Raspberry Crush (11 page)

"Oh, um, what?" Corryn said, her eyes fluttering open.

"I think I found an interesting man for you."

"Oh..." she said, stretching, and slowly sitting up. "Sorry, Mom, but I'm giving up interesting men for Lent this year."

"Don't be smart. I'm serious; Maeve Byrnes has a son around your age who is single and looking."

"Desperate, in other words."

"He's
not
desperate. In fact, he's tall, dark, and handsome."

"What, according to his
mother
?" Corryn said with an incredulous laugh, sending a look around the room that said,
Is it just me, or does our mom need an intervention?

"Look, Corryn, I know you're not crazy about setups—"

"No, I love them, really. They're right up there with getting my period in white pants."

"Can we please change the topic?" Billy said, glaring at her mother. "If Corryn doesn't want to be set up, then that's it—end of discussion."

Adrienne heaved a frustrated sigh. "Fine, I'm done trying to care. I'm gonna stay completely out of your life from now on."

"Thank you," Corryn said.

"If you want to end up alone like Aunt Penelope—"

"Addy, please..." David implored, rubbing his temple.

"Mom, can't we all just enjoy the slide show?" Billy asked, realizing that "enjoy" was pushing it, but at least they could avoid controversial topics like Corryn's love life, and the fact that Adrienne's older sister had never married.

In fact, Billy was particularly short on patience when it came to criticism of her favorite aunt. So she had never married, so she was almost sixty and still lived in the house she'd grown up in. Why did Adrienne have to obsess about it? Why did she always have to panic that Corryn and Billy would end up miserable, lonely spinsters just like Aunt Pen—who didn't seem the least bit lonely or miserable?

Aunt Pen had started her own interior design business over twenty years ago, and since then it had flourished into an undeniable success. She could afford to live almost anywhere, yet she chose to stay in the house she'd inherited from her parents, which Billy considered a gesture of pure heart, and just another indication of Pen's warmth and sincerity.

"Fine, I guess I'm
always
wrong," Adrienne mumbled now, still sulking because no one was supporting her attempts to set up Corryn. "I just want the best for my girls because I love them, and I'm wrong
again.
"

Calmly, Billy said, "Mom, you're not always wrong. You just have a compulsive need to criticize. No matter what Corryn or I do, you'll always find something else we should be working on. Face it: You're never satisfied."

Defensively, Adrienne yelped, "That's not true! How can you say that to me? And what about all the good I do? Do you ever remember that?"

"Okay, okay," David said quickly, in his most pacifist tone. "I think everyone's getting a little too worked up here. Addy, I know you want to help, but Billy and Corryn are both adults now. They have to make their own choices."

Adrienne's face scrunched in bafflement.

"Anyone for espresso?" he asked affably, and went into the kitchen. Corryn slipped outside for another cigarette. After she returned there was a silence in the air—one that seemed to echo things that had just been said and magnify how absurd they really were.

"So... are we all still good friends?" Billy asked, smiling coaxingly at her mom and her sister. Corryn smirked at her mom, who responded by sticking her tongue out. Billy let out an exasperated laugh; they were both so damn alike.

Adrienne switched the lights back on and shut off the slide projector. "I had something else I wanted to talk to you girls about. But now I see how you
really feel about me..."

"Oh, Mom, come on," Billy said lightly. "What is it?"

"Well, I had an idea for something fun that the three of us could do together."

"Uh-oh..." Corryn said.

"I have two words for you," Adrienne continued, sitting back down in her chair. "Adult. Ed."

"What about it?" Billy asked.

"How about we all take a class together? One of those fun night courses. Ever since I lost weight and changed my lifestyle, I've wanted to take a cooking class, and I was thinking it would be a good excuse for some mother-daughter bonding. It'll be my treat; I'll take care of everything," she finished with her hands perched together, prayer style. "What do you say?"

She just looked so excited about the idea that Billy couldn't bear to say no. "Okay, I'll do it," she said, and looked over at Corryn, who she was pretty sure would go along, too... though she might make Adrienne sweat it out a little.

