Dining with Joy (38 page)

Joy nodded, chocking back the rise of emotion. If she spoke, she feared she'd break into pieces and bleed the life of her soul into the soil. First Luke. Now her girls.

Last night Lyric's friends came to say good-bye and Joy manned the spontaneous party with chips, dip, and cokes, keeping her mounting sorrow at bay by being in constant motion.

Annie-Rae's friend Emma stopped by with her parents to say good-bye. Joy marveled at Annie, who seemed so accepting of the situation, her tender heart able to see the future while holding on to the past.

“When I grow up,” Joy glanced down at Mama, breathing deep to clear the tears from her words, “I want to be like Annie. Selfless and wise. Comfortable in my own skin.”

“Where do you think she gets those traits?” Mama wrapped her arm around Joy's waist. “From you.”

“Mama.” Sawyer approached the porch. “Thank you.” His contrite tone revealed a man Joy didn't see last night on the porch. A father. “Come to Vegas.” He wrapped Mama in a son's embrace. “We have the room. Joy?” He offered his hand. “Thank you. For everything. Even the chewing out.”

Her eyes welled up as she bypassed his hand for a hug. “Take care of my girls.”

“We will, Mama Bear.” He patted her back as emotion thinned his voice.

“Thank y'all so much.” Mindy stepped up to the porch, hugging Mama, then Joy. “Come see us. Please. Joy, lots of good-looking, fun men in Vegas.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Vegas could keep its good-looking, fun men. There was a cowboy in Portland who watched her back, wooed her heart.

Mama walked with Sawyer and Mindy to the car, exclaiming over how snuggly Lyric looked in the back. When Joy shifted her gaze, her eyes caught Annie-Rae standing in the yard, her marble eyes swimming, her jutted lip quivering.

Joy lunged off the porch the same moment Annie-Rae rushed toward her and leapt into her arms.

“Aunt Joy, Aunt Joy—”

“Oh, baby girl, I'm going to miss you.” Joy clutched the stout, quivering body as Annie sobbed against her hair.

“Don't be lonely, Aunt Joy. You can come see us.”

“Hey now, don't you worry about me.” Joy squeezed tighter. “I'm going to be just fine. You have fun and enjoy being a kid, promise?”

“Promise.”

“Next time we see each other, we'll make a whole bunch of banana bread.” Joy set Annie to the ground. “You have the recipe card, right?”

“In my suitcase. Mr. Luke said I could call him anytime for help.”

Joy brushed Annie's curls from her eyes. “He's one of the good ones, isn't he?”

“Yeah, I think he is.”

Joy laughed. “Well, my little counselor, let's get you buckled up.”

The crunch of the SUV's tires lingered in Joy's soul for a good while after Sawyer exited the driveway. Mama leaned with her arms on the porch rail as if waiting to see if they'd turn around. Then she scanned the yard, murmured something about trimming the front hedges before she dug up the dirt for the sprinkler system, then patted Joy's arm.

“I need to go into the shop. Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah, Mama, I am. I really am.” The quiet around her settled into her spirit, and for the rest of the morning, Joy sat on the porch praying, watching the wind in the trees.

Thirty-five

Saturday evening Baxter McMullen picked up Mama for their date in his vintage Jag. Joy observed from the window, suspecting Mama fell in love between the porch and the passenger door. Her laugh muffled against the window with a young, airy sound as Baxter opened her door and whispered something in her ear.
You go, Mama
.

Turning back to the living room, Joy wandered to the kitchen, stirring herself to get something going tonight. She didn't need to sit home, listening to the echo of an empty house, casing Mama's bag of Cheetos until she succumbed to temptation.

Sawyer and Mindy had called earlier from the road, said they were having a blast. By now, they should be pulling into their Vegas driveway. Annie would be in the pool the moment the luggage was put away.

All right, get something going
. Joy snatched up her phone. She had friends. Good friends. Why spend her Saturday night staining her fingers orange and watching sappy black-and-white movies? That was for another time.

Dialing Elle, Joy opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the porch, listening to the voice mail kick on and tell Joy to leave a message. “It's me. Saturday night. Call if you can.”

