Asking For Trouble

The child, who was attired in jeans and a bright pink sweatshirt adorned with red hearts, shook her head. “Nope. I just wanted to see what was up here. I’m staying at the inn with my dad.”

Apparently the sign stating Private Residence hadn’t deterred the inquisitive child. “Come in. You must be Stacy Donovan. My niece, Beth, has told me a bit about you.”

Nodding, the child stepped forward somewhat tentatively and looked about at the heavy upholstered furnishings, red velvet drapes and ecru lace curtains hanging at the windows, then pulled a face. “This is really old stuff. Reminds me of my Grandma Donovan’s house. At least you don’t have those plastic things covering your lamp shades.”

Shutting the book, Iris seated herself on the wing chair fronting the fireplace and motioned for the girl to sit down. “I don’t get many visitors your age, and I always enjoy talking to young people.” She missed her days of teaching school for that reason.

“No wonder no one visits,” Stacy said, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “It stinks in here. What’s that smell? It’s, like, totally gross.”

Taken aback by the girl’s bluntness, a soft blush touched the older woman’s cheeks. “I’ve been burning incense.”

Clearly impressed, the girl’s eyes widened. “Cool. Do you smoke pot?”

Iris clutched her chest, looking horrified. “Heavens, no! Do you?”

“Nah. My dad would kill me. Besides, marijuana can be addictive and lead to other drugs. My dad’s a doctor, so I know a lot about stuff like that. So how come you’re burning incense?”

“I’m trying out a new incantation.”

Stacy glanced at the book on the table. “Are you a witch or something?”

Iris smiled. “There’re some around here who would say so.”

“Cool.”

“Would you like a cookie? I have some Fig Newtons left.”

“Gross. I hate those.” Then noting Iris’s disappointed look, Stacy remembered her manners, adding, “No thanks, I mean.”

“Tell me a little bit about yourself and your grandmother, Stacy. Do you visit her often?” Iris had always wanted children and grandchildren. But that had not been possible, not after…She pushed the painful thought away.

Plopping down on the lumpy chair, Stacy pulled a used wad of gum out of her pocket and unwrapped it, then stuck it in her mouth. “My grandma died when I was young, my mom, too. I just have Dad and Gramps now, only Gramps is gone. Missing, my dad says. He’s real worried about him.”

Pop! Smack! Pop!

The older woman held her tongue at the annoying sounds the child was making and replied, “Yes, my niece informed me of that, as well. I’m sorry to hear about your mother, dear. It’s never easy when someone we love dies and leaves us.” Iris glanced toward the window, lost in thought for a moment, and then looked back to find the young girl’s eyes filled with tears.

“Mom had cancer. My dad took her death really hard. I used to hear him crying at night. It was kinda weird to know that he cried, too. I thought I was the only one.”

Iris’s heart went out to the poor child. It was clear Stacy was still grieving, and she knew what that was like. “I lost someone I loved, too. It was a long time ago, but his memory still lingers in my heart.” As did the pain of his duplicity.

“Your husband?”

The older woman shook her head. “Lyle and I were never married, though we’d hoped to be one day. It…it just didn’t work out that way. Sometimes God has a different plan for us, and there’s nothing we can do but accept what He hands us.” And try to go on. But that’s never easy. Especially not when your life is destroyed by one single, impulsive act.

“Yeah, that’s what my dad told me. Was your boyfriend cute? Most of the good-looking guys at my school won’t give me the time of day. I think it’s because I’m flat-chested.”

Leaning forward, Iris swallowed her smile and patted Stacy’s knee. “You have plenty of time for that sort of thing, my dear. You should enjoy your youth. You only get one go-around. I used to tell my niece that very thing when she would get impatient about growing up. But as you can see, Beth’s turned into a fine woman.”

The young girl looked as if she wanted to dispute that opinion. “I guess.”

“And to answer your question, Lyle was very handsome—the handsomest man in Mediocrity.” She smiled softly at the memory of dark hair and eyes as blue as her own. “Would you like to see his picture?”

“Sure.”

Reaching into the drawer of the leather-inlaid mahogany drum table situated next to her chair, she pulled out a silver-framed photograph, handing it to her. “This was taken over fifty years ago, right before we were to be married.”

