Leaves (20 page)

“They want you outside,” she said.

Deborah had just started filling a pastry bag with caramel. “Who wants me outside?”

“Practically everyone. Lots of people have asked during the night, and I kept telling them that I assumed you'd come out at some point, but now I'm starting to wonder if you're just planning to hide in here.”

Deborah often took a walk around the dining room at some stage in the evening. That she hadn't tonight had much to do with the scale of the menu, but it was also at least partially deliberate.

“I'm getting dessert ready,” she said.

Gina took the pastry bag from her hands. “I'll stuff the donuts. Go bathe in adulation.”

Deborah offered her soon-to-be former sous a
gee, thanks
smirk. Then she turned to Sage. “Are you coming?”

He sat upright, but he didn't rise from his chair. “They aren't asking for me. You should do this solo.”

Cringing inside, she headed for the door. As soon as she entered the dining room, it erupted in applause with several diners standing.

“You do realize you're paying for your meals tonight, right?” she said to laughter when things quieted. “I hope you've enjoyed your dinner. After the beef, there's dessert, after which we have a little something for you to take home and then we'll have used all the food we have left in the kitchen. If you're still hungry – and if you are, you might want to talk to a doctor – the diner down the street is open all night, and they make very good omelets.”

Deborah paused and looked at her hands. She hadn't planned to give a speech tonight and she'd prepared nothing. She was hoping someone would simply start applauding so she could wave her thanks and get back to her work, but that wasn't happening.

“You know, cooking in this kitchen is the only job I've ever had. Unless you count the time when my mother paid me to spend an hour playing Candy Land with my little brother. Now
that
was work. My parents put their souls into this place and I felt that it was only appropriate that I do the same. Since the day we decided to sell the inn, I've been thinking about how I would soon not be cooking here anymore, and I've been dragging my heels as much as I can.

“I guess I can't avoid it any longer. As each dish has gone out tonight, I've been thinking,
last soup
,
last appetizer
,
last fish course
. You really should eat your last meat course before it gets cold, by the way. I'm sorry I didn't come out earlier tonight to see how everyone was doing, especially considering that all of you have had a special relationship to the inn. I had a feeling that if I did I'd never make it through the entire meal.

“So thank you for your patronage, thank you for your kindness, thank you for not sending anything back tonight – that would have been tough. There will never be another place like this for me, and I appreciate your being a part of it more than I could possibly express.”

With a slight bow, Deborah turned to go back to the kitchen as the applause started again. When she got back, Gina was waiting for her with a hug, and each of the staff followed her. Finally, she walked over to Sage and collapsed in his arms.

It was a good thing someone else was handling dessert, because Deborah wasn't sure she'd survive it.

Inspired by his multiple conversations with Joe Elliot while he was in South Carolina, Tyler had been out with his camera since nine this morning. He'd decided not to phone Corrina about the “disaster” with the party. By tomorrow, none of that would matter. Instead, he was treating this day as another, more meaningful occasion, and he needed to take as many shots as he could.

There were lots of children in the park, several of whom were in costume. There were two kids in Patriots jerseys throwing a football. Was that a Halloween thing for these two, or did they always dress that way to have a catch?

Tyler got to the huge oak in the northeast corner of the park and camped under it. As he settled, a leaf dropped down, flipping in the light breeze toward him. Tyler lay on his back and caught the leaf making several turns until it landed on his stomach.

He looked through his lens up the branches of the oak, and then did the same without the camera. The branches were now completely bare. Brushing the last leaf from his shirt, Tyler snapped dozens of frames of the tree in its winter guise.

Joey was on his third shirt. The first had fallen victim to a yogurt tube explosion. The second had proven no match for the toy truck the kid thought it would be fun to stuff underneath it. Joey didn't as much outgrow his clothes as vanquish them. Having re-dressed his child yet again – maybe he should have just left him in the tattered shirt until they were about to go – Maxwell sat his son in front of the television, hoping Joey would mellow out for a bit. Maxwell needed to get ready for the party.

When he got to the bathroom, he saw that Annie had blown her hair dry and was now applying eyeliner at a glacial pace.

“He's neat again,” Maxwell said. “I'm hoping Bob the Builder can sedate him long enough for us to get out of the house.”

Annie now seemed to be just staring at the mirror, though she did manage to say, “Good luck with that.”

Maxwell changed quickly. At one point, Corrina had the idea that all of them should show up at the party in costume this year as they did when they were kids. Maxwell squashed this immediately. The last thing he needed was an opponent flashing pictures of Maxwell dressed as an eighties rock star or some such thing while he was trying to convince voters that he had the gravitas to be mayor. When he went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth, his wife was still gazing at her reflection.

