Christmas at the Riverview Inn

Scowling at him, she patted down her rooster tail.

“You ready?” he asked.

“No.”

He grinned and pressed the record button. “Alice Mitchell,” he said. “Head chef of the Riverview Inn and the person who taught me everything I know about peeling potatoes. Five questions. Ready?”

“No.”

“What’s your comfort food?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

“Something you’d never eat again?”

“Horse sashimi. If I’d known what it was the first time, I wouldn’t have had it.”

“Best thing about Christmas?”

“A house full of family and the first bite of the first sugar cookie.”

“Someone dead you wish you could have a meal with?”

“Your mother.”

Stunned, he didn’t realize what she’d said at first. And then it was his turn to scowl and he turned off the camera.

“That’s not funny,” he said.

“I wasn’t trying to be. She died when you were so little and I imagine her sometimes, wherever she is, worrying about what became of you with your dad. And I would like to tell her that you are all right. You turned out pretty amazing.”

Again, the urge to leave was powerful, and like she knew that, she did what she’d always done when he wanted to leave.

“I have a job for you,” she said as she laid bacon down on her pan in even strips.

“I figured.”

She shot him a smile and he found himself smiling back, and the thing about his mom faded into the distance.

“We’re making lasagna, focaccia, and salad.”

“Easy enough.”

“For two hundred people.”

His jaw dropped.

She laughed and patted his shoulder. “I missed that face.”

“Are you serving that many here?”

“No. We’re delivering it tomorrow to the families at Haven House and then taking what’s left to the Methodist Church.”

“How far are you?” he asked, and because he’d learned kitchen management from this woman, he was already making lists.

“I’ve made coffee,” she said with a smile.

He laughed. “Well, put me to work. I’m at your disposal.”

She sighed and leaned over to pat his cheek. “I missed this face.”

“I missed you, too,” he said. More than he’d realized.

She sighed and looked up at his hair. “What’s happening…” She twirled a finger toward his head. “…with that?”

“My hair? It’s personal expression.”

“I’m all for personal expression but that’s a problem.”

“You have a hair net?”

She shook her head.

“How about a haircut? Anyone around here good with scissors? I thought Stella—”

“Josie used to cut your hair,” Alice said, turning away from him to check the bread in the oven. “Remember?”

Remember?

He’d put those memories away, having abused them more than was good for a man.

“She’d sit you outside and put a sheet over your shoulders.” Alice took out the bread she’d baked, poking at the crust before putting it back in. “You’d look like you got in an accident with garden shears—remember?”

“Yes,” he said tightly.

Alice was silent and he made the mistake of looking over at her.

Here it comes…

“We really fucked up both of you that night,” Alice said. She shook her head, her face pale and pinched.

“I’m not fucked up,” he said. Though even as he said it, he wondered…maybe it was a lie. Maybe? Who lives all this time out of a backpack? All he knew for sure was that memories of Josie were so painful he just didn’t think them anymore.

Like they’d been erased.

“You’re saying…” He couldn’t say her name out loud. “…she is?”

“She hasn’t been back here in five years,” Alice said, looking over at him with damp eyes. “You left that day and you never came back. How is that not fucked up?”

“You and I saw each other,” he said, getting to his feet. “France that summer and San Francisco for Easter.”

“But you didn’t come back here,” Alice said. “The Riverview was your home and I took it—”

“You didn’t,” he said. “You didn’t take anything.”

“Then Max did.”

“Alice. Stop. I left. I made the choice. Me.”

She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue some more, and frankly, if it was going to be like that—he would leave.

The back door swung open and there, suddenly, was Josie. As if their talking about her had summoned her. She had her laptop and the charging cable was around her shoulders, like she’d killed big game and was bringing it home for the whole cave.

When she saw them, a breathless moment of panic flashed across her face, and then the fakest fake smile spread over her mouth.

It was like looking at a stranger. A familiar stranger.

He got very occupied pulling his camera out of the tripod.

“You’re coming because of the Wi-Fi?” Alice asked, the emotional woman of a second ago gone, and it was just Alice there, sipping coffee and taking the bread out of the oven.

“Yeah, the house—”

“Is a dead zone. Come on in. You want coffee?”

“No. I’m all right,” Josie said. Her eyes met his and bounced away, and the smile on her face became so sharp it looked painful.

Standing there, she looked like New York. Fully plugged in and wearing black. Buzzing with a kind of frenetic energy. Even at 8 a.m. Too thin. Like all the extra that a person needed to feed a life outside of work was gone. And it was just work.