Southern Sass and Killer Cravings Page 3

  Bay fishing was a town pastime. There was nothing better than slathering up with tanning oil and lying out on the deck of a boat. I sighed. I would have to get out on the water at my first opportunity.

  “That’s great. You’ll have to take me out sometime.” I patted him on the shoulder, moved past the commercial sink the staff used to wash up, and went into the bakery side of the kitchen.

  Jena Lynn was dumping a giant lump of yeasty dough onto the perfectly floured stainless-steel worktable. It didn’t spring back as much as it should when it hit the surface. Something was off with the elasticity. The peach rolls weren’t going to be as light as they needed to be.

  “How’s Zach?” Zachary Atkins and my sister had been together since her freshman year in high school. Mama had expected wedding bells and pressed for years. I suspected she was the reason Jena Lynn hadn’t taken the plunge. Mama’s overbearing nature evoked rebellion.

  “He’s fine. He and his dad are in Atlanta until next week. When he gets back, we should have a big Sunday brunch. Like we used to.” Sunday brunch was huge in our family. It was the only day the entire family had off during the week. The diner had closed every Sunday since its inception. “The bars are on the counter.” She paused. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I made my way over to where the crumb bars were.

  The fragrant berry scent informed me the fruit was perfectly ripe. I picked up the refrigerated bar and took a bite. The delectable crust had a nice texture and buttery flavor. The bar had a solid flavor profile and a nice crust-to-fruit ratio. It was a decent bar, good even.

  “Tell me.” Jena Lynn’s irritated tone let me know she was referring to her dough.

  Since it was too late to do anything about that now, I told her about the bar instead. “Well, they’re good.” I placed the bar back on the plate. “They would be great with some lemon zest to freshen them up, reduce the sugar because the fruit is sweet enough, and add a dash of cardamom. Replace the cornstarch with flour. It makes it too gummy. Then it’ll be perfect.”

  She closed her eyes. “Cardamom. Marygene, I don’t know how you do it.”

  I smiled.

  “How’d you sleep last night? In the old house, I mean. Was it odd?” She spread peach preserves over the perfectly buttered dough.

  “I had a dream about Mama last night.” I took a sip from the mug. “It was so real.”

  “Tell me.”

  I related the dream to her, but I held back about why Mama had insisted we close for the day. The thought still creeped me out.

  She laughed. “Weird how our subconscious stirs things up. But Mama would never suggest closing the diner.” There was something odd within her gaze. “You know there is no such thing as ghosts. Mama’s in Heaven. It’s all in your head.”

  “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

  We settled into an uncomfortable silence.

  “You didn’t. Mama loved you. She wanted us both to run the diner and follow in Nanny’s and her footsteps.”

  Did that mean she expected me to run the diner with her now or just become a regular employee? I bit my lip, unsure how to broach the subject. After all, I had been the one to suggest the buyout in the first place, or maybe that had been Peter. Huh. Now, it all made sense. If I sold my half of the business, then I would have had nothing to fall back on financially, further trapping me within the confines of my miserable marriage.

  Jena Lynn let out a sigh. “Don’t stand over there looking pitiful. Get over here and hug my neck.”

  We embraced.

  My sister smelled of burnt sugar and deep-fried foods. “I tore up those documents the second I received them. That man was bad for you.”

  She had no idea.

  “You never should have run off after you and Mama had that misunderstanding. You weren’t thinking clearly when you jumped into marriage with that older man.”

  I was unable to hold back my tears of gratitude. “You’re right, and I can never thank you enough.” Jena Lynn had always had her hands full with Mama. A responsibility that we should have shared. The guilt I felt because of leaving her weighed so heavily on me that I could never burden her with my troubles. Besides, there were moments when Peter was sweet. It wasn’t a total nightmare the entire time. Sometimes, when he was sober, he behaved like a complete gentleman. I’d been consumed with the desire to help Peter, despite the fact that he never wanted me to visit my family. The possessiveness, I’d convinced myself, was because he loved me so much. That wasn’t love.