It was more than obvious that Annie had no interest in coming to this event. He hadn't pushed her about Maria's show, but this was different. If everyone didn't show up tonight, Maxwell wasn't sure when they'd all be together again.

Maxwell stood next to Annie at the mirror.

“You're still the fairest of them all.”

Annie broke eye contact with herself to smirk at him. “Yeah, like you actually believe that.”

The darkness in her tone shook him. He took her by the shoulders and turned her in his direction. “I do believe that, Annie. There's never been a time when I didn't believe that.”

Annie shook her head slowly.

“Annie, talk to me.”

She locked eyes with him for a moment and then looked away. “We don't need to talk.”

He realized he was still holding her shoulders, and he gave them a light squeeze before stepping back. “We
do
need to talk. Look, I know I've been spending a lot of time thinking about my future lately, but in case I haven't made it as clear as I thought I'd always made it, I want you to be happy and I want you to have all of the things you want. We'll figure out whatever we need to figure out.”

“You're just saying that because you want me to be a bouncy, smiling accessory for your campaign.”

Maxwell looked down at the floor for a second, unsure of how he could have ever let his wife believe this. “I'm saying that because I'm deeply in love with you and I have been for as long as I can remember. I have lots of agendas, Annie, but you're not one of them. My desires for your happiness are as pure as anything I've ever felt.”

Annie turned back toward the mirror and tried to get back to her eyeliner. She couldn't do it through her tears, though.

“Annie, tell me what's going on.”

She turned back to him and threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking Maxwell backward. Momentarily stunned, he recovered and pulled her close.

“I can't,” she said, “But –”

“– Daddy, Bob made my pants dirty.”

Still hugging Annie, Maxwell looked down at Joey, who'd somehow managed to draw all over his khakis.

“Pinball, I need a minute with your mom.”

Annie patted his chest and wiped at her eyes. “Go. Get him cleaned up again. I'll be ready in a few minutes.”

The canapés put Corrina over the top. The party had been going for about an hour and a half now. As happened every year, the first people to show up were the families with young children. The kids went straight for the huge bowls of candy and seemed to love the animatronic ghouls, cackling witches, and “scary” sound effects. They even showed an interest in Tyler's flying bats, though Corrina herself had to prevent them from being a major insurance liability.

About an hour into the party, families with older children and people with no children at all started showing up. A surprising number, including several of Oldham's most notable citizens, showed up in costume, which made Corrina regret even more that she'd allowed Maxwell to talk her out of having all the hosts in costume. The press showed up around the same time, with video cameras chronicling the event. Corrina was slightly miffed that when they needed a member of the family for an interview they went for Maxwell instead of her, but it was probably better that way, as her hands were full keeping everything running.

At this point, there were easily more than a hundred people in attendance, walking through the haunted house, listening to the ghost-storyteller hired for the event, dancing to the DJ on the makeshift dance floor, or mostly standing around and chatting while nibbling canapés.

Or at least they would be nibbling canapés if there were anywhere near enough to go around. Corrina found it frustrating at the highest level that her sister – who knew how important this event was, and who had had all the notice she could possibly need – hadn't prepared enough food for the crowd she knew was coming. Coming into the night, Corrina had convinced herself that Deborah was the least of her concerns. That had obviously been an enormous mistake.

She headed off to the kitchen.

Deborah was buzzing around from workstation to workstation when Corrina got there. She certainly looked busy, even if she wasn't producing anything.

“What the hell is going on with the food?” Corrina said, pulling her sister away from one of her staff.

“What are you talking about?”

“There isn't enough of it for how many people are out there. Please tell me you didn't underestimate this entire thing.”

“I didn't underestimate anything. We've just had a little bottleneck getting it out. One waiter called in sick, another cut himself and had to be bandaged up, and a third had a crisis with his new employer that we had to talk him through. We've called in a replacement for the sick one, we've patched up the wounded one, and we've pulled the one in crisis back from the ledge. A lot more stuff will start going out now.”

Corrina wasn't mollified. “You should have prepared for contingencies on a night like this.”

“I never would have prepared for losing three members of the wait staff.”

“Well, the lack of food is destroying the party.”

“For who? Are people walking out? Are they collapsing from starvation?”

“I'm not saying they are.”

“What are you saying, then?”

Corrina watched the motion around the kitchen, an awkward ballet of spinning chefs and weaving waiters. It was a wonder that people and dishes weren't splayed across the floor every few minutes.

She took a deep breath and turned back to her sister, whose confrontational glare had not diminished.

