Page 118 of Rumor Has It

Will and the PR team are handling questions and I’m avoiding Richardson’s supermarket checkout for the foreseeable future. Lord only knows what the entertainment rags will print next.

As if he’s about to face the music on his own, Isaiah slumps. I rub his bicep, but he shrugs me off, frustrated. Then he snatches a baseball hat from the seat pocket. Jumping to get out, he thwacks his head on the roof in the process. Having bitten his tongue too long, Isaiah crouches, releasing a slew of expletives and rubbing the sore spot.

Asking him if he’s okay is moot. I do it anyway. Isaiah says he’ll be fine after he showers.

I don’t believe that. It’ll take more than hot water to wash away the dust from the road we’ve traveled. He was lonely for so long, I won’t let him doubt my sincerity. I love him and I’m made of sturdier stock than to leave him just because the going got tough. However, we both need space and I embrace the solitude of Gran’s front garden, lowering my butt to the granite stairs.

I lose track of how long I’m alone. Gracyn comes out of the mansion and sidles up next to me. We remain quiet. The last time my older sister and I were together, we fought. Her presence then boxed me in. This time, I’m glad she’s crowding me.

“I’m keeping you from your guests,” I eventually say, guilty she’s ignoring her job.

“Besides the two of you, there are none. I received an overnight call from the concierge. People were complaining about the lack of running water. Daddy went over my head and told everyone allowing them to stay went against state ordinance,” she says of Colton. “This morning, the guests we had packed to leave and the guests about to arrive had been issued refunds. One gentleman said we had such a nice old house, and he hoped we fixed the plumbing issue soon.”

“Why was there no water?”

“Daddy flipped the main valve into the mansion.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Why do you think?” My sister asks me to fill in the blanks.

Isaiah and I were making a very impromptu trip and needed privacy.

“I’m sorry we tarnished your reputation as an innkeeper,” I apologize.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand that there was more to the story than you were at liberty to say. That you were doing something completely unselfish… And I’m sorry Aria didn’t come back with you. She’s a beautiful little girl and I know how much you love her.” Gracyn hugs me from the side.

I lick my chapped lips and wipe another tear away. My itchy eyes are dry. Yet somehow, they’re not.

“You know what I don’t understand about me is why you always get what you want. Whether it’s marrying Joe or opening the B&B, everything came easy for you.”

“Ha!” My sister laughs brittlely. “I hated winery sales. I endured working at the corporate office to get business experience. And I stayed, determined to prove I wouldn’t throw in the towel when things got hard. I didn’t love it. I didn’t even like it.”

“But you love the B&B.”

“I do. When there’s no plumbing problems and when I don’t have to rehire the breakfast chef and garde manger.” She knocks her shoulder into mine. “I suppose you’re not coming back to Kingsbrier in the fall. Rumor has it you’re writing a cookbook.”

“I could write the cookbook, but I won’t steal Benita’s recipes.” I don’t answer about coming back to the ranch.

I’ve outgrown who I was and I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. The idea of staying in my old room makes me more depressed.

“I’m glad your integrity has remained intact, but I have to disagree. You’ve changed so much of the original recipes. If they aren’t yours, whose are they? They certainly don’t belong to the banquet hall head chef,” Gracyn spits sarcastically.

I shake my head, puzzled.

“Listen, Cass, you want proof I don’t always get what I want? I asked the trustees if there was any possible way the B&B could use your culinary skills long before Myrna retired. The board understood my goal was building the inn and reminded me you were entitled to your own path. You have an innate talent in the kitchen. The quints fully intended for you to run the banquet hall someday. You can still be head chef.”

“The new head chef took all the family recipes off the menu.” I evoke the disgusted tone he took with me posting the revised menu.

“He liked your recipes. He wanted to put out a cookbook to sell at the winery store, and he wanted the credit as the author. The quints wouldn’t budge. Benita was family. She raised Gran and taught her to cook. The new chef had the experience, but he wasn’t family, and no one was handing over a treasure chest—meant to be part of your legacy—to him.

“After being instructed to rework the menu, so it didn’t compete with a few of Grandad’s favorite recipes of Benita’s that Myrna served at the B&B, the new chef made working alongside him contentious for you.”

“Wait, why is this the first time I’m hearing this?”

“Probably to protect you. He threatened to sue, citing a hostile workplace when the guest reviews for breakfast at the inn were higher than Sunday brunch at the banquet hall. What stunk was that our family never lacked confidence in you, Cass. They believed they were doing the right thing by hiring him to ensure you got a few more years experience under your cap. Even I had a lot of support when I opened the B&B. You seemed comfortable at the inn, so the quints thought you changed your mind about managing a restaurant and were happy where you were.”

“I was.”Wasn’t I?

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