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“That’s different. Andi doesn’t have as many obligations to be in Frosty Harbor. She can come to every game if she wants to.”
“Yeah. True,” Jake says. “It’s too bad Mia’s boss doesn’t have enough cash to hire another chef to cover for her if she wants to travel for games. Damn,” he says, wincing. “So close to being possible, but too far, I guess. You’re right, man. Might as well try to lick the moon.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze of mock sympathy and heads back to the table.
I linger at the bar, gripping my drink and staring down, thoughts churning.
34
MIA
Caroline sets down coffees and cookies at our table, smiling and pushing up her bright purple glasses. “They’re homemade,” she says, nodding to the cookies. “And if you don’t like them, keep it to yourself.”
I share a smile with Paisley and Zander. Grams and Edgar are still getting situated at the table as they pull off jackets and sit.
We’re all at Caroline’s bed and breakfast. Next week, the Vandals start their series for the Stanley Cup, and I’m still trying to decide if I’m going to join everyone in flying out to watch the matches. Tonight, though, we’re meeting on “neutral ground” because Zander has something to tell us.
He’s wearing a black button down with his dark hair pushed back. He’s trying to look relaxed, but I can see something is clearly bothering him.
“These are good,” Grams says, taking a bite of her cookie and nodding to Edgar. Then, she grabs a quick handful from the plate, wraps them in a napkin, and stuffs them in her purse. She winks at me. “For later.”
I sigh, but smile.
“Did your friend tell you?” Grams asks.
“Tell me what?” I ask as Caroline comes back from the kitchen and sits down, joining us. There are only a few guests staying at her bed and breakfast this week, so she’s less busy than usual.
“I’m going to help Caroline run shit while she’s gone,” Grams gestures. “You’re looking at my stomping grounds for the next two weeks. What do you think of that, bitch?”
Zander looks mildly horrified. He has only been around Grams a time or two, and still hasn’t had the exposure required to get used to her brand of strange. Then again, I’m not sure how much time it would really take for that to happen.
“That’s great,” I say. I know I sound distracted, so I plaster on a quick smile. “Are you excited?”
“You’re damn right I’m excited,” Grams says. “People around here have been talking about me. Don’t try to deny it. I know they have. They whisper and talk when I’m out. Jealous, mostly–I know that. But they talk like I don’t have it anymore.” She folds her arms and puts on some kind of war face. “They’re about to figure out just how much of it I have.”
I’m pretty sure nobody has been saying anything of the sort, but Edgar is beaming at Grams. Or maybe he’s leering. Ew.
“Well,” Paisley says. “That’s great. This was… your idea, Caroline?” she asks. I think she’s trying to diplomatically convey a message of “do you really trust Grams not to burn this place down or turn it into a brothel while you’re gone?”
“Pretty much!” Caroline sounds cheerful, but there’s a touch of something strained in her expression. My guess is that Grams may have applied some slight pressure, and we’re going to hear all about it when we’re alone with Caroline later.
Conversation settles into light topics after that. We drink our coffee, munch on cookies, and mostly wait for Zander to blurt out whatever it is he wants to talk about. It’s nearly half an hour before everyone trails off and there’s an uncomfortable silence.
Zander clears his throat, leaning forward on his elbows. “Okay, well… There’s something I need to tell you guys, and I don’t know how to say it.”
My stomach sinks. I was hoping this was some sort of good news announcement. Paisley and I met last night and spent about an hour guessing at what it was he wanted to meet about.
“I’m going to have to leave Taste.”
Something cold settles deep in my chest. “What?” I breathe.
Paisley looks like she’s about to be sick.
Grams is stuffing more cookies in her purse while Caroline frowns at her.
“Something came up back home,” Zander says. “In New York. It’s my sister,” he adds, as if he wasn’t planning to go into more detail, but the looks on our faces push him to it.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“It will be. But she’s, um…” He sounds like he’s fighting back emotion in his voice, and now I’m right there with him, eyes welling up before I know what he’s about to say. “She has macular degeneration in her eyes. It can advance rapidly and without warning. We always knew it was going to mean she’d be blind eventually, but a few weeks ago she got pretty sick. The stress of it must have pushed things along, and she can’t really see anymore. She’s blind,” he adds in a voice that’s a little stunned, like he’s still coming to grips with it, too. “She’ll be fine, I’m sure. She has always been resilient. She tried telling me not to worry about her, but I can’t just keep going here while I know what she’s going through.”
