Once in a Blue Moon (10 page)

The following morning, when Kerrie Ann awoke, her head was throbbing as if she’d gotten hammered the night before. She saw that Lindsay’s bed was made, Lindsay nowhere in sight, and wondered how long her sister had been up. She staggered into the bathroom to down some aspirin before she jumped in the shower. Twenty minutes later, dressed and made up, she wandered into the kitchen, where Miss Honi, in a flowered kimono, was cracking eggs into a bowl. Lindsay, in a track suit, her hair pulled back in a ponytail and her cheeks ruddy as if from the outdoors, was grinding beans for coffee, a sound that went through Kerrie Ann’s head like a chainsaw.

“Morning,” she croaked.

“Morning, sugar! Beautiful day, ain’t it?” chirped Miss Honi, though a peek out the window showed only cloudy skies.

“Sleep well?” Lindsay turned to look over her shoulder.

“Like a log. I didn’t hear you get up.” Kerrie Ann yawned.

“I’m an early riser, so you’d better get used to it.”

Kerrie Ann wondered what her sister meant by that. Was it an offhand comment, or had Lindsay decided to let her stay? “How early is early?” she asked, trying to play it cool.

“I’m usually up before dawn.” Lindsay dumped the ground beans into the coffeemaker and filled the canister with water. “There’s a path along the cliffs where I go running, and this time of day I usually have it all to myself.” She paused, smiling to herself. “For me, it’s like . . . I don’t know . . . like being in church. Except for the ocean—it always lets you know it’s there.” Her smile gave way to a troubled expression as she gazed out the window at the rugged, windswept landscape. Kerrie Ann wondered if she was thinking about what she would lose if those fat cats she was up against got their way. Obviously this place was more to her than just a roof over her head.

“You’re way more ambitious than me,” she said. “I’d sleep till noon if I could get away with it. The only thing that gets me out of bed is the thought of that first cup of coffee.”

“Coming right up.” Lindsay switched on the coffeemaker. Moments later came its reassuring gurgle, and the fragrant smell of brewing coffee filled the air.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, dated back to an earlier era. The cabinets were of some dark wood made even darker by years of use. The tile counters were chipped in spots, the avocado refrigerator and stove the kind that had gone out of fashion along with gas-guzzling cars and Farrah Fawcett hairstyles. In one corner, by the window that looked out over the yard, was a breakfast nook with built-in benches and a square wooden table. The table was set for three, with quilted place mats, stoneware plates and cutlery, a butter dish and a pot of jam.

Lindsay showed her where the mugs were, and after Kerrie Ann had poured herself a cup of coffee, she hovered in the background, uncertain whether to pitch in. Watching Lindsay and Miss Honi move about the kitchen, weaving around each other in the confined space with the practiced ease of a choreographed dance number, she felt like the proverbial fifth wheel. Which made her even more aware of her uncertain status.

She’d finished her first cup and was refilling her mug when an acrid odor drew her attention to the stove—something was burning. Miss Honi grabbed a pot holder, snatching the smoking skillet off the burner. “That’s the second time in less than a week,” she pronounced with disgust as she scraped the burned eggs into the sink and switched on the garbage disposal. “Lord, you’d think a grown person could fix scrambled eggs without burning them.” She turned to Kerrie Ann with an apologetic look. “Sorry, hon, but you should know up front I ain’t much of a cook.” She glanced beseechingly at Lindsay.

“Don’t look at me,” Lindsay said with a laugh. “I’m good at making coffee, and I can boil an egg. That’s about it.”

Kerrie Ann seized the opportunity to make herself useful. “There’s a trick to it. I’ll show you,” she said, reaching for the egg carton and cracking half a dozen more eggs into the bowl. She whisked them together with practiced ease, asking, “Do you have any cream?”

“Cream?” echoed Lindsay, eyeing her dubiously while Miss Honi went to fetch some.

“Just a dollop. You’ll see.” Kerrie Ann dribbled some into the beaten eggs, whisking all the while, then threw in salt and pepper and a handful of dried herbs from the spice rack. When the skillet was scoured and sizzling with butter, she poured in the eggs, and turned down the flame on the burner. “You cook them at a low temperature without stirring until they start to set. Then very gently, you fold them.” When the eggs were the consistency of runny pudding, she used the spatula to nudge them into a heap. She did this several more times, then quickly removed the skillet from the heat and scraped the scrambled eggs, loose and creamy, onto the plates Miss Honi had set out, pronouncing, “Voilà.”