“First the music was too low, then it was too loud, and now the DJ is just being obstinate. The smoke machine was pumping so hard that a toddler nearly disappeared. The storyteller has told the same story five times already. The candy is disappearing way too fast. And the video guy has caught all of this so we can be mocked later tonight on the local news.”

Deborah threw her head skyward and then took Corrina by the arm to lead her back out into the party. “Look at this,” she said, pointing. “Does anyone here seem to be having a bad time?”

Corrina scanned the area. Kids were laughing, adults were talking animatedly, and there now seemed to be a dozen waiters delivering food in every direction. “No.”

“Then just calm down. You can't manage this anymore, Corrina. It's happening – and by all indications, it's happening the way we hoped it would happen. Just lighten up.”

With that, Deborah pivoted and went back into the kitchen. Corrina stayed where she was for another couple of minutes, simply watching the revelers. They did seem to be, well,
reveling
. Maybe it was time to take her foot off the pedal.

As she started to walk back into the main function room, Gardner came up to her.

“I'm gonna go home,” he said.

Corrina couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her husband had shown up an hour late and now he was bolting. “What? You want to leave already?”

“I think I've got something. My head is pounding, and the noise in here isn't helping. I'm gonna go to bed.”

Corrina knew that wasn't it. He was going back to the house to work on his case. He'd probably been calculating exactly how long he'd need to be here to make a decent showing. He'd calculated wrong.

“This is a big night for me, Gardner.”

“So you've mentioned a few thousand times. I'm sorry. I feel miserable. I've been feeling like I was coming down with something for a while, and it really hit me tonight.”

“Then go. I'll see you when I get home.”

Gardner kissed her cheek and then left without another word. As she watched him cross the room, Corrina caught sight of Ryan, who noticed Gardner's exit and then turned to her and rolled his eyes. Clearly, he was thinking the same thing she was thinking, though she was surprised that he was willing to acknowledge it. There would be a conversation about this as soon as she could grab her husband's attention again.

“The gravlax is spectacular,” Etta Colter said as she walked past.

Corrina smiled at her. “Thanks. I'm so glad you're enjoying it.”

Deborah rarely made cakes. Her pastry skills were not up to her other culinary skills, and she tended to keep her desserts on a less ambitious scale than the savory dishes she served. Still, tonight was an occasion for a cake – and not just any cake, but a very large one. Once she'd figured out what last night's menu was going to be, constructing this cake had become her most nagging obsession.

The dark chocolate cake with orange buttercream was done now, though. She'd just finished garnishing it with frosted cranberries, and it was ready to roll out to the guests.

Deborah glanced around her at the still-bustling kitchen. There was still plenty to do: washing, cleaning, sanitizing, putting everything in place for the chef who would take over this spot when the new owners reopened the inn. This was the last dish that was ever going to leave this kitchen with Deborah in charge, though. How ironic that the last thing she would serve at the inn would be so far from her strengths. It would easily be the least refined item she'd presented all evening. Maybe she should have started with the cake and then moved on from there.

Deborah began to unbutton her jacket. Corrina told her that she wanted her with the rest of the family for the last hour of the party. Deborah wanted to disagree just because Corrina suggested it, but her sister was right. Once she'd finished with the food service, she needed to switch from chef to co-host.

As she shrugged off her jacket, Sage came up to her. He'd been flitting in and out of the kitchen all night, obviously unsure of whether he was here as Deborah's emotional aid, a part of the Oldham community, or a member of the inner circle. All of those roles were so new to him, though he maintained each with a level of grace that was one of the hundreds of things Deborah found so endearing.

“Do you want me to take this?” he said, reaching for her jacket.

She smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“The cake looks fantastic.”

“It tastes like Plaster of Paris.”

“I doubt that.”

She kissed his lips softly. “That's because you're a good man.”

She kissed him again, then looked down at the cake, and then around the room.

“I think I need a minute alone,” she said.

He touched her arm. “I'll leave you to it.”

“No, I mean completely alone.”

She called out to her staff. It took a full thirty seconds for the clattering and washing to stop. She asked them to give her the kitchen for a moment, and they respectfully cleared out, Sage included.

When the room was empty, Deborah closed her eyes and let the room fill her soul. She remembered the first time her mother let her come in here to do more than beg a chocolate chip cookie. It was a few weeks after her fourteenth birthday and she wanted to try to make a stir-fry. She'd cooked things in the family kitchen before, but she'd read in a magazine that real stir-frys required a level of heat that most people didn't have in their homes. She guessed that if most kids told their parents they wanted to play with fire in the parents' place of business they would be shunted aside, but that didn't happen to Deborah. The stir-fry was a mess that day, but the power in the kitchen thrummed through her. She knew it was where she was meant to be.