Turtle Soup Page 5

  ****

  Jack had no intention of attending the next dive class. After putting Conner on a plane, he dialed Guffin's number with an excuse for why he wouldn't be able to make it. Something held him back. He knew what it was. He liked her.

  The idea of admitting he had some kind of feeling for Sara Hart made his teeth grind. Maybe it was because she wasn't impressed with him, or maybe it was because she saw him for who he really was. Guffin didn't answer, and Jack didn't leave a voicemail.

  He thought about the man that he'd seen her helping behind Turtle Soup. He'd been dressed in rags. How could she have known just by looking that he wouldn't do her any harm?

  Jack would never give a handout to someone in a dark alley. A pinprick of shame needled his conscious. Maybe that was what intrigued him. She saw the world through different glasses. Not rose-colored, though. She had a good head on her shoulders, but it didn't keep her from being kind.

  Guffin left a message with Trudy for Jack to meet up with him before the Monday evening class. He grudgingly attended, taking his gear with him. If Guffin needed an extra man, it was the least he could do. He'd already told Conner he'd fill in.

  As the dive master covered the next chapter from the instruction book in the classroom, Jack got the tanks and weight belts ready. The students found the equipment already set up for them poolside as they changed into their wetsuits. Zipped snug into her body-hugging wetsuit, Sara fiddled with her tank as if he'd booby trapped it. He tried to avoid eye contact. He had the unsettling idea that he should apologize.

  Some of the students made their first descents to the bottom, learning to use their air release valves. The valves controlled buoyancy within the vests called compensators, or BC's, and were the most vital skill next to breathing. Jack noticed Sara stayed on the shelf. She seemed troubled.

  Guffin had observed this, too. When class was over, Jack was relieved to see him call her over to the deck. They had a long discussion that ended with him putting her back into the water but she didn't leave the shelf.

  Jack rotated and refilled some of the tanks. Guffin gave him a slap on the back. "Lock up the classroom, will you? I've got to call the front office."

  "Sure." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sara peeling off her wet suit. She was under the showerhead in the rinse area, one hand against the green tile to keep her balance.

  He couldn't help watching the little wiggle in her hips. The harder she pulled, the longer the rubber stretched as if it were a piece of black gum. He would have laughed aloud if jets of water weren't smoothing her hair down in a wheat curtain against her back.

  Her legs were athletic and trim. She needed a tan, his defenses observed. Before he could stop himself, he stepped into the shower to help her pull the wetsuit the rest of the way off. He caught her off balance and had to grab her wrist so she didn't fall. Her hand landed squarely on his bare chest, his eyes in the valley between the cups of her dark bikini.

  One leg of the wetsuit had flopped to the tiles, while the other was still glued to her calf. She looked down foolishly for a moment as if unsure what to do but their eyes met and she seemed to trade her embarrassment for unease.

  The words I'm sorry passed through his mind, but he kissed her instead. Without thinking, he closed his eyes and put his mouth on hers, timidly, in case she bit him. She didn't bite, but she didn't lean into him either. Her lips had a light layer of salt residue that had not rinsed off and he kissed her harder enjoying the scent of her breath that rose up with the steam.

  With a jolt, the water temperature switched to ice cold and he stumbled back. Sara had not been as lost in the moment as he'd thought. "I'm sorry," she said as she screwed the faucet handle off.

  She wiped the water off her face and ran her hands over her hair. He moved to put his arms around her again but she stepped back out of reach. "Don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

  Her face was so red it looked like her cheeks could bleed. Humiliation singed Jack's pride. "You didn't mean that?"

  "No." She tripped over her wetsuit trying to escape.

  He reached for a towel and wordlessly she accepted. Struggling, she pulled the other leg of her wetsuit off at last. He stood on the pool deck waiting for something more.

  Of course she didn't mean it. She didn't like him one iota. She would head straight home and tell her little niece everything. There'd be a cookie on the menu tomorrow called Crummy Kiss.

  He drew an angry breath but before he could insult her, she stuck her hand out like a traffic cop. "Don't say it."

  "Say what?" A cold wave of disgust washed over him. Why had he let himself think she was different? "What makes you think I meant it either?" He thought he saw her eyes water but she quickly wiped her face. He spun on his heel and stalked off before she looked up again.

  ****

  The phone beside the bed went off sending Jack over the side. Knotted up in the sheets, he swore. "Yeah?"

  "Good morning, Sunshine." Conner's voice came across the line. "Bad night?"

  "I'm used to my cell phone's ring, not this monster."

  "I tried your cell phone but it went straight to voicemail."

  "What's up?" Jack sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. He pictured Conner sitting on Calliope's deck with his arms over the rail, feet dangling in the water. He missed his boat. The world moved too fast and in all the wrong directions on the mainland.

  "I got something interesting. Scott bagged a lionfish."

  "A lionfish?" Incredulous, Jack clambered back onto the bed.

  "Little feller. About an inch long."

  The ominous implications almost took Jack's breath away. "There's probably more then."

  "I'm going to call REEF to see if they can send somebody out."

  "This is bad."

  "You're not kidding. Scott talked to someone at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Institute. They say they're mating year around."

  "What?" Jack couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

  "The water's so warm. They mate at the surface and the larvae eventually settle on the bottom."

  "You mean on the reefs."

  "I don't know, but that's where the food is," answered Conner.

  "What food are we talking about?"

  "Gobies, for starters."

  Jack swore under his breath. He knew it was a growing problem. Home enthusiasts were dumping their saltwater fish into the sea without realizing their Indo-Pacific pets didn't belong in the Atlantic.

  "What do you want to do?"

  "Catalogue the bugger. Let's start mapping them. With no natural predators, they're going to feast on our reefs."

  "I hear you. How's the dive class going?"

  "Boring. Guffin doesn't really need me."

  "He needs someone to keep an eye on the mavericks. When's the cert dive?"

  "Not for a month at least."

  "How's my favorite cook?"

  "Sara?" Jack hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to tell him he'd kissed her. "She's doing okay. Still panics."

  "You better keep an eye on that."

  Neither one said anything about Holly. A brief picture of his fiancée came to mind and Jack pushed it away. "Yeah."

  "Tell Sara I said hello."

  Jack could hear him getting up, could almost feel the breeze coming off the shore and blowing over the bow. "I'll do that."

  "How's Jessica? She pin you down yet?"

  "We're going out tonight, then cocktails later with some of the honchos up in Ad-min."

  "Lucky you."

  "Can't wait," Jack said dryly.

  "Have fun, buddy."

  Jack hung up and hit the shower. He was on rotation to clean one of the exhibit tanks. This was a task he actually enjoyed. He liked interacting with the little kids glued to the windows. Sometimes when he had a crowd, he'd feed the rays and watch the faces outside the glass light up in amazement.

  Most of the schools that came through had children that'd never set foot outside o
f the city. They'd never waded in the tide, buried themselves in the sand, licked salt off their lips. Most would never see a ray creeping along the bottom, a dolphin cavorting over the waves, a barracuda, a wise old turtle, or a shark on the prowl.

  There was no doubt he admitted to himself, Jack Brandon was a blessed man. He ran a comb through his hair leaning in to the mirror to check for gray. Maybe kids just weren't in the cards for him. Holly hadn't wanted any. Maybe his fiancée had been right. He already had so much, why did he need a family, too?

  ****

  When Jessica climbed into the Lexus outside her red brick mansion that evening he told her, "Nice hair."

  "Is that it?" She gave him a sharp smile. Her braided copper hair was coiled on top of her head. Her ears flashed with emerald studs. His eyes dropped down to the low cut of her satin blouse.

  "You look like a million bucks."

  "You always look good, Jack." She leaned over and kissed him hard on the neck nearly causing him to swerve off the road. "And taste good, too."

  He gave a flattered chuckle for her benefit. Her mouth on him made him think of Sara and he tried to put it from his mind. Nothing would come of that kiss. He might as well forget it.

  They were finishing appetizers at Sambuca, a jazzy hot spot, when Jessica sat back and laced her painted fingernails. "So when are you going to have everyone over to your place?"

  "I don't have a place."

  "You can't have a few people over for cocktails?"

  "In a townhouse?"

  "Why not? There are people who'd like to get to know you better."

  Jack grimaced. "I just moved in, besides what's to know? What you see is what you get."

  "It couldn't hurt. Besides, everyone is jockeying for the new space."

  Jack acknowledged this with a wave of his napkin. "I've got exhibit space. They're bringing those specimens from the Thai tsunami in so there's no use throwing a tantrum. They have to go somewhere."

  Jessica persisted. "You'd have more room and better access".

  "I like having visitors tunnel in like groundhogs," Jack lied. "It has its own ambience."

  "You're practically stuck in the corner."

  "We're crowded but we have the research space we need."

  "You're happy with that?"

  Jack tried to look cavalier. "It's more than we ever hoped for."

  "Byron is expecting something since you won this year's recognition."

  "So I'm employee of the month now?"

  She nodded. "Something like that. What about the girl Conner brought to the banquet? She cooks?"

  "She caters."

  "Why don't you have her put something together for you and I'll take care of the guest list."

  Jack breathed heavily. "The new exhibit space would be great, Jess, but I'm not going to beg."

  "Just a few people from administration. If that girl is as good as you say she is, I'm sure she'd suit us perfectly."

  "Fine," he relented. "I'll have Trudy get on it."

  Chapter Nine

  Sara sat alone, a cup of hot chocolate steaming on the corner of her desk calendar. The smell of sticky buns permeated the office. She put her head down. There were six days left in the month, and again it looked like she would not break even. The phone rang.

  "Is Ms. Hart there?" a pleasant voice asked.

  Sara sat up straighter in her chair.

  "This is Trudy from the Brandon Foundation. I'm calling for Jack."

  "Yes?" Sara's heart began to thump in her chest. Why would Jack have Trudy call?

  "I'm calling about a catering opportunity two Saturdays from tomorrow. We wanted to know if you would be interested again."

  "Of course," Sara said excitedly. She pulled her calendar toward her and picked up a pen.

  "You did such a lovely job for us before."

  "Thanks." Sara smiled. She penciled in a giant J on the proposed weekend.

  "It would be a private affair at Jack's home."

  Sara's mind went blank. He wanted her to cater at his home?

  "He'd like something casual, for about eight to ten people, and he wants it outdoors."

  "Like a barbecue?"

  Trudy fell silent as if considering. "No, dear, I believe he wanted something set up outside, like the table."

  "I can do that," Sara said. "Is there a time I could meet with you to plan a menu?"

  "Just one moment." The singsong voice disappeared and Sara imagined her scurrying into Jack's office. He probably had his legs kicked up on the desk listening on speaker phone. Was this some kind of charity act? And why have Trudy call when he could ask himself?

  Sara picked up her hot chocolate and let the creamy liquid soothe her nerves. She thought about the kiss that had sent her home to a pint of ice cream. The thought of another dive class made her ill.

  Abruptly, Trudy returned. "He says Sunday afternoon about four. His place."

  Sara closed the shop on Sundays. It was probably killing her but it felt like the right thing to do. Besides, she did need at least one day off a week and it was the Day of Rest. She answered coolly, "That'd be great," and heard Trudy tap her keyboard before she gave her Jack's address.

  "And how's your swim class going?" The change of subject caught Sara off guard.

  "Scuba? It's going fine." She hesitated, touched by Trudy's genuine interest.

  "I wish you luck," Trudy said kindly and then goodbye.

  Sara thanked her and hit the off button. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. Cater a private party for Jack Brandon? Had she lost her mind? A lecture at the aquarium was one thing, but his own kitchen was a different ballgame. The smell of something beginning to burn jarred her from her thoughts.

