The Way Home Read Free Page B

that boasted NIGHT CRAWLERS, MEALIES, AND RED WIGGLERS. Avery didn’t know what that meant and didn’t want to know.
    Surprisingly, there was no real competition for her café in sight. Just one lone eatery at the far end of the row, the Lazy Tuna. A FAMILY RESTAURANT. SOMETHING FOR EVERYBODY , one of the many signs there read.
    Avery wasn’t sure why, but even the name the Lazy Tuna annoyed her. How can a tuna be lazy? Was there such a thing as an industrious, motivated tuna? The whole idea of it was just . . . ridiculous.
    Lazy or not, the Tuna was her only competition for miles.
    And not much, she thought. She hadn’t been able to sneak in and check the place out yet, but she was willing to bet the menu was just as tired and uninspired as the weathered signs, CIRCA 1960 .
    CASUAL DINING—LUNCH, DINNER, SNACKS & ICE CREAM. REAL HOME COOKING, FROM OUR TABLE TO YOURS. Translation: burgers, hot dogs, gluey chowder, and fries. It was no threat at all to the Peregrine. Her café would attract diners looking for more sophisticated fare, those sailing over from Newburyport on a pleasant ferry ride, just as the sun dipped below the horizon. She had advertised the grand opening in local newspapers, playing up the romance of a beachfront, gourmet dinner. She still had a lot to do this week to prepare for the opening; the Lazy Tuna wasn’t worth worrying about.
    Avery let herself into the café. It was hot inside, and she threw open a row of tall French doors she had installed in front, in place of the plate-glass window. She planned to keep them open most nights and set up outside tables under the awning. Which was why she needed someone to install the ceiling fans along with the light fixtures today. And check some other little glitches with the circuit breakers.
    Avery had plenty to do while she waited. She hauled three large drawstring sacks of freshly washed linens out of her SUV and began to put them away in the new storage closet that stood near the entrance to the kitchen.
    The table linens, purple and marigold yellow, gave bold touches of color to an otherwise spare decor. The wood floors were sanded and bleached white, with white wainscoting halfway up the walls. Above that, the walls were painted a soft blue-gray.
    Black-and-white photos that captured local landscapes were hung in boxy, gallery-style frames—the various faces of the sea, bright days and stormy; a flock of terns skittering through the foam at the ocean’s edge; the waving tall grass in the marshes; the Cape Light lighthouse at dusk; and the legendary Angel Island cliffs, a site Avery had yet to visit.
    When it came time to buy furniture, Avery had found just the right number of white wooden tables and chairs at an auction, from a café that had gone out of business. She did feel lucky finding the bargain but felt bad for the previous owners. She didn’t even want to imagine her efforts coming to that sorry fate.
    She was happy with her choices. The decorating set just the mood she was looking for, relaxed and uncluttered, a beachy atmosphere but still neat and sophisticated. It was different from most restaurants in the area, and the food would be, too.
    She heard someone at the door and turned to see the electrician.
    â€œHello? Anybody home?” he called out.
    â€œBe right with you,” Avery called back. She slipped a few more napkins onto the middle shelf then turned to meet him.
    But just as she walked away, the new closet—bursting at the seams—began to sway and tilt toward her. Avery gasped and reached out to push it back. The tall, heavy unit was leaning so much that linens began to fall out. A few landed on her head, and she couldn’t see. She didn’t dare let go and hastily shook them off, like a wet dog coming in from the rain. “Help! This stupid thing is falling down on me!”
    The electrician was already on his way and suddenly, right behind her, so close she