Page 12 of Second Chance in Charlevoix (Charlevoix Dreams #3)

Isabel

W hen Izzy came out Monday morning, the Malone kitchen was just as she remembered it. The owl curtains still hung in the windows. Skipper’s mom had a thing for owls. The owl salt and pepper shakers sitting on the table had a distinctive fifties feel, and so did the clock.

The big old stove went back a long time but it had a huge oven.

Skipper’s mom had always been a great cook who could whip up a meal out of breadcrumbs and leftover beef roast. Her dinners were basic but good.

A white farm sink bore the stains of decades.

Skipper had left early in the morning. Because she was in the first floor bedroom, Izzy had heard him trying not to make noise in the kitchen.

Apparently he’d already brought his mother down from the second floor.

“Good morning!” Izzy sang out as she passed through the living room, her throat not fully awake yet.

“Morning.” Mrs. Malone sat in front of the living room TV. She was watching the news––something Izzy avoided at all costs. But she’d have to pick her battles carefully. The reception yesterday when they arrived had been anything but cheerful, although Mrs. Malone seemed captivated by Holly.

After lugging in all her baby equipment under watchful eyes, Izzy could barely choke down the pizza Skipper insisted on picking up from Lucky Louie’s.

When was the last time Izzy slept in another bed besides Sunnycrest?

She couldn’t remember. But Izzy figured she was exhausted because she’d slept well.

And Holly hadn’t awakened during the night.

But now her little girl sat in her highchair, hammering the tray with a spoon.

Jumping up, Izzy rushed to open the cupboard where she'd stored all of her food for the baby. Taking down some Cheerios, she scattered them on Holly’s tray.

Then she fixed a bowl of oatmeal, sprinkled it with dabs of crushed pears and handed Holly a spoon.

The porcelain bowl with the ABCs was one of the things she’d brought from Sunnycrest. Watching Holly eat, Izzy felt anchored. Pretend you’re home at Sunnycrest.

But she wasn’t. The TV in the living room droned on.

Wars, murders, disastrous weather. Did she really have to listen to this?

She darted a glance at her little girl. A small TV was perched on the counter and she pictured Mrs. Malone watching it while she ate her meals here with Skipper.

Stepping over, she was delighted when the TV snapped on.

Working with the remote, she was able to find Sesame Street .

“Big Bird,” Holly said, clear as could be. Then she tried to smash that huge spoon into her mouth. Half of the oatmeal slopped over onto the tray.

“Little mouths need little spoons.” Mrs. Malone's voice came from the doorway.

Dressed in beige pants and a flowered top, Irene Malone looked every bit her age.

Izzy couldn't help comparing her to stylish Aunt Cate.

Walking to one of the drawers, Skipper's mother made slow progress by hanging onto the counter or a chair.

Yanking out a drawer, she rooted around until she came up with a blue plastic spoon. “Here you go, little girl.”

Izzy blushed. Why hadn't she thought of that? Holly's hands sprang open and the larger spoon clattered to the floor. Quickly Izzy swept it up, her eyes still on her baby girl, who gurgled with delight as she dug into the pears and oatmeal.

“Thank you. Do you want me to get your walker, Mrs. Malone?”

“No, I hate that stupid thing.” Mrs. Malone was fixated on the small TV. Izzy hoped she wasn't going to change the channel back to the news. But the older woman seemed mesmerized by what was on the screen. “Is Sesame Street still on the air?”

“You bet. Big bird and cookie monster. Holly loves them.”

Izzy was relieved when Mrs. Malone sat down at the table, her eyes glued to the TV. “Well, I never. After all these years. Ainsley and Skipper learned how to count with Sesame Street .”

Picking up the word “count,” Holly held up a hand “Count! One. Three.”

“She still doesn't quite have the idea,” Izzy said. The older woman’s laugh sounded rusty.

It was hard to picture Skipper watching the Count and Big Bird with his sister so many years ago.

Last night she'd noticed his childhood pictures in the living room. Skipper had been a tow-headed boy with a mischievous smile. In her younger years, his sister Ainsley had beautiful blonde hair, a lot like Izzy’s at that age.

Her attention went back to her little girl.

With the smaller spoon, Holly had better success with her eating.

Maybe Izzy had been so distracted that she hadn't concentrated on the things like the size of the spoon.

She didn't know who was more interested in Sesame Street , Irene Malone or Holly.

But time was passing and she had to move along.

When she was at Sunnycrest her aunt always encouraged her to leave the dishes in the sink.

Aunt Cate took care of everything. Once Marlowe and Sam arrived, they almost fought over who would clean up the kitchen.

But Izzy wasn’t at home anymore. Here she was a guest. Filling the sink with soapy water, Izzy made sure that everything was cleaned up.

The Malones didn’t have a dishwasher, which was an unwelcome surprise.

Izzy washed everything by hand but left the dishes in the strainer.

Then she tucked the special bowl away, along with the plastic spoon.

By that time Skipper’s mom had shuffled back to the living room.

After fixing Holly's diaper bag, Izzy circled back to say goodbye.

“See you later!” Izzy tried to inject some cheer into her voice.

Mrs. Malone was watching Sesame Street in the living room, her knitting in her lap.

Seeing her there alone with the TV hollowed out something in Izzy’s heart.

Peering at them over her wire-rimmed glasses, Mrs. Malone gave a little wave with one hand.

“Bye, bye, Holly!” No mention of Izzy. Should she feel hurt?

“Bye, bye,” Holly called back, flexing her hand. Sometimes Izzy’s little girl turned her inside out. After they were both tucked into her car, Izzy breathed a sigh of relief. How many more days would she be here? Every muscle in her neck ached from the tension.

