Summer By The Sea

She couldn’t bear to see him again. And oh, she hated that about herself. She wasn’t supposed to be this way. She was supposed to be the indomitable Rosa Capoletti, named last year’s Restaurateur of the Year by Condé Nast. Self-made Rosa Capoletti, the woman who had it all—a successful business, wonderful friends, a loving family. She was strong and independent, liked and admired. Influential, even. She headed the merchants’ committee for the Winslow Chamber of Commerce.

But Rosa had a secret, a terrible secret she prayed no one would discover. She had never gotten over Alexander Montgomery.

“‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine,’” she said. She pulled it off, too, with jaunty good humor.

“You know each other?” The woman with the Marcia Brady hair had come back to claim him.

He didn’t take his eyes off Rosa. She refused to allow herself to look away.

“We did,” he said. “A long time ago.”

Rosa couldn’t stand the tension, although she struggled to appear perfectly relaxed as she offered an impersonal smile. “Enjoy your evening,” she said, every bit the hostess.

He looked at her a moment longer. Then he said, “Thanks. I will,” and he stepped into the bar.

She held her smile in place as he and the others settled into an upholstered banquette. The women looked around the bar with surprised appreciation. The norm in these parts consisted of beach shacks, fried food, dated seaside kitsch. Celesta’s one-of-a-kind bar, the understated handsomeness of the furnishings and the unparalleled view created an ambience of rare luxury.

Alex took a seat at the end of the table. The tall woman flirted hard with him, leaning toward him and tossing her hair.

Over the years, Rosa had kept up with his life without really meaning to. It was hard to ignore him when she spotted his face smiling out from the pages of a newspaper or magazine. “The thinking woman’s hunk,” one society columnist dubbed him. “Drives Formula One race cars and speaks fluent Japanese….” He kept company with billionaires and politicians. He did good works—funding a children’s hospital, underwriting loan programs for low-income people. Getting engaged.

Pharmaceutical heiress Portia van Deusen was the perfect match for him, according to the people-watchers. With a slight feeling of voyeuristic shame, Rosa had read the breathless raves of society columnists. Portia was always described as “stunning” and Alex as “impeccable.” Both of them had the social equivalent of champion bloodlines. Their wedding, of course, was going to be the event of the season.

Except that it never happened. The papers ceased to mention them as a couple. The engagement was “off.” Ordinary people were left to speculate about what had happened. There was a whisper that she had left him. And she appeared so quickly on the arm of a different man—older, perhaps even wealthier—that rumor had it she’d found greener pastures.

“Vince said he offered to beat the crap out of him,” said Shelly, holding aloft a tray of desserts and espresso.

So much for privacy. In a place like Celesta’s, rumors zinged around like rubber bullets.

“As if he could stand to have one hair out of place.” In spite of herself, Rosa smiled, picturing Vince in a fight. The sentiment was touching, though. Like everyone who had seen the wreckage Alex had left in his wake, Vince was protective of Rosa.

“Are you all right?” Shelly asked.

“I’m fine. You can tell that to anyone who’s wondering.”

“That would be everybody,” Shelly said.

“For Pete’s sake, we broke up eons ago,” Rosa said. “I’m a big girl now. I can handle seeing a former boyfriend.”

“Good,” Shelly said, “because he just ordered a bottle of Cristal.”

From the corner of her eye, Rosa saw the sommelier pop the cork of the bottle, listed at $300 on the menu. One of the women at Alex’s table—the flirt—giggled and leaned against him as he took a taste and nodded to Felix to pour. The six of them lifted their glasses, clinking them together.

Rosa turned away to say good-night to a departing couple. “I hope you enjoyed your evening,” she said.

“We did,” the woman assured her. “I read about this place in the New York Times ‘Escape’ section, and have always wanted to come here. It’s even nicer than I expected.”

“Thank you,” Rosa said, silently blessing the Times. Travel writers and food critics were a picky lot, as a whole. But her kitchen had proven itself, again and again.

“Are you Celesta, then?” the woman asked as she drew on a light cotton wrap.

“No,” Rosa said, her heart stumbling almost imperceptibly as she gestured at the lighted portrait that hung behind the podium next to the numerous awards. Celesta, in all her soft, hand-tinted beauty, gazed benevolently from the gilt frame. “She was my mother.”

The woman smiled gently. “It’s a wonderful place. I’m sure we’ll be back.”

“We’d love to have you.”

When Rosa turned from the door, she used every bit of her willpower to keep from spying on Alex Montgomery. She knew he was watching her. She just knew it. She could feel his gaze like a phantom touch, finding her most vulnerable places.

They had said goodbye many years ago, and it was the sort of goodbye that was supposed to be permanent. She wondered what he was thinking, barging in on her like this.

“May I have this dance?” Jason Aspoll held out his hand to Rosa.

She smiled at him. It was a well-known fact that on most nights, near closing time, Rosa enjoyed getting out on the dance floor. It was good marketing. Show the public you like your place just as much as they do. Besides, Rosa did love dancing.

And she didn’t like going home. There was nothing wrong with her place, except that it simply wasn’t…lived in enough.

“I’d love to,” she said to Jason, and slipped easily into his arms. The ensemble played “La Danza,” and they swayed, grinning at each other like idiots.

“So you finally did it, you big goof,” she said.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know,” she said breezily, then patted his arm. “Seriously, Jason, I’m honored that you asked for my help. It was fun.”

“Well, I’m in awe. You managed everything perfectly, down to the last detail. Her favorite food was tonight’s special, the ensemble kept playing songs she loves…You even had special flowers on all the tables. I didn’t know Lily of the Valley was her favorite.”

“In the future, knowing her favorites is your job.” Rosa was always mystified that people simply didn’t notice things about other people. She had once dated an airline pilot for five months, and he never learned how she took her coffee. Come to think of it, no man had ever bothered to learn that about her, except—

“How does Linda take her coffee?” she asked Jason suddenly.

“Hot?”

“Very funny. How does she like her coffee?”

“Linda drinks tea. She takes it with honey and lemon.”

Rosa collapsed against him in exaggerated relief. “Thank God. You passed the test.” She didn’t mean to dart one tiny glance at Alex. It just happened. He was looking straight at her. Fine, then, she thought. Let him look.

“I didn’t know there was a test,” Jason whispered to her.

“There’s always a test,” she said. “Remember that.”

The music wound down and then stopped. During the polite patter of applause, Linda joined them.

“I’ve come to claim my man,” she said, slipping her hand into his.

“He’s all yours.” Rosa gave her a quick hug. “And that’s for you. Congratulations, my friends. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Linda jerked her head in the direction of Alex’s table. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Drinking a $300 bottle of champagne.” Rosa held up a hand. “And that’s all I have to say on the subject. Tonight is your night. You and Jason.”

“You’re meeting me for coffee tomorrow, though,” Linda insisted. “And then you’ll spill.”

“Fine. I’ll see you at Pegasus tomorrow. Now, take your man and go home.”

“All right. Rosa, I know how much you did to make this night special,” said Linda. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Rosa beamed. The look on Linda’s face was reward enough, but she said, “You can name your first child after me.”

“Only if it’s a girl.”

She and Linda hugged one more time, and the happy couple left. The music started up again, Rosa went back to work and pretended not to see Alex ask the tall woman at his table to dance.

This was absurd, she thought. She was an adult now, not a wide-eyed kid fresh out of high school. She had every right to go over to him this minute and demand to know what he was doing here. Or for that matter, what he’d been doing since he’d said, “Have a nice life” and strolled off into the sunset.

Did he have a nice life? she wondered.

He certainly looked as though he did. He seemed relaxed with his friends—or maybe that was the champagne kicking in. He had an air of casual elegance that was not in the least affected. Even when she first met him, as a little boy, he’d had a certain aura about him. That in-born poise was a family trait, one she’d observed not just in Alex, but in his parents and sister, as well.

The quality was nothing so uncomplicated as mere snobbery. Rosa had encountered her share of that. No, the Montgomerys simply had an innate sense of their place in the world, and that place was at the top of the heap.

Except when it came to loving someone. He pretty much sucked at that.

Maybe he’d changed. His date certainly appeared hopeful as she undulated her “Sex and the City” body against his on the dance floor.