Lindsay and Miss Honi stared at her as if she’d performed a magic trick. “Where did you learn to do that?” asked Lindsay.

“I worked in a French restaurant once,” Kerrie Ann told them. “The owner, who was also the chef, had this rule that everyone on the line, from the prep station on up, had to know how to do the basics. He used to say that if you could cook eggs, you could cook anything.”

“Well, you learned your lesson well,” commented Lindsay when they were seated at the table, digging into their food. “These are the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever eaten.”

Kerrie Ann felt herself blush. Usually when she was the center of attention, it was for all the wrong reasons. But she was glad she’d scored some points today. Maybe Lindsay would see that she could be of some use around here.

Kerrie Ann ate quickly, shoveling in her food. The night before she’d barely touched the meal—no wonder, with that creep feeling her up under the table—but this morning her appetite had come roaring back. In addition to the eggs, she put away four strips of bacon and two toasted English muffins before her stomach finally protested.

As soon as the table was cleared and the dishes stacked in the dishwasher, it was time for Lindsay and Miss Honi to leave for work. Kerrie Ann drove them into town, to the service station where Lindsay’s Volvo was ready for pickup. She felt a fresh surge of anxiety watching Lindsay unbuckle her seatbelt and reach for the door handle. Lindsay hadn’t yet said whether or not she could stay. Either she was still thinking it over or she was waiting for the right moment to break it to her that the answer was no. Probably the latter.

Kerrie Ann was wondering if she ought to head back to the house and pack her bag when Lindsay suggested casually, “Listen, why don’t you come to work with us today? I’m sure we can find something for you to do. Have you ever worked in a bookstore?”

“No, but I could learn.” Kerrie Ann injected just enough enthusiasm into her voice, not wanting to appear too eager—or, worse, desperate.

“’Course you can.” Miss Honi beamed at her.

“Good. It’s settled, then.” Lindsay gave Kerrie Ann a small smile as she climbed out of the car. Kerrie Ann sensed that she wasn’t entirely forgiven for last night, but at least she was being given a chance to redeem herself. She was determined not to blow it.

At the book café, she was given the job of stocking shelves. Hardly a challenge, but at least she wouldn’t have an opportunity to screw up. She’d just finished sorting the various books into alphabetical order when she was approached by a stout, gray-haired matron. “Excuse me,” the woman said. “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for a particular book, and I don’t see it.”

“Um, sure.” Nervously Kerrie Ann glanced about in search of her sister, who was nowhere in sight. “What’s the title?” Maybe she could handle this without having to call on Lindsay. If so, wouldn’t that prove to her sister that she could be useful here as well?

“
Horace
, by George Sand,” answered the woman.

“Horace who?”

“
Horace
is the title, dear. The
author
is George Sand.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Actually, it’s a her.”

“Oh, she must be one of the newer authors. Who can keep track of them all?”

Kerrie Ann spoke with the air of someone who read so many books, she couldn’t possibly keep them all straight. She didn’t realize her mistake until the woman replied, “Actually, if you have it, it would be in the Classics section. But please don’t trouble yourself. I can find someone else to help me.” She regarded Kerrie Ann with the kind but pitying expression one might bestow on a mentally handicapped person before drifting off.

Kerrie Ann felt as humiliated as she used to in school whenever she’d been called on in class and hadn’t known the answer.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
. . . She ducked her head and crammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans so she wouldn’t give in to the impulse to send something flying—a book, for instance. When she glanced up, she saw her sister at the other end of the aisle, conferring with the woman. The woman pointed her out and smiled, saying something to Lindsay that made her smile as well. Were they making fun of her?

“Hey, you okay?”

She looked up to find Ollie standing before her, and she just as quickly dropped her gaze so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

She felt the pressure of his hand on her shoulder, and when she looked up again, it was only to fall into the warm pool of Ollie’s molten-chocolate eyes. “Don’t worry—it won’t last.”

“What?”

“Whatever’s bugging you. Whenever I’m bummed about something, I always tell myself, ‘You won’t feel this way forever.’ Usually it works.” He winked at her. “If it doesn’t, don’t worry; I have the cure.”

