WAS I SURPRISED?
Not really.
Not by Mindy/Mandy, or by anything she’d told me.
Suddenly, the whole thing about Peter showing up again in my life was starting to make a whole lot of sense.
The real question was how I felt about it.
And the real answer to that question?
The next Monday night, I told myself I’d better figure it out, and I’d better figure it out fast. Peter was on his way over to Bellywasher’s, and before our cooking students left and he showed up, I needed to have a plan.
As to how I’d found Peter in the first place after striking out at Mindy/Mandy’s… well, like I said, these days, you don’t need to be a great detective to track people down. Of course it helped that his soon-to-be-second ex-missus knew which extended-stay hotel Peter was staying at and didn’t mind giving me the number.
Contacting Peter and asking him to give me some poker pointers was a better plan than dwelling on the fact that he was soon to be a free man, and I was the free woman who’d once dreamed that he’d see the light, walk away from Mindy/Mandy, and come crawling back to me.
It was also way better than brooding, and brooding was exactly what I did when I thought about how divorces worked. I certainly didn’t know the ins and outs of Peter’s relationship with his current wife, nor did I want to. But I guessed that Mindy/Mandy was soon to be the sole owner of the house that should have been mine.
“Annie!”
I shook myself out of my thoughts and found Jim watching me. A couple seconds ticked by before I realized where I was-in front of the cooking class-and what I was supposed to be doing-showing them how to use a variety of citrus juicers.
Considering that at the beginning of the evening I’d demonstrated a kitchen torch-with less than successful results-I had to give Jim a lot of credit. At least he was willing to give me a second chance. Apparently, he didn’t hold a couple of singed aprons and a siren blast from the smoke alarm against me.
“Citrus juicers!” I beamed a smile at the students gathered around me and, call me paranoid, but I saw the way they backed away from the table when they realized I’d be the one doing the show-and-tell.
“You’re safe. This one doesn’t even plug in.” I held up the brightly colored heavy die-cast aluminum juicer for the class to see. Because I couldn’t decide, I’d brought them in all three colors: orange, yellow, and green. “You put a half of a citrus fruit in here.” I demonstrated with a lime, setting it into the rounded end of the bright green juicer. “Squeeze the two handles together.” I did. “And the halved fruit is turned inside out.” I showed them, along with the nice bit of juice I squeezed into a glass.
“For bigger jobs…” I moved on to the electric juicer on the table. “This one even has a filter that separates juice and seeds.” I had a halved orange nearby and made a glass of juice, lickety-split.
“Very nice. Thank you.” Jim gave me a smile before he turned his attention back to the class. “Just a couple of the gadgets that can make your cooking life easier. I think Annie’s got a few more she brought with her…” He glanced my way and I nodded. “So when we’re done with this next bit of cooking, she’ll show you how to make the perfect cup of coffee.”
The next item on the menu was eggs Sardou and while our students got to work and with nothing to do for the moment, I stepped back and simply watched.
I don’t know where Jim got the notion to do breakfast foods rather than more traditional pub fare for the night’s class. It might have been because of those memorable waffles Norman had served us a couple of mornings before. Wherever the idea came from, our students were eating it up.
Literally.
They’d already made heart-shaped pancakes on the special griddle I’d brought from Très Bonne Cuisine, as well as soft-boiled eggs. I have to admit, I was pretty proud of myself as far as the eggs were concerned. Without any help at all from Raymond, I’d searched the shelves at the shop and found adorable egg cups made of wire and complete with little legs and chicken feet. As long as I was having a fit of culinary brilliance, I’d also brought along an ingenious little device that fits over the tops of the eggs and cuts off the rounded part of the shell, scissors-style.
Thanks to Raymond’s patient tutoring, I was actually able to demonstrate without too much of a mess.
“You’re doing fine.” After he’d demonstrated that mind-boggling, one-handed method he uses to crack eggs, Jim zipped by and gave me a quick smile. “Everything ready for later?”
I knew he wasn’t referring to the other gadgets I’d brought to demonstrate. “Eve’s coming,” I told him. “And Marc and Damien said that as long as we’re going to play cards, they want to sit in, too. But, Jim-”
We heard a groan as a student cracked an egg and ended up with a mess of white, yolk, and shell. She called Jim over for advice.
And I cooled my heels, waiting for him to finish.
When he was done and while part of the class was busy slicing artichoke hearts and another part was making creamed spinach, I tried again.
