Island Girl (43 page)
Authors: Lynda Simmons
Sitting at the kitchen table now, watching him read the menus, I knew I’d made the right choice. Invitations be damned. Three weeks was long enough to wait.
“I’m leaning toward number three,” he said, laying the pages in front of me. “What do you think?”
All three menus were from Mary Anne’s most trusted caterer and included assorted hot and cold appetizers, chef’s wedding soup, green salad, and a lemon cheesecake rich enough to satisfy the most expensive taste. The only difference was the main course. Chicken, veal, or roast beef. I didn’t need to look to know that menu number three must be the roast beef.
I picked up the envelope instead and held it out to him. “I think we should look at this first. Lori said she’d come by this morning for a decision, and I’d like your opinion.”
“You know my opinion.” He went to top up his coffee. “Why the rush? What difference will it make if you sign your company away today or wait until after the wedding?”
“I’m not signing my company away, I’m selling it and making a nice profit in the process.” I dropped the envelope back on the table and reached for the milk jug. “Besides, I can’t wait any longer even if wanted to. Grace knows something is up because dear Mrs. Charlton told her I was winding things down. She hasn’t said much, but that bottle of peroxide is proof enough that she’s feeling her oats, pushing my buttons to goad me into a discussion about this, and I do not want to open that door.”
“Why not? What would be wrong with a discussion?”
“It would upset her, that’s what. Grace functions best with structure, and I’m sorry she found out anything at all. I wanted to present her with a done deal so she could adjust to her new situation without any advance fretting and worrying. Like the wedding. We didn’t ask her if she minded if we got married, we simply told her what was going to happen, and she adjusted. It’s different with a girl like Jocelyn, but it works well for Grace.”
“What are you plotting for me now?” We both jerked around as Jocelyn came through the door. “An all-girls school in Switzerland?”
“Something much more important.” Mark slid the envelope to one side and held up the menus. “The wedding dinner. What do you think we should serve? Chicken, veal, or roast beef?”
Jocelyn did the eye roll that was always so attractive. “Who gives a shit?”
It was the first time we’d agreed on anything. I would have been happy with potluck. Let everybody bring something and see what happened. Three tables of desserts, a tray of deviled eggs, and one chickpea salad, if my guess was right. But that menu wouldn’t fit with the white tablecloths and satiny chairs of my shocking new fantasy, leaving me no choice but to set the notion adrift and say, “Roast beef could work,” setting myself up for an in-depth analysis of au jus versus gravy when Mary Anne came over later.
“I can’t believe you two,” Jocelyn said. “Doesn’t anybody want to talk about the stuff that really matters? Like where we’re going to live?”
Mark carried his plate to the sink. “We can discuss that tonight. Right now, Mary Anne needs a decision for the caterer.”
“Will you stop the bullshit?” Jocelyn said. “The wedding will last one day. Our living arrangement will last the other three hundred and sixty-four. That should be item number one on your fucking checklist.”
“Jocelyn, if you don’t watch your language—”
“She has a point,” Grace said.
None of us had heard her come in and we all turned at the same time.
“I’ve been wondering where we’ll live too,” she said, crossing to the sink and opening the cupboard again. She reached in and pulled out a bottle of bleach. “I mean, it’s okay if she shares my room. It’s pretty big, and we could move in another bed. Or we could have bunk beds.” She closed the door with a smile. “That might be fun.”
“I am not sleeping in a bunk bed. I need my own room.” She turned to Mark. “So here’s the deal. I’ll agree to live here as long as I have my own room.”
Mark raised a brow. “You’re agreeing to live here, just like that? No discussion, no fighting, no more Hated skirt at breakfast?” He folded his arms and leaned back against the counter. “Why?”
She threw up her hands. “Because what choice do we have? Our beautiful four-bedroom house in Rosedale perhaps? The one with a flat-screen TV, heated pool, and your house-swap buddy, Seth, in the hot tub? We all know that isn’t going to work for Grace.”
Color burned its way up into Grace’s face and she turned away. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“You won’t be fine anywhere but here,” Jocelyn said. “While I’m sure that will change in the future, I know it’s the case now and I’m okay with living here. I just need a room of my own.” She pointed at me. “And for her to stay out of my face.” She turned back to her dad. “Are these things going to be possible?”
“I suppose we can tie Ruby up for a few years. As for your own room ...” He shrugged and took a look around. “We’d have to have an architect look at the place. See if another floor is feasible—”
“Not necessary,” I said, because this was still my house and I would not be tied up or left out of any discussion concerning what would or would not be added or subtracted. “The solution is right in front of us.” I rose and walked to the sink, gestured to the storage /laundry room off the kitchen. “That used to be Liz’s room. We renovated so we could bring Chez Ruby here. But there’s no reason we can’t put it all back the way it was for Jocelyn.”
“Except that’s where we keep all the salon stuff,” Grace said, and walked over to the storage room. “We can probably fit the roller carts and your workstation in my room, but that would still leave the towels and the washing machine and ...” She stopped and faced me. “Unless you’ve got something else in mind. Unless you’re
winding things down
.” She came a step closer. “What does that mean? And why did you cancel my appointments without telling me?”
winding things down
.” She came a step closer. “What does that mean? And why did you cancel my appointments without telling me?”
Definitely feeling her oats. I sighed, remembering only too well where that had led the last time, and wishing Lori had already been and gone with those papers. But since Grace was determined to open the door, there was nothing left but to walk through and hope for the best.
“I canceled the appointments because I wanted us both to have more time off. And ‘winding things down’ simply means slowing things down, enjoying life more. That’s what I’m doing with Chez Ruby. Slowing it down so we can enjoy life more.” I got up from the table and cupped her face in my hands. “Sweetheart, I’m fifty-five. I want to relax, retire. I thought we’d try it out by taking the summer off. Find out what it’s like to have a little time to ourselves.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “You want me to try out your retirement? Mom, I’ll be thirty next week. I don’t want to retire. I want to work. I like to work.”
