Sixteen months ago, thirty-two-year-old actress Cathryn
Deen was considered the most beautiful woman in the
world. She is getting mega-millions for her next movie,
is married to Gerald Barnes Merritt, a brilliant, wealthy
man, and she is launching her own cosmetic line. On the
day Cathy announces her new business venture to the press,
she has a fleeting vision in of her Granny Nettie's
biscuits and cream gravy. The last time she had a vision
it was of her father, who died that night of a heart
attack. After the press conference, Cathy is driving home
when a sleazy, offensive showbiz paparazzi, Mason Angston,
begins videotaping her. She tries to speed away from him,
and a horrible accident ensues. Cathy's car goes
airborne, lands in a field, and catches fire. She is
trapped in the burning car while Mason is videotaping the
event. When she finally gets out of the vehicle she is on
fire -- and the cretin keeps on taping. She can hear
Granny Nettie saying, "Beauty is fleeting, but biscuits are
forever".
Thomas Mitternich wound up at Delta Whittlespoon's
Crossroads Café four years ago. He lost his wife and
young son in the World Trade Center, and had been running
as hard and as fast as he could to reach oblivion. He is
drunk more often than he is sober, but he has become a part
of Delta lost souls that she is trying to save. Thomas
was a successful architect in New York City, and he wants
to buy and restore the Nettie farm on Wild Woman Ridge.
This gives him an ulterior motive for helping Delta get in
touch with her long-lost cousin Cathryn, who now owns her
late grandmother's farm.
Cathy has a long, painful recovery in the isolated burn
recovery unit. Gerald isolated, abandoned, and eventually
divorced her. Only Delta is able to call her through the
telephone number obtained by Thomas, and Delta overnights
Cathy biscuits and gravy to give her hope.
When Cathy is finally released from the hospital after
numerous surgeries and lengthy, painful rehab treatments,
she hides out at her Granny Nettie's home in the remote
mountains of western North Carolina. Only Thomas knows
where she is, and he believes she is still the most
beautiful woman he has ever seen even with the scars on her
face and body.
THE CROSSROADS CAFÉ is written in short chapters, either in
Cathy's point of view or Thomas's. It is a beautiful,
poignant story of the walking wounded; one with visible
scars and one whose scars are deeply embedded in his
soul. The supporting characters, especially Delta and a
goat named Banger, are colorful and simply outstanding.
Delta believes that food, particularly biscuits, will cure
all ills.
I have never read a novel by Deborah Smith that didn't sing
to me in her soft Southern voice with perfect pitch. Ms.
Smith gifts her characters with a sense of humor and a
quirkiness that is unique, and writes excellent dialogue
for them. THE CROSSROADS CAFÉ is a wonderful love story
that deserves to be read again and again.
A beautiful woman, scarred for life.
A tortured man, seeking redemption.
Brought together by fate in a small town
high in the majestic Appalachian mountains.
Live. Love. Believe.
Excerpt
Prologue
Crossroads, North Carolina
The Blue Ridge Mountains
Before the accident, I never had to seduce a man in the
dark. I dazzled millions in the brutal glare of kliegs on
the red carpets of Hollywood, the flash of cameras at the
Oscars, the sunlight on the piazzas of Cannes. Beautiful
women don't fear the glint of lust and judgment in men’s
eyes, or the bitter gleam of envy in women’s. Beautiful
women welcome even the brightest light. Once upon a time,
I had been the most beautiful woman in the world.
Now I needed the night, the darkness, the shadows.
“Put the gun down,” I ordered, as I let my bra and white t-
shirt fall to the ground. Behind me, a full, white moon
hung in a sky of stars above the summer mountains,
silhouetting Thomas and me. Frogs trilled in the forest.
Beneath my bare feet, the pasture grass was soft and wet
with summer dew, glistening in the moonlight. There were
no bright lights in our world, not the pinpoint of a lamp
in some distant window, not the wink of a jet high
overhead. There might be no other souls in these ancient
North Carolina ridges that night. Only Thomas, and me, and
the darkness inside us both.
“I’m warning you for the last time, Cathryn,” he said, his
voice thick but firm. He wasn’t a man who slurred his
words, no matter how drunk he was. “Leave.”
I unzipped my jeans. My hands trembled. I couldn’t stop
staring at the World War II pistol he held so casually,
his right arm bent, the gun pointed skyward. Thomas had
been a preservation architect; he respected fine
craftsmanship, even when choosing a gun with which to kill
himself.
Slowly I pushed my jeans down, along with my panties. The
scarred skin along my right thigh prickled at the scrape
of denim. I angled my right side away from the moon,
trying to illuminate only the left half of my body, my
face. Half of me was still perfect. But the other
half . . .
I stepped out of my crumpled clothes and stood there
naked, the moonlight safely behind me. The night breeze
was a tongue of embarrassment, licking my scarred flesh.
My hand twitched with the urge to cover my face. How badly
I wanted to hide the awful parts. Thomas watched me
without moving, without speaking, without breathing.
He doesn’t want me, I thought. I said quietly, “Thomas, I
know I’m no prize, but would you really rather kill
yourself than touch me?”
Not a word, still, not a flicker of reaction. I could
barely see his expression in the shadows, and wasn’t sure
I wanted to. The uglies came over me like a cold tide. A
festering wave of withdrawal – shyness and anger
multiplied times a thousand. Me, who had once preened for
the world without a shred of self-doubt.
I turned my back to him, trying not to shiver with
defeat. “Just put the gun down. Then I’ll get dressed, and
we’ll forget this ever happened.”
I heard quick steps behind me, and before I could turn,
his arms went around me from behind. His hands slid over
my bare skin. I twisted my head to the pretty side but he
bent his lips to the other and roughly kissed the rivulets
of ruined flesh
No matter what might happen to us later, I saved his life
that night. And, for that one night, at least, he saved
mine. Hope is in the mirror we keep inside us, love sees
only what it wants to see, and beauty is in the lie of the
beholder.
Sometimes, that lie is all you need to survive.
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