The House Guests

by Emilie Richards

  Cassie straightened slowly and followed. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I figured Yiayia would be whipping everybody into shape inside.”

  “She’s got doctor’s appointments all day, so she left me in charge. Buck’s taking her, so I’m allowed to cook.” Roxanne gestured toward a small round table in a nook where staff grabbed meals after shifts or paperwork was completed. The table was surrounded by four battered bentwood chairs, and Cassie took the one against the far wall to stay out of traffic. Unfamiliar staff in white coats, a woman and a large man with a blue bandanna over his hair, were chopping and sautéing on the other side of the room, preparing for lunch.

  Roxanne emerged from a huge stainless steel refrigerator with two soft drinks imported from Greece, holding them up for Cassie to choose. After she pointed, Roxanne handed her the black cherry and plopped down beside her with a pink lemonade.

  Cassie held the cold bottle against her hot cheeks, first one then the other. “Doctor’s appointments? She’s not sick, is she?” In Cassie’s mind her grandmother had been born the age she was now and would usher in the end of time with her secret recipe grilled octopus and platters of Greek salad, Kalamata or Chalkidiki olives and feta, real Greek feta made from sheep’s milk.

  Don’t forget the ouzo.

  “She’s not sick,” Roxanne said. “She schedules all her appointments on the same day twice a year. Internist, dermatologist, ophthalmologist. That way she’s not gone longer than the lunch shift. She’ll be back tonight after we’ve opened, checking to be sure I haven’t slipped something radical into the daily menu, like the time I featured lamb spareribs glazed with ouzo and honey.”

  “That sounds heavenly.”

  “The people who ordered them before Mama snatched them off the menu had good things to say.” Roxanne leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “She claimed people want to be filled up and not served dainty little snacks at the Kouzina. The dinner plate looked too fussy—Greek food isn’t fussy. I should never have added mint to the orzo under the spareribs.” She opened her eyes. “Those are the ones I remember. You get the picture. I’ll tell you the staff feasted that night after everybody left.”

  “You’re not going to be able to stay, are you?”

  “You know how your Savannah is going through a phase?”

  Cassie twisted the top off her bottle and took a long drag before she spoke. “Please don’t compare my sweet little Greek yiayia to my bratty daughter.”

  “Daughter? Savannah hasn’t been demoted to stepdaughter?”

  “Until Mark died she called me Mom. Gen was always Gen—not that she minded. Gen sees Savannah as a friend, a playmate, somebody to hang out with a couple of times a year and take on exciting trips. Anyway, now I’m Cassie.”

  “And has Gen become Mom?”

  Cassie gave a weary smile. “I think Savannah knows Gen would not be pleased or even comfortable with Mom.”

  “And yet you like her.”

  “Savannah? Not right now I don’t.”

  “You know who I mean.”

  “Everybody likes Gen,” Cassie said. “She’s lovely, brilliant, devoted to changing the world one cleft palate and facial reconstruction at a time. She’s just not good with intimacy, which is why her marriage to Mark only lasted until Savannah was born and they finalized their divorce. She’s utterly and profoundly thankful that I’ve supplied our daughter with love and rules. Last Christmas she sent me a Fendi watch dripping with more diamonds than a coronation crown. She said it would help me keep track of our daughter’s schedule. How can I not like her?”

  “Similar situation here. How can I not love and stand by Mama as she ages? And she is aging, although she tries hard not to let it show. She shouldn’t be running the Kouzina. It’s much too hard on her body and heart. And her spirit? She makes mistakes, and when she realizes it, she feels so terrