Dune Drive Page 3

  She worked steadily, humming and occasionally singing along with a song playing on Ruby’s radio on the counter. It was set to a station that played only tunes from the 1940s, and over the past several months, Chrissie’d learned the words to many of them. For her, the songs, the meal preparation, the vibe in this old building were both comforting and energizing. She’d slept well in the room on the second floor that had once been reserved for Lis, and she ate well because she was a firm believer in the healing properties of food. Being with people you loved, people who loved you, was healing as well.

  “Dinner’s almost ready. Gigi, would you like to eat out here or in the den?” Chrissie stood in the doorway between the store and Ruby’s sitting room. “I can set up a table for you in the den if you like.”

  “That be fine, Chrissie. Thank you.” Ruby nodded from across the room. “There be a card table in the storage room. Some folding chairs as well.”

  “I’ll find them, thanks.” Chrissie went through the den where shelves for Ruby’s books lined one entire wall and her large-screen TV hung on another. A closed door led into an area that still served as storage. It took a few minutes, but Chrissie located the folding card table and three chairs. She brought them all into the den and set them up in front of the window that faced the bay. The chairs were a snap, but the table proved more challenging.

  “You need a hand with that?” Ruby asked as she and Grace came into the room.

  Chrissie had the table facedown on the floor.

  “I can’t seem to find . . .” She blew out an exasperated breath. “How do these legs work? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “Nothing to it.” Ruby pointed to one of the table legs. “You pull that straight up . . . yes, like that. Now, see that little hinge? You straighten that as well. Mind you watch your fingers. There you go.”

  Chrissie managed to get all four legs secured, then, with Grace’s help, turned the table right-side up.

  “Thanks, Grace.” Chrissie moved the chairs into place, then proceeded to set the table with Ruby’s favorite pale yellow dishes. “Now, can one of you tell me why this is called a card table?”

  “Used to play cards on it, why do you think?” Ruby frowned and took a seat next to the window.

  “Did you used to play cards?” Chrissie asked

  “Still do, time to time.”

  “What do you play? Canasta? Pinochle?”

  “Sometimes one, sometimes the other. Why so many questions?” Ruby asked.

  “I haven’t seen you play since I got here, and that was seven months ago.”

  “Cards be a summer thing” was all the explanation Ruby offered. “Maybe you been around more, you might have more to remember.”

  “I guess you told me.” Chrissie suppressed a grin.

  “I guess I did.”

  Chrissie disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with a platter of oysters already on their buttered toast points in one hand and a bowl of asparagus in the other. She placed them on the table, then brought out the roasted tomatoes and the salad. After Ruby and Grace had been served, Chrissie served herself.

  Ruby cut into an oyster. “These be quite nice, Chrissie.”

  “Thank you.” Chrissie smiled at the compliment.

  “Delicious,” Grace exclaimed. “I’ve lived in St. Dennis all my life and have been eating oysters since I had teeth to chew with, and I’ve never had oysters that taste like this. They’re absolutely perfect.”

  “Thanks, Grace. The owner of a restaurant I worked for back in New Jersey always had seafood on the menu, and he liked to experiment. He taught me a lot.”

  “And he taught you well, I daresay.” Grace took another bite and rolled her eyes. “Delicious,” she repeated.

  “I’m glad you like them.” Chrissie could feel herself beginning to blush.

  “And the little roasted tomatoes with the garlic and . . . what herb is that you’ve added?” Grace popped a cherry tomato open with her fork and the juice ran across her plate. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. I’ll be tempted to go back to the inn and give your recipe to our chef.”

  “Your chef is welcome to it,” Chrissie told her. “Though since he’s been recognized as one of the premier chefs on the Eastern Shore, I doubt he’d be interested.”

  “We’re always interested in finding new ways to cook old favorites.” Grace ate the last bit of oyster on her plate. “And these . . . to die for.”

  Grace continued to comment on each of Chrissie’s dishes, ending with the dessert—scones that had been left over from the morning and had been heated and topped with whipped cream and a warm compote she’d made with some cranberries, chopped apples, and oranges.

  “Now, that was one of the tastiest scones I’ve had in a very long time,” Grace said after she’d taken several bites.

  “Grace, you’re being too kind.”

  “I’m not being kind. I’m being truthful. I’m tempted to ask you to show our pastry chef how to make these the way you do. I have a tea every afternoon at the inn, as you know, and I’d love to be able to serve these.”

  “I recall having had tea at the inn with you one day, and everything was delicious. I’m sure your pastry chef does a fine job, whatever she makes. I’m sure she doesn’t need any help from me.”

  “She does some things exceptionally well, dear. Scones, alas, aren’t one of them.”

  “Chrissie does a lot of things better than most,” Ruby said.

  “You’re certainly right about that.” Grace nodded. “Now, tell me where you studied. Where you went to school.”

  “I didn’t go to culinary school, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You’re self-taught?”

  “Mostly. I’ve always liked to cook. My first jobs out of high school were in diners. My last was with a wonderful café called La Luna in northern New Jersey. The owner was an incredible chef, inventive and so enthusiastic about food.” Chrissie rested her chin in her palm, her elbow propping up her arm on the table. Thinking about Rob and his kindness brought a lump to her throat. “He taught me so much. I wish I’d had more than a year with him.”

