The Dream

Chapter 1

Kristen Williams stood just outside the three-story, red-brick home she’d shared with her ex-husband, watching dry-eyed as the IRS agents systematically removed everything of value from inside.

They’d already seized the cooking empire. The yacht. The Bentley. And the Jag. Along with the summer home in the Hamptons. And their home in LA.

And the Viking.

Of all the material possessions they’d amassed as a couple, the Viking stove was the only thing she’d truly miss.

They’d come in and put a price tag on everything.

Everything except her soul.

That, she was allowed to keep. And a small nest egg she’d managed to somehow prove she’d made on her own, before she’d met the Great Evan Flair, Chef Extraordinaire. 

Are you okay, ma’am?

Antony Sistelli, the IRS agent supervising the seizure stood nearby.

I’m fine, she calmly told him, amazed that she was. I’ve made peace with my God. And she had.

While Evan had been begging the courts for leniency for tax evasion and a long, appalling list of illegal business practices that was getting him some serious jail time, Kristen had begged forgiveness from the One Most High.

Her only sin in this whole fiasco had been in loving a man who loved money and power more than he’d loved her. A man, who she found out too late to save herself and her reputation, had no scruples.

He listens? the agent asked, as he took a long drag on the cigarette he’d lit. The sulfuric stench of a struck match clung to the damp spring air. The gray cloud of exhaled smoke wreathed his wavy dark hair.

All the time, she calmly told him, as three other agents hauled her father’s walnut desk out the front door.

She winced. Rubbed a hand over the pain that particular seizure inflicted upon her heart. Her father had loved that desk and she’d felt close to him every time she sat behind its massive girth.

He was gone.

And now the last tangible memory she had of him was gone, too. 

Just help me get me through this, she silently pleaded.  And get me through it with grace and dignity.

Are you all right, Missus Flair?

Williams, Kristen automatically corrected the agent. It’s Williams now.

She’d taken back her maiden name, the first step in a long list of firsts she needed to do to regain her life. Or at least some semblance of one.

A normal, ordinary life was what she wanted right now. A man who loved her. A family who needed her. A job doing what she wanted... they were all dreams she’d secreted away in her heart.

Dreams that Evan Flair had not destroyed.

Dreams she still hoped to realize.

Antony nodded his head, as if in approval.

Smart to disentangle yourself from his mess, ma’am.

Smart to disentangle myself from a man who didn’t love me, she honestly told him. And one who probably never had.

Evan Flair had been bigger than life. He’d blown into Le Cordon Bleu where Kristen had been studying and had swept her off her feet and out the door.

And she’d naively – and eagerly followed, eventually tossing aside her own dreams to stand in the shadows of her husband’s career, and his even bigger ego.

How foolish she’d been.

What are you gonna do, Miz Williams?

She turned her head toward Antony.

You seem like a nice lady. It doesn’t seem fair you should lose everything just because...

He shrugged a broad shoulder.

Thank you, Antony. It wasn’t fair, but whoever said life was?

She had learned that lesson thirteen years ago.

She looked toward the house she and Evan had shared when they’d first been married. Before there had been a restaurant that had launched his career. Before there had been a cooking show dedicated to his particular flair. Before that show had led to another show. This one more global, chronicling his travels.

Had they ever been happy?

Had she ever really done what she’d wanted?

Had she ever realized even one of her dreams?

So, what are you going to do?

She let out a controlled exhale of breath.

I don’t know, she honestly answered. I haven’t thought much beyond getting through today.

He turned to face her. His dark eyes were full of serious intent, much as they’d been when she and Evan had sat across from him in a courtroom.

If you need a place to stay...

Kristen’s brows drew together. Was he hitting on her? Would she even recognize the signs?

Don’t look at me like that. Sometimes I don’t like my job.

He turned his head toward the house giving her his profile. Wavy dark hair. Strong Romanesque nose.  He was a handsome man. And she was used up.

He took another drag on his cigarette before tossing it down. He ground out the red ash with his boot.

Especially when we hurt innocent people. Like you.

He lifted his head, looked at her.

His dark brown eyes were full of sincerity and not a hint of desire. But then again, it had been a long time since she’d seen that particular emotion burning in any man’s eyes. Maybe as far back as Oakley Springs, Maryland, and a reckless summer spent with Alec Daniels.

