Secrets (64 page)
Tony. With his big muscles and his big laugh and his big heart. Tony with his knuckles on Lance’s head and his arm around his shoulders. His stories and his lectures, courage and dedication and sacrifice. He’d worn the mantle. He deserved the accolades.
“It’s dangerous to see too much in anyone. And worse to think you have to match it.”
Rico nailing him between the eyes. The problem was translation— Lance trying to be Tony. Maybe Tony did have faults, but the real fault was in him, not his brother. He had made an idol and worshiped it.
Now it was time to fix his eyes on what was real. If he was looking to imitate, where should he turn but to the one who never failed? The one, as he’d told Rese, who made a way even through the failures and mistakes. But man, if he couldn’t manage Tony, how would he ever do Christ?
He set the letter on the table and took out his Bible. Starting in Isaiah, he read,
“He was despised and rejected by men … and we esteemed him not.”
Lance pictured Tony, how hats had literally and figuratively come off in his presence. Not a bad thing, unless one sought after it for personal glory. He didn’t know what was in Tony’s heart, but it was clear what was in Christ’s, and more clear what had been in his own.
“He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth.”
Lance saw himself harassing the protestors, venting his hurt, his anger. Not that it was wrong to remind them of the evil that was done, but his own pain and anger had driven him. He wasn’t fighting for Tony, but for what he’d lost and could never have again.
And in Paul’s letter to the Philippians:
“Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant.”
Lance rubbed his face. He had balked and fumed against Rese’s authority, wheedled himself a position of equality—then assumed control.
And John the Baptist’s claim:
“He must become greater; I must become less.”
There lay the challenge; to
not
prove himself, not fight for recognition and acclaim. To be the mouthpiece of the Messiah, taking no glory to himself.
And finally, Jesus washing the feet of His disciples. Christ as humble servant enabling His people to carry on in His place. Lance sat up with a jolt. That was it.
Rico’s pancakes were a far sight better than anything she would have put out, but hardly the gourmet breakfast her guests had expected. Rese had dragged herself into the kitchen without having slept at all and started making lattés when Rico offered to give pancakes a try.
Star was in the dining room explaining that the chef was out for an emergency, but she hoped they liked the pancakes. Rese could not bring herself to go out there and make small talk. She would check out the ones who were leaving, thank them for their stay, but she could not go out and be friendly with no sleep and the aching hollow inside her.
Chaz touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” She finished frothing the milk in the cup and added it to the espresso. She just needed to find a cook. She would call the ad in today, but how long would it take to get someone? It had been immediate with Lance, but then, he wasn’t there for the job. It was only a means to an end.
Star came in for the drinks and gave her a silent roll of the eyes. The guests were not happy. She should never have featured Lance and his creations. It was more of a draw than she’d known. It had set her place above pancakes and muffins. People didn’t like not getting what they had been promised, and she had a whole summer full of people who’d been promised Lance.
It was looking better and better to cancel reservations and refund the money. But that would be admitting failure. Anger braced her spine. How weak was it to hide in the kitchen while Star made her excuses?
You’re nothing but a chicken girl
. Wrong.
You can’t handle everything alone
. Wrong.
She drew herself up and stalked into the dining room. “Good morning.” She sounded like a CEO starting a board meeting. The guests murmured their responses and looked as though they were expecting something. Well, you can’t walk in sounding like you have an announcement, then not make one. “I want to apologize for my cook’s absence. I’ll be finding a replacement as soon as possible. Until then pancakes will have to do.”
The young Hegle couple immediately said, “No problem.” Feeling her discomfort no doubt.
Julia Feingold sniffed. “It’s not what your Web site promised.”
An older pair, the Harrisons, were even less accommodating. “We came here for the gourmet meals.”
Rese faced them. “I know there were expectations, but a situation arose that I was required to deal with. There are other good restaurants in town.”
Mrs. Harrison wagged the flesh under her chin. “We’re paying an exorbitant price for a room with the promise of a chef and entertainment.”
Rese was about to offer them a discount when she realized that was backing down. “My price is comparable to any inn in Sonoma. If you want to stay somewhere else, I’ll refund your next two days.”
“We shouldn’t have to move.” Mr. Jordan was small, but forceful like a bulldog. “We’ve arranged vineyard tours for the next two days.”
And her rooms were nicer than any he’d find, even without Lance. She was about to tell him that when she caught sight of Star in the doorway, slicing her finger across her neck. Right. “I’m sorry for your inconvenience.” She turned and walked out, nearly running into Rico bearing fresh plates of pancakes.
In the kitchen, Star stuck her fingers to her skull and closed her eyes like a crazed ballerina. “Fric-tion…”
“Well, what do they expect? I’m doing the best I can.” But she had sounded sharp and aggressive.
“You’ll have to work on your presentation.”
She clenched her teeth. “What’s wrong with pancakes anyway?”
Star gave her a probing stare. Chaz wore one of polite concern. Rese didn’t want to see Rico’s face when he got back from the lions’ den. She stomped into her room and shut the door. The Hegles were checking out today, and after her announcement, the others might be leaving as well. She would have to face them, but she was crawling inside her skin.