Jim was on his way over to see how things were going with the students who were taking their first stab at making hollandaise sauce, and I stopped him, a hand on his sleeve. Ever since the night I talked to Peter and he agreed to stop at Bellywasher’s to give us a poker lesson, I’d wondered how Jim felt about the whole thing. I practiced a thousand ways to explain and a thousand more to reassure him. None of which had ever come out quite right. Now, Peter would be there in less than an hour and I didn’t have time for long-winded explanations. Or for beating around the bush.
Sure, I was uncertain about what I’d say to Peter now that I knew his current marriage was drifting oh-so-near the rocks that destroyed ours.
Yes, I kept picturing myself in those early days when I learned about Mindy/Mandy, watched my whole world fall apart, and told myself I’d do anything-anything-if only I could get Peter back again.
Absolutely, I was having a giant case of mixed emotions, what with Peter’s sudden reappearance looking less accidental and more like he wanted to reconnect with the woman who would still be his woman if not for the woman he left her for.
But Jim didn’t have to know any of that.
I cared too much about him to let that happen.
And he cared too much about his class for me to keep him standing there when his students needed his help. That’s why I just blurted out, “You know this doesn’t mean anything to me, don’t you?”
“The hollandaise?” Jim is not one to be dense, and he sure isn’t dumb. The fact that he was pretending to be clueless was my first hint that the whole Peter-showing-up thing actually might bother him more than he was willing to admit.
“Not the hollandaise.” As if he needed me to point this out. “Peter. You know, Peter coming over here and-”
Jim was as matter-of-fact as he could be considering that he was keeping his voice down so our students wouldn’t overhear. “I know that in order to help Norman, you need to talk to that Victor Pasqual fellow. I know you’ll never be able to get close to Pasqual if you can’t play poker, though how you’re going to manage that even if you can play poker is a mystery to me and, I suspect, to you at this point. Nonetheless, I know you, and I know you want to be prepared. I know you don’t know how to play poker, and, as I am more than willing to admit, neither do I. What’s that Eve read in that tabloid newspaper she’s been carrying around with her? These days, Pasqual’s obsessed with Texas Hold’em. I don’t even know what that is. That means, if you’re going to learn to play cards, you need to ask the advice of someone who does know how. And since you’re acquainted with him, I know it also makes perfect sense for that someone to be Peter.”
“So…” OK, so it wasn’t exactly subtle. At this point, it made more sense just to lay things on the line than it did to dillydally. “It doesn’t bother you?”
When one of the hollandaise cooks screeched and pointed in a panic to the double boiler where the egg yolks, lemon juice, and water were supposed to be gently heating and instead were bubbling over like a volcano, Jim told her to turn off the stove, then held up one finger, asking for another moment before he turned his attention back to me. “When you first started investigating, I was opposed to it. You know that, Annie. I was worried for your safety. But now…” He grabbed a whisk to take over to the hollandaise makers, and continued:
“You’ve got a gift. And you’re using it to make the world a better place. You need to do what you have to do. You need to do what makes you happy.”
And with that, he was gone.
And I was left feeling more perplexed than ever.
I had to do what I had to do? I had to do what made me happy?
Was Jim telling me to get back together with Peter? Did he think I wanted to?
Would Jim be happier if I did?
He was already repairing the hollandaise disaster, so I had time to ponder all this. It was just as well that I heard a knock on the front door of the restaurant; all that pondering was getting me nowhere and making my head hurt, to boot.
Finding Peter at the front door didn’t help. He was dressed in nicely worn jeans and the raspberry-colored golf shirt I’d given him for his birthday just a couple months before he met Mindy/Mandy. With his dark hair and eyes, Peter had always looked good in vivid colors. Some things never change.
Maybe he knew what I was thinking because he smiled. “You look terrific,” he said with a quick glance at my yellow T-shirt, my black pants, and the white apron I wore over them both. “This cooking thing is good for you.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you ever saw me in the kitchen.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” A tiny half smile playing around his lips, he cocked his head, and he looked so lost in some pleasant thought, I wondered if there had actually been a triumphant moment in my cooking life that I had blocked out.
Or not.
“We’re not here to talk about my cooking,” I reminded him. And myself. “We’re here to learn how to play poker.”
“And I’ve got everything you need. Right in here.” He held up a paper shopping bag at the same time he glanced at the clock that hung above the bar. “Looks like we’ve got a few minutes before your class is over. Can I buy you a beer?”