The one man she’d never been able to forget. Even when she’d been married to the great Evan Flair.

It was a bittersweet memory. One better left buried.

Despite what I do for a living, Kristen.

He used her first name.

Maybe for the first time outside the formality of taking possession of everything she owned to pay back Evan’s debt.

I, uh...

She didn’t know what to think.

I am one of the good guys, he told her. "I’m offering you a place to stay. A roof over your head. Just until you get back on your feet. And I’m not expecting anything in return, so you can quit looking at me like that. Jeez."

Hot color scorched across her cheeks. Obviously, she still couldn’t read a man correctly.

Consider it the act of a Good Samaritan. Or a good Irish Catholic boy.

The embarrassment eased with his teasing banter.

She smiled. Maybe for the first time since this whole fiasco had unfolded. It felt good. Uplifting even.

With a name like Sistelli? I hardly think you’re Irish.

You got me.

He smiled back. He really had a nice smile. One that softened his face. And lit up his dark-as-midnight eyes.

And I, he tapped a finger on the top of her hand. I got you to smile. 

He had.

She ducked her head.

Maybe there was hope. Maybe there was a life out there for her beyond where she was now.

She reached out. Impulsively squeezed Antony’s wrist through the wool of his sweater.  That she could smile again, that she could even think beyond the moment at hand.

Well, maybe she had rounded a bend. Or in her case, maybe she had bottomed out. Maybe the only way for her to go was up. Put her faith in God and work on her future together with Him. He’d gotten her this far, hadn’t he?

Thank you, she told Antony.

And she meant it. She was thankful.

For what? he asked, his bushy dark brows descending down over his above average-sized nose.

For helping me to see that there is a way beyond this. And that the only way for me to go is up.

She lifted her head. Symbolic, maybe. Or maybe just because she was tired of walking around hang-dog, beaten down.

So, should I call my sister and have her change the sheets on the bed in my spare room?

Her smile was fleeting Gone as quickly as it came. But it felt good. It had been a very long time since she’d felt... happy.

Thank you, but no thank you. I can’t.

She pulled her hand back. She couldn’t stay with him no matter how tempting his offer. There was a quiet voice in her head, calling her in another direction.

This time she would listen to that voice. She’d follow it.

And she would see where the road led.

Antony looked back at the agents swarming her house like ants over a disturbed anthill. He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a business card and a pen. He jotted something down on the back.

This is my cellphone number.

He handed the card to her.

If you change your mind, you call, okay?

TWO WEEKS LATER, KRISTEN had changed her mind.

But only on Antony’s offer to help.

With the high cost of living in New York City, her meager savings would last only a few months. With no job offers readily at hand, without even a vague idea of what she wanted to do with the rest her life now that she’d had her dream of being a chef ground into dust, her options were severely limited.

All she had was this overwhelming need – one she couldn’t block out – or ignore –that was calling her to go back home.

Back to Oakley Springs.

Back to the little town nestled in the Allegheny Mountains of Garrett County, Maryland. And this faint voice in her head was directing her, suggesting – even pointing out the way like a compass. She could no longer ignore it.

It wasn’t going away.

It was time to go back home.

You got family down there? Antony asked, as he walked with her toward the bus that would take her to Cumberland, Maryland.

From there she’d rent a car.

No, not anymore. My father died when I was a teenager and my mom passed on a few years ago.

Then why go back? he asked, shouldering the duffel bag she’d borrowed from him. You could stay here. I could help you.

She’d leaned her shoulder against his. Strange as it was, they had become friends. Good friends.

You’ve helped me more than you can imagine already.

He’d made her feel like a person, like a human being again. And he’d done it without any stipulations, obligations, or manipulations.

He was a good man.

You don’t have to leave.

I know, but...

She looked beyond the throng of people surrounding them, as if she could somehow see all the way to Oakley Springs.

I just feel like I’m being called home by a voice bigger than my own.

If he understood, or thought her crazy, he didn’t say.

They stopped by a bus. Antony handed her couple bags to the driver who stuffed them into a compartment. He turned to her.

Well this is it, I guess.

She lingered by the door.

Yes, it is.

