74 Seaside Avenue. Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ bring them to you tomorrow morning,” Charlotte went on. “In fact, you’re welcome to all my recipes, dear. Just tell me which ones you want.”

      “Grandma,” Justine said, broaching the subject carefully. “You do have your recipes written down somewhere, don’t you?”

      Charlotte laughed. “Good grief, no.”

      “No!”

      “I’ve been cooking for over seventy years. The recipes were taught to me by my mother and, well, I never thought it was necessary. I certainly wasn’t going to forget them.”

      “What about the raspberry vinaigrette salad dressing?”

      “Oh, that one,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “I got it from a newspaper article around 1959. I’ve changed it through the years.”

      “Grandma, would you write them out for me? All of them?”

      “Of course.” Her knitting needles made soft clicking sounds as she continued to knit. “Actually, that’s an excellent suggestion, Justine. I’m sure Ben will approve, too. He always says I should publish a cookbook, you know. He loves my peanut butter cookies.” She preened just a little.

      “And your cinnamon rolls.”

      “I think that man married me for my baking.”

      Justine laughed at the absurdity of her comment. One look at Ben Rhodes, and anyone could see that he was crazy about Charlotte.

      “Now tell me more about the tearoom,” Charlotte said conversationally.

      Justine smiled. “Well, there’s been a change in plans.”

      “Oh?” Her grandmother stopped knitting for a moment.

      Justine uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Seth and I couldn’t tell anyone until all the details were settled. The builder, Al Finch, contacted us a few weeks ago and asked if we’d be willing to sell the property. He said he might have a buyer.”

      Silence followed her statement. “I thought you and Seth weren’t interested in doing that.”

      “We weren’t, especially if it meant that a fast-food franchise would be built on the waterfront. But this is the best part, Grandma. The man who inquired about the land, Brian Johnson, is a friend of Al’s. He’s owned a number of restaurants through the years. He retired but got bored. Seth and I met with him and we were both impressed. Brian said he’d like to rebuild The Lighthouse the way it was. He even wants to keep the name.”

      “But that was your restaurant,” her grandmother protested.

      “True, but he’s willing to pay us for the name and everything.”

      Her grandmother paused again, as if she needed time to absorb the news. “Are you going to do it? And what about the tearoom? Where will you build that?”

      Justine explained that Al Finch had shown them a piece of commercial property off Heron that he owned and was planning to sell. The location was perfect for The Victorian Tea Room. “We signed the papers earlier this week.”

      There was another moment of silence.

      “You aren’t disappointed in us, are you, Grandma?”

      “No,” her grandmother assured her. “I think this is wonderful news.”

      So did Justine. All the hard work they’d put into The Lighthouse wouldn’t go to waste now. Seth had given the new owner his suggestions on how to rebuild the restaurant, and now that she was no longer involved, she looked forward to seeing it emerge from the ashes.

      “It’s happened so fast.”

      “It has,” Justine agreed, “but it feels right. This new location is much better for the tearoom and there’s more parking. I can’t believe how all of this practically fell into our laps.”

      “I’m pleased for both of you,” her grandmother said.

      “I am, too.” Justine gazed longingly into the backyard. Seeing Seth with Leif brought her a feeling of contentment, of satisfaction. This was what she’d always wanted, what she’d hoped for in her marriage.

      “I should get home,” Charlotte said. “Ben’s probably wondering what’s keeping me.” She finished her iced tea, put her knitting back in her bag and stood up.

      “It’s wonderful to see you, Grandma.”

      “You, too, sweetheart.” She kissed Justine’s cheek. “I’ll start writing down those recipes. I’ll do my best to remember them all, so if I forget any, let me know.” She frowned. “I’d better go through the ones I cut out from magazines, too. And the ones I was given at wakes.”

      “Isn’t that where you got your fabulous coconut cake recipe? At a wake?”

      “Yes—Mabel Austin’s. Back in ’84.”

      Justine grinned at this, but she supposed that a great recipe wasn’t the worst memorial someone could have.

      “I’ll just step outside and say hello to Seth and Leif,” Charlotte murmured as she carried her empty glass to the sink. “My goodness, that young man is growing. I don’t remember him being nearly that tall.”

      “Seth or Leif?” Justine asked with a laugh. It was true; Leif was tall for his age, but then his father was a big man.

      “Leif, of course,” her grandmother said, obviously missing the joke.

      “By the way …” Justine opened the patio door. “We’re barbecuing chicken tonight and I’m using a recipe I got from you.”

      “The one with soy sauce and honey? I picked that up at a wake, too.”

      Justine couldn’t hold back a smile. “Whose wake? Do you remember?”

      “Of course I do,” she answered in a dignified voice. “Norman Schultz. 1992. Or was it ’93?” With that Charlotte walked outside.

      Penny and Leif ran toward her. Knowing he needed to be gentle with his great-grandmother, Leif pulled up short and then stood still, giving Charlotte the opportunity to hug him. Penny, however, felt no such constraint. With one sharp command, Seth controlled the dog, who promptly sat. After she’d finished chatting with Leif, Charlotte leaned over to stroke Penny’s fur. She gave Justine a final wave, then Seth walked her out to her car.

      When he returned to the kitchen, he asked, “Is that for me?” motioning toward the glass of iced tea on the counter.

      “Oh, sorry,” Justine said. “I was about to bring it to you when my grandmother arrived.” She removed an ice-cube tray from the freezer. “Here. I’ll add some ice.”

      “Thanks,” he said, pausing to take a long drink of the tea. “Did you tell her we sold the property?”

      “I did.”

      “What did she think?”

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