  “He taught you well, dear.” Grace exchanged a look with Ruby.

  “Might be I’d have another one of those scones if there be some tea to go with it,” Ruby said pointedly.

  “Yes, ma’am. On my way.” Chrissie paused on her way into the kitchen. “Gigi, don’t think you’re fooling me. I know you set up this dinner to show off my cooking to Grace because Grace owns a restaurant and you wanted to see what she thought of my skills.”

  “Nothing wrong with sharing with a friend,” Grace said.

  “I guess not.” Still, Chrissie felt slightly embarrassed that Ruby had tried to show her off.

  “That all you have to say?” Ruby asked, one perfectly white eyebrow raised.

  “Thank you.” Chrissie stepped back to the table and hugged her. “It makes me happy to know that you think so much of my cooking that you wanted to share it with your best friend.” She kissed the top of Ruby’s head, and before the woman could react, Chrissie ducked into the kitchen. Ruby’s displays of affection were few and far between, and it always seemed to embarrass her when others were overt in showing their love for her.

  Chrissie cleared the table and went back into the kitchen, where she filled the tea kettle with water and placed it on a burner, all the while listening to the soft chatter from the other room. It pleased her to see Ruby happy and relaxed with her friend, and it occurred to her that almost every day since she’d arrived on the island had been pretty much like this one. Right from the start, she’d taken over the cooking for Ruby, and had enjoyed the easy smiles and gentle laughter of the islanders. It had been years since she’d lived in such a place, a place where there was no angry shouting or the fear of saying the wrong thing, a place where people listened when you spoke and cared what you thought. Right now, Chrissie thought that might be enough, regardless of what else may be missing in her life.
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  Chapter Two

  Chrissie’s first thoughts upon rising were of gratitude that she had awakened in this place where she felt no fear and where she was loved and appreciated. It had been the same every morning since she’d arrived on Cannonball Island. Each new day, she rose cheerfully before the sun and dressed with a smile on her lips. She happily greeted everyone who came into the store, laughing at the same jokes the old watermen had made the week before, looking into the eyes of everyone with the growing sense of being one of them, of belonging, of being accepted for who she was. And for the first time in a long time, Chrissie knew for certain who she was and where she belonged. She had Carter, Singer, and Blake blood commingling in her veins: she was a child of the island.

  Living with Doug had taken so much from her, starting with what Ruby had dubbed her Chrissieness when she’d first arrived for the wedding. While she was still searching for her self-confidence—always fragile—and her self-image had suffered immeasurably, she was over blaming herself for the way Doug had treated her and accepting of the fact that she deserved better. Every day now she felt a little stronger, and every day she gave thanks for the fact that she’d somehow found the strength to leave and not look back.

  Every morning she looked forward to those first few moments alone in the store, when she’d walk through the quiet dark, turning on the lights as she crossed the scuffed floor to unlock the door. She’d step onto the porch and pause to watch the sun begin to rise over the river. Then she’d go back inside and make coffee in one of the oversized pots that Ruby kept on a counter. Then she’d make hot water for those early folks who preferred tea or hot chocolate. She’d go back into the kitchen and bring out the trays of whatever she’d baked and wrapped the night before and set them on the counter near the cash register.

  Alfred Dooley, a wizened man of indeterminable age, was almost always first through the door, and he always greeted her the same way.

  “Good morning, sweet cheeks. It’s gonna be a cold one.” Or a warm one, or a windy one, depending. His greeting changed only with the weather. He’d go directly to the pots of water and ask, “Got that tea water ready yet?”

  “Almost, Mr. Dooley,” she’d tell him.

  He’d lean over the trays, as if checking out every piece of whatever she’d baked before making his selection. He’d eat standing up there at the counter, and when he was finished, he’d announce, “If I were fifty years younger, I’d marry you, girl.”

  And inevitably, someone else who’d come into the store would call to him, “Al, if you were fifty years younger, you’d still be an old coot!”

  The banter would continue until every one of the island’s watermen had come and gone. Ruby’d join her at the cash register before the last of the early crew had left for their boats, and she’d contribute to the chatter.

  “Hmmm. Looks like those baked doughnuts you stayed up to make last night are gone,” Ruby noted the morning after their dinner with Grace.

  “They sold out really fast. I left a couple in the kitchen for you.”

  “I had me one with my first spot of tea,” Ruby said. “Savin’ the other for later, maybe for my afternoon break.”

  The early rush of watermen being over, Chrissie poured herself a cup of coffee and had time for two sips before a truck drove up and parked in front of the store. Grace craned her neck to see out the window.

  “Hmmph. Tom be early today,” she said.

  “I’ll take care of him.” Chrissie went to the door and opened it. “Morning, Tom.”

  “Morning, Chris. Got a big delivery today.”

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “Nope, but thanks. I got it.” He opened the back of the truck and began to unload some large cartons that he stacked on the ground next to the truck. When he finished, he brought them inside, one by one.

