Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3) (5 page)

Dom looked up at me, his eyes narrowed with concern. “Who? Pittman?” I nodded. “Good riddance. Now, maybe you can stop punishing yourself for something you had no control over. Which brings me back to Iggy.”

I grimaced. “Let’s not go there. Please. I’m not interested in dating Iggy Zemski. Or anyone else, for that matter. I’ve been down that road, remember? Drove off the cliff. Metaphorically speaking.”

“Iggy’s nothing like David.”

“And the David I dated was nothing like the David I married,” I replied on a huge, defeated sigh. “I spend a lot of time these days wondering what I did to change him.”

“What makes you think you were responsible for any change in him?”

“People I’d known all my life were willing to think the worst of me when David died. I’m talking childhood friends, neighbors, teachers.”

“Small town people with small minds,” he remarked with a wave of his hand as he peeled off his gloves.

“No, they’re not. They’re like your ‘Snuggies.’ Hardworking, reliable, trustworthy. These are people I’ve known since my family moved to Ohio when I was three. For God’s sake, even
my parents
are on the fence about me. That has to mean they see something in me I’ve never noticed. Some…darkness.” I shook my head again, lifted Shep off the exam table and carried him toward the holding area in the back room. “Trust me. I’m better off alone.”

“Well, be warned,” he called after me. “Iggy Zemski’s not one to give up easily. And I’m actually rooting for
him
in this contest.”

That became obvious when the topic of our conversation showed up again. This time around, Iggy Zemski brought me a wounded squirrel in a shoebox.

“I think some kind of wild animal got him,” he said, placing the box on my exam table.

An understatement. The back legs were splayed at awkward angles. Whatever had attacked this poor creature had broken its back and destroyed any chance of the animal’s survival. I didn’t touch the squirrel. There was no need. He’d die within minutes. I sighed. “All I can do at this stage is make him comfortable.”

“That’s it?” His question came out a hoarse croak, and I looked up at him to see the sorrow on his face. This giant of a man had a gooey inside, or the best acting chops this side of Hollywood.

Once, a long time ago, a giant man with a soft heart charmed me into love and marriage. But when things went just a bit too far south for him, his soft heart became his undoing, leaving me holding the bag. I shook off the memories and reverted to clinical Dr. Herrera.

“I’m sorry. He’s too badly injured. It’s not your fault. Even if you had brought him here the minute it happened, I couldn’t help him.” I pulled open a drawer and removed a soft cotton blanket that I tucked around the struggling animal. At least we could keep him warm and comfortable for the end.

“You gotta do something for him.”

My heart splintered. I hated delivering bad news to a pet owner—even when the pet owner only had custody for an hour or so. “I’m not a wildlife specialist, Mr. Zemski, but even if I were, I could tell you this little guy’s too far gone for help from anyone. Not your fault. He wasn’t going to survive, no matter what anyone did. My guess would be he was hunted as a food source and you, or someone else, startled the hunter before he could kill his prey, but not before the destruction was wrought. In the future, should you find another injured woodland creature, though, you should head directly to Hampton Bays. There’s a volunteer foundation there that specializes in wildlife health. Becky can give you the address for your records.” I placed the lid on the box and removed my gloves. “No charge for today, since I couldn’t do anything to help.”

“You could make it up to me by having dinner with me,” he said as he lifted the box.

Seriously? We were back to this again? Cara’s words echoed in my head.
I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he arranged to get this dog here just so he could come up with a reasonable way to meet you.
And when the dog didn’t do the trick, did he assume he could just keep bringing me injured strays until I agreed to go out with him? I was going to have to be firm with him this time.

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “You seem like a very nice man, Mr. Zemski. But I am not looking for a date. Not now, and probably not ever. Thank you.”

“I am a nice man, Dr. Herrera. And you seem like a very nice lady, someone I’d really like to get to know. It doesn’t have to be a date, just a few hours with a new friend. If you don’t want to do dinner, how about lunch? Or tea? You like tea? A brand new tea shop just opened up in town. I’ve heard the pastries are worth ruining your figure for.” He scanned me up and down in that infuriating male-privilege way that always annoyed me. Even wearing a lab coat, the look made me want to clutch my collar to my throat. “Not that you would. Ruin your figure, I mean.”

I ignored that. “Mr. Zemski, I—”

“Iggy,” he corrected.

No. I was not going to be on a first-name basis with him. That, in my mind, was encouraging him, and I had no intention of dating him—or anyone else, for that matter. “Mr. Zemski, please. You seem like a very nice man, and if I were interested in dating anyone, I’d definitely say yes to you. But I just lost my husband recently—”

He backed up, a dark flush rising in his razor-sharp cheeks. “Oh. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Thank you.” I dropped my gaze to my hands.

