I’d never thought about our friendship and how it happened. It just had. She’d started coming around, and I’d let her. I’d needed the company, and she’d needed the escape.