She swallowed the emotion welling up inside her.

I will miss you, Antony.

His lips pressed together.

I’ll miss you, too, Kristen.

Thank you. For— everything.

She could never repay him for his kindness. She offered her hand.

Instead of shaking it, Antony surprised her by hugging her.

She surprised herself even more by hugging him back.

She’d insulated herself for so long, keeping her true feelings hidden. For the sake of the show. And the media circus that surrounded a celebrity chef and owner of one of the most exclusive restaurants in New York City under suspicion and then indicted for tax evasion that she’d almost forgotten how to feel true emotion.

Her marriage had disintegrated long before the divorce had been made public. And with Evan’s incarceration, she, by association, had become a social pariah. Influential friends they used to have no longer wanted to be seen with her, let alone be associated with her.

She’d been alone for so long. Until Antony, a total stranger, a Good Samaritan, had offered his spare room. And friendship.

You could stay, he said into her hair as he gruffly patted her back.

I have to get out of New York, she said against his neck as she held him tight. And longer than she should. But she couldn’t let go. Not yet. He’d become her friend – her true friend – when no one else wanted to be. I’m going to miss you. Dearly. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Furiously blinked her eyes to keep the tears in check.

You take care now.

Antony pulled back. He pushed a tangled lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered.

And if you need anything, you call me, you hear?

I will.

Impulsively, she reached up, brushed a quick kiss against his cheek before turning.

With her head down, she boarded the bus. Took a window seat. She lifted her hand. Pressed her palm to the glass, mirroring Antony’s raised one. And she left it there. An invisible connection until the pungent dark cloud of diesel exhaust obliterated her friend’s form from her sight. When it cleared, he was gone and she was on her way out of the city.

With an intrepid spirit, following only a Voice in her head, Kristen watched the scenery change from the jungle of high rises and noisy, congested automobiles to the verdant green farmland of rural south eastern Pennsylvania. Before changing yet again as hills pushed up out of the flat earth, growing high and higher into the mountainous terrain of Western Maryland.

She was thirty-one years old and she was going home.

Chapter 2

Alec Daniels looked up from his morning ritual chopping onions and green peppers to stare at his sixteen-year-old daughter.

She walked into the kitchen of his diner wearing a pair of black motorcycle boots and black fishnet stockings. That was bad enough, but, oh, no.  Trish didn’t stop there.

Not his daughter.

She’d added a black leather skirt that barely covered her butt. And to top off the hideous ensemble, she wore a red corset. 

"You are not wearing that outfit to school."

Not while he was living and breathing.

Trish’s eyes, way too heavily shadowed and blackened with too many layers of eye liner and mascara, narrowed until the brilliant blue of her irises were barely visible, which didn’t bode well for his blood pressure.

I mean it. Go upstairs and change.

Yep, there it was. He could feel it. Two hundred over one-hundred points. All pulsing good and hard, propelling him closer to the Stroke zone. And all that pressure was beating right inside the bulging vein that ran against his temple.

She didn’t budge.

No big surprise there. She could give the term, stubborn, a lesson, or two.

Mom wouldn’t mind.

She was right. Her mother, Nancy, wouldn’t mind. She’d probably have encouraged it. The woman had been the definition of free, with a wild streak and a reckless spirit to boot.

But Nancy wasn’t here.

"I mind, he told her, as he grabbed a head of celery. Go."

The knife easily slid through the crisp, green stalks, hitting the cutting board underneath with a resounding thwack! Appropriate punctuation to his demand.  In his opinion. Not that anybody cared. Or listened. Or obeyed.

One hand landed on her hip. But all the girls—

I don’t care.

He cut off her mid-whine. Pointed the tip of the knife he held at her for added emphasis.

"You’re not all the girls."

She was special. But how he got Trish to understand that and not devalue it, he hadn’t a clue.

It was times like this that he missed a wife. And, yeah, he knew he didn’t say it was times like this that he missed Nancy, Trish’s mother.

Alec knew if Nancy had lived, their affair would have burned itself out long before they’d have ever uttered the L word. Or tied the knot. Being totally honest, it would have fizzled out before Gil, his youngest son, had celebrated his first birthday.

Trish fiddled with the bowls he had stacked on the counter. The ones he