“Is that why you moved here?”

“Yes. I needed a fresh start.” I needed that start more than anyone but Dom knew. Part of me hated using David’s death as a convenient excuse, but my logical side knew it was as close to the truth as I’d ever admit to a stranger.

“Well, then, all the more reason you need a friend. You’re new in town, and aside from Dr. Bautista, you don’t know anyone. What if you got a flat tire somewhere?”

“I’d call Triple-A,” I replied.

“A water leak or a problem with your electricity?” he countered. “Triple-A’s useless for that kinda stuff.”

I bit back a smile. “Yellow Pages?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to have a friend you can rely on? I mean, you can’t always get an electrician to come to your house at…say…two in the morning. But you could always get me.”

“Really, that’s very kind of you, but—”

“Tea. Just a cup of tea. A scone. A cookie. Come on. You hafta eat. Right? We’ll be two friends, checking out the new place in town.” I started to argue again, but he cut me off. “I’m more than nice or kind. I’m also honorable. Trustworthy. Ask anyone in town. In fact, pick the day and time you wanna go, tell everyone you know you’re meeting me there. They’ll not only assure you I’m a good guy, but if something untoward happens to you, I’d become the number one suspect. Who would take that chance?”

I couldn’t stifle my gasp fast enough. A joke. He had to have meant it as a joke. No one in this town but Dom knew the truth. Dom and me. Whether joke or threat, the words stiffened my spine and hardened my resolve.

“Thank you, Mr. Zemski. But no. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to see to.” Although my legs trembled, I managed to look all-business as I strode to the exam room entrance and opened the door fast and wide.

Becky whirled, flinching, at the sudden noise.

“No charge for Mr. Zemski today,” I told her then turned to leave through the rear door where I found Miranda waiting to prep the room for my next patient.

“You okay?” she asked as she headed past me. “You look like your best friend died.”

He did. About two years ago. Maybe longer if you count from the time he started drifting away from me. And his death changed my life in ways no one would ever understand.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just need a quick caffeine fix before the next exam. I’ll be right back.” I sped to the breakroom and sat in the closest chair, willing my limbs to steady themselves and struggling to keep the tears at bay.

Terri

Monday’s crowd wasn’t as dense as Sunday’s, but we still did a brisk business throughout the afternoon, including a few tourists—which, for a rainy November, was an unexpected bonus.

At Table Six, three such ladies had finished up their pots of tea (no pastries—dieting, you know) when one of them asked me, “Do you host birthday parties here?”

I thought about the possibility. Why not? How hard could it be? “I’m sure we could,” I replied.

“Wonderful.” The woman turned to her friends. “I’m looking for something different for Halston’s seventh birthday this year.”

“Oh, a tea party would be lovely,” one of the other ladies enthused.

I thought so, too. In my mind, I pictured half a dozen little girls in fancy hats and pretty floral dresses with shiny black shoes, sipping tea and nibbling on dainty French sweets. This could be a great way to drum up business in the slower months. And in the summer, if it was too hot for tea, we could do lemonade parties. A new flame of hope burst to life inside me. Things were definitely looking up.

“Of course, I’ll have to make sure Halston likes the idea first. Do you have a card or brochure?”

“Umm…” Did I? “Hang on. I’ll check.” I threaded my way around the chairs and tables to the front counter where Paige took another patron’s bill and charge card. “Hey,” I greeted her with a subtle nod.

Paige nodded in return, but her focus remained on the paying customer. “Thanks for visiting,” she said as he scrawled his signature on the credit receipt. “I hope you’ll come back soon.” Once the gentleman and his companions left, she turned to me. “What’s up?”

“Do I have business cards?” I whispered through a tight smile for the benefit of the customers milling nearby. How could the owner of the place not know if she had marketing material? Quite easily, in fact, if she’d just come home from a stint in rehab to find herself the owner of the place.

“Of course.” Paige reached into a Lucite holder near the cash register and picked up a small ivory-colored card. “Here.”

I flipped it around, took in the lacy design and the gold script.
Tea and Tidbits. Terri O’Mara, Proprietor
. “Nice.”

“Glad you like it.” Back to business, Paige looked out at the small crowd. “Cabot? Party of four?”

I returned to Table Six where the three women waited. “Here you go,” I said, handing over the card.

The woman took it without looking at it and tossed it in her slim purse. I swallowed my disappointment and offered the trio a smile.