  She hugged me for a few seconds more, then stepped back, her expression full of pain. “This may not be the time, but I think we need to clear the air.”

  I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the onslaught ahead. “You’re right. We do.”

  She exhaled, “I’m just going to jump in.”

  “Okay.”

  “The constant tension between you and Mama was unbearable for me. I know you don’t want to hear this, Marygene, but the two of you clashed because you were so much alike.” I opened my mouth and her hand shot up, “Let me finish.”

  “Not in every way, but your stubborn streak comes from her. Neither of you were willing to give an inch. I know that wasn’t all on you. Still, it affected me.” Her face held this strange expression. “When you left, I had to find a way to deal with her, and after we found out she had cancer that affected her moods, I chalked it all up to that and forgave her. With you gone, I was left to deal with . . . well . . . everything. It was hard.”

  My mind went back to that awful day. Mama and I had had one of our major blowouts, where I had wanted to discuss culinary school, again, and broaden my horizons. We’d had more discussions, or should I say arguments, than I could count regarding my vision for the diner—well, the expansion thereof. I never wanted to change The Peach. But I’d dreamt of opening a catering side to the business, tailored to special events, that offered higher-end cuisine. Culinary confections were a passion for me and Mama had been well aware of that fact. To this day, I still can’t fathom why she’d been so averse to my dream.

  When I informed her that I’d been accepted into Le Cordon Bleu, she blew a gasket. She called me a deserter and an ingrate. Mama had abandonment issues, and when I told her I wasn’t leaving her, just going to school, her eyes were wide with shock at the mere mention of her issues. I still recall the tears streaming down my cheeks as she railed at me. I was just like my biological father, stubborn and selfish. “You don’t need me anyway!” she’d shouted. Then she said the unthinkable . . . that I’d been a mistake.

  If she believed the consequence of her affair with Eddie was a mistake, then fine. Those were her regrets and as much as they pained me, I refused to suffer under her verbal assaults another second. I wanted my own life. And I’d told her so.

  So, I left, leaving my sister alone with our mother. A pang of regret pierced my heart.

  “Jena Lynn, I’ve been a total witch. My life in Atlanta was a disaster, yes, still, that gave me no right to behave the way I did or allow Peter to influence my decisions about the business. I should have considered the responsibilities my leaving would add for you. Please forgive me.” I moved closer and reached out and grasped her hand. “I love you and have been a horrible sister. That crazy, self-pitying Marygene is gone now, and I’m here for you. Okay? I will do my best to forgive Mama, for you. I’ll happily make loads of dough, help you create culinary masterpieces that will get us a visit from the guy on the Food Network you love, and swear I will give you all the credit!” I smiled. “Deal?” That had been another dream of hers, to get The Peach on her favorite Food Network show.

  “Deal,” she said, and we got busy.

  Sam strolled out of the kitchen just as I was finishing up lunch. The door tinkled, and a few late lunch arrivals entered. He leaned against the counter, nodding to the people who had entered. “Y’all take a seat anywhere.” After they were seated, he said to us, “Did y’all hear that the turtle hatchings are going to be filmed?”
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br />   We all shook our heads.

  “Yeah, a big film crew is in town. Kinda exciting, huh?”

  “It is. Nothing ever happens on this island,” Betsy said.

  “I thought years ago when that other crew came to the island to investigate, they said we didn’t have enough population for it to be worth their while,” I said.

  “Guess we do now.” Sam’s name was called and he rushed back to the kitchen.

  Betsy huffed and perched on the edge of the seat next to me. It was two o’clock, the slow time of day for us, and I could tell by the way she was gawking at the leftover fries on my plate, she was starving.

  I brushed her arm with my fingers. “Order your lunch. I’ll take that table for you.”

  Since the diner’s doors opened, employees were always allowed to eat for free. It was one of the perks, along with discounts for pies and cakes for holiday functions. We really were like a big family. The Peach family is how Nanny referred to the staff, and it stuck.

  The relief on Betsy’s face was gratitude enough, but she thanked me anyway. “You’re a lifesaver. I got in late and didn’t order breakfast before the rush started.”