“You want I should break his kneecaps?” inquired a deep voice behind her.

Rosa smiled. “Not tonight, Teddy.”

Teddy was in charge of security at the restaurant. In another sort of establishment, he’d be called a bouncer. The job required a thorough knowledge of digital alarms and surveillance, but he lived for the day he could wield those ham-sized fists on her behalf. “I got lots of footage of him on the security cameras,” he informed her. “You can watch that if you want.”

“No, I don’t want,” Rosa snapped, yet she could picture herself obsessively playing the tape, over and over again. “So does everybody in the place know the guy who once dumped me is here tonight?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said unapologetically. “We had a meeting about it. We don’t care how long ago it happened. He was harsh, Rosa. Damned harsh. What a dickwad.”

“We were just kids—”

“Headed to college. That’s pretty grown-up.”

She’d never made it to college. Her staff probably had a meeting about that, too.

“He’s a paying customer,” she said. “That’s all he is, so I wish everyone would quit trying to make such a big deal out of it. I don’t like people discussing my personal affairs.”

Teddy gently touched her shoulder. “It’s okay, Rosa. We’re talking about this because we care about you. Nobody wants to see you hurt.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”

It became her mantra for the remainder of the evening, which was nearly over at last. The bartender’s final call circulated, and the ensemble bade everyone good-night by playing their signature farewell number, a sweet and wistful arrangement of “As Time Goes By.”

The last few customers circled the dance floor and then dispersed, heading off into the night, couples lost in each other and oblivious to the world. Rosa couldn’t keep count of the times she had stood in the shadows and watched people fall in love right here on the premises. Celesta’s was just that kind of place.

How’m I doing, Mamma?

Celesta, twenty years gone, would undoubtedly approve. The restaurant smelled like the kitchen of Rosa’s childhood; the menu featured many of the dishes Celesta had once prepared with warmth, intense flavors and a certain uncomplicated contentment Rosa constantly tried to recapture. She wanted the restaurant to serve Italian comfort food, the kind that fed hidden hungers and left people full of fond remembrances.

She pretended to be busy as Alex and his friends left. Finally she let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. When the last patron departed, so did the magic. The lights came up, revealing crumbs and smudges on the floors and tables, soot on the candle chimneys, dropped napkins and flatware. In the absence of music and with the kitchen doors propped open, the clank and crash of dishes rang through the building.

“Ka-ching,” Vince said as he printed out a spreadsheet summarizing the night’s receipts. “Biggest till of the year so far.” He hesitated, then added, “Your dumbshit ex-boyfriend left a whopper tip.”

“He’s not my ex-anything,” she insisted. “He’s ancient history.”

“Yeah, but I bet he’s still a dumbshit.”

“I wouldn’t know. He’s a complete stranger to me. I wish everyone would get that through their heads.”

“We won’t,” he assured her. “Can’t you see we’re dying here, Rosa? We’re starved for gossip.”

“Find someone else to gossip about.”

“We were all watching him with the new security cameras,” Vince said.

“I can’t believe you guys.”

“Teddy can zoom in on anything.”

“Good for him.” Her head pounded, and she rubbed her temples.

“I got this, honey,” Vince said. “I’ll close tonight.”

She offered a thin smile. “Thanks.” She started to remind him about the seal on the walk-in fridge, the raccoons in the Dumpster, but stopped herself. She’d been working on her control-freak impulses.

As she left through the back entrance, she wished she’d thought to grab a sweater before rushing out today. The afternoon had been hot; now the chill air raised goose bumps on her bare arms.

Debris from last week’s windstorm had been cleared away, but broken trees and fallen branches still lay along the periphery of the parking lot. The power had been knocked out for hours, but the cameras had come through unscathed.

Her heels rang on the pavement as she headed for her car, a red Alfa Romeo Spider equipped with an extravagant stereo system. As she used the remote on her key chain to unlock the driver’s side door, a shadow overtook her.

She stopped walking and looked up to see Alex, somehow not surprised to find him standing in the dull glow of the parking lot lights. “What, you’re stalking me now?”

“Do you feel stalked?”