I wasn’t one for giving freebies but he was, after all, there to do us a favor. I poured a glass of the beer I knew was Peter’s favorite and brought it over to the table we’d set up for our game, and when he reached for his wallet, I refused to even think about it. He took a sip of the beer, smiled his approval, and sat down. I would have, too, if I wasn’t feeling as if my skin was crawling with electricity.
There was only one way to settle my nerves and I knew it.
I stood my ground and looked down at Peter. “You want to tell me what this is all about?”
“This?” He held the glass of beer up to the light and examined its amber color. “I’d say it’s all about wheat and hops and the magic that is yeast. It’s chemistry, you know. And that’s something I know a lot about. But something tells me that’s not what you’re talking about.”
“It’s not.” I dropped into the chair next to his. “This whole thing,” I said. “You showing up here. What’s it about, Peter?”
I suspected he looked at me the way he looked at the high school juniors who just didn’t get the latest homework assignment. “I’m teaching you how to play Texas Hold’em. You did ask me to come by and do a quick poker clinic, right?”
“Not that ‘this.’ The other ‘this.’ ” I shook my head, doing my best to order my thoughts. “You’ve been hanging around, Peter. Here and at Très Bonne Cuisine. And you and Mindy/Mandy are getting a-”
“You know about that, huh?” He didn’t look sorry, just a little embarrassed. I guess I would have, too, considering it was time for him to fess up: He’d left the woman who was supposed to be the love of his life for the woman who was the new love of his life, only as it turned out, she apparently wasn’t. “That’s how you found me, right? I never did have a chance to ask you when you called the other night. I should have known you talked to M-”
“Yes. And she told me you’re getting a divorce. I’m sorry.” I really was. It was the first I realized it, and something about admitting the emotion-to him and to myself-opened the floodgate of my questions. “I don’t want to know what went wrong. It’s none of my business. But you do owe me the truth, Peter. Does your divorce have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been coming around to see me? Are you looking to-”
“Get back together?” Big points for him. He didn’t try to pull the wool over my eyes and pretend this was the first he’d considered what I was thinking. But he did sound skeptical.
I was relieved.
And maybe a little disappointed.
And definitely confused.
“It’s not easy for me to admit I made a mistake.” Peter reached over and put one hand over mine. If he was a stranger, I would have told him to get lost and yanked it away. If he was a friend, I would have flipped my hand over so our fingers could entwine.
But Peter was something else. Something in between. Friend and enemy. Lover and stranger. The man I’d sworn to love, honor, and cherish all the days of my life.
Yeah, that one. The one who’d chosen a belly button ring over a wedding ring.
The one whose face I pictured when I used to dream about this moment. This was the crawling-back scene, live and in color.
I tensed, wondering how I’d respond when he finally said the words.
“I’m lonely.” Not exactly the declaration I was waiting for, but that didn’t keep his words from smacking me right between the heart and the stomach. We’d been apart for nearly two years. Still, thinking of him as sad and lonely had a way of tugging at heartstrings I didn’t know were still attached to Peter.
He must have sensed my reaction, because he leaned a little nearer. “I’m not asking you to take me back, Annie,” he said, and before I could decide if this was good or bad, he went on. “I thought we could just… I don’t know…” He shrugged and pulled back, and when he removed his hand from mine, I sat back, too, and put my hands in my lap where they were safer. “I thought we could be friends. You know, like we used to be. I thought that maybe someday you’d understand.”
“About those mistakes you talked about?”
“About everything.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “I don’t mean right now. Tonight. I just thought if we started out slow…” He shot a shy smile my way and I was instantly transported back to the day we’d met. That was the way Peter had smiled at me then, and that smile had led to what I’d always thought was my very own personal happily-ever-after. “I miss you.” He looked relieved at having said the words. “I want you back in my life. That’s why when you asked me to come over and talk to you about cards…” He reached into the shopping bag he’d brought with him and put two decks of cards on the table, then reached in again and brought out a container of plastic poker chips. “I never thought the way to a woman’s heart was through Texas Hold’em. But hey, if that’s what it takes!” Peter laughed and pulled one of the decks of cards from its box. He ruffled the cards through his fingers, shuffling them. “Only, when we talked, you never explained why you wanted to learn to play cards. You guys here at the restaurant having some sort of fund-raising Texas Hold’em tournament? It’s the only thing I can really think of that would explain you wanting to gamble. Let’s face it, you’re not the type.”
I wasn’t, and I knew it. Which didn’t prevent me from asking, “What type am I?”
