Page 14 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

Delilah shook her head to rid her mind of the horrible memories.

More important, people here were bound to ask where she’d been working in recent years. Did she have job experience running a business, or better yet, as a chef? Hah! Working in the prison kitchen hardly qualified her as a budding entrepreneur or to be a Cordon Bleu anything, but she had read constantly—cookbooks, of all things. Comfort food for the hungry soul.

After two years into her incarceration, a new kitchen superintendent arrived who grudgingly allowed Delilah, a model prisoner, to practice her recipes during her free hours. Her Sunday-night dinners became a treat for many on the kitchen staff. Her flavored cinnamon rolls were especially popular, and she planned to feature them in the diner. Delilah’s Delights, she would call them, as she’d told Merrill. She was still experimenting with her recipes, but so far she decided on: Peachy Praline Cinnamon Rolls, as well as Strawberry Walnut, Cream Cheese Pecan, Ginger Apple, Orange Marmalade, White Chocolate Chip Raspberry, Honey Pistachio, and today’s Caramel Apple Cinnamon Rolls. Best of all, in honor of Uncle Clyde’s passion, there would be Peanut Butter and Banana Cinnamon Rolls, both crunchy and creamy.

Delilah had known while she was still in prison that the diner and motel were going to be bequeathed to her by a bachelor great-uncle, her grandmother’s brother, whom she’d only met once, as a child. She’d also known that Uncle Clyde had cancer, having exchanged letters with him starting with her conviction. He had empathized with her, having served time himself as a young man. Thus, she’d been informed when he passed away last year. But that meant that the businesses had been closed for more than six months when she’d finally arrived here on the barrier island. Only then had she discovered that they’d been closed half the time before that, while her uncle suffered through years of cancer treatments.

After her initial shock at the mess she was facing and the conditions of Uncle Clyde’s will, Delilah realized that quitting was not an option. First of all, she’d let the restaurant become her dream. Secondly, finding another job would be difficult if not impossible. Checking off “Have you ever been convicted of a felony?” on a job application doomed her prospects to failure.

And so, she established a plan for herself. Live frugally. Work to get the diner open first. Bring Maggie to live with her. After that, renovate the motel. Depend only on herself. Trust no one.

Therefore, what she did not need was a bunch of people hanging around, being all welcome-wagoney, peppering her with questions, pretending to be her new best friends, probably with ulterior motives. Even those who were sincere in their overtures posed a danger to her plan.

Every day of the five months she’d been in Bell Cove so far, someone—often multiple someones—invaded her privacy with offers of advice or friendship or just plain nosiness.

She soon found out that today, the day after the Independence Day wedding reception, was going to be no different. The Sunday from Hell had started off with Merrill Good, who was a godsend to her in some ways (like a ten-thousand-dollar godsend, thank you very much), but a devilsend in others (like what angel has bedroom eyes that tempt good girls to do bad things?).

After sharing a coffee with her, Merrill stuck around for more than an hour, insisting on helping her to unscrew the vinyl seats off the booths and carrying them outside for her GOOP treatments. If he hadn’t made previous plans to meet some of his military buddies for lunch before they returned to California, he probably would have stayed all day.

Yikes!

His ulterior motive was glaringly obvious to her. The guy looked at her and saw sex on a stick. And he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he wanted her, which was commendable. In a way. In terms of honesty. And, in terms of wanting her but putting himself on a short leash. Restraining himself from hustling her hard probably had ulterior motives, though; he must fear crossing the line in today’s tenuous employer/employee sexual harassment environment.

Little did he know she wasn’t about to sue anyone. That kind of publicity she did not want or need.

Besides, he’d done nothing wrong, except for being too damned nice, even as he cast those smoldering looks her way.

Niceness . . . bah humbug! Too bad she hadn’t been around last Christmas when they’d held that Grinch contest. She would have won hands down.

After Merrill left, another vehicle pulled up. Surprise, surprise!

A gray-haired woman, who couldn’t be more than five feet tall, got out on the driver’s side, then took a metal walker out of the backseat. Hobbling over to where Delilah was hosing off the vinyl booth seats that she’d already gooped an hour ago, the woman greeted her warmly. “Well, hello there, dear. Looks like you’ve been a busy bee today.”

“Yep. A lot of work, but the old vinyl is starting to look almost new.”

“It certainly is. I remember when Clyde first installed them. Back in the 1970s, I think, after he returned from Vietnam. Forgive me for not coming around sooner, but I’m still recovering from double knee surgery last winter. I’m Ina Rogers, secretary for Our Lady by the Sea Church.”

“And I’m Lilah Jones,” Delilah said. After the way Merrill reacted to her name, perhaps her nickname would be more appropriate, attract less attention. “Ironically, I grew up going to a church called Our Lady Star of the Sea.”

“Really? Where was that?”

I stepped into that one. “Atlantic City.”

“You’re Catholic?”

That one, too. “Lapsed.”

Ina waved a hand dismissively, her attitude being like that of Delilah’s grandmother, Once a Catholic, always a Catholic. “You’re welcome to attend anytime, Lilah, and of course I’m in the church office every weekday morning if you want to register.”

“Maybe later.” Delilah figured that she would probably go back to church again once Maggie was here. A good example. In fact, she found herself disclosing, “My daughter will be here with me soon. I’m sure we’ll see you then.”

“A daughter? How nice! How old is she?”

“Four and a half.”

“Oh, good! She can join the children’s bell choir.”

“Maggie would love that.”