Sweet Caroline by Rachel Hauck

again and take in the town,” Kirk says. “Dale wanted to stop by the Café.”
    “Great place.” Dale rubs his palms together. “Buzz Boys is looking to invest in restaurants. This looks to be the right size for starters.”
    “O-oh, okay. Sure.” What do I say here?
    “They know it’s all tentative,” Kirk says, “and we have to wait for probate to close. But they wanted to check it out.”
    The front door’s Christmas bells jingle. Miss Jeanne enters. Like the breakfast-club boys, she’s right on time. Three fifteen. A sense of satisfaction settles over me. Keeping the Café is a good thing, for now, if only for the breakfast-club boys and Miss Jeanne. And the crew.
    “Hey, Miss Jeanne, how are you this afternoon?”
    “Sore. Started tap classes.”
    “Tap classes? Goodness.”
    “Ain’t getting any younger.”
    Back to Kirk, who’s leaning into me, motioning to the Buzz Boys, who are studying the Vet Wall. “Deep pockets, very deep.”
    “O-oh, well, yahoo.” I admit, I feel slightly jerked around. A few days ago I had to take the Café or close it down. The decision kept me awake at night. I left a good friend in the lurch. Finally, I’ve made peace with my Beaufort life, and now Kirk brings around these tire kickers.
    He reads my expression through his dark-rimmed glasses. “No one’s asking you to sign on the dotted line. They’re just investigating.”
    Dale pokes his head into my powwow with Kirk. “The Vet Wall is incredible. The place is everything you said, Kirk. Charming, homey, but—” He sniffs as Mercy Bea passes with a basket of Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits for Miss Jeanne. “Needs a lot of work.”
    Roland walks the length of the dining room. “What’s capacity? Sixty, seventy?”
    “Seventy.” They’re browsing and Mrs. Carrington waits. “Kirk, I have a customer in the office.”
    “Fine, we’ll just look around. I’ll call you later.”
    “Nice to meet you, Dale and Roland.”
    However, Mrs. Carrington didn’t miss me. She’s in a lively conversation with Andy about the changing shrimping industry. The cook has her completely charmed.
    “Sorry for the interruption.” I take my seat behind the desk.
    “We got the menu planned out, Caroline.” Andy hands me a slip of paper with a got-you-covered grin. “She’s going with Jones’s popular mushroom casserole, batter-fried wings and sauces, pot roast, and chicken casseroles . . . Well, you see it all there. Some platters of veggies and cheese. Of course, shrimp in all forms.”
    Yes, I see the more-than-four-hundred-dollars’ worth of food here. Should I tell her?
    Mrs. Carrington addresses me. “This is a huge event, Caroline. I cannot stress enough that everything must go perfectly. The family is spending a great deal of money to be here.”
    “She said Mr. Carrington’s people have names on the Vet Wall,” Andy says.
    “Really, now.”
    “Winston’s parents ate at the Café once a week for thirty years until his father died. His mother hasn’t been here since, but she speaks of it so often, my husband insisted we hold the party here.”
    Mrs. Carrington’s words sober me. This is not a casual hey-ho-it’s-your-birthday-hope-it’s-happy kind of party. This is celebrating a woman’s life. I reach for a wadded napkin tucked under the computer monitor and pat my brow.
    “All of Claire’s—that’s my mother-in-law—children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will be here, plus her sister and brother, and their children.” Mrs. Carrington passes me a list of names. Andy reads over my shoulder. “We’d like nametags printed out. Some of the second cousins haven’t seen each other in years.”
    Nametags? Printed? I look around at the printer on top of the filing cabinet. Is it a Dell or HP? I can’t tell under the three inches of dust. “We’ll take care of it, Mrs. Carrington.” I add it to the to-do list.
    “Winston’s sister insists on bringing one of her atrocious cakes, so, Andy,