  “Didn’t sleep well?” I asked.

  “I kept having that dream. You know, the one where your section is full and you can’t get the food to the table fast enough?” I nodded and she handed me her ticket book and pen. “I hate that dream. Some comfort food is what I need.”

  “Good idea.” I hopped off the chair, snatched two freshly cleaned laminated menus, and strolled to the table. “Afternoon,” I greeted the two gentlemen who’d taken up residence in the back booth. I placed the menus in front of them.

  They were definitely out of towners. Their choice of cabana-style clothing gave them away. I surmised they must be the film crew or producers of the turtle-hatching project.

  “Afternoon,” the one with ash-colored hair and square-framed black glasses said.

  “Can I get you both something to drink while you look over the menu? Our peach tea is freshly made.”

  He nodded with a smile. “Never had peach tea before. I’m game to try it.”

  I turned my attention to the smaller man with a large broad nose and dark black hair.

  “I’ll have a Sprite.” He didn’t look up from the menu.

  “Coming right up,” I said as cheerily as I could manage.

  After I deposited both drinks on the table, the man with glasses asked, “What’s good here?”

  “Well, our Surf and Turf Burger is real good.” I pointed to it on the menu. “It’s a ground sirloin burger stuffed with seasoned blue crabmeat served on grilled ciabatta bread, or you can get them as sliders. Some people prefer the smaller burgers, easier to manage.”

  “Sliders sound great!” He handed me the menu after I scribbled it down on Betsy’s pad.

  “You want fries, onion rings, or french-fried pickles with that?”

  “Fried pickles.”

  I took his menu and glanced toward his companion.

  “I’ll have the grilled seafood salad. Hold the avocado,” he said in a monotone voice as he shoved the menu toward me, still not making eye contact.

  Mr. Personality. I hung the ticket on the wheel for Sam.

  My sister was beating butter and sugar in the commercial mixer when I came back into the bakery side of the kitchen. She had a look of panic on her face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “The order still hasn’t arrived. I’ve been assured it will be here before six a.m. tomorrow, but I’m on pins and needles. This has never happened before.” She picked up the half-empty bag of confectioners’ sugar she’d placed on the worktable.

  “You’re using a new brand these days?”

  “No. I found this in the supply closet. I wasn’t expecting to find any, but with only half a bag here, I must have used it before and found it satisfactory.”

  She held up the bag for my inspection.

  “Maybe it got brought in with your last order by mistake,” I offered.

  “Maybe. I just wish I could remember how it mixed.” She pursed her lips. “Well, I’ve got to use this for Mr. Ledbetter’s chocolate frosting. It’s traveling and I’ll need to stabilize our usual frosting since we won’t have the proper chill time. I hope it doesn’t need too much extra sifting.” She inspected the fineness of the product. “Heather took a to-go order from Rainey Lane this morning. A chocolate mango beer cake. She’s coming in around three and they’re going to celebrate her husband’s big acquisition deal with Mr. Ledbetter.”

  “But don’t we have chocolate mango beer cakes in the refrigerator?” We always had cakes on hand. This recipe was a variation on Nanny’s stout cake. Jena Lynn and I experimented when mango beer came on the market one summer. We added coconut and raspberries, and the mango beer cake was born.

  “You thinking about Mama’s face when she tried our cake for the first time?” I nodded and she grinned with the memory that our obstinate Mama had loved it. “Well, to answer your question, we do have several in the fridge, but Rainey Lane made me promise to make a fresh one for them. Like made a few hours before she picks it up kind of fresh. She’s lucky I found this. Otherwise, she’d be forced to accept a day-old cake.”

  Typical Rainey Lane.

  “Order’s up, Marygene!” Sam called, and I hustled to grab my order.

  My customers were happy, their glasses were full, and I was holding it together. I took a seat at the counter next to Mr. Ledbetter, who always seemed to be here.

  “How ya feelin’ today?” Betsy asked the old man as she sat down next to him to eat her lunch.

