The Way Home (5 page)

“Me? Working here?” He seemed surprised but pleased. “That might be cool . . . What did she say?”

“She said I could offer you the job, and if you wanted to take it, she would talk to you about the salary and hours and all the other details.”

“Sure . . . I'd like a job here. What would I have to do?”

“Oh, a little of everything it takes to run an inn. You might help serve meals and clean up the kitchen. We would need you to clean rooms and carry guests' luggage. You might help us do small repairs, like freshen the paint on the picket fence in back or patch a window screen. Daniel Merritt does all the big repairs and painting for us, but he can't run over every minute.” She paused. “Do you have a driver's license?”

“Yeah, I drove a cab, remember?”

“Yes, you did tell me that. Well, then you might drive guests back and forth to the station, and do errands in town, like shopping or going to the hardware store. You might also help with the outdoor work. You'd be good with the lawn mower, I just have a feeling. Better than me and Liza.”

“It's like, I'd be working all over, wherever you needed me?”

“That right. That's it exactly. It's very important for the person who takes this job to be flexible. Then again, you would be doing something different almost every day. So it wouldn't be boring. And meeting new people all the time is never dull. The guests who come here are very interesting.”

Claire waited, giving him time to think things through. He had to make his own decision.

Jamie nodded and bit the fingernail on his thumb, a gesture she suddenly remembered from his childhood. He did that when he was nervous and didn't know what to say.

“I'm sure you can do it. I'll be right here, helping you every day.”

He nodded and looked up at her. “Okay. I'd like to try.”

“Good. I'm very glad,” Claire said honestly. “It's just a summer job,” she added, making sure he realized that. “Liza will talk to you about your pay. But you would get free room and board, so you could save some money while you worked here. Until you found something better, that is.”

“Room and board is a good deal. You almost don't have to pay me at all after that.”

Claire laughed. “I don't think you'll say that after you've worked here a day or two.”

“Do you live here year-round, too, Claire?”

“I'm here so much, most people think I do. But no, I have a cottage on the other side of the island. It is a ride late at night or in bad weather, so I have a room here, too. I stay over most nights in the busy season so I can start breakfast on time and all that. I don't mind. It's a lovely place to be in the summer and easier for me, too.”

“That makes sense.” He nodded. She wondered if he had heard half of her explanation. He seemed to be thinking very hard about the job offer. He suddenly stood up from the table and took his dish to the sink. “Will you tell Liza I said yes?”

“I'll tell her,” Claire said, smiling.

Jamie cleared the rest of the dishes off the table and started wiping it off with a sponge. Wasting no time getting started. That was a good sign, Claire thought.

Everything was falling into place. As if it were all meant to be. She truly felt it was and took a moment to offer up another prayer of thanks for Jamie's return to her life.

* * *

A
VERY
and her staff spent most of Tuesday morning doing more setup work in the café. There were still dishes and glassware to unpack, and cartons of nonperishables to be stored in the kitchen and small pantry that doubled as Avery's office.

Avery had bought some of the cookware used, at the same auction where she found the tables and chairs. Her new kitchen helper, Teresa Biggs, did not approve of the careworn pots and pans, and spent most of the morning scrubbing them down in the deep sink.

Like most professionals, Avery had her own special sauté pan and a set of knives that traveled with her wherever she cooked. She had not put those items out in the kitchen yet and wouldn't bring them in until Friday. For one thing, she didn't want Teresa to pounce on her prized, seasoned pan and possibly scrub a hole in it.

Teresa was a small, sturdy woman who wore her brown hair in a knot at the back of her head, and a red bandana tied low across her forehead. She needed a stepstool to take command of the big sink, where she wore long yellow gloves that reached over her elbows. But her bare arms, visible above the gloves, were pure muscle, and she handled the pots—some as big as she was—like a pro.

