What’s up with these?” Lauren signed in at the counter, stepping around a stack of framed photos. “Redecorating?”
“A little business venture,” Nora said. “What do you think of them?”
Lauren bent down, looking at the first in the pile. It was a black-and-white shot of an empty beach and the ocean, mounted on white in a simple black frame. She flipped through, looking at the rest. All were in black-and-white, all various nature scenes around town.
“Simple. Nice. What’s the business angle?”
“The photographer offered me a commission if I hang them on the walls here for sale. They go for a couple hundred apiece so it could be a nice chunk of change for me.”
“Do you even have space on the walls?”
Nora handed her a scribbled list of the day’s specials. “Can you please get these on the board for me? I have to check on the pastry delivery. They were stale yesterday. Did you have complaints?”
“No, not from my tables.” Lauren walked to the chalkboard and realized all of Henny’s signs were gone from the main dining room. “Nora, what happened to Henny’s signs?”
“Yeah, that’s the catch in the photography deal. I need to take those down.”
“Oh no! Henny is going to be devastated.”
“She’ll be fine. She doesn’t make more than twenty bucks or so a sign. It’s a hobby, but this place is a business. If I can generate some income off the wall space, I gotta go for it.”
Lauren knew it was tough to run a business year after year. Just look at what her parents went through with the store. Still, she felt bad for Henny. She would try to remember to buy a few of the signs before the end of the day. It was difficult, though, to think of anything once the breakfast rush started. When she was in the zone, her life and thoughts outside of the rhythm of taking orders, filling drinks, and delivering plates to the tables didn’t exist.
That’s why she was oblivious when her past walked through the door.
She rounded the counter, holding two full pitchers of iced tea, freshly sliced lemons floating on top. She didn’t notice Emerson Kincaid until she nearly collided with him, at which time she promptly dropped both pitchers, soaking herself and the floor. Lauren was vaguely aware of busboys and Nora scurrying around her, containing the mess. All she could do was back away, useless.
She was never more thankful than she was in that moment that he and Rory didn’t look very much alike. It was not like seeing a version of Rory walk in the door. But it was very much the physical incarnation of a different life, of a time that had begun to feel more and more like it existed only in her memory. The idea that players from that particular drama still roamed freely, still had lives beyond the brief moment when their worlds intersected with hers, was almost too much to think about.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
She hadn’t seen or heard from him since the day of the memorial. A conversation that haunted her.
“I need to talk to you,” Emerson said.
“Why?”
He looked older than she remembered. He was completely gray with deep lines under his eyes like his mother had. Lauren did the math; he was in his mid-forties. But he was still clearly in good shape, his shoulders broad and arms muscular under his T-shirt.
“You still wear your wedding band,” he said.
“I have nothing to say to you, Emerson.”
“This will take five minutes. Where can we talk?”
Lauren, feeling trapped, glanced around the packed restaurant.
“Sir, would you like a seat or are you looking for takeout?” Nora asked, holding menus. Nora obviously knew he was not there for food, that this was personal. Lauren thought of the first time Matt had shown up here and cornered her. That was a cakewalk compared to this.
“I’m so sorry, Nora. He’s a…family friend. Can I take five? Aside from the iced tea, everything else is in order. Just waiting on tickets.”
Nora gave her an Are you sure? look and Lauren nodded.
Lauren felt guilty that her personal drama kept showing up on Nora’s doorstep. But, well, for the past four years, Nora had been telling her she needed to have a life. And this was what Lauren had been afraid of; this was what her life looked like.
Emerson followed her outside and half a block down the street, safely out of earshot of the sidewalk tables.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Remember a few years ago I warned you that someone was trying to make a documentary about Rory? Well, he’s still at it. I just found out he interviewed the Villanova coach last month. I want to make sure you’re not talking to him.”
“Your own mother spoke to him.”
He looked at her in disgust. “I can’t believe it. You are talking to him.”
“I didn’t say that. What I said was that your mother spoke to him.”