  “I’m feeling really good.” He leaned over to me again. “I had to have both knees replaced a few months back.”

  “Sorry to hear that, but glad you’re doing so well now,” I said. “I hear your son and Rainey Lane are coming in to celebrate with you.”

  I feigned interest. Rainey Lane and I never were all that close. Rainey Lane Echols, at the time, now Ledbetter, was a tall, perfectly built brunette who’d always been the belle of the ball. She plagued Betsy, Yvonne, and me from the first day of kindergarten until the very last second of our high school graduation.

  He snorted. “That ole gal is nothing but a spendthrift. She and my ingrate of a son deserve each other.”

  Betsy and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance.

  “Now they’re coming here. Like I need another headache after all that ruckus with those idiotic developers last week.”

  “More developers were in town?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh, but your sister gave that gal a good chewin’-out at the town hall meeting. I was right proud of her. Over my dead body would I leave this island. Peach Cove is my home. I was born on this island and, by God, I’m going to die on this island!”

  The island never changed much, and residents wanted to keep it that way. Despite this, the occasional developer showed up periodically and tempted families with handsome sums in the hopes of buying their properties. They were obsessed with making Peach Cove the latest all-inclusive resort destination.

  “Amen!” an older couple in the corner cheered him on. “You tell them, Ledbetter!”

  “See, they know what I’m talking about.” He waved to them. “Why anyone in their right mind would want to move into that crime-ridden city is beyond me. Besides, I like my villa at Sunset Hills.” He finished off his coffee and placed a ten on the counter. “The place is swarming with lonely ole ladies just begging for my attention.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I nearly choked.

  “You watch that kind of talk. Disrespecting women. You should be ashamed.” Yvonne’s mama, Ms. Brooks, who I’d not noticed earlier, interjected her finger between Mr. Ledbetter and me.

  To the old man’s credit, he shut his mouth.

  “I mean it. It’s talk like that that’ll get strychnine put into the well.” Had she just threatened to poison him? “You’d do well to sleep with one eye open.”

  She patted me
on the shoulder next. “Take care of yourself, little Marygene. I’ll have Yvonne call you when she gets home. And steer clear of that one.” Her head jerked toward Mr. Ledbetter.

  The crowd at the counter watched her storm out the door.

  “Remember what I told you?” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “It always comes back to bite ya in the keister.” Mr. Ledbetter chomped his teeth together and smacked his backside. “It’s a good thing I’m wearing my denim britches today or that woulda hurt.”

  I lost it, laughing so hard my ribs hurt.

  “Hey, Jena Lynn,” he turned to my sister, “bring me a slice of that cake. My son and his bridezilla can eat some at home.”

  After I composed myself, I got up to refill my customers’ drinks. Still chuckling, tea pitcher in hand, Rainey Lane Ledbetter walked in, plastered to her husband’s side.

  “Don’t you just want to rip out each one of her ugly bleached platinum blond hairs by the root?” Betsy propped next to me at the counter after dropping her plate in the bus tub.

  Her comment caught me so off guard I gave a bark of laughter. I disliked ostentatious Rainey Lane from the top of her dark roots down to her red designer pumps. My cell rang softly with a familiar ringtone, and my hand froze over the pocket that held the phone.

  “You okay? You look pale,” Betsy asked.

  “Fine,” I croaked weakly. “This developer Jena Lynn told off,” I lowered my tone, “was she upset after the ordeal?”

  Jena Lynn was the sensitive type. She hated confrontation.

  “Hard to say. But that woman was vicious. She told Jena Lynn, in front of everyone, that she better watch herself.” She leaned closer. “Jena Lynn called her a lying bitch.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  Jena Lynn never cursed.

  “That woman was cold, she—”

  A scream erupted, causing me to drop the tea pitcher. The contents splattered the feet of the patrons in the back booth.

  Mr. Ledbetter slumped over the counter.

  “Somebody help him!” I yelled.

  The old man appeared to be struggling to breathe. I prayed that someone knew the Heimlich. I rushed over to him, intending to give him a couple of hard pounds on the back. He fell forward.