they’re trying out at the hospital. Instead of getting the day off like the docs, the physician assistants get to work holidays in rotation.”
Ridelle fished a grape out of one of the bags and popped it in her mouth. “That sucks.”
Twyla made a sour face. “Ridelle, honey, those haven’t been washed yet.”
“ Yeah well, Mom always told me I had a dirty mouth.” She nodded toward the half dozen bags. “So what the heck is all this stuff anyway? I thought we were feeding two dozen, not two hundred.”
Fran’s eyes widened in panic. She turned to Twyla, who was busy brushing invisible grocery dirt from a black rayon stretch vest and tailored slacks. Beneath the vest was a long sleeved white blouse, which were in the process of having cuffs unbuttoned and rolled back. “We have a slight problem. Bruce made some changes to the menu.”
Twyla stopped mid-roll. “Now? What kind of changes?”
Fran glanced at Ridelle and swallowed. “Turns out one guy is allergic to shellfish, and two others are vegetarian.”
The blonde’s jaw dropped. “Well, there goes the bulk of our dinner menu. We can still serve the wine baked crab and oyster appetizers, I suppose. The seafood guy can just pass on those.”
Fran offered a helpless look. “He’s beyond allergic, and Bruce doesn’t want to take a chance.”
Twyla heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Okay, seafood’s out. Well, dinner’s the main problem, anyway. Coq au Vin won’t fit the bill for our vegetarian guests. Couldn’t he have said something sooner?”
Fran toed the floor with the point of her shoe. “He claims he did, but I swear he never said a word. I’d have remembered.”
The blonde closed her eyes for a moment before peeking into a couple bags. “Do you have some heavy cream?”
“ I think so.”
“ There’s enough makings here to do up a quiche alongside, I think. We should use Gruyere cheese, but Swiss will do in a pinch. That is, unless these vegetarians don’t eat eggs or dairy, either.”
Fran’s beginnings of a smile faded. “I don’t know. Bruce didn’t say.”
“ Why don’t I go find out?” Ridelle grabbed another grape from the sack and popped it into her mouth with a smile. “It’ll give me a chance to start my other work here without a ton of people around.”
Twyla’s voice was distracted as she pulled jars and bottles from two bags at once. “Good idea. Hurry back.”
Ridelle ignored Fran’s gaze following her from the kitchen, until a thought forced her to stop at the door. Turning to meet the other’s eyes, she flinched at the jumbled mixture of pain, fear, and resignation. “Any idea where he’d be right now? Could save me a half mile’s walk.” Her attempt at a reassuring smile flopped.
“ Either in the dining room judging the set up, or else in his office. You remember the way?”
Ridelle nodded and spun around on her heel. The formal dine was the closer choice, off to the right of the great room. Distracted as she was, Ridelle couldn’t help but notice Fran had redecorated since her last visit. Gone were the wines and browns—everything was light and airy in modern lines in pale lemon yolk and cream. A mirror in a silver gilded frame adorned the top of the fireplace, which was no longer lined with brick and trimmed with ridged crown molding.
Several small conversation groupings replaced the overlong custom sectional and four foot square mahogany coffee table that once took up the bulk of the space. The effect doubled the immensity of the thirty foot room, yet the individual seating microcosms lent an inviting, intimate feel.
Ridelle had to give Fran her props. She couldn’t imagine Bruce, control king that he was, going along with something so opposite from his personality except for the fact that the design was pure genius. And, Ridelle happened to know, the genius designer was none other than Fran. She’d conceived the entire concept herself. The woman did have remarkable skills, even if
Ridelle fished a grape out of one of the bags and popped it in her mouth. “That sucks.”
Twyla made a sour face. “Ridelle, honey, those haven’t been washed yet.”
“ Yeah well, Mom always told me I had a dirty mouth.” She nodded toward the half dozen bags. “So what the heck is all this stuff anyway? I thought we were feeding two dozen, not two hundred.”
Fran’s eyes widened in panic. She turned to Twyla, who was busy brushing invisible grocery dirt from a black rayon stretch vest and tailored slacks. Beneath the vest was a long sleeved white blouse, which were in the process of having cuffs unbuttoned and rolled back. “We have a slight problem. Bruce made some changes to the menu.”
Twyla stopped mid-roll. “Now? What kind of changes?”
Fran glanced at Ridelle and swallowed. “Turns out one guy is allergic to shellfish, and two others are vegetarian.”
The blonde’s jaw dropped. “Well, there goes the bulk of our dinner menu. We can still serve the wine baked crab and oyster appetizers, I suppose. The seafood guy can just pass on those.”
Fran offered a helpless look. “He’s beyond allergic, and Bruce doesn’t want to take a chance.”
Twyla heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Okay, seafood’s out. Well, dinner’s the main problem, anyway. Coq au Vin won’t fit the bill for our vegetarian guests. Couldn’t he have said something sooner?”
Fran toed the floor with the point of her shoe. “He claims he did, but I swear he never said a word. I’d have remembered.”
The blonde closed her eyes for a moment before peeking into a couple bags. “Do you have some heavy cream?”
“ I think so.”
“ There’s enough makings here to do up a quiche alongside, I think. We should use Gruyere cheese, but Swiss will do in a pinch. That is, unless these vegetarians don’t eat eggs or dairy, either.”
Fran’s beginnings of a smile faded. “I don’t know. Bruce didn’t say.”
“ Why don’t I go find out?” Ridelle grabbed another grape from the sack and popped it into her mouth with a smile. “It’ll give me a chance to start my other work here without a ton of people around.”
Twyla’s voice was distracted as she pulled jars and bottles from two bags at once. “Good idea. Hurry back.”
Ridelle ignored Fran’s gaze following her from the kitchen, until a thought forced her to stop at the door. Turning to meet the other’s eyes, she flinched at the jumbled mixture of pain, fear, and resignation. “Any idea where he’d be right now? Could save me a half mile’s walk.” Her attempt at a reassuring smile flopped.
“ Either in the dining room judging the set up, or else in his office. You remember the way?”
Ridelle nodded and spun around on her heel. The formal dine was the closer choice, off to the right of the great room. Distracted as she was, Ridelle couldn’t help but notice Fran had redecorated since her last visit. Gone were the wines and browns—everything was light and airy in modern lines in pale lemon yolk and cream. A mirror in a silver gilded frame adorned the top of the fireplace, which was no longer lined with brick and trimmed with ridged crown molding.
Several small conversation groupings replaced the overlong custom sectional and four foot square mahogany coffee table that once took up the bulk of the space. The effect doubled the immensity of the thirty foot room, yet the individual seating microcosms lent an inviting, intimate feel.
Ridelle had to give Fran her props. She couldn’t imagine Bruce, control king that he was, going along with something so opposite from his personality except for the fact that the design was pure genius. And, Ridelle happened to know, the genius designer was none other than Fran. She’d conceived the entire concept herself. The woman did have remarkable skills, even if
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