Joy pressed End. She'd call Caroline, but she was on tour with Mitch. Gazing toward the creek, Joy welcomed a phantom sensation of Annie-Rae's clinging good-bye hug, deciding she'd give the girls a call tomorrow afternoon.

Back in the house, Joy wandered into the kitchen. Maybe she should just go into town, pop into Luther's for a burger. Sooner or later she'd have to face the townspeople.

She might run into Wild Wally, maybe J.D., or Bodean and Marley. She peered down at her phone, the thought of Luke gentling across her mind. He'd been quiet the last few days, but the Roth House official grand opening was this weekend. Linus moved the opening up two weeks early. Luke said he wanted to catch October's fall festivities before November rolled around with grey clouds and icy winds.

Setting her phone on the counter, Joy noticed Daddy's recipe book. The tender leather gave way under her hand when she picked it up. She could make dinner. For herself. Joy flipped through the pages, Daddy's familiar handwriting making her homesick for him.

Chick's Country Fried Rice
Joy had
loved
country fried rice when she was a girl. Her finger traced Daddy's comments.
One of Joy's favorites
. He knew. When she believed him to be a clueless ogre, he knew.

The recipe called for brown rice, shortening, chicken, bread crumbs, chopped-up broccoli florets. She didn't have to open the fridge or pantry to know none of those ingredients were in the house.

Her mouth tingled at the idea of the crisp hot rice, and a burger seemed like a cheap substitute. She
needed
to make this country fried rice and chicken. She needed to feed herself.

Hunting down a scrap of paper, Joy scribbled a shopping list, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door. This was crazy, exciting. For the first time in her twenty-nine years, besides nuking a frozen pizza or box macaroni, Joy was going to cook for herself.

Out the front door into the twilight, Joy sank to the porch steps and pulled out her phone.

Guess what I'm doing?

She waited for Luke to respond. The cool night air wrapped around her legs. Shorts season would end soon. When he didn't answer, she continued her message.

Cooking dinner. By myself, for myself. Country fried rice and chicken. Aren't you proud?

Still no response. Joy exhaled, aching for him, but subtly aware that tonight wasn't about Luke, or Daddy, or what was, or what would come. But about discovering something of herself.

Her food was to do the will of
the
Father. And for some bizarre reason, the step involved country fried rice and chicken.

Aiming her key fob at the truck and pushing the Unlock button, Joy took the yard in long strides and climbed behind the wheel, excited, nervous, anticipating the taste of God's goodness feeding her heart.

Sunday night around eight, the air quieted in the Roth House kitchen and Luke stepped out the back door into the cold night air.

His stomach rumbled. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. Three hours a night for the last five. The grand opening on Thursday met with a full house from dinner until closing. And by the goofy grin on Linus's face this afternoon, the weekend would end in the black.

“Chef?” The maître d' popped out the door. “Someone left something for you on the counter.”

“What kind of something?” Luke tipped his head against the bricks, fighting irritation. The crew was still so needy. He could fall asleep right here, right now.

“Chef?” A server appeared beside the maître d'. “Table thirteen is still unhappy. They want to speak to you.”

“What's the problem?” Some clients of high-end restaurants complain until the chef appears and then everything is wonderful. They know they'll get a complimentary entrée or dessert. Perhaps a round from the bar.

“They say the food is cold.”

“I pulled it from the grill and plated it myself.” Luke pushed up from the wall, his legs weak, and followed the server into the kitchen. The maître d' closed the door behind him. “I'll be out in a second.” Luke stopped at the sink to wash his face. “But ask what you can do for them and agree to everything. Wine, got it. Dessert? Done.” Luke eyed the server to make sure she understood. “Kill them with kindness.”

“Yes, sir, Chef.” She spun off for the battleground of table thirteen.

Back behind the window, Luke checked the tickets waiting to be completed, scanning the dining room for table thirteen. The server was smiling and nodding, the guests were shaking their heads and frowning. He'd have to go out. Just as he started for the kitchen door, Luke spotted a plate of banana bread on the counter.