“By the way, Halston is on a gluten-free, lactose-free diet. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

I had no idea, but I smiled even wider. “Not at all. I’ll look forward to hearing from you and Halston.”

I left their table and soon forgot all about them as I served other customers. Time flew. Sometime near closing, two college-aged girls approached me, looking for jobs. After a quick conversation regarding experience and availability, I hired them to bus tables, freeing Sam and Josh to return to their regular routine. Both would start tomorrow. I still had to replace half a dozen people, including my aunt and uncle, but I’d made
some
progress.

At the end of the day, I sent everyone home and sank into the nearest chair, exhausted but happy.

From behind me, china clinked. I whirled to spot Gary with a tray in his hands.

“Here. You haven’t eaten anything all day.” He set the tray down on the table in front of me. “Grilled cheese with gruyere and tomato aioli, a pot of green tea with honey, and an apple fritter.”

“Wow. Thanks. This smells awesome!” And it did. On cue, my appetite woke up and growled its presence.

“Judging by how busy I was in the kitchen, I’m guessing we had another good-sized crowd all day today, huh?”

“It’s been crazy busy,” I said and sat back to sip my tea. “We can barely keep up. And here’s more good news. I hired two local college students. Chelsea and Rachel will bus tables. With luck, in a few months, we can move them up to waitressing. In the meantime, with them on board, I can let Josh and Sam go. Isn’t that great?”

Gary’s eyes narrowed, and his posture stiffened. “Great. Except maybe next time, you might want to discuss it with your partner first? I might have liked some say on who’s working with us, doncha think?”

The edge in his tone snapped me from my dream state. Crap. I’d screwed up. And it was only Day Two. I put the teacup on its saucer and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having a partner. I’ve always been a solo act. Only child, only orphan, only drunken loser in town…” I offered him a self-deprecating goofball face, but instead of lightening the mood, my feeble poke at my own soft underbelly only seemed to anger him more.

“Stop doing that!”

His outburst forced me to cower in my chair, backpedaling for some easier ground between us. “What? It was a joke.”

“At your own expense. You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to be the first one to insult you. And in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not alone anymore—you never really have been. You’ve just always held yourself apart from everybody else.” I started to argue, but he held up a hand. “Think about it. If you were truly alone and no one cared about you, would you have any of this right now?”

Effectively chastised, I sucked at my teeth. “No. I guess not.”

“You’ve got friends, family,
and
a partner, who all care about you. That’s more than a lot of people have. That’s more than I have.”

Well, double-crap. Way to make me feel lower than swamp mud. “You’ve got friends,” I replied, my tone a whisper roughened by emotions I didn’t recognize. “And a partner. And we all care about you. And your son. I’m sorry I left you out of the loop with the hiring thing. You’re absolutely right. I was just feeling so guilty about everyone who’s working here as a favor to me—to
us
—I grabbed at the first opportunity to relieve two of them.” I inwardly cringed as I remembered the other executive decision I made. “I suppose I should also tell you that a woman asked if we could do a kid’s birthday party and I said yes. I got swept up in the excitement of having a new idea and totally forgot to run it past you. I won’t make that mistake again. I promise.”

He sat in the chair opposite me and leaned over to pat my hand. A warm tingle rippled through me at the contact. “It’s okay. I imagine you’re facing a lot more changes than you should right now. But try to remember you have not only a business partner, but a
friend
in that kitchen. Feel free to run things by me, always when they have to do with this place, but at any other times, too. I want you to trust me. I won’t bite.”

Okay, this was getting seriously weird. Not uncomfortable weird, just, like old-married-couple weird. Gary’s face was so close to mine, I swore he could stretch his lips and kiss me. And that was
not
a good idea!

I picked up a triangle of the sandwich and bit into it, creating an effective barrier between us. The creamy cheese and tangy aioli harmonized in my mouth, a symphony of flavors. No wonder my tearoom—
our
tearoom—drew such crowds. Gary Sullivan was an epicurean genius.

“Good?” he asked.

“Phenomenal. The Lookout’s loss is definitely my gain.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” He stood. “I should go. I hafta pick up Chris from his afterschool program. You okay here?”

With a wave of my arm, I gestured around the tearoom, empty but for the furniture and the two of us. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Enjoy your lunch.”

He started to return to the kitchen, pulling his apron up over his head as he strode away.

I called him back. “Hey. Gary?” When he turned around again, I held up a triangle of grilled cheese. “You wanna share some of this feast with me?”

His smile hit me right in the heart. “No, thanks,
ma puce
,” he drawled. “You need the sustenance. Lock up after I’m gone. I don’t want anything happening to my partner. Have a good night.” With that, he disappeared through the kitchen door. A minute later, I heard the back door open and close again.