“Yeah, I generally do when a man approaches me in a deserted parking lot at midnight. Creeps me out.”

“I can see how that could happen.”

“You should hear what they’re saying about you inside.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. Dumbshit, dickwad. Stuff like that. Two different guys offered to break your kneecaps. They liked your tip, though.”

He offered that crooked smile again, the one that used to practically stop her heart. “It’s good to know you surrounded yourself with quality people.”

She gestured at the security camera mounted on a light pole.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked.

“Trying to let my quality people know I don’t need rescuing.” It was late. She couldn’t keep batting this pointless conversation back and forth. She just wanted to go home. Besides, it was taking every bit of energy she possessed to pretend he had no effect on her. “What are you doing here, Alex?” she asked.

He showed her his hand, which held a palm-sized cell phone. “I was calling a taxi. Is the local service as bad now as it used to be?”

“A taxi? You’d be better off hitchhiking.”

“That’s supposed to be dangerous. And I know you wouldn’t want to put a customer in danger.”

“Where are your friends, anyway?”

“Went back to Newport.”

“And you’re headed…?”

“To the house on Ocean Road.”

No one in his family had visited the place in twelve years. It was like a haunted mansion, perched there at the edge of the ocean, an abandoned, empty shell. Wondering what had brought him back after all this time, she shivered. Before she realized what he was doing, he slipped his jacket around her shoulders. She pulled away. “I don’t—”

“Just take it.”

She tried not to be aware of his body heat, clinging to the lining of the jacket. “Your friends couldn’t give you a ride?”

“I didn’t want one. I was waiting for you…Rosa.”

“What, so I can give you a lift?” Her voice rose with incredulity.

“Thanks,” he said. “Don’t mind if I do.” He headed for the Alfa Spider.

Rosa stood in the amber glow of the floodlights, trying to figure out what to do. She was tempted to peel out without another word to him, but that seemed a bit juvenile and petty. She could always get someone from the restaurant to give him a ride, but they weren’t feeling too friendly toward him. Besides, in spite of herself, she was curious.

She didn’t say another word as she released the lock on the passenger side door. She waved goodbye to the security camera; then they got in and took off.

“Thanks, Rosa,” he said.

Like he’d given her a choice. She exceeded the speed limit, but she didn’t care. There wasn’t a soul in sight, not even a possum or a deer. This area was lightly patrolled by the sheriff’s department, and given her association with Sean Costello, sheriff of South County, she didn’t have much concern that she’d get a ticket.

At the roadside, beach rose hedges fanned out toward the dunes and black water. On the other side lay marshes and protected land, an area mercifully untouched for generations.

“So I guess you’re wondering why I’m back,” Alex said.

She was dying to know. “Not at all,” she said.

“I knew Celesta’s was your place,” he explained. “I wanted to see you.”

His directness took her aback. But then, he used to be the most honest person she knew. Right up until he left, never looking back.

“What for?” she asked.

“I still think about you, Rosa.”

“Ancient history,” she assured him, reminding herself he’d been drinking.

“It doesn’t feel that way. Feels like only yesterday.”

“Not to me,” she lied.

“You were dating that deputy. Costa,” Alex said, referring to the day he’d briefly returned, about ten years ago, and she’d sent him away. He would remember that, along with the fact that she didn’t need or want him.

“Costello,” she corrected him. “Sean Costello. He’s the sheriff now.”

“And you’re still single.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business.”

Rosa drove even faster. “It was awkward, you showing up like that.”

“I figured it would be. At least we’re talking. That’s a start.”

“I don’t want to start anything with you, Alex.”

“Have I asked you to?”

She pulled into the crushed gravel and oyster shell drive of the Montgomery house. Over the years, the grounds had been kept neat, the place painted every five years. It was a handsome Victorian masterpiece in the Carpenter Gothic style, complete with engraved brass plaque from the South County Historical Preservation Society.

“No,” she admitted, throwing the gear in Neutral. “You haven’t asked me for anything but a ride. So here’s your ride. Good night, Alex.” She thought about tossing off a remark—Say hi to your mother from me—but couldn’t bring herself to do that.