“Who put this here? With a toothpick flag?” He lifted the plate to examine the bread. Where did this come from? The bread was overcooked, dry and thick. It'd been served without the icing. “Let's not get sloppy, people.” Luke dumped the bread into the trash and dropped the plate into a tub of dirty dishes. “We're just getting started.”

In a corner booth with a view of the ocean, Joy shivered, pressing her hands together. It'd been at least ten minutes. The elegant dining room with linen covered tables, candlelight, and live stringed music was wasted on her.

“Excuse me.” She reached for the maître d' who seated her.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Did you give the bread, with the flag”—
last-minute idea
—“to Luke Redmond?”

“Yes, ma'am, I did. Can I get you anything?”

Yes, the chef
. “No thank you.” Joy fell against the plush booth, her heart suspended between panic and peace. But she'd let go, jumped off the cliff, winging toward Portland in faith, and now found herself landing on a monumentally bad idea.

She was bleary-eyed and lacked the energy to reason through her options. But . . .

One, stay and wait. Two, leave before she was discovered and never mention this to
anyone
. Or three, march into the kitchen, grab Luke by the ears, and kiss him till he couldn't breathe.

She'd driven all the way up the Eastern seaboard with a foilwrapped loaf of banana bread in the passenger seat, finally embracing her true reality.
I love Luke Redmond
.

He'd waited. Treated her kind. Watched her from the ground while she languished in her tower, refusing to let down her hair. Luke deserved a grand gesture of love, didn't he?

A two-day drive with her homemade banana bread seemed perfect. Until now. She'd not heard from him in days. Maybe he'd change his mind about her. Doubt bloomed in the fallow soil of her heart.

As Joy watched for him to come from the kitchen, her legs twitched, eager to run. Just go, duck out before it's too late. Gathering her purse, she slid to the edge of the booth, with one eye on the door. But just as she was about to stand, Luke Redmond burst into the dining room.

“Good evening.” Luke stopped at table thirteen. The patrons sat up tall.

“Chef, the food is wonderful.”

“It's not too cold?” The foursome looked to be from old New England money. The men wore vests under their suit jackets and the wives, diamonds. They liked to be on the inside with artists and chefs. They were bored and demanded attention by complaining.

“The food is perfect. Simply wonderful.”

Just as he thought. “Please enjoy dessert on me tonight.” Luke backed away with a nod. “I know you'll take care of the server.”

“Yes, yes, of course. How generous, Chef, thank you.”

“I recommend the banana bread.” Luke moved to the next table, but one of the servers, Ron, tapped his arm. “The woman at table five has been waiting awhile.”

“For her food? Who's her server?” Luke angled to see the corner booth.

“No, she's been waiting for you.”

Luke's heart stopped. Joy's luminous baby blues gazed at him. What was she doing here? Luke cut through the center tables to her booth. Her frail smile trembled.

“Surprise.”

Without a word, Luke slid in next to her and gathered her in his arms, his heart drumming, and he kissed her. Again and again.

The warmth of Luke's kisses sank through Joy like an incandescent pearl.

“What are you doing here?” He rested his forehead against hers.

“I wanted to tell you something.” Joy ran her fingers along the buttons of his chef 's whites.

“You drove a thousand miles just to tell me something?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Joy laughed, still weak from his kiss. “Did you get my banana bread?”

“The banana bread? Oh,
the
banana bread. With the flag?”

“I had the server give it to you.”

“Right, right, yeah, he did. But we serve banana bread here.” Luke motioned for a passing server to hand him a menu. “I thought the bread was from the house.”

In the candlelight, Joy scanned the desserts.
Chick's Banana Bread. Courtesy of Charles Ballard and his daughter, Joy
. She covered her lips with her fingers. “You thought my banana bread was the restaurant's?” Laughter bubbled in her chest.

“Actually, I wasn't sure, but—”

“What'd you do with it—”

“Tossed it.”

Now she laughed, a guttural melody disturbing the synchronized harmonies of the stringed-quartet. “I can just picture your face. ‘What is this?'”

“You know me too well.” Luke tugged Joy close to him and bent in for another deep kiss. “Please tell me you didn't drive all this way to bring me banana bread.”