How had she ever thought running an inn a possibility? She didn’t want people demanding things from her, criticizing her efforts … as she had criticized the crew? That was different. She pointed out their mistakes so they could correct them. Get it right; make it perfect. She could not make this right or perfect. But she had never delivered less.
Until now. Fine. She was stressed. She was worn out. She … never made excuses. She pressed her fingers to her head like Star. Friction? Star should feel the static inside
her
skull. One minute of that would have her thankful for a brain that…
Rese slumped onto her bed. She was envying Star’s brain? She needed sleep. She looked at her watch. Checkout wasn’t until eleven. Maybe no one would want to leave earlier. She put her head down, reliving last night’s anxiety, but now fatigue brought sleep.
Why didn’t Rese answer? Star knocked again. The guests wanted to check out, and she had no idea what to do. Put her in front of a crowd, give her a mic and a stage—no problem. But business? Forget it. That was Rese’s part. Not that Rese was excelling this morning. Her conciliation speech had been dreadful. Didn’t she know how to suck up at all?
Rico’s pancakes were not Lance’s fabulous breakfasts, and she couldn’t expect people to be happy about that. The whole place was thick with bad energy. She had to get out. But first she needed to wake Rese. She knocked harder.
“What do you want?” Rese pulled open the door.
“ ‘Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, and dart not scornful glances from those eyes.’ ”
Rese rubbed a hand over her face, but it didn’t help. She looked horrible, her eyes red and pinched in. Where was the strong Valkyrie?
“Your guests await your gracious service.”
Rese glared. “What time is it?”
“Three quarters past the hour of ten, milady. And thou art still abed.” She reached over and smoothed Rese’s hair, but Rese pulled back annoyed.
“Stop it.”
“Then go check out your guests.”
“The Hegles?”
She nodded.
“I wish they’d all go.” Her pain was tangible, emanating as she walked away. Rese, the island in a sea of weaker souls. Rese, who had tackled Bobby Frank for calling her friend a psycho. He was right, but Rese had defended her.
Now who was there to defend Rese? And from what? Herself? She’d sent Lance away. A person couldn’t sever her heart and not expect to bleed. But what if she required a surgeon? Waves of fear seized her. She couldn’t do it. Someone else…. but who?
Star went to find Rico, whose energy force she needed. Lance had possessed a benevolent spirit, a warm and watchful aura. Rico’s was less certain, a little fractured, maybe. But then so was hers. She found him using nunchucks behind the carriage house. He looked like a pirate, much more pirate than Lance, but the sort who might call you back from the end of the plank, save you at the last moment. But from what?
He stopped working as she approached. His skin had a sheen of moisture, his hair was damp, his eyes a little fey. He hung the nunchucks over his arm, breathing hard from the exercise. Star went up close and made her plea. “What was Lance doing here that was more important than Rese?”
Rico didn’t move, and that was significant. He was perpetual motion, one part always playing off another. He said, “You have to ask him.”
She raised her arms, crossing them atop her head. “How can I affect a cure unless I know the malady?”
Rico caught one stick and tapped it against the other as they hung by the chain over his wrist. “I can’t nark him out.”
She understood keeping secrets. But she was scared. “Rese is bleeding.”
He jolted. “What?”
“You can’t see it, but her life is hemorrhaged.”
Rico shook his head. “That’s between them.”
But it wasn’t just them. They’d all come together in a sustaining convergence, each forming a piece of the whole. It was the first time she’d felt essential, dared to hope she could be better than she’d been. But it was disintegrating. And that wasn’t the worst of it.
“I’m losing her.” Star let her arms drop. Just saying the words sent a tremor through her. Rese was the only person she could trust. She needed her.
Rico reached out and took her hand. “Something’s gonna happen.”
“How do you know?”
Rico’s eyes took a volcanic cast. “Cuz Lance has got a thing for fixin’ stuff. And he’s pretty tight with God.”
Star seized the thought. Hadn’t she seen it herself? Maybe it wasn’t up to her. Maybe…
R
ese snagged the mail from the box without looking or caring. The Hegles were gone, but no one had checked out early. Unfortunately. Star had changed the bed, cleaned and aired the Jasmine room. Rese didn’t inspect her work. It took more energy than she possessed.
She set the mail on the desk in her little office. If it contained deposit checks, she wanted to send them back and cancel those paid through the Internet. Every payment was a nail in her coffin.
But she looked now at the top envelope, blank with no stamp or postmark. A hand-delivered note? She opened it and took out a folded recipe card.
Crepes, with ricotta filling and berry sauce
. Lance had written the recipe out and added a note at the bottom.
You can do it. Just like before. Lance
. She gripped the edges to tear it to shreds, but paused.
The morning’s fiasco was fresh in her mind, and his words had triggered the memory of making the crepes, slowly swirling the batter in the bottom of the pan. It hurt to recall, but could she do it? Herself? He’d laid it out in painstaking step-by-step directions. If she practiced, maybe. She’d mastered everything else she’d put her mind to. And she had a whole day before she needed to serve something….
Lance’s name at the bottom brought a surge of anger. She wanted nothing from him. But then she pictured Mrs. Harrison’s face. Crepes with ricotta filling and berry sauce were better than pancakes. If she could manage it, they might not mind that every morning.
