The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (252 page)

Sophie and Curtis stood on the sidewalk in front of his house, waving goodbye to the rest of the family. The New Jersey group had made the trip together, in Nick’s Escalade, and Mike and his kids had all driven separately and were now on their way back to wherever they’d come from. Sophie still couldn’t keep her uncle Mike’s boys straight. They were close in age and looked a lot alike.

“Jesse and Brooke have their own agenda. They should be arriving in London right about now.” Curtis tucked Sophie’s arm through his. Together they walked along the path to the front door, which Curtis had left standing open.

“Let’s see how the caterer is doing with the cleanup,” Sophie said once they were inside.

“Now, they know what they’re doing,” he told her. “No need to check up on them, or on me, for that matter. You don’t have to hang around, Sophie. I can handle the caterer. This wasn’t my first party, you know.”

“I’m sure, but I’ll stay till they’re finished, all the same.”

“You have a big week ahead of you.” He ushered her into the living room. “You’re going to be Enright and Enright for the next seven days. You might want to rest up.”

“I’ll be fine. Jesse and I went over all the big cases, so I know what to expect. He has nothing on the docket for another ten days, so no court appearances will be necessary. Mostly I’ll be meeting with clients, conducting a few interviews, and becoming acquainted with the caseload. All in all, not such a tough week.”

“Did I mention how happy I am that you’re planning on taking the Maryland bar and joining your brother?”

“Once or twice.”

“Is that all?” He chuckled. “Somehow I lost count.”

Sophie watched him slowly lower into his favorite chair. “Pop, are you feeling okay?”

“Just a little tired. I’m not used to so much festivity in one weekend.” He rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

Sophie watched from the sofa, her shoes off, her legs pulled up under her. She’d hoped to take this opportunity to talk to him about the restaurant and her plans, but now was clearly not the time. He was obviously exhausted. She’d stay until the caterers left and make sure he had dinner and headed up to bed early. She closed her own eyes, thinking about the upcoming weeks and all she would need to accomplish. She’d just finished planning her opening-day menu when the scent began to envelop her.

“Okay, how are you doing that?” She opened her eyes.

“Who are you talking to?” her grandfather asked.

“You. I’m talking to you. There’s no one else here.”

“Are you sure of that?” A small smile played across his lips.

“Come on, Pop. Fess up. If you’re somehow making that happen, just tell me, okay?”

“Do I look as if I’m doing anything except trying to take a nap in my favorite chair?” He raised his head a few inches off the back of the chair and opened his eyes.

“Somehow you rigged something …” Sophie got up. “I know. It’s one of those plug-in fragrance things. You found one that smells like gardenias, right?” She began to search for outlets in the room. When she failed to find what she was looking for, she went into the hallway.

“Okay, I give up.” She plopped back on the sofa.

“Please do. You’re upsetting your grandmother.” He closed his eyes again.

“Pop … oh, never mind.” He was never going to admit that he was behind the mysterious scent, and she was never going to accept his explanation. Why belabor the point? Besides, if it gave him comfort all these years to keep his beloved Rose close to him, what difference did it make where the scent came from? Hadn’t Jason said something like that?

Sophie had to admit, though, that it was odd that, search as she might, she could not find an apparent source. Odd, too, that it seemed to come and go. One would think that if something had been rigged up to release a perfume into the air, it would be constant.
There had been times when Sophie entered a room in this house where one minute there had been no scent at all, and the next minute, it seemed to surround her. How to explain that?

Earlier in the day, she’d been chatting with her cousin Elizabeth—called Bit by her brothers, Lizzie by everyone else—and had complimented her on her choice of perfume.

“Did you wear that for Gramma Rose?” Sophie had asked.

“Wear what?”

“The gardenia perfume.”

“I’m not wearing perfume,” Lizzie had told her. “That
is
Gramma Rose.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Lizzie had shrugged. “You explain it, then. I can’t. After all these years, I’ve given up trying.”

Obviously the old man had any number of people fooled.

