“Maybe it’s time to sell this place, then?” He walks to the back door then stops and turns, pulling an envelope from his back pocket. “Here, some light reading for you. I’ve already been to a lawyer, and, as you’ll see, you owe me. Twenty large, Lil. Plus interest. It’s been three years you’ve sat on my money.” He throws the envelope on the bench and slams the door behind him.
I listen to the low rumble of the car as it leaves the car park before I let the tears flow. Sitting at a table, I cradle my head in my hands and blubber until I can’t see straight. I’ve never been a pretty crier, and this time isn’t any different. Loud choking sobs make me hiccough, and sputter, but I let it all out. Even just the threat of having to sell the Gingerbread Café is enough to make me dizzy with worry. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop this on me; there’s still so much to organize for the festival, and now this will hang over me like a black cloud.
Regret sits heavy in my heart about keeping Joel’s visit from CeeCee. She’ll be fit to kill when she knows I met him without telling her. And Damon? What will he think about the mess I’m in? I sit there for an age, thinking of all the things I should have said.
The moon shines bright in the dark night. I walk to the window and stare up at it. I think of telling CeeCee and know her retort would be, “There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell you losing the Gingerbread Café, not on account of that damn fool, anyways.”
My old truck whines as I pull into the driveway; another thing I was all set on replacing this year, but I guess that may not happen now. I jump down from the cab, and head up the porch. Light from inside peeks out through the thick lace curtains. I take a deep breath and brace myself to tell Damon.
Inside, I throw my bag and keys on the buffet, and head towards the kitchen.
Damon’s there, his back towards me, a tea towel slung over his shoulder as he stirs something that smells tangy, in a pot.
“Hey,” I say, edging towards him.
He turns to me as he pulls the tea towel from his shoulder and tosses it on the bench. His smile disappears when he glances at my face, which is probably puffy and ruddy, and all sorts of ugly.
“Hey, you.” He takes me in his arms, and I want to kick myself when the tears start again. This time they fall silently without the great big chest heaves. He doesn’t ask anything, just holds me tight. I close my eyes, and thank God I have a man who loves me right.
I tilt my head and show him my face. “Lil.” He wipes my tears away, and leans down to kiss me softly on the lips.
He exhales slowly and squeezes me tight once more, before stepping back, and pouring a glass of red wine. “You need to unwind. Take this—” he hands me the glass “— and go soak in the tub. It’s all ready for you. How about I finish up in here, and come talk to you while you relax?”
I take a sip of wine, and feel myself go heavy with relief. “Sounds great.” I kiss his cheek. “Where’s Charlie bear?”
“She’s asleep. She spent the rest of the afternoon up in the treehouse with the kids next door.” His face softens, and I know he’s thinking of the lifestyle here for his little girl. He wants her to be able to roam free and explore safely, the way kids in small towns can. A place where they make their own fun, like we did at their age, before computers and technology took over.
“She must be exhausted. Did she have some dinner?”
“Home-made fish fingers.” He grins as he sees my eyes light up. “And I made some for us too.”
“You’re never too old for fish fingers. What’s in the pot?” I motion to the burgundy syrup he’s stirring.
“Plum sauce — thought I’d try the recipe out before the festival. It’s to go with the deep-fried Camembert dish.”
“My mouth’s watering. I hope you’re making some Camembert to go with my fish fingers…”
“Surely am. Taste this first.” He holds the spoon to my lips; the sauce is sweet, and tart at the same time.
“It’s good,” I say.
He drops the spoon in the pot, and kisses the taste from my mouth.
His voice is husky. “You better get in the bath before you drive me to distraction.”
Heat flushes my face as I shuffle to the bathroom, listening to the sound of Charlie’s soft snores as I walk past her bedroom.
Moments later, he’s there, perched on the white-tiled ledge of the bath watching me submerge myself under the soft water. I push my wet hair back, take a deep breath and tell him all about Joel, and what he wants.
He leans his head against the wall, and stares up at the ceiling. I can tell he’s angry at Joel by the way he clenches his jaw. Feeling mighty silly to be in such a predicament, I push the bubbles around the bath so I don’t have to see his expression.
“Do you think you’ll have to pay him?”
“I don’t see why I’d have to. The only worry I have is that it was from his father’s bank account. At the time he gave me a bunch of reasons for that…we were married, we shared everything. I lost more than twenty thousand when he made all those bad business deals. As far as I’m concerned that money is mine, always was. I supported him financially for most of our marriage, because I was so naïve, and then he lost it all. Except the café, and that’s only because of how hard I fought to keep it.”
I take a huge gulp of wine, which spills from the side of my mouth. Goddamn it, just once I’d like to feel like one of those sophisticated women, who wear gloop and drink wine in the bath looking as glamorous as a movie star — but, no, I manage to muck it up.
“If it comes to it I don’t have enough to pay him even if I wanted to.” I shudder, even thinking about the remote possibility of having to sell the Gingerbread Café.
“I can give you the money.”
“No, no way.”
Damon frowns. But I don’t want anyone to bail me out. That’s what got me into the mess in the first place. Easier if I pretend it’s no big deal in front of Damon and CeeCee until I plan exactly how to extricate myself from Joel’s clutches.
He sighs softly. “You can call it a loan if that makes you feel better.”
“Thanks, but I need to sort this out myself. Once and for all.”
“I forgot — feisty Lil.” He leans forward to kiss me. I grab the scruff of his shirt and pull him in the water fully clothed. He yelps, and then gives in, lying atop me, just at the right angle for serious smooching.
“Feisty, did you say?” I challenge him.
“Feisty and beautiful,” he murmurs. I kiss the words from his lips, and pull at the buttons of his drenched jeans.
***
Tidying the last of the dinner dishes away, I hear the patter of little feet behind me. Charlie’s blond hair’s a tangled mess from sleep and she clutches an old teddy, so worn out it’s mostly gray in color.
“Hey, kiddo, you OK?” I ask gently.
She lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the light.
“I woke up and forgot where I was.” Her bottom lip trembles slightly — I think of how hard it must be for her, this new life, without her parents together under the same roof.
Careful not to overstep my mark, I motion to the family room. “Why don’t you go on in to your daddy, and I’ll make you a nice cup of hot cocoa?”
She