And, of course, there was more than just the innocent tryst. Much more than that, indeed. How else could it be explained that Evan Fiedler dined at Annie Rose’s every Friday evening with his lovely wife, Joanna, only to arrive with another woman requesting an intimate table every Wednesday evening? One had to wonder. As recently as just this week after the sudden death of Sprout, her twenty-two-year-old feline, Amy Trousse cried her eyes out over a chocolate double mocha. The hot brew made her feel better. Of course, I put my arms around her, and I held her closely, though she hardly noticed. I think that helped, too.
I must say, the thought of a restaurant where my friends and family could gather and be nurtured was a stroke of genius. It made me wish I’d thought of it sixty years ago, but then I wouldn’t have been the clever apparition I am today. It takes years of practice and maturity ... even for a ghost.
I knew the kitchen staff intimately. I knew they shared a secret they never spoke about. They were too busy living their lives in this lifetime to ever dwell on the previous ones, but secrets remained there just the same. Deep inside. Coming to them through dreams and visions that took them to another time and place, but always returned them to Seaside.
Everyone there shared secrets from the past, of being brought back to this small beach town because of their love for a place called Paradise. Whether they remembered it or not. These women were connected, you know, though just how will have to wait.
Was it something in the air or in our hearts that allowed us to fall in love with a place and call it our Paradise? Our true home on earth. A special, magical place where people love to come and hate to leave. Where generations have flocked for one hundred-fifty years to share the good times. To live life to its fullest.
Of course, I had a hand in a lot of what happened around here. In time, I would bring everyone home to this paradise. It was the timing of a life. It had to be like that.
Lunch At Annie Rose’s
Marcia Stevens was standing at the front desk taking a reservation when Caroline entered the restaurant. Marcia’s slender frame was dressed in a pair of black crepe slacks and a backless top, a single strand of pearls about her neck. Simple and elegant; Caroline regarded her with approval.
Caroline cared about all her employees. Marcia, who recently married, had been with Annie Rose’s since it opened the previous year. She was a good worker, friendly, with a beautiful smile — all must-haves for a charming restaurant hostess. Up until last month, she’d been the perfect employee. Prompt, never giving Caroline a moment of worry. Then she’d shown up at work one day with extra make-up applied under her left eye. Though Marcia had done her best, she couldn’t completely hide an obvious bruise. On another day, Marcia simply had not reported to work. Now, Caroline was concerned. She was keeping an eye on her.
Marcia nodded at her boss as she scribbled down a name and time in the reservation book, her voice pleasant on the telephone. Caroline gave her a quick wave in greeting, and scanned the attractive dining room. The space was already crowded, buzzing with luncheon guests. Gentle music nearly obscured the soft din of conversation and tinkle of crystal and silver. She recognized many locals who frequented the restaurant, including Robert and Laura, an elderly couple who dined there twice a week. Laura looked especially lovely today, Caroline thought, dressed in a navy pantsuit with a large gold neck chain and matching dangle earrings. Robert wore a sport shirt and tie and a smartly cut navy blazer.
There wasn’t a particular dress code at Annie Rose’s. A tourist here for the weekend would not be likely to bring a cocktail dress or suit, but most patrons acknowledged the fact that Annie Rose’s was a cut above other eateries in Seaside, and dressed accordingly. However, if an occasional customer entered the restaurant in blue jeans or khakis, he was welcomed just the same.
Joe and Lisa Cramer sat at a table along the front row of windows. At a neighboring table, sat Michael and Janice Teller. And a young couple Caroline didn’t know sat enjoying their rib-eye steaks and salads. Probably tourists, she guessed, as she knew most of the locals who patronized the restaurant.
Caroline studied the reservation book for a moment, and noticed Robert and Laura were celebrating their forty-eighth wedding anniversary today, which explained their taking extra care with their appearance. Turning, she entered the large stainless kitchen to make sure all was running smoothly there, too.
The space was humming with efficiency. Nancy was grilling two thick New York cut steaks and brushing a dark, rich demi-glaze over each. She smiled up at Caroline.
“Hi, honey,” she exclaimed, plating the steaks and spooning golden pilaf and asparagus spears alongside. “Up for table two,” she called out. Donna, the waitress, responded by picking up the plates and whisking them out to the dining room.
Mertle Roe and another staff member were at the side counter tearing leafy salad greens into a huge stainless bowl.
“It’s the Chandler’s forty-eighth wedding anniversary,” Caroline stated. “See that they get a bottle of wine on the house.”
“We’re ahead of you. A bottle is already on its way,” Hilly Brewster called out. She was arranging slivered almonds on top of a luscious Blitz Torte, its baked meringue, creamy custard, and layered yellow cake were beautifully tiered on a glass cake plate.
“Mmmm, that looks nice,” Caroline said, peering over Hilly’s shoulder. Her baking skills were genius. Caroline had been so fortunate to find this woman. For many reasons.
“You’re late today,” Nancy quipped. She worked her knife with deft speed as she chopped shallots into small even bits and added them to the sauté pan for the next order.
“So, fire me. Just as I was leaving, Dog ragged up his breakfast all over the kitchen floor. Bruce was an angel to offer to clean things up, but I didn’t want him to be late for his appointment at the hospital.” Caroline said.
“When does Bruce leave for Medical School?” Mertle asked.
“At the end of the month. I’m going to miss him, but I’m really glad for him. It was a dream he couldn’t pursue long ago. Now, he has a second chance.”
Caroline patted her hands dry on paper toweling, and returned to the dining room to make sure the Chandlers were enjoying their wine.
Then she greeted Sam and Gayle Turner, asking them how their home’s remodeling projects were coming along. Kitchen, bathroom, doubling the size of their bedroom; she couldn’t imagine such an overwhelming endeavor. The couple had been in twice this week since they didn’t have a working kitchen in which to prepare meals.
She continued making her rounds, and introduced herself to the tourists at table number six, a young couple visiting from Victoria, British Columbia, she learned. Then she poured coffee at table numbers eight and three.
* * *
Tilly Jacobs and Molly Bradford were the first in their Tuesday luncheon group to arrive at Annie Rose’s. Marcia seated them at their usual table by the window and offered each a menu, placing two more at the empty place settings for the other expected women. It was only minutes later when Elizabeth Windsor and Iris Grayson joined them, and Marcia returned to announce the daily luncheon specials: lobster and shrimp caesar salad and tenderloin of pork sandwich with caramelized onions and slaw.
“What’s wrong, my dear? You look flushed.” Iris questioned Elizabeth as she settled herself in the chair beside the younger woman.
“I’m fine.” Elizabeth said, placing her starched white napkin on her lap. She took a sip from her glass of cold water. Elizabeth still felt a bit flushed since observing the naked young man outside her window this morning. But, goodness, that was hours ago. Did it still show in her face?
“I’m fine,” Elizabeth repeated, and took another sip of water. She secretly hoped she would see the young man again this afternoon.
Turning her attention to the ladies at the table, Elizabeth