The man’s behavior confused me. Part flirt, part nursemaid, part growling dog, Gary had more facets than a diamond—some of them just as sharp, others just as brilliant.

At least, I considered as I munched on the sandwich and sipped my tea, he’d make this partnership interesting.

Once I finished my meal, I brought the tray of dishes into the kitchen, cleaned up, and then returned to the front to make sure everything was locked up tight ‘til tomorrow. A square of white paper lay on the tile floor near the front door, and I bent to retrieve it. I assumed it was a flyer for one of the other local businesses. The image that met my eyes chilled my blood and pitched my stomach. A grainy photo of me, passed out on someone’s lawn, face-down in a garden of azaleas, sat beneath the headline,
Is This The Kind of Business Owner We Want in Snug Harbor?

♥♥♥♥

Jayne

My phone was ringing when I struggled to unlock my front door, a bag of groceries in my grasp. “Get that for me, would you, Midnight?”

The cat didn’t move from his perch on the windowsill.

“You’re a big help,” I grumbled and managed to get inside and drop the bag to grab the receiver before the answering machine clicked on. “Hello?”

“Hello? Is this Dr. Jayne Herrera?”

The question, paired with the unfamiliar voice, rang alarm bells in my head. “Who is this?”

“My name is Tanya Carter. I’m with the
Akron Register
. By now, I’m sure you’ve heard about the death of Mr. Pittman. We’re doing a retrospective—”

“You have the wrong number.” I hung up and stood in the darkened living room, staring at the phone. The tremors rippled through me, and my teeth chattered. Even knowing what would happen next, I wished there was a way to escape, to avoid the inevitable.

Sure enough, the ringing began before I’d caught my breath. This time, I let it go to voicemail. Thank God, my recorded message was automated with no personalization of any kind: no name, no number. Just the basic male robotic voice saying, “Hello. No one is available to take your call.”

I took a shaky breath, let it out while my brain raced into panicked recriminations. They’d found me, the vultures. I knew I’d taken a big chance by not changing my name when I moved here, but at the time, I feared going through the legal channels would leave a clearer paper trail for the unsavory to follow. Nor had I wanted to give up the degrees and licenses of the vocation I loved: veterinary medicine. Stupid, stupid, stupid. They would never leave me alone, no matter how much time passed.

When Tanya Carter’s voice came out of the speaker with the spiel she’d started on the phone with me, I turned the volume all the way down. Despite the silence, I could almost hear the script she’d recite from. How many times had reporters tried to wheedle me into providing my side of the story? Now that one of these muckrakers had found me, they’d all circle my carcass soon. They’d camp on my sidewalk outside the house, follow me to work, shove microphones at my neighbors, and delight in finding any individual who’d say, “I always knew she was weird,” for the benefit of cameras and fifteen minutes of fame.

I sighed. Time to go on the defensive. Again. First, I had a few people to warn. Since Tanya and her ilk would no doubt blow up my house phone with calls and messages for exclusives, I dug my cell out of my jacket pocket and hit the number for Dom, who was working the later shift tonight at the vet’s office.

Desiree, our evening receptionist, answered almost immediately. “Hello and thank you for calling Snug Harbor Veterinary. How can I help you this evening?”

I forced a calm I didn’t feel. “Hi, Desiree, it’s Dr. Herrera. Could you tell Dr. Bautista I’m on the phone? It’s important.”

“Sure, Dr. H. I think he’s just finishing up with a patient. Hold on.”

While the recorded hold message advised me that flea and tick medication was just as important in the fall as it was in the summer months for my pet, I walked around the first floor, turning on all the lights. Nothing worse than a gloomy atmosphere when discussing my checkered past.

“Hello, sunshine.” Dom’s cheery voice suddenly interrupted the recorded reminder that Halloween chocolate was dangerous for dogs. “Did you forget something?”

“They found me,” I replied without preamble.

“We kinda knew they would, didn’t we?” The happy tone didn’t dissipate.

“You don’t understand, Dom,” I whispered with urgency in the misguided hope he’d understand the gravity of the situation. “This is going to get ugly. They’ll invade the office, your home, any place that has any link to me. And they don’t play nice. They’ll dig up all kinds of unsavory stuff, put all your skeletons under a gigantic microscope. Yours, and probably Evan’s, too.”

“Hold on a sec.” He must’ve muffled the phone’s speaker with his palm while he said something to someone with him. As I waited for him to gain some privacy for our conversation, probably in his office, I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it on the couch. Midnight twined in and out of my legs, meowing for dinner and his nightly affection routine.