Libbie settled into the kayak and tilted her head back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. Thanks to her pale skin and freckles, she made sure her sunscreen had the maximum SPF. Her great-grandmother had lost her nose to skin cancer, something Libbie very much hoped to avoid.
As she paddled, she rehearsed her speech to Joe, saying the words out loud to hear how they sounded. Oftentimes, she lost her nerve when she needed to broach a difficult subject and suffered in silence, but she was determined to persevere today. Meatloaf and chicken parm were fine as staples, but it wouldn’t kill him to draw in more customers with slightly edgier fare. At forty-eight years old, she’d grown tired of cooking the same dishes day in and day out. She was ready for a new challenge.
Libbie limited her circuit to one ‘leaf’ of the lake and cut across the middle to return to the Seymours’ yard. She could tell from the number of boats already on the water that it was going to be a busy weekend.
As she crossed the road back to her house, she spotted her ex-husband in the driveway. Nick turned toward the sound of her feet crunching on the gravel.
“I should’ve known,” he said, smiling. Nick was a nice guy when they’d married and was still a nice guy, even after the divorce. Their marriage, however, had been a mistake from the beginning, and the birth of their two children didn’t change that fact. Libbie had been eager to create her own family as a means of escape from her situation, and Nick had been willing to take the plunge. They’d parted as friends, and he’d moved two streets over to make shared custody easier. Libbie wasn’t the least bit surprised when he met and married a younger woman. Nick and Olivia had a toddler named Harry.
Nick gestured to the blue bicycle leaning against the front step. “I fixed Josh’s tires so he can ride to work today.”
“Thanks.” Libbie was hopeless when it came to fixing anything.
“Big plans for the Fourth?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s right. You’ve got your sister’s party this weekend.”
“Technically, it’s my parents’ party. They just happen to be using Emily’s birthday as an excuse.” Libbie’s younger sister was turning forty-four, and her parents were hosting a party tomorrow evening. Libbie was looking forward to the party the same way she looked forward to her annual pap smear. As much as she adored her sister, she couldn’t tolerate her parents more than a couple hours, and even that was pushing it.
Nick shrugged. “If nothing changes, nothing changes.” He knew her family history better than anyone. Better than her own children, really, because she tried to protect them from the complexities of family dynamics. Libbie’s relationship with her parents was hers to bear.
“Can you make sure the kids both shower before they show up?” Libbie asked. It was Nick’s weekend with the kids and Hercules, but he’d agreed to drop off the kids at her parents’ house in time for the party. As far as custody arrangements went, theirs was pretty congenial.
“I’ll do my best, but you know they’re both stubborn these days.”
“Josh will have been out in the sun all day, and Courtney will be covered in sticky ice cream.”
Nick grinned. “I’m aware. I stand by my statement.”
Libbie couldn’t risk the kids showing up a mess. Her mother would have plenty to say about that. “Just drop them off here and I’ll take care of it.”
Nick ambled along the driveway. “Whatever you want. Make sure they’re ready on time today, though. It’s going to be busy, and I can’t afford to be late opening up.”
“I know.”
Libbie dashed inside and roused the kids before showering. By the time she rushed out of the house for work, she’d practiced her speech to Joe about twenty times since getting out of bed.
Unfortunately, the drive that normally took half an hour to Basecamp took forty-five minutes, thanks to holiday weekend traffic and an accident that blocked the backroad leading to neighboring Meadowbrook. The stress of the drive was enough to negate the sense of calm that kayaking had provided. Agitated, Libbie hustled into the restaurant. Instead of being early, she was now late.
“You need to plan better,” Joe said, as she raced toward the kitchen.
I can’t plan for accidents, Libbie thought. To her boss she only said, “I know. I’m sorry. There was an accident. Probably someone trying to make a left on Waltham.” It had always been a problem spot.
He followed her into the kitchen. “I thought you wanted to talk to me.”
Libbie’s mind went blank. She was too anxious to think straight. “It’s about the menu.” That much she could express.
A deep crease formed across his brow. “What about it?” The older man’s tone was sharp. Immediately, she was back in sixth grade with Mr. Mason standing over her in gym class, berating her for doing pushups on her knees.
“I…I thought maybe we could change things up a bit,” Libbie stammered as she slipped her white apron over her head. “I have some ideas.”
Joe folded his arms. “Ideas? I don’t need to change anything. Everything is fine as it is.”
“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.” Only the customers were doing that. “I just thought we could try something new, as an experiment. See how customers respond.”
What had happened to her carefully rehearsed speech? This sounded nothing like it.
“If you want to experiment, do it in your own kitchen on your own time. Now get moving. You know I don’t tolerate lateness.” Joe turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.
Libbie felt as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs.
“I don’t know why you bother,” Luis said. The porter returned his attention to peeling potatoes. “Joe’s an ass. He’ll never change and that includes his lame menu.”
Libbie stared at the counter, the words she’d painstakingly planned flooding back to her. There was no point in remembering now. She’d blown her chance.
“The ground beef’s ready,” Luis said.
Of course it was. Another day, another meatloaf.
Libbie pressed her fingers to her temples. It was going to be a long day.
Friday night cocktail club couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Two
Libbie parked on the street near her friend Inga’s house and rushed to the front door. Thanks to her difficult boss, she was half an hour late for cocktail club and hadn’t had time to go home and shower. She knew she smelled like beef and onion. She also knew her friends would understand. If there was one thing this group could do, it was make Libbie feel better about what bothered her. She was safe with these women and she knew it.
Inga Paulsen was an eighty-five-year-old firecracker of a woman who’d moved to Lake Cloverleaf ten years ago from California. She’d lived all over the world, had buried three husbands, and drank and swore like the proverbial sailor. While the other women in the club were in various stages of midlife, Inga had been there, done that, and grew no f*cks in her field. Libbie and her friends had often commented that they wanted to be Inga when they grew up, especially Libbie who envied the older woman’s sharp tongue and quick wit. She’d once seen Inga berate a mechanic who’d tried to overcharge her. Libbie had watched, dumbstruck, as Inga walked away with a lower bill and her dignity intact. Six months later, Libbie had remembered that moment when she was overcharged for a tire rotation, but she’d found herself slinking away in silent humiliation, instead of standing her ground the way Inga had.