She told Avery that she worked in the school lunch program during the year and needed a summer job. A cafeteria was not the best recommendation for the fine cuisine Avery planned to serve, but Teresa was so amiable and clearly hard-working that Avery knew instinctively she was tough enough to take the heat in a small, shorthanded kitchen.

Avery also felt lucky to find an experienced waitress, Gena Turner, who lived on the island with her husband and three children. Gena's husband, a fisherman, had already given Avery some good contacts for finding fresh seafood at a local market.

Gena was a few years older than Avery, but they had hit it off instantly; Avery felt they were becoming friends.

“I would love to have my own restaurant someday, but it's pretty intimidating,” Gena confessed as they worked together, carefully hanging wineglasses on wooden ceiling racks above the bar.

“Yeah, it is,” Avery admitted. “But I've gotten this far. It will all be over by Friday. Once the doors open and we're serving customers, it won't feel so scary anymore.”

“I think you're right. We just have to get the ball rolling. Are you inviting anyone special, like your family?”

Or a boyfriend,
Avery knew Gena wanted to ask. But she was too polite to pry about her new boss's social life—or lack of one.

“I really wanted my mom and sister to come up from Connecticut, but my sister, Christine, can't get the time off and my mother can't drive here on her own. They'll come later in the summer. It might even be better not to have them here for the opening. That way, I won't be distracted.”

Avery was trying to look at the upside of the situation, but secretly she was disappointed that her family would not be there to celebrate her big night.

“That's too bad. But I think you're right. Sometimes when you're trying to impress your family, it can drive you crazy. I can give great table service to perfect strangers but totally screw up a holiday dinner.”

Avery thought Gena must be exaggerating. She had only known her for a week or so, but so far Gena seemed capable in every way, with an easy, no-fuss attitude that seemed immune to stress.

“That's the way it is sometimes, in my family, too.” Avery didn't bother to mention that her sister was the only person she knew who could make a lemon out of lemonade. It would certainly be easier to face opening night without worrying about one of Christine's critiques.

The café had not received all the scheduled food deliveries yet, especially the perishable items. Avery planned to shop at local markets herself for most of the fruits and vegetables. For that day's lunch, she had picked up some big sandwiches and salads at the General Store, and her staff sorted them out.

First, though, they would try a dish that was pure Café Peregrine. She and Teresa had been experimenting with a recipe for sweet potato chips with a creamy yogurt dipping sauce. The staff was now going to sample their efforts and offer reviews. Jack, the busboy, pushed a few tables into one, and they all sat together. There was something for everyone, and they all seemed satisfied with their choices.

The chips and sauce got raves, and when lunch was done, it was time for some training. Avery was not looking forward to the session, but it had to be done.

At the Tulip Café, Paul had been in charge of the staff. He had a way with the employees, especially pretty waitresses. Avery tried not to dwell on that now. But she did try to remember how he ran the sessions.

“Okay, everyone, I hope you enjoyed your food. I just want to review the type of service we're aiming for. You guys, out on the floor, are as important as the food, the decor . . . even the ocean view. We all know of great meals that were ruined by poor service. The success of Café Peregrine is literally in your hands. So, from the start, I'd like to be clear on what our goals are.”

Avery had made a point of saying “our” goals. Not simply “my” goals. She wanted everyone to feel invested in the enterprise and building its success. She so wanted the café to be known for great service—polite but not fawning; courteous but professional; friendly and helpful but not overly chatty. But how to convey all that—and without insulting anyone? Avery knew she was treading a fine line.

She scanned her small audience, wondering how best to reach them. Jack, the busboy, and Serena, a college-age waitress, both seemed bored. Jack was checking his text messages under the table, and Serena was checking her manicure. Gena and Teresa sat together at the other end and were giving her their full attention, which Avery appreciated.

“Let's try this. I'll be a customer, and we'll just act out serving a meal.” Avery smiled as if to say, “Hey, kids! Won't that be fun?”

Serena looked at Jack and practically rolled her eyes. Gena slipped Teresa a small, tolerant smile.
Sort of silly, but she's the boss . . .