Sophie watched her grandfather sleep, the scent fading as he began to snore softly. Her grandmother had been gone for close to twenty years, a long time to perpetuate a myth. Yet if it was in fact Rose’s presence, twenty years would be a long time to linger, a long time to wait. Could love really do that, she wondered—cross time and the barriers between life and death? Could you choose between moving on alone and remaining suspended between the two dimensions until your loved one joined you?

As she curled up on the sofa, Sophie wondered how that would work. Did you get to the other side and refuse to cross until your beloved could cross with you?

Sophie sighed and closed her eyes. After being a just-the-facts-please girl all her life, it was tough for her to accept something she couldn’t see without at least making an effort to understand. It seemed that over time, everyone else—even Jesse—had come to accept Rose’s presence. It was tough being the lone skeptic in a family of believers.

Most puzzling of all was the nature of love. It was becoming clear to her that some loves could last through the ages—witness her grandfather’s unceasing devotion. And yet she’d once thought she loved Christopher, his infidelity had destroyed the feelings she’d had for him. If she’d really loved him, would those feelings have survived regardless of what he’d done to hurt her? When she thought about Chris now, mostly what she felt was annoyed—with him, with Anita, and mostly with herself for not seeing him for what he really was.

But if she’d cared so much for him once, how could she have been so wrong? Had there been signs that she’d missed, or ignored? What, she wondered, did it feel like when you finally found “the one”? How do you know the difference between Mr. Right for Now and Mr. Right Forever?

Was it possible to find the kind of love that had existed between her grandparents—the kind of love that still bound them to each other? She thought of the look on her brother’s face as he’d watched Brooke walk up the aisle toward him, and she knew the answer. Her last thought before nodding off was that maybe someday, someone would look at her the way Jesse had looked at Brooke, and that someone would be worth waiting for, no matter how long it took.

Monday morning found Sophie at the office by seven, fired up to prove herself worthy of being the “& Enright” in the firm’s name. She made a pot of coffee in the kitchen—no Cuppachino for her today—poured herself a cup, and took it with her into Jesse’s office. She sat in his chair at his desk and went over her game plan. There was a stack of mail a foot high that he’d left instructions for, and that would have to be taken care of before she did anything else. Not a problem. Read, make a phone call, or respond via letter or email as the situation dictates. She was determined that by the time Jesse returned from his honeymoon, all of the work he’d left for her would be completed.

She picked up the first letter in the pile and read it through. It was from the attorney for one of the co-defendants in a slip-and-fall case requesting information that he believed Jesse possessed. She’d pull the file, acquaint herself with the case, and decide whether or not he should be privy to the information he’d asked for. No big deal.

But where, she wondered, would she find the file?

She set the letter aside until Violet arrived. Her coffee was now cold, so she took the cup into the kitchen and microwaved it to reheat. Violet was just coming through the front door when Sophie stepped into the hall.

“Hey, good morning,” Sophie called to her.

“Not so much,” Violet grumbled. “I overslept and it made me late. I am never late.”

“You’re not late. It’s barely eight o’clock.”

“Seven has been my usual starting time for the past
sixty years.” Violet bustled past her and directly to her desk. She plopped her bag on the floor and sat at her desk. “Do I smell coffee?”

Sophie nodded. “I made it when I came in. Would you like me to bring you a cup?”

“No, thank you. I make it every morning but I rarely drink it.”

“If you’d rather have tea, I could—”

“I’ll get it if I want it, thank you.”

“Okay, then.” Sophie cleared her throat. “Violet, where would I find the
Dexter v. The Copper Pot
file?”

“It should be in the second drawer in the first file cabinet to the left of the door in Jesse’s office.”

“Thank you.” Sophie went into the office and right to the designated file drawer, but her search was unsuccessful. She looked through each of the drawers before trying the file cabinets on either side of the one Violet had suggested.

“Violet, the file isn’t in the drawer. It isn’t in
any
drawer.” Sophie stood in the doorway.