“Safe. Dependable. Reliable.” Believe me, Peter didn’t say any of this like it was anything to be ashamed of. He was just stating facts, and even though I knew the facts were facts and I wasn’t ashamed of them, either, I felt my spine stiffen. Just a little.
“Your personality doesn’t exactly mesh with the daring sort of spirit a person needs to be a gambler,” he pointed out. “Playing cards is like going on an adventure, see. Even the small-time kind of card games I get into. Each one is like a quest, a mission. And my job is to see if I can outwit the other guys at the table. Sometimes I do that by playing it safe. Other times I’ve got to bluff and take chances no sane person ever would. No offense, Annie, but you’re not that type. You like the straight and narrow. The safe. The secure. So if you want to learn to play Texas Hold’em, it must because of-”
“Murder. I’m investigating a murder.”
Peter lost his grip, and a few of the cards slipped out of his hand and landed on the floor. He bent to retrieve them and when he finally sat up and got settled, there was color in his cheeks. He whistled below his breath.
Believe me, I did not hold any of this against him. It isn’t every day that someone reveals that she’s looking into a murder. Especially someone who isn’t with the police.
So Peter’s surprise… well, I could understand that.
And I was prepared for his questions, too.
But when he came out with a skeptical, “You? Investigating a murder? You’re kidding me, right?” I guess I sort of lost it.
“You think it’s funny?” I asked him, even though he didn’t say he did. “You think I’m not smart enough? That I don’t have the nerve?”
“I didn’t say that.” He reached for his beer and took another drink, looking at me the same way the students back in class did when I reached for that first citrus juicer and they were afraid to see what might happen next. “I just never thought of you as the type.”
“Which type is that? The type who has to make her own way in life after her husband walks out on her?”
He wasn’t expecting that, but then, I guess I wasn’t, either. Even so, after two years of holding in my anger, it felt good.
Peter discounting my feelings did not.
As if it was all nothing, he waved a hand in the air. “That was a long time ago, Annie.”
“You think?”
“I think you’re still angry. It makes me wonder why.”
“Not for the reason you think.” Of course, I didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but it sure felt good to pretend I did.
“You’re serious.” He gave me a sidelong look. “I mean about investigating murders. Like you’re some kind of detective or something. It’s-”
“Amazing?”
“I was going to say a little delusional.”
“Because you don’t think I’m capable.”
“Because I don’t think a bank teller who isn’t a bank teller anymore knows anything about murder.”
“Except I do. I’ve already solved three.”
“You don’t have to try and impress me.”
“Is that what you think I’m trying to do?”
“I think what you should be trying to do is calm down and get a grip on reality. Nobody just investigates murders. Nobody like you, anyway. And I’m happy to teach you how to play poker. Honest, I am. But the least you can do is tell me why you want to learn, without making up fantastic stories.”
“People don’t investigate murders?”
“Not people like you.”
It was as simple as that.
At least to Peter.
“So if I was using a cooking torch, and I almost started the kitchen on fire, you wouldn’t let me use the cooking torch again?”
“We’re talking about cooking torches?” When I didn’t answer, he gritted his jaw. “No, of course I wouldn’t let you use it again. If you’re incapable-”
“And if I wanted to play cards with someone you thought it was next to impossible for me to play cards with, you’d tell me to get lost. Or would you tell me to learn anyway, because you knew I’d find a way to make things happen the way I wanted them to happen?”
“You’re scaring me now.” He pushed his chair away from the table-and from me. “You’re not making any sense.”
“And you’re not giving me any answers.”
“Because there’s nothing to answer. If you wanted to play poker with someone you could never play poker against would I teach you to play poker? That’s crazy talk, Annie. I think the fumes from the cooking oil around here are getting to your brain.”
“And I think…” I pushed back from the table, too, and stood.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’ll be right back.” It wasn’t an answer. He didn’t deserve one, and I didn’t owe him one, either.
Instead, I strode into the kitchen and even though Jim was just about to plate up poached eggs on top of creamed spinach and artichoke hearts, I walked right up to him and gave him a big kiss.
Our students thought either it was cute or I was a lunatic. Uneasy and not sure how to respond, a couple applauded.
And Jim?
When I was done, he looked at me as if I was crazy. But there was a twinkle in his eyes.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“It’s for you. You’re the one who told me I have to do what makes me happy.”
He caught his breath. “And…?”
“And you, Jim MacDonald…” Just to be certain he knew I was serious, I gave him a quick kiss. “There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind, and there shouldn’t be in yours. You are absolutely the one who makes me happy.”