He turned to her on the seat. “Rosa, I have a lot to say to you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Then you won’t. Not right now. See, I’m drunk. And when I say what I want to say to you, I need to be stone-cold sober.”

Three

The next morning Rosa went to Pegasus, a coffeehouse furnished with overstuffed sofas and chairs, low tables and a luxurious selection of biscotti. The café offered the New York Times and Boston Globe, along with the Providence Journal Bulletin and local papers. Rosa was friendly with the proprietor, Millie, a genuine barista imported from Seattle, complete with baggy dress, Birkenstocks and a God-given talent for making perfect espresso.

While she fixed a double tall skinny vanilla latte, Millie eyed the stack of notebooks and textbooks Rosa had set on the table.

“So what are we studying now?” She tilted her head to the side to read the spines of the books. “Neurolinguistic Programming and its Practical Application to Creative Growth. A little light reading?”

“It’s actually an amazing topic,” Rosa said over the whoosh of the milk steamer. “Did you know there’s a way to recover creative joy simply by finding pleasurable past associations?”

Millie set the latte on the counter. “Too advanced for me, Einstein. What school?”

“Berkeley. The professor even offered to read my final paper if I e-mail it to him.”

Millie eyed her admiringly. “I swear, you have the best education money can’t buy.”

“Keeps me out of trouble, anyway.” Rosa had never left home, but over the years she’d managed to sample the finest places of higher learning in the world—genetics at MIT, rococo architecture at the University of Milan, medieval law at Oxford and chaos theory at Harvard. She used to contact professors by phone in order to finagle a syllabus and reading list. Now the Internet made it even easier. With a few clicks of the mouse, she could find course outlines, study sheets, practice tests. The only cost to her was the price of books.

“You’re nuts,” Millie said with a grin. “We all think so.”

“But I’m a very educated nut.”

“True. Do you ever wish you could sit down and take an actual class?”

Long ago, that had been all Rosa had dreamed of. Then she’d found herself in the midst of an unspeakable tragedy, and the entire course of her life had shifted. “Sure I do,” she said with deliberate lightness. “I still might, one of these days, when I find the time.”

“You could start by hiring a general manager for your restaurant.”

“I can barely afford my own salary.” Rosa had a seat and opened one of the books to an article on Noam Chomsky’s Transformational Grammar.

Linda showed up wearing a T-shirt that read What if the Hokey Pokey is what it’s all about? and went to the counter to order her usual—a pot of Lady Grey with honey and a lemon wedge on the side. “Sorry I’m late,” she said over her shoulder. “I tried to get off the phone with my mom, but she couldn’t stop crying.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I guess, but it might be a little insulting, too. She was just so…relieved. She’s been worried that I’d never get married. A major tragedy in the Lipschitz family. So the fact that Jason’s Catholic didn’t even faze her.” She held out her hand, letting the sunlight glitter through the facets of the diamond in her new engagement ring. “It looks even better in broad daylight, doesn’t it?”

“It’s gorgeous.”

Linda beamed at her. “I can’t wait to change my name to Aspoll.”

“You’re taking his name?”

“Hey, for me it’s an upgrade. We can’t all be born with names like Puccini opera characters, Miss Rosina Angelica Capoletti.” Linda drizzled honey into her tea. “Oh, and I have news. The wedding has to be in August. Jason’s company transferred him to Boise, and we’re moving right after Labor Day.”

Rosa smiled at her friend, though when Jason had told her that, she’d wanted to hit him. “So we have less than twelve weeks to plan and execute this wedding,” she said. “Maybe that’s why your mom was crying.”

“She’s loving it. She’ll be flying up from Florida next week. There’s nothing quite like my mom in event-planning mode. It’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

She seemed remarkably calm, Rosa thought. The reality of getting married and leaving Winslow forever probably hadn’t hit her yet.

Linda lifted her cup. “How you doing, Ms. Rosa? Still recovering from the shock of seeing Mr. Love-’em-and-leave-’em?”

Rosa concentrated on sprinkling sugar in her latte. “There’s nothing to recover from. So he showed up at the restaurant, so what? His family still owns that property out on Ocean Road. I was bound to run into him sooner or later. I’m just surprised it took so long. But it’s no big—”