Sweet Caroline(23)

From: CSweeney

Subject: The Frogmore and me

Dear Hazel,

I tried to do it. Let the Café go. But I couldn’t. As soon as I signed the papers and the lawyer left, I felt sick. Hazel, you should’ve seen their faces—the breakfast-club boys, Andy and Mercy Bea—the expression of abandonment. I’ve seen it on Henry’s face a dozen times. Whoever said responsibility was fun or easy? But it’s honor-able, right? After probate, I can look into selling it. Who knows, maybe I’ll take to the Café life.

Hazel, don’t be mad. Please, give my apologies to Carlos. I am grateful he wanted to work with me. But, in the end, I felt the old Frogmore deserved better than being sold at auction.

Regretfully, Caroline.

At four thirty, I’m alone in the Café. Kirk hasn’t returned my call and I’m pleading with the stars that he didn’t file the papers on his way to the golf course.

Andy, Mercy Bea, and Russell finished their side work and left with-out saying good-bye, and frankly, I don’t blame them. I cost them their jobs.

The Café rebukes me now with moaning and creaking. The old AC bangs and rattles.

“All right, Caroline,” I coax myself. “What’s done is done. Stand by your decision.”

So, I finish the day’s deposit with my eyes welling up and blurring the numbers. Before shutting down the computer, I check to see if Hazel e-mailed. She didn’t, but there’s an incoming from Sheree over at the Water Festival.

To: CSweeney

From: ShereeLambert@bftwater…

Subject: Water Festival Raft Race

Caroline,

Saw the Gazette article. If you’re actually the new owner of the Café, think about pulling together a team for the Raft Race. The applications are due the end of June so you have a little bit of time. You need eleven people.

The raft race is well attended, fun, and would be great publicity. Might be a way to get the Frogmore Café back in everyone’s mind.

Back in the day, Jones was a big supporter of the Festival.

Think about it. I’ve attached the application.

Sheree

The Water Festival raft race? Who’s she kidding? Eleven people? Where would I . . . A grin springs reluctantly to my lips. Actually, the race would be fun. Too bad I didn’t get to Kirk in time.

I click Reply.

Thanks, Sheree. I’ll think about it.

Caroline.

“Anyone here?”

I bolt out of the desk chair. “Hello?”

“Caroline?” A muffled voice calls from the dining room.

“Who’s here?” Passing the prep table, I snatch a spatula for protection. Just in case. “Kirk?”

Yep, it’s Kirk, at the back booth, rear in the air. I’d recognize his wrinkles from any angle.

“What are you doing?”

His head pops up. “Oh, Caroline, have you seen my phone? I dropped it somewhere.”

“So that’s why you didn’t return my call.”

“Aha, here it is.” Kirk dives below the table, retrieving his RAZR phone. “What call?”

“I changed my mind.” The words fire out of my mouth. “I don’t want to close down the Café.”

Kirk glances up from checking his missed calls. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes, for now. Like you said, after probate I can see about selling, right? But I can’t let you put her on the auction block.”

He flattens the phone to his ear, holding up his finger, listening. Then, clapping his phone shut, he walks right past me. “I’m late. Got to go.”

“Kirk,” I holler, incredulous. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, you changed your mind.”

“And?”

“I figured you would.” He grins. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Caroline. I’ll shred the documents when I get to the office.”

“Thank you, Kirk. Thank you.” I rub my bare arms.

“Listen, just so you have a mental back door, I told my golfing buddies about this place. They love Beaufort and are keen on investing here. It’s the new retirement haven. And, Caroline, their pockets are very deep.”

“Really. Okay, then, so”—I fan out my arms—“the Café is mine.”

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “And the carriage house. Have fun.”





DAILY SPECIAL


Congratulations, Caroline!

Monday, June 18

Country-Fried Steak

Taters and Gravy

Bacon-Wrapped Green Beans

Salad

Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits

Sweet Caroline Pie

Tea, Soda, Coffee

$8.99


11

Dad and Posey arrived home from the Bahamas Sunday with very big smiles and beautiful tans. I like what I see in Dad’s eyes—love. It gives me hope.

After shocking them with the I-own-the-Café-and-gave-up-Barcelona story, I revived them with CPR and asked if they’d like to help me move into the carriage house Monday evening.

“Newlyweds don’t need the man’s grown daughter hanging around.” Monday, Mitch calls while we’re packing up to see “what’s going on,” so I tell him to come to the house. “We need your truck.”