Whistlin' Dixie in a Nor'easter (38 page)

As the piano sounded its last chord, I let my arms drift back down to my side. Wanting to thank him for the dance, I slowly opened my eyes to smile at him.

Where’d you go? Please don’t leave. Not yet. Just one more dance?

Not tonight. My partner had silently vanished into the mystic.

Chapter Twenty-two

Huge flakes cascaded down from the sky and landed one on top of the other, quickly covering any patch that had melted away from the previous snowfall. Neither of my little girls were awake so I walked around the inn, admiring its beauty, especially in contrast to that first day when I stepped foot in the foyer. The houseitosis was completely gone and the place looked like another inn altogether.

After bundling up, I ventured outside to take a look at the front of the place. There my beautiful new sign hung in place of the old Vermont Haus Inn rusted one.
PEACH BLOSSOM INN
was in beautiful script with perfect little peaches in place of the two
O
s in “Blossom.” I remember when the man delivered it last July. Peter and I raced each other to the front door to watch the man hang it. Peter was so proud of the way it looked. I thought nothing of it at the time, but in looking back on it now, I remember he picked me up and twirled me around he was so happy. I was kind of happy, but I was thinking more about getting back to Memphis than my new sign.

Then there was the day the new menus arrived. We used the new logo on peach parchment and the lettering itself was exquisite. Peter beamed every time he picked one up. I always thought it was because I had added
his name to the menu, along with mine, as a courtesy to him.
Your hosts, Leelee Satterfield—Innkeeper & Peter Owen—Chef.

Now I was realizing that it was much more than that. Peter put time and thought into every single detail of that menu. It took him a solid week to finalize the entrées and he spent hours and hours searching through his vast collection of cookbooks to come up with the perfect bill of fare. In the last eight months, Peter Owen had never missed one hour of work, forgotten to place a food order, wasted one cut of meat, over-ordered a single time, or let me down in any way. He had been there for me, unconditionally and with a smile, every single, solitary day since Baker Satterfield left me to run that place all by myself. And now he was losing his job.

But I warned him in the initial interview that this could happen. I remember distinctly being honest and up-front about the possibility of the inn selling at any time. The more I thought about it though, guilt was not the emotion I was feeling. It was sorrow. Sorrow over the end of the song, the end of the adventure, the end of the dream. I wasn’t quite sure whose dream I was mourning or which one, but it was a melancholy time nonetheless.

It was getting mighty cold outside and by now I was covered in snow. As I stepped back into the foyer for warmth I heard Roberta pull up in her little Ford Taurus and park just outside the kitchen in the side parking lot.

She seemed startled when she walked out of the bathroom. I was waiting right outside the door.

“Oops, you scared me,” she said. “You’re up mighty early.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you finally break down and buy a scanner?” Roberta giggled, amused with herself.

“No, Roberta, never.”

“Follow me upstairs if you want to chat,” she said, heading out of the kitchen. “I’ve gut to make up the guest room in the front.”

I followed her up to the linen closet and then into the unmade bedroom, where I sat down on a chair in the corner.

Roberta unfolded the sheets. “Now then, why ain’t you sleepin’?”

“Ed Baldwin called last night. He’s got a buyer.”

“You don’t say! Why, you must be as happy as a fly drowning in new, warm syrup.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Sure, I’m happy. It’s what I’ve been wanting for over a year. But I never would have imagined in a million years that my happiness would feel this
un
happy.”

Roberta went about her business of tucking in the corners of the sheets, her little round body stretching over the bed as she flattened out the top sheet with her hand. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I know I’m no shrink, but I think you’re a lot happier than you realize. Right here in Vermont.”

I thought about what she said but I didn’t answer her right away. I helped her spread the blanket out over the bed. “But Memphis is my
home
,” I finally replied, “and I miss it.”

“It seems to me that everything’s falling in place right here in Willingham. The inn’s makin’ money, you’ve got it decorated awfully nice. Helga’s gone, and you’re not crying every day over Baker. And that’s thanks to Peter.” She stared right into my eyes.

