didn’t want to get married at twenty-three, like my
best friend did.”
John dumped burgundy wine into the sauce with a free
hand, then poured oregano into his palm and added it.
“You didn’t even have to measure?” she asked,
sounding indignant.
“Practice.” He stirred in thyme and basil and sniffed
experimentally.
“Shall I cut up the tomatoes?” Fiona asked, waving
her knife at the row of large cans.
“We can both work on those.”
She used a fork to set several tomatoes from the first
can onto her cutting board. Then her head came up. “It
occurs to me that it’s been awfully quiet out there.”
He remembered the incredible smells coming from
the kitchen on holidays when he was a kid, and his remarkable ability to resist them. “They don’t want to be put to work.”
She laughed and resumed dicing. “You’re right.
They’re not crazy about this whole KP thing.”
“Are their families rich enough that they have housekeepers?” He didn’t care, but wanted to keep her talking.
“Oh, probably. Certainly someone to clean. I doubt
any one of them has ever scrubbed a toilet bowl.”
“Why did you choose the private school then?”
“I started in a public school. That’s where I did my
student teaching. But it can be frustrating. The classes
are too big. Lots of the kids need help they don’t get.
The advanced placement classes go to teachers with
seniority. I saw the ad, and was attracted to the idea of
a smaller school and a closer relationship with the
students. This is only my second year, but I’ve been
really happy at Willamette Prep.”
He nodded.
“We’re done,” she said in surprise, looking around. “It
smells fabulous already. Are we planning a vegetable?”
“Maybe not tonight. I can heat some garlic bread.”
He kept loaves in one of the freezers.
“O-oh. That sounds good.”
“I’ll make a cobbler for dessert. I have blackberries,
huckleberries…”
“Really?” She looked at him as if he’d offered her a
sleigh ride behind white ponies with silver bells on their
harnesses. “I love huckleberries!”
This laugh came more easily. “You’re easy to please.”
“That’s not what my mom says. She thinks I’m picky.”
He lifted his brows. “About food, or men?”
“Both.” She set the cutting boards in the sink along
with the paring knives, and began wiping the counter.
“Your turn. I’ve bared my soul, and I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know I was in the National Guard and went to
Iraq.” And was wounded.
“Yes, but besides that.” A wave of the sponge dismissed the transforming events of his life. “Are your parents still married? What do they think about you
buying the lodge?”
“Yes. They’re still married. I can’t imagine them
fighting.” He thought about that. “My mother, maybe.
But Dad is the strong, silent type. He nods to whatever
she says. She was always telling us kids, ‘your father
says…’ Or, ‘your father thinks…’ We didn’t believe
her. We knew he must think something, but we were
pretty sure he never told anyone what that was.”
Her laugh was a lovely cascade of notes. “But he
must have courted her, once upon a time.”
“No, I think she courted him. She asked him to marry
her, and he nodded.”
Fiona giggled. “What does he do? For a living, I
mean.”
“Plumbing. Has his own business.”
“Did he want you to go into it?”
“Fallon and Son? Don’t know.”
Solemnly she concluded, “He never said.”
This time, they laughed together. John was astonished by the sound. No, not just the sound, but the feeling. It took him a minute to identify it. Happiness,
or something close. He felt carefree.
She’d opened the dishwasher and begun loading it.
“So what do they think of your taking up innkeeping?”
He tried to stay relaxed. “They’re puzzled.”
You’re not yourself, his mother had said. Johnny,