After a pause, Corryn shrugged. "Fine, as long as it's only one or two nights a week."

"Oh, great!" Adrienne enthused. "I'll just go get the course book."

After she left the room to fetch that, David returned bearing espresso and Sausalito cookies. "Don't let your mother see these," he whispered, grinning, and offered them to Billy and Corryn. Corryn took one, but Billy passed, despite the sensory receptors in her brain that always buzzed for chocolate.

"Dad, I brought cupcakes," she said.

He shook his head and said quietly, "No—too messy. I'll sneak one later." After he bit into his cookie, he said, "By the way, I like this adult school idea. It'll be good for you to spend time with your mother. She misses you when you're not here."

Corryn scoffed, obviously not buying it.

"It's true," David insisted, absently spilling pieces of cookie on his shirt and the hassock. (Not exactly a master of subterfuge.)

Corryn sighed. "If she misses us, why does she antagonize us the minute we walk through the door?"

"Her heart's in the right place," he said tritely but sincerely. "She just wants you to be happy—and she doesn't want you to smoke. None of us do."

"It's true," Billy agreed softly.

Just then Adrienne bounded back into the room with the adult school course guide, but quickly got sidetracked by all the cookie crumbs. She bickered with David about using a plate—or how about giving up junk food altogether?—while Billy rolled her eyes, and Corryn fell back on the sofa, mumbling, "I need a cigarette."

Chapter 9

The next day Billy got to the Copley Mall early—stopping at Doubleday's to buy that new Renoir book—before heading to Bella Donna to check on her cakes for the jubilee. She'd finished them yesterday, and wanted to make sure they were safe and sound, their decoration pristinely intact. She also wanted to place candy leaves around all the edges, which she couldn't do until now, because if she had put the candy pieces on too early, moisture from the icing would have broken them up.

When she got to Bella Donna, she said hi to Des, who was cleaning the rotating pie case. "Is Donna here?" she asked.

"Yeah, up in her office, making the schedule for next week."

Nodding, Billy went to the back and crossed the pink tile to the walk-in freezer. She lifted the cover off the first cake, but the freezer was too dark to make anything out clearly, so she propped the door wider to let some light in. And then her jaw dropped.

Oh, no...

What happened?

Smeared icing—waves and sunset swirled together into a tye-dyed blob of pastels. Her stomach knotted as she scanned the cake in disbelief. This one was her favorite of the three, too. Sudden panic seized her chest, and she raced to the freezer to check on the others.

Damn it all! The
other two cakes were also a mess; the trim was mashed and the images distorted. What the hell had happened? And what if she hadn't decided to come in and check on the cakes before the jubilee tonight?

Holding back frustrated tears, Billy sucked in a breath and tried to figure out what to do. First of all, it was suddenly clear what had happened: Someone must have been ambling around in the dark freezer, accidentally knocked over the stack of cakes, and not had the guts to own up to it. She was really disappointed at the thought, because she considered her coworkers friends. To give them the slight benefit of the doubt, whoever had done it surely hadn't realized the extent of the damage. A lot of good that did her—Jesus, what now?

Time to get it together and solve this mess. Of course, she could simply show Donna, who would undoubtedly suggest that Billy wipe off the frosting, recoat the cakes with white icing, and forget it. The defeatist in her might be tempted, but ultimately that wasn't how Billy wanted to handle this. She'd been excited about the sheet cakes; she'd spent the past few days slaving over them, and she wanted to present something special tonight. She didn't want to cop out with something generic.

At the same time, there was something about having to redo something you'd labored over that was more daunting and awful than simply starting a whole new project.
Hmm...

Looking around the room, she caught sight of her little plastic Doubleday's bag, inside which was her new book on Renoir.

And suddenly she had an idea.

* * *

By the time Billy got to Churchill that night, she was wiped out and exhausted—not exactly an ideal feeling when you were about to cater a party. She definitely needed a cup of coffee before the Dessert Jubilee got under way. After spending hours slaving and redecorating, she'd managed a simplified but pretty re-creation of
Les Grands Boulevards
, which spread panoramic style across all three cakes. Obviously she was no threat to the art-forging world, but she still thought it was pretty impressive for cake.