“He stepped right into the chef’s job, didn’t he?” I picked up the bedspread from another chair and tossed it onto the bed. “That does help, I have to admit.”

“I’m not talking about Peter helping out with the cooking, I mean he gives you something to smile about. You turn into a glowworm any time he comes around.”

“I do?”

“Yuup, you do.”

“When do I glow?”

“The minute he walks in the room. Why, the same goes for him. He lights up like a firefly whenever you get near him. Call me nuts if you want to, but that’s my observance.” She shook out the pillow and held it up under her chin. Then shook it down into a freshly laundered case.

“Hmmm.”

“It’s something to think about.” Roberta’s eyebrows popped up and she smiled a toothless grin as she plopped the pillow onto the bed.

______

I was in the big kitchen taking a reservation when Jeb showed up, apparently ready to spend his day off—and mine—talking. I didn’t have to break the news to him. Roberta nabbed him before he even made it into the kitchen.

“When do you leave?” Jeb said, as soon as I hung up the phone.

“Ed said I could leave as soon as I pack up my stuff but I still have to hire a mover. Maybe in a couple of months or so.”

“You want to stay two more months in this winter? Are you sure you’re still Leelee?” Jeb walked up and knocked on my head.

“I was just thinking that all the moving vans are probably booked up, that’s all.”

“I doubt that. But what do I know about moving vans? I’ve never lived anywhere else in thirty-nine years, except right acrosst the street.” Jeb combed his beard with his fingers and looked off to the side. “I might end up down south. You never know. I think I might like it down there.”

“Really? Jeb Duggar, you mean to tell me that you would actually leave Vermont behind?”

“I might,” he said, nodding his head, lips pursed.

“Well, the upside is there’s hardly ever any snow, not that many chimneys to sweep, and you sure don’t have to get up on the roof to chip ice. And you can be assured of this, you’ll
never
find a roof rake in any hardware store, no matter how hard you look.”

“Hmmm, I guess that means my plowing business might suffer.” Nervously, he twirled the edges of his mustache.

“Oh, it would suffer all right. Try nonexistent.”

“Then what could I do down south?”

“I guess you could still be a handyman; I mean houses need fixing there, too.”

“Why, sure.”

“And you could paint. And wallpaper and wash dishes in a restaurant. Or how about your own business? Jeb’s Computer World shouldn’t be
that
hard to move.”

Jeb puffed out his chest and I could see the wheels turning in that head of his. He hadn’t even thought about JCW. “I’ll think about it.” He said it like he thought I was trying to talk him into it. “Mom’s pretty sold on Vermont. She’s never lived anywhere else either. And, you’re wrong about something. It
is
hard to move a business. Jeb’s Computer World’s got a reputation around here.”

“Yes, it does. And not only in Willingham. JCW’s reputation has spread all the way to Tennessee.”

“I might give Alice and them a call,” Jeb said, like they were thick. “They told me when they were here they’d all be fighting over me if I lived in Tennessee.”

Bless his heart.
“Any time you’re ready for their numbers, just ask.” I could just picture Alice now when Richard told her there was a Jeb Duggar on the phone for her.

“Mommeeeee,” Isabella cried, reaching out her arms to me, and I squeezed in between the two of them. Sarah crawled up in my lap and Isabella nudged in next to her on my other leg. I kissed the tops of both of their heads and wrapped my arms around them. Their little bodies were warm even though the temperature outside was negative fifteen.

What am I doing to them?
I thought as I held them tightly.
All they ever do now is watch TV. They don’t go outside, except when they’re at school, and the teachers make all the kids go out for recess, no matter how cold. I’m not about to take them out for longer than fifteen minutes at a time. There is absolutely nothing else to do here
, I thought.
We go into Manchester every now and then to get to McDonald’s. That McDonald’s has to be the only one in the country without a playground.

Thank goodness for Sarah’s kindergarten class. The school bus took them to ski on Tuesdays and that was kind of cool. In fact when I went up to the mountain to watch last week, the instructor had all the kids following behind him, snowplowing without any poles. It was quite the sight to see all those children, seven and under, twisting and turning single file down a green slope all bundled up in hats and snowsuits.

I tried skiing in Vermont, really I did, but the temperatures up on the mountain were always under zero,
always
. It was unbearable to me. My toe heaters helped, but I was still miserable being outside for any length of time.

I seriously considered exactly what there was to offer my little girls if we stayed. Kids ice skated on ponds around Willingham, but that scared me. Which reminded me of another thing. No swimming pools in Vermont. I could have either skiers or swimmers. That was my choice.

“Girls,” I said softly, and leaned down in between their little faces. “What would y’all say if I told you we could be home soon?”

Sarah took her thumb out of her mouth, and held it up, wet, like she would go right back to it. “In Memphis?”

“Uh-huh,” I said.

“To our old house with Daddy?”

“No, not to our old house, but we’d find another one.”

“With Daddy?” Sarah asked once more.

“I don’t think so, angel, but he could come visit.”

“Doesn’t he love us anymore?”

“Of course he loves you, he’s just gotten a little sidetracked. He wanted to try something new. He’ll come visit, I’m sure of it.”

“I miss Kissie, I want to see her.” Sarah changed the subject abruptly. Those two were joined at the hip from the minute Sarah was born.

“I miss her, too.” I pictured sweet old Kissie leaned over the stove in her little kitchen in Memphis, just off Elvis Presley Boulevard, tasting whatever she had cooking with a long wooden spoon. “She’d be so happy to have us home.”

Isabella didn’t bother to take out her paci, she clenched it with her teeth and said, “I just want to be with you, Mommy,” and nestled in closer to me.

I started dreaming of enrolling the girls in the Jamison School for the next school year. Only missing kindergarten, Sarah would still make it into the Jamison School Twelve Year Club after all. Isabella could start junior kindergarten in the fall.

Pretty soon the butterflies found their way back to my stomach. It was the first of February and the daffodils would be out any minute now back
home. March was just around the corner and that meant I could see green within weeks—instead of three and a half months! No more snowplows waking me up every time their engines ground their way up the hill. My little girls would say “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir” and we could throw away the snow boots and neck warmers. Nor’easters would be a distant memory in no time flat.

I flew down the stairs in search of my cordless phone, which I had left in the commercial kitchen. It was right where I had left it next to the inn’s black dial phone. As I punched in the numbers to Virginia’s cell phone, I found myself with a little skip in my step.

“Hi, Fiery,” she answered. “What in the world have you been up to?”

“Let’s see, work, snow, and snow.”

“Nobody’s talked to you in over two weeks. Is everything okay?”

“Of course everything is okay. In fact it’s great. Guess what? I’ve got news!” There was a little singsong to my voice.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Where are Alice and Mary Jule?”

“Alice’s at home and Mary Jule had to go to a planning meeting for the Lenten Waffle Breakfast at the church. Al’s mother is the chairman this year and Mary Jule felt like she had to volunteer to be on the committee. She’s losing her mind, though. Al’s mother calls her fifty times a day.”

“Can we get her on her cell?”

“We can try,” Virginia said.

I dialed Alice. “Alice, it’s me, can you get a three-way with Mary Jule, she’s on her cell.”

“Well, if it isn’t Miss I’ve-been-meaning-to-call,” Alice said.

“Will you
hush
? I’ve got big news. Virginia’s on with us and I need you to get Mary Jule on the phone.”

Within twenty seconds, Mary Jule whispered, “Fiery, are you there? I had to fake like I needed to tee-tee and go into the bathroom to talk. I don’t have long. Al’s mother is about to drive me
crazy
.”

“What are y’all doing for spring break?” I asked.

“Destin, Alice’s parents’ condo. Wish you could join us,” Mary Jule said. “It’s no husbands—just us and all the kids.”

“I
can
join y’all!” I squealed.

“How?” Alice asked.

“I’M COMING HOME!”

“When?” they all blurted at once.

“As soon as a moving van can pack me up. Six weeks or so.”

“You mean you’re
moving
home?” Mary Jule said. “Are you kidding? What’s going on?”