She caught his meaning, and a tiny smile surfaced. “One with about a billion calories in it, I bet.”

“You guessed right,” he said with a laugh. “Listen, you wouldn’t happen to know how to operate a commercial espresso maker, by any chance? Because I could use a hand in the café.”

She felt her spirits lift incrementally. “I worked in a Starbucks once. I think I can handle it.”

He flashed her a grin, and she decided that he was really quite cute in an offbeat sort of way. Today’s outfit was black jeans, a vintage striped blazer over a purple Hard Rock Café T-shirt, and his signature orange sneakers. His black hair bristled like a thick, furry pelt. “In that case, you’re hired. In a manner of speaking, that is—I’m afraid I can only pay you in tips.”

“I’ve worked for less.” She was thinking of the time, low on cash and desperate for work, any work, she’d spent a week picking oranges in the orchards of Escondido.

Though she was a little rusty, she got the hang of it right away. The espresso maker wasn’t like the one at Starbucks, but learning how to operate it wasn’t brain surgery, either, and before long she was handling it like a pro. She filled the coffee orders while Ollie doled out muffins and cinnamon buns.

It seemed no more than an hour had gone by when she glanced at her watch and saw that it was noon. “Is it time for our lunch break yet?” she asked when she’d finished with the last customer in line.

Ollie looked up at her as he returned a tray of muffins to the case. “You read my mind.” He slid the glass panel shut. “There’s a deli just down the street. What do you say we grab a bite to eat?”

“Can’t. Gotta run.” She pulled off her apron, tucking it out of sight under the counter.

“What’s your hurry?”

“I have to get my rental car back no later than one o’clock or I’ll be charged for an extra day,” she explained.

“So does this mean you’ve decided to stay on a while?” Ollie darted her a hopeful look.

“I don’t know. We’ll see.” That all depended on Lindsay. In the meantime, she had no choice but to return the car, with her finances stretched thin.

“Why don’t I follow in my jeep and give you a lift back?” Ollie volunteered.

She paused as she was heading to the stockroom to fetch her jacket and purse. “Thanks, that’s sweet of you, but I wouldn’t want to put you out.” The Dollar rental center was all the way over the hill in Burlingame, she informed him.

“The buses don’t run very often along that route. You could get stuck over there for hours,” he pointed out.

She wavered. “Don’t you have to be back at work?”

“I can always close up for a couple of hours. It’s slow this time of day, anyway.”

“Lindsay won’t mind?” Kerrie Ann cast an uncertain glance at her sister, who was ringing up a purchase at the register.

“Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of it.” Ollie sounded so relaxed and confident that she felt her anxiety ebb as she watched him head off, winding his way through the maze of shelves and displays toward the front of the store.

Minutes later he was back, saying, “We’re good to go. Meet you out front in ten minutes, okay?”

She wondered why the delay when, as far as she knew, his vehicle was parked out back, but she only said, “Fine.” She touched his sleeve as he turned to go. “Oh, and hey . . . thanks.”

He grinned at her. “
De nada
.”

Twelve minutes later he pulled up to the curb where her rental car was idling. She smiled when she saw what he was driving because it was so Ollie: an old-time jeep that looked as if it dated back to World War II, which apparently it did. “It’s a Willys,” he informed her on the ride back. He pronounced it “Willis.” “My dad and I restored it. Took us a couple of years—the parts were a bitch to find—but it runs great now. Sorry about the noise, though,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the engine as the jeep groaned its way up the steep incline along Highway 92. “It can get a little loud at times.”

Kerrie Ann didn’t mind. Ollie was such good company, she soon forgot about everything else. It wasn’t until talk turned to her sister that she remembered why she was here.

“I can’t believe you and Lindsay are related. You’re so different from her,” he observed.

“Is that a bad thing?” She was instantly on the defense.

“No . . . of course not. I didn’t mean—” He broke off, and twin spots of color appeared on his cheeks, which quickly spread to engulf his entire face. Gamely he attempted to explain, “Look, Linds and I go way back, and I love her to death—did she tell you she used to babysit me when I was a kid?—but I gotta admit I can’t quite picture her with a tattoo, if you know what I mean.”