“My mother was extremely upset at the idea of some New York film guy exploiting Rory’s legacy. But since we had no legal recourse to stop him, she at least wanted to do her part to represent him in the way we want him represented.”
“You just have an answer for everything. As always.”
Emerson narrowed his eyes. Rarely, in all the years she’d known him, had she been anything less than respectful to the great and powerful Emerson, the man who could change her life with a single conversation. Had changed her life with a single conversation. Yes, there had been a time when she had seen him as a confidant, when she had sought his counsel. When she had bought into Rory’s reverence for him. Her mistake. A tragic, costly mistake.
“Lauren, I want your word that you won’t participate in this film.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Are you trying to say my brother’s legacy isn’t my business? It isn’t your business. You were barely married by the end.”
She felt herself begin to shake. “We were married. And if I want to talk about my late husband, that’s my right.” The rage was more about a conversation that had taken place behind her back half a decade ago than about the one taking place in that moment.
“If you say one word against my brother, we’re going to have a big problem.”
“Are you threatening me, Emerson? Don’t bother. Rory’s gone. There’s nothing more you can take from me.”
“Take from you? That’s a joke. You ran away so fast, you left skid marks. The going got tough, and you sure as hell got going.”
“Fuck you, Emerson.” She walked toward the restaurant, but then turned back for a moment. “Oh, and if you want to know if I said anything on camera, you’ll have to buy a ticket to the movie.”
Beth spread out all her tools: doughnut cutter, rolling pin, doughnut pan, piping bag, and parchment paper. Ethan seemed most fascinated with the electric mixer.
“How long will it be before we can eat them?” he asked.
“Well, it takes about a half hour to do all the baking, but there are periods where we have to let the dough rest, so it will be about two hours.”
“Two hours?”
She laughed. “It goes by quickly. And it’s worth the wait. All good things are. Besides, it’s only nine in the morning. We can’t eat doughnuts before lunch.”
He seemed to contemplate this reasoning.
“What kind are we making?”
“I thought we’d start simple for our first try. Just regular glazed. But if you like helping out, we can really make any kind of doughnut.”
“Chocolate?”
“Sure. Chocolate, coconut. I made an apple-pie doughnut once that was delicious. If you could make any doughnut in the world, what would you make?”
He thought a minute. “Peanut butter and jelly.”
“We could do that,” she said, already thinking about what kind of peanut butter would work best as filling. “But for now, we start with the basics. In the kitchen, you have to be organized. So we have all of our ingredients there, and we have our equipment here.”
She pulled a bowl in front of them and combined the yeast, milk, and flour, explaining to him that baking was like science. “You have to measure and be very precise. Now we’re going to stir this into a paste, and then it has to sit for a half hour.”
“That’s it?” he asked, disappointed.
“No, it’s just the beginning! When it’s ready, we’re going to combine it with other ingredients in the mixing machine, and then the fun part: we get to roll out the dough.”
The deck door slid open. Stephanie appeared, wearing the same clothes she’d worn at dinner the night before. Beth swallowed her rage as Ethan ran to his mother.
“Mommy! Where’d you go?”
“Hi, hon. I went for an early walk,” Stephanie said, eyeing Beth. “Are you baking with Gran?”
“We’re making doughnuts,” he said. “Today just plain but Gran said we can make any kind. Even peanut butter and jelly.”
“Well, your gran is an amazing baker, so if she says so, it’s true.”
“Stephanie, can I talk to you for a minute? Ethan, hon, like I said, that mixture in the bowl has to rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes and we’ll do the next step.”
She took her daughter by the elbow and practically dragged her up to the second floor.
“Where the hell have you been?” Beth whispered.
“Mother, I’m a grown woman. Last I checked, I don’t have a curfew.”
“No, but you have a child. You can’t just run around all night. This is unacceptable, Stephanie. It’s time for you to grow up!”
Stephanie brushed past her and headed upstairs. Beth’s eyes filled with tears.
Howard had been right. This summer was a disaster.