  “Got that extra carton of soup you asked for, Miz Carter,” he told Ruby, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

  “Where do you want these?” he asked Chrissie. “Usual place?”

  “That would be fine, yes. Thank you. Right there near the first set of shelves would be fine.”

  Tom stacked the boxes neatly for her, then held out a clipboard onto which he snapped an invoice. He went over each box and its contents before Chrissie signed for it.

  “See you next week.” He smiled at Chrissie and blew a kiss to Ruby, who rolled her eyes.

  “What man think it be cute to pretend to kiss an old woman?” Ruby said when Tom had closed the door behind him. “He means well, and he has a good heart, but he still be a bit of a fool.”

  “I think he’s just showing affection for you, Gigi.” Chrissie left her coffee on the counter and grabbed a box cutter from a drawer in the counter. She lifted the top box from the stack closest to her and sliced it open. “Paper towels,” she told Ruby.

  “You know where they go.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “Newspaper here yet?” Ruby asked.

  “It’s already on your table.” Chrissie nodded in the direction of the round table on the opposite side of the store.

  “Thank you. I think I be setting for a bit.”

  Chrissie proceeded to open each box, unpacking the contents and placing them on the shelves where they belonged. The first week she’d been there, she’d thought she’d rearrange some items, but she’d inadvertently caused a panic.

  “Folks know where things supposed to be,” Ruby’d told her. “Don’t be messin’ with the natural order of things.”

  It had been on the tip of Chrissie’s tongue to ask what was natural about the order of toilet paper stacked on a shelf next to bags of potato chips, but apparently that was what worked on Cannonball Island. Who was she, Chrissie wondered tongue in cheek, to question it?

  When she finished with the shelves, she broke down the boxes and piled them next to the bait cooler near the front door for Tom to pick up next time. She picked up her coffee where she’d left it, but before she could raise the mug to her lips, Ruby said, “That be cold by now. Pour yourself some new and come over here and set for a minute.”

  Chrissie did as she was told and took the chair opposite Ruby. The coffee was delicious, and she wondered as she took a sip why it seemed better than any coffee she’d had before. Must be some of Ruby’s magic, Chrissie mused, though she dared not voice that thought.

  “What be your plan for today?” Ruby asked.

  “I thought I’d clean up around the store, then go into town and see what the market has that I can make for dinner.”

  Ruby held her tea with both hands, her fingers tapping impatiently on the side of the cup. Chrissie’d come to recognize the gesture to mean Ruby was gearing up to make a pronouncement, but she knew it wouldn’t move the conversation along to ask. She’d just have to wait Ruby out till she was good and ready.

  Finally, Ruby said, “How long you plan on hiding out here in the store?”

  “What?” Chrissie was taken aback. “I’m not hiding.”

  “Course you are.”

  “Gigi, I’m out and about on the island every day. I go into St. Dennis every morning to shop.”

  “And then you hightail back here fast as you can.” Ruby’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I don’t see.”

  “I don’t know what you think I’m hiding from. I’m not even hiding from Doug, because he has no idea I’m here. He doesn’t even know this place exists. He never cared enough to ask me about my family and he never listened when I tried to tell him.”

  “I’m not talking about that fool boy you took up with. Not even worth my breath, him.” Clearly annoyed by the very thought of Doug, Ruby dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “You be hiding from yourself, Christiana, and that be a fact. Time to take a few steps out of that box you got yourself in. Time to start to shine, way you supposed to.”

  Chrissie took a deep breath. No one ever called her by her given name, and most people, when seeing it written out, thought it was misspelled, assuming her name was
Christina. Somewhere in her father’s memory the name Christiana had left a mark, and when she was born, it had resurfaced; at least that was what her mother had always told her.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do.” Chrissie rested her arms on the table.

  “I want you to be yourself. I want you to do what you be meant to do.”

  Chrissie shrugged. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  Ruby smacked the table with the newspaper, not enough to make Chrissie jump, but enough that it got her attention.

  “Why you being so dense, girl? You been in that kitchen three, four times every day since you got here, and you worked your own kinda magic. You need to get out of my kitchen and into someone else’s.” Ruby stared at Chrissie as if waiting for her to catch on. Finally, when Chrissie hadn’t responded, she said, “I spell it out for you, since you don’t be as quick as I be giving you credit for: you need to get a job.”

  “Gigi, I can pay you rent, if that’s what this is about. I should have thought of that sooner, all these months I’ve lived here and—”

  “Oh, you hush. I don’t need your money. What’d I do with more money? Got all I need. What I need is to see you moving on. Not moving away—just getting on with your life. Got me thinking you’re afraid, like you were before you got here.”

  “I was afraid for a long time,” Chrissie admitted.

  “You think I didn’t know that? Girl, remember who you’re talking to here.”

  Chrissie’s mouth stretched into a smile. “You know everything, don’t you?”

  “Not everything. Can’t always see what was, sometimes just see what is. It’s just a knowing. Don’t need to be putting a name on it. No rhyme or reason, far as I can tell. Some things I just know or see. Not everything, and not all the time, and just mostly things about them who be one of mine.”