  "My buns!" she cried.

  She dashed to the ovens and pulled out the pans. The buns were very brown, not burnt, but overdone. Sara put her hands to face in despair. She couldn't sell almost-burnt rolls. Nobody wanted to eat rock hard bread, even if it was covered with syrup.

  She suddenly felt weak in the knees. She wanted to curl up on the floor and cry. This was her monster. She'd put every penny she had into it. It's what she'd thought she'd wanted; something to remind her of home from when she was a little girl—like the smell of chocolate chip cookies hitting her face when she opened the door. Then later, her father would come in from work, one whiff of the treats and his face would light up like a candle. He'd take his girls up in his arms, Sara, Ellen, and their mother…

  The bell at the front door announced Carly was out of school. Her carpool had dropped her off a few minutes late. Sara was chopping apples for muffins, while listening to the soup pots bubbling.

  "I'm here!" the teenager announced. She bounded back to the office to drop her backpack and returned with an apron tied around her waist. "Ready to make a living." She grinned and Sara couldn't help but smile back. "You don't want to make a living this way!"

  "Yes, I think I do," Carly insisted. "I've already given the cafeteria your chicken chili recipe and they all took it home and made it for themselves, instead of us!"

  "You're giving out my recipes?" Sara's knife hung in the air. "You can't give my recipes out, Carly! I can't sell my own soups if everyone else knows how to make them!"

  Carly crammed a cookie in her mouth and waved her off. "Don't worry about it," she said through the muck.

  "I am worried!" Sara said angrily. "Those are secret recipes! They're not for you to broadcast!"

  Carly's face flushed. She picked up a broom and began sweeping vacantly. There was no time for Sara to soften her choice of words because the door opened again and three hungry women in heels clattered in. After they'd made their purchases, Sara found Carly standing in the back, punching dough back down for another rise.

  "I'm sorry I yelled at you." The girl continued taking her frustration out on the bread. "I'm having a hard time keeping it together. I hoped I'd be breaking even by now. It's not as easy as I thought it'd be."

  Carly stopped her ba
ttering. "You just have to hang on a little longer."

  Sara went to hug her but the door rattled again. "At least we're selling something," she said. At the front counter, she found Jack trying to peek into one of the simmering cauldrons.

  "What's that?" he asked. He pointed rudely as if it were witch's brew.

  "Potato soup."

  "In May?"

  Sara folded her arms. "Do you want some or not?"

  "No wonder you can't get any business in here, you're so snappish."

  "I'm not snappish, I've had plenty of business today. It's picking up."

  He looked as if he didn't believe her. "Is that true?" he asked, and from behind her Carly climbed up on the stool beside the register. "Doubt it," the girl said wanly.

  "Thanks," Sara snapped. She turned back to Jack. "Soup or sandwich? Bread, cookie? What'll you have?"

  "You have any salads?"

  "Not today."

  "How about a chilled soup?"

  "Cold?"

  "Something soupy. Something cool."

  Sara grabbed a cup and ladled several scoops of potato soup into it. Then she went to the fountain dispenser and plopped in some ice cubes.

  "Oh that's wonderful," Jack said in disgust, "Mmm."

  "Give it about ten minutes, it'll be nice and cool."

  "Thanks." He eyed Carly pouting over the register. "Can you get me a couple warm cookies? And don't take a torch to them."

  Sara punched the prices in and threw in a couple over-baked sticky buns. "You still giving food away? I'm not homeless."

  "They're burnt," she said.

  "Don't do me any favors."

  She glanced up to find him studying her. The collar of his shirt was open at the neck. His throat rippled when he spoke again and she tore her eyes away.

  "You talked to Trudy this morning?"

  "I hear you're going to do some entertaining."

  "With food, not sea lions and beach balls."

  "Didn't know you were into sea lions."

  "Pretty much anything that swims."