The young girl studied the smiling man in the black-and-white photograph. He looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “He’s pretty good-looking, but not as handsome as my dad. All the women think he’s hot, including your niece. But Dad’s not thinking about getting married again. He still loves my mom.” She said it with conviction, as if uttering those words would make it so.

Taking the photo from the girl’s hands, tears blurred her vision as Iris gazed upon the man she loved and had thought to share her life with. But Lyle was gone, as were her girlish dreams of happily-ever-after. Gone, but not forgotten. Never forgotten. “He was a good man, in so many ways. We shared some wonderful times together.”

Unable to disguise the emotion she felt, Iris could see she was making the girl uncomfortable and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I tend to reminisce, to think about the past and what could have been, and it saddens me. It’s part of growing old, I guess.”

“Don’t be sad.” Stacy reached out, taking the old woman’s veined, liver-spotted hands in her own small soft ones; her unexpected kindness touched Iris. “At least you still have his memory. My dad says whenever I’m sad about my mom I should think about all the good times we shared, the places we visited, the books she read and the songs she sang. They’ll always be with me, if I keep her memory alive. And I intend to.”

“Your dad sounds like a very wise man. I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“He’s okay, for a dad, I guess.” She rose to her feet. “I’d better get going. Dad’ll be mad if he wakes up from his nap and finds me gone. He worries about me.”

Iris nodded in understanding. “Come back and visit again, Stacy dear. I’d like to introduce you to my sister. I know Ivy would love to meet you.”

“Is she a witch, too?”

“Heavens no!” Iris shook her head and smiled. “Ivy has other interests.” Which would no doubt get her sister into trouble one day.

After promising she would visit again soon, the girl departed. Iris clutched Lyle’s photograph to her chest and heaved a deep sigh of yearning. It was hard growing old alone. But then, except for Ivy, she’d been alone most of her life. There’d been no man after Lyle McMurtry. In her heart and soul, they would always be one. Nothing—not time, distance or death—could dissolve a love such as theirs.

If only Lyle had been wise enough to see that. Things could have been so very different.

LORI COOPER WAS THE new head chef at the Two Sisters Ordinary and Beth felt extremely fortunate to have her working at the inn. The woman had shown up on her doorstep one day last September, asking if the inn needed a cook. It had been quite a fortuitous moment, for she’d been about to place an ad for a chef in the Philadelphia Inquirer.

The capable, creative chef had worked in some of Philadelphia’s finest restaurants, cooking alongside some very accomplished chefs after completing her training at the Culinary Institute of America in upstate New York. Though she hadn’t provided references Lori appeared to be honest, and her skill in the kitchen certainly backed up her claims, so Beth had no reason to doubt her.

Still, there was an air of mystery about Lori. The petite, dark-haired woman seemed unhappy, and she wondered if her heart held heavy secrets. Beth had caught her looking nervously over her shoulder a few times, as if expecting someone to pop out of nowhere and steal her away. Beth knew chefs tended to be high-strung, but Lori seemed more so than usual.

The grand opening of the inn’s restaurant was scheduled for Thanksgiving Day, and Beth and her chef were working hard to get the kinks out of the menu and to finish the hiring and training of the kitchen and wait staff.

The two women were seated at the butcher-block table in the kitchen, evaluating the dishes Lori had prepared for this evening’s meal, which the inn’s guests had seemed to enjoy. They had filled out evaluation cards and rated the meal very highly. Brad Donovan had written Excellent across the bottom of his card, which pleased Beth greatly.

“The duck was a big hit. I think everyone liked the bing cherry sauce you served with it. And the rice pilaf was delicious, not to mention the pecan tarts. I’m going to get fat having you around.”

Her chef smiled. “Then we should definitely keep duck on the winter menu, along with rack of lamb and scallops of veal. If I can find a good supplier for Dover sole, I’d like to include that, as well.”

Making a few notes on the legal pad in front of her, Beth paused and looked up. “Are you going to be able to get the truffles for the stuffing?”

Taking a sip of the Diet Coke that was never far from her reach, Lori replied, “Yes, but they’re going to be expensive. I guess I could leave them out and substitute something else, if you’d rather not spend the additional money.”

“Go ahead and order them. I want the grand opening to knock everyone’s socks off. We already have quite a few reservations from Mediocrity’s finest. Mayor Lindsay is going to be here,” she explained, “and so is Hilda Croft, from the historical society, so we’re sure to have a good turnout. Good word of mouth will help business during the off season when there are fewer tourists around.”