“No surprise there,” Violet muttered. “I’m afraid your brother has little or no regard for my filing system.”

Sophie frowned. “Does he have his own system?”

Violet snorted. “Try the floor.”

By noon, after being forced to paw through the haphazard stacks of files Jesse had left not only on his office floor, but in the conference room as well, Sophie came to the conclusion that jeans and a sweatshirt would have been more appropriate attire than the nice linen sheath she’d donned that morning. She’d thought to make a professional impression should a
client pop into the office unexpectedly, but in retrospect, it had been a bad idea.

“Violet, I give up. I can’t find a thing.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“How can you stand it? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for the way Jesse operates.”

“Your brother is a very good lawyer, but he’s the most disorganized person I’ve ever met. The only saving grace is that he has a good memory and when he dumps something onto a pile, he generally does remember which file is in which pile. I no longer file until he’s finished with a case and he hands it to me to put away.”

“Well, unfortunately, my brother and I do not share a psychic connection, so I don’t know one stack from the other. I’m going to go home and change my clothes. I’m tired of crawling around on the floor in one of my favorite dresses.”

“It might be best to dress down this week,” Violet suggested. “There’s no telling what you’ll be called upon to find, or where you’ll have to go to look for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are files in the attic, some on the second floor, some in your grandfather’s old office, some in your uncle Mike’s.”

Sophie frowned. “Why would I need to go into the attic?”

“One of those letters on Jesse’s desk is from Clarence Edelson. He’s looking for a copy of his grandfather’s will.”

“When did his grandfather pass away?”

“Seventeen years ago.”

“And he’s just looking for the will now?”

“He says he did have a copy but can’t find it.”

“Why would he want it after all these years?”

Violet shrugged. “It’s not our place to question, dear. The client wants something from the file, we provide it.”

“I may leave that one for Jesse. Meanwhile, I’m going to go home and change.” Sophie grabbed her bag off the back of her chair. “I’ll probably stop in town and pick up something for lunch. Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thank you. I brought something from home.”

Sophie’s gaze lingered on the pile of mail and the stacked files that covered the floor.

“I won’t be long,” she told Violet as she headed for the front door.

“Take your time, dear. None of
that
,” she nodded in the direction of Jesse’s office, “is going anywhere.”

There’d been no provision in her game plan for taking her time. Sophie drove to the house, changed into work clothes, and was on her way back to the office when she realized the sound she’d been hearing over and over was her stomach growling. She remembered someone mentioning a place called The Checkered Cloth that was said to have really good take out. She’d yet to go food shopping, so take out sounded pretty good. She parked on a side street off Charles and went into the small storefront. The specials were on a chalkboard inside the door, and she studied it for a moment before making her selection.

“I’ll have the Mandarin salad with grilled chicken,” she told the girl behind the counter. “Dressing on the side, please.”

“And to drink?” the girl asked.

“A bottle of water, thanks.”

While she waited, Sophie picked up a folded menu from a stack that sat inside a basket on the counter and studied the offerings. Lots of sandwiches—some basic, a few more creative—and soups and salads that changed daily. Covered cake stands on the counter held layer cakes, brownies, and bar cookies. Figuring this would be her competition in the center of town, Sophie took it all in, from the light hardwood floor to the benches that stood along one wall. Not many seats, she realized, but since this was strictly a take-out establishment, the lack of seating wasn’t an issue. She watched the food being prepared, noting how everything was packaged to travel, then placed in a white paper bag stamped with a picnic spread out on a red-and-white checkered tablecloth.

Cute, she thought.
Nice presentation
. She’d have to do better.

Maybe box lunches, she thought as she paid for her lunch and walked back to her car. White boxes with the name of the restaurant—she was still working on that—maybe tied up with plain white string. Something that the film people would find visually appealing, since she was going to have to depend on them if her restaurant was going to be a success. And of course, the food was going to have to be exceptional. She’d have to find someone who cooked at least as well as she did.