When Izzy reached the bakery after dropping Holly off at daycare, Skipper was hard at work.

The man had such focus and it was nice to see him settled in, doing something he loved.

After high school graduation, Skipper had a tough time finding out where he belonged.

In the early days of their marriage, he worked at a car repair shop, just like his dad.

The money was fine but before long he hated the work.

Now he worked with satisfied energy that warmed Izzy’s heart.

She slipped into an apron and began washing the baking pans.

Sometimes it was hard to imagine her pastry chef as the wisecracking teenager she’d known.

That boy had stolen her heart when she was only fifteen and he was two years older.

Back then he had driven his dad’s old Ford convertible, music blasting all the time.

No wonder her sisters and aunt had been up in arms about him at first. How would she feel when Holly reached that age?

The thought nearly gave her palpitations.

Their summer romance had continued into the school year.

The other girls at Naperville North High School had been so jealous.

Izzy had Skipper’s picture taped inside her locker, and of course they were impressed.

When the letters started arriving in their Naperville mailbox long after summer was over, her sister Sam gave her more than one stern lecture.

At that time Sam was in community college and had a lot more on her mind than her rebellious youngest sister.

Sometimes Izzy felt guilty about those years.

By that time her parents were gone and Izzy didn't make it easy on her older sisters or on Aunt Cate. After that first year when they’d stayed with the three children fulltime, her aunt and uncle flew in every month to check on them.

Sam had her hands full back then. Now that she was older, Izzy regretted the times she’d given her big sister a hard time.

Marlowe never took a side but Izzy also secretly felt that Marlowe supported her.

She even tolerated Skipper more than Sam.

Instead of putting aside her summer crush, Izzy bought special stationery.

The letters and cards she sent often smelled of Sam's Spellbound perfume. They were mailed directly from the post office. Sure, there were emails too, but emails couldn’t be sent with perfume.

Now that she was herself a mother, Izzy’s high school antics made her chuckle. If Holly ever brought home a boy who looked and acted like Skipper Malone, she would probably move heaven and earth to monitor their relationship.

Finishing up the trays, Izzy hung the dishtowels up to dry.

“Everything good at the house?” Skipper asked as he rolled out more of his buttery dough.

“I left your mother watching Sesame Street .”

The amazed look that lit up Skipper's eyes echoed her own surprise. “No way.” Skipper folded the dough again and again. He was a master with that roller .

“I totally agree. How does your mother get downstairs? I thought she needed a walker.”

Skipper wiped his brow with the back of one arm. “I carried her downstairs early this morning. She insisted on making me some eggs. Now what's up with that?”

The comment made Izzy laugh. “Is that a not so subtle hint that I should be cooking your breakfast?”

Skipper lifted a brow. Yes, he sure did look like a wicked pirate in that red bandana. “We both know that's never going to happen.” His comment stung and it must have shown. “Sorry, Izzy, but…”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “Back then I was a terrible cook. And that hasn’t changed much.

” Everything had been done for her and sometimes she wished her sisters and aunt had just stepped back and let her try.

Try to make her own bed. Try to cook her breakfast. Wasn’t that how Marlowe and Sam had learned?

She remembered dad cooking breakfast in one of the big iron skillets.

Sometimes, he’d pull a chair over so Sam could watch until gradually she was breaking and even flipping the eggs.

He’d done the same with Marlowe. Izzy had just about reached that age when tragedy struck.

When Izzy heard the bell ring she snapped her attention back to the bakery. Debbie was out front and had unlocked the door. Customers were arriving. Time to set out more croissants and tarts .

“My mother ordered a roast from Lakeside Meat for tonight.” Skipper didn't sound very happy and Izzy turned. “I have to pick it up on my lunch hour.”

“Lunch hour?” They never really took time off for lunch but the look on Skipper’s face told her that maybe they should. Usually they ate on the run. The man was her mainstay in this shop and Izzy struggled to pull her thoughts together. “Lakeside? That's a little drive up toward Petoskey, right?”

“Anything for my mother…and our guests,” he said with a slow shake of his head.

Guests? What did he mean? “We are not guests, Skipper. I'll have you know I washed the dishes this morning.”

Concentrating on his dough, Skipper ducked his head but not before she saw his smile. “Trying to earn points with my mother?”

“Maybe. Leave whenever you like. What's up next?” she nodded to whatever he was rolling out.

“Chocolate croissants.”

Izzy fingered her waistband under the apron. She needed stronger willpower. Working around these daily delights had added ten pounds or more. She was a slave to chocolate and he knew it. “Chocolate croissants. My favorite.”

“I know.” Skipper began to hum as he worked. Was that “Saving All My Love for you”? Couldn’t be.

The back room seemed warm. Grabbing a towel, she dampened it down with cold water and then took it out into the main dining area. When she started wiping off the tables, Debbie gave her a questioning look. “Hey, I already did that.”

Standing there with the towel in her hand, Izzy tried to think of a comeback when Josh McCall entered. That man was still looking haggard.

“You're making a habit out of this,” she told him with a little laugh.

“I need my coffee first thing.”

“And the coffee at your office isn't any good?”

When he pushed his jacket back to jam his hands into his slacks, she saw the stethoscope tucked into an upper pocket. “Our coffee’s terrible, but don’t tell my assistant.”

This was pathetic. Josh was miserable and so was Sam. Izzy had to do something about this. After Josh left, Izzy bustled back to the work area, put her work rag away and checked tomorrow's schedule. Skipper always worked one up a week in advance. “Can you add some apple tarts to tomorrow's list?”

“Sure.” Skipper turned, his eyes dancing. “Want to tell me why?”

“Nope. And thank you.” He might think her idea was stupid. And maybe it was.