A few moments later, the Café Peregrine Follies had begun, Act I, scene I, Avery thought. She stood at the restaurant's entrance, where a large reservation book stood on a high podium. Serena was going to have the first turn seating the customer, and Gena was going to wait on the table.

Avery went outside and walked in, going straight up to Serena, who discreetly removed a wad of gum from her mouth with a tissue. Avery decided to act as if she hadn't seen that. Serena wouldn't dare pull something like that once they opened, would she?

“Can I help you?” Serena said.

Avery nodded. “Yes, I have a reservation. Avery Bishop, at six o'clock.”

Serena pretended to look in the book. “Let's see, where are you . . . Just give me a sec.”

Avery winced. “Just say, ‘Please give me a moment, and I'll check.'”

“Um, okay. I hope I can remember all that.”

“I'll write it out for you at the top of each page. All you have to do is read it,” Avery told her.

“Okay. Can we keep going? I have to be at my other job by three.” Serena had two jobs. She was a very hard-working girl, Avery had to grant her that.

“No problem. Keep going.”

Avery put on her customer face again, and Serena continued.

“Let me show you to a table. Right this way. Follow me . . .”

Avery followed her to a table in the middle of the café. The row of French doors stood open and a cool sea breeze whispered through the space, ruffling the edges of the tablecloth.

“Okay, here you go. Have a seat.” Serena abruptly pulled out Avery's chair.

“Great . . .” Avery forced a smile and sat down. “But you can just say, ‘Here's your table.'”

Serena nodded. “All right. Here's your table,” the girl parroted. “Anything else?”

Avery could tell she was getting annoyed. But this was important. She would have a talk with her privately about her attitude.

“One more thing, you need to say, ‘I'll get your waitress. She'll be right over.' Otherwise, people feel a little stranded, as if no one knows they're there.”

Serena nodded. “Right. You mentioned that before. I forgot.”

“That's okay,” Avery said. “It takes a while to remember everything. But do smile. You have a very pretty smile. That counts for a lot.”

Serena smiled at her compliment, displaying her deep dimples. She would do fine, Avery decided, if she would take it a little more seriously. Real customers—and real tips—would probably be more inspiring.

It was Gena's turn next. She walked up to the table smoothly, menus under one arm. “Hello, how is everyone here tonight?” she said amiably. “Welcome to Café Peregrine. My name is Gena, and I'll be serving you.” She handed Avery a menu. “May I get you something to drink while you're deciding? We do have a few specials tonight that I can tell you about . . .”

Avery breathed a sigh of relief. If only she could clone Gena, she could happily stay in the kitchen all night.

While Avery waited for her fake drink order, Gena returned to the table with a serving of sweet potato chips and dipping sauce.

“A little something from the chef, to start off your meal,” Gena said cheerfully.

The chips smelled good and looked even better, Avery thought, sampling one.

Gena returned. “Have you made your choices, or would you like a little more time?”

Perfect. Avery beamed at her. “I have a question about the halibut,” she said. “The menu says it's served with a soba noodle cake. What is that exactly?”

She had gone over the menu with Serena and Gena last week, and wondered if Gena would remember.

Gena was holding back a self-conscious laugh. “Wait . . . I've got this . . . Just give me a second . . .”

“Take your time,” Avery said. She bit her lower lip. Okay, one slipup. Gena was otherwise batting a thousand.

“Soba noodles are a traditional Japanese noodle, made from buckwheat flour. They're served either cold with sauces or hot, in soups,” another voice answered.

Avery spun around. Mike Rossi stood just outside the French doors. When she met his glance, he smiled and walked into the café. As if she had invited him in. Which she definitely had not.

“I've never eaten a cake made from soba noodles,” Mike said in a relaxed tone. “But I'd love to try it. Sounds pretty tasty.”

Before Avery could answer, she heard Gena say, “Hi, Mike. Thanks for helping out. I was sort of stuck.”