As she walked down Main Street with a café mocha, she took in her surroundings, noting that Churchill was one of the cutest, coziest places she'd ever been. It had storybook charm, with cobblestone streets, wrought-iron street lamps, and sidewalks lined with maple trees. People strolled past the quaint boutiques, an old-fashioned bookshop, and a string of elegant little restaurants and bistros.

The plush expanse of green lawn that served as the town square was surrounded with thick foliage and benches, and right in the center was a statue of Mort Churchill—town father and famed dessert connoisseur. From what Billy understood, the annual Dessert Jubilee was a kind of founder's-day event, existing as both a fund-raising affair and a tribute to Mort Churchill's memory. Right now the town square was festive, filled with tables and chairs, and crepe-paper party lights strung along utility poles.

This was Billy's first catering gig since she'd begun work at Bella Donna a few months ago, but Katie had told her it was a snap. Basically they were supposed to keep the coffee brewing, consolidate half-empty trays, replenish napkins, plates, and utensils, and make rounds with virgin cocktails. The sheet cakes weren't being wheeled out until later in the evening, as a finale. It all sounded manageable, but it would have been even better if Billy weren't about to drop from exhaustion.

Donna had come earlier, but when she saw that Melissa had everything under control, she'd left. Now Georgette was in Marie's Café—the restaurant that annually volunteered its kitchen—and Des and Katie were on the lawn, setting up the last of the chairs.

Billy and Melissa were spreading out tablecloths when Billy suddenly remembered something. "Oh, Melissa, I saw you at the Rack the other night. But I don't think you realized it was me."

Melissa regarded her with a blank expression.

"You know, on Wednesday night?" Billy said by way of clarification. "I waved to you, but I guess you didn't recognize me."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Melissa shrugged. "Wasn't me."

It wasn't? Billy had thought for sure...

Then again, the bar had been dark, the woman had been far away, and Billy had been drinking raspberry crushes. She must've been mistaken.

Just then Mrs. Tailor passed by with two trays wobbling in her hands. "Oh, here, let me help you," Billy said, coming quickly to her side.

"Oh, thanks so much," she said, smiling, as Billy set the trays down on the buffet table.

"Sure, no problem. Listen, if Melissa asks, would you tell her I went to the bathroom?" She knew she could use the bathroom inside Marie's Café, but she preferred to go across the street to the pavilion on the fringes of the beach. It would give her an excuse to amble around a little more before getting back to work.

Once she'd left the brightness of the town square, Billy realized how dark it really was outside. It was only seven o'clock, but there was an eerie blue-black sky hovering over the coast. She spotted a wide stone building that looked like a little house, with two doors. The one on the right had an engraved sign that read, "Ladies."

As she reached for the handle, a cold wind blew across her face. Trees rocked from side to side, and leaves fluttered wildly through the sky. Then she heard voices.

She looked around, and through a stream of fog she saw two men arguing down by the water. One was big and burly, with a dark gray beard. He wore a long black coat and a cap. The other had dark, slicked-back hair and a flaming-red neckerchief flapping crazily in the wind. Both men jabbed angry fingers at each other and motioned toward the water.

Suddenly the one with the neckerchief turned his head and caught Billy watching. Abruptly she looked away and ducked into the ladies' room. When she came out five minutes later, both men were gone.

* * *

An hour later the jubilee was in full swing, and the town square was jumping; people were milling around chatting, hugging, and, of course, eating. Eating with abandon. Not that Billy could blame them. In fact, if her stomach weren't clenched and nervous, she might contemplate a pastry or two herself.

Instead she kept checking to see if Seth had arrived yet. Could she be more desperate to see him? She didn't think so—not that she'd ever admit it out loud. Really, she'd promised that she'd put him out of her mind, yet every other second she was scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of his dark blond hair.

Finally, in the midst of making her rounds, she saw him. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him move through the crowd. She swallowed deeply, pushing down a lump of emotion clogging her throat. Just as she was about to turn and finish passing out cocktails, Seth glanced over, and their eyes locked.