“I understand that, but as you know I haven’t been well—”
“The cancer, yes,” she said, her beautiful face filling with compassion and empathy, making my own flush with guilt. “You didn’t tell me about that either.”
“That’s because I only found out recently myself,” I said, refusing to acknowledge Mark’s cough or his sudden need for more coffee, because it was true—I had no idea where the cancer notion had come from. Something was going on with Grace. Something more than birds, I was sure of it.
I sat down and picked up my cup. “Of course, I’m perfect now. Right as rain, but I want more time to myself. And running a business takes a lot of time and energy—”
“I have time,” Grace said. “And energy. Lots and lots of energy.”
“If only that was enough. But there’s also bookkeeping and paperwork—”
“We can hire a bookkeeper,” Mark offered, and had the audacity to look all wide-eyed and innocent when I scowled at him. “It’s just a suggestion.”
“A really good one,” Grace said, beaming, dreaming—both equally dangerous. “If we hire a bookkeeper, then I promise to keep everything else the same.” She all but danced over to the table. “I’ll make sure the floor is swept after every client and the water cleaned up after every shampoo. I’ll book the appointments every forty-five minutes, just like you do, and I’ll always play Big Band music.” She pulled out the chair and sat down beside me. “I’ve done almost all of your clients’ hair at least once or twice, and most of them like what I do.” She grinned at Jocelyn. “Mary Anne really likes what I do.”
“So do Marla and Audrey,” Jocelyn said.
I waved a hand to cut her off, to cut all of them off. “No one has ever disputed Grace’s ability to cut and color hair.”
“You’d think that was the most important thing in a salon, wouldn’t you?” Jocelyn said. “Otherwise people would go to their bookkeepers or their bank managers or someone else who was really good with paperwork when they wanted their hair done. But they don’t. They go to someone with the ability to cut and color hair.”
I closed my eyes. “My God, it’s like having Liz in the house.”
“Jocelyn, that’s enough,” Mark said.
“But she’s right,” Grace said. “If people are happy with their hair, why won’t they keep coming back just because someone else is doing the paperwork? And I won’t change the name or the color of the towels or anything. All you need to do is give me a chance.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jocelyn said.
Even Mark was carried away. “She certainly has the drive.”
I turned to her again. “Grace, sweetheart. You know I love you, but running a business is more than bookkeeping. There’s inventory, ordering—I can’t begin to name all the things that are second nature to me now. I can’t possibly teach you everything else you’d need to know.”
“How can you say that?” Jocelyn demanded. “You haven’t even tried.”
I rounded on her at last. “Little girl, you have no idea what you’re talking about. For seventeen years, I’ve been showing my daughter what it is to run a business. Hoping she’d start to get it, to understand even the basics, but she hasn’t. And the proof is right here in front of us.” I went to the supply cupboard, picked up the brand-new bottle of peroxide, and plunked it down in front of Grace. “Do you know where this came from?”
She had the sense to lower her eyes, to look sheepish. “We were almost out and you wouldn’t get any. I was afraid we’d run out completely, so I called and they shipped it out right away. It arrived on Saturday.”
“Did you put it in the cupboard so I wouldn’t see it?”
“I put it there because I wanted you to see it. I wanted you to ask me about it.” She breathed deeply and lifted her chin, faced me again. “I wanted you to ask me because I thought if we started talking about it, then maybe you’d tell me the truth for a change.”
I threw up my hands. “Fine, let’s speak the truth. Let’s start with that bottle of peroxide. When it arrived on Saturday morning, did you wonder why? Did it strike you as odd since none of our regular orders ever arrive on a Saturday?”
She shook her head. “I just thought it was special.”
“You’re absolutely right. It was special.” I walked over to the desk, snatched up an envelope, and handed it to Grace. “You didn’t open this when the order arrived, did you?”
“No, because you always open the envelopes.”
“Yes, I do. So I opened this one and discovered that our peroxide had arrived by special delivery from a supplier in Buffalo. Do you know where that is, Grace?”
She didn’t shake her head this time, just stared at the envelope.
“It’s across the border, in the United States.”
She looked confused. “I don’t know what happened. I just called the number in your book.”
“You obviously picked the wrong one. You couldn’t tell that the area code you were dialing was wrong, and you placed an order with a supplier in Buffalo who had my credit card on file from an order I placed a year ago. The bastard on the other end didn’t ask why you were ordering a stock item like peroxide. Didn’t suggest you call someone local. Just took the order and slapped me with a bill for fifty-five dollars in delivery, duty, and taxes. Plus the cost of the product.” I picked up the bottle. “This is officially the most expensive bottle of peroxide in the world.”
“It could have happened to anyone,” Mark said.
“I was with her,” Jocelyn said. “I didn’t notice any of that stuff either.”
“You’re twelve years old. Grace has been been working in a salon for longer than you’ve been alive. You’d think she’d have picked up something as simple as the name of our regular supplier, but she hasn’t.” I shifted back to Grace. “She hasn’t.”
“It won’t happen again,” she said softly.
“But something else will.”
“Then we’ll hire an office manager,” Mark said. “Someone to take care of the details so Grace can focus on the hair.”
“My God, Mark, we’re talking about a cottage industry here. Not a huge downtown salon. Besides, this isn’t simply about Grace’s ability or inability to run the business.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
I sank into the chair beside her. “Grace, the truth is that even if you were up to running the business, I would say no because I want my house to be a house again. The place is small. Even if we add a bedroom for Jocelyn, we still couldn’t separate the business from the living area, and I don’t want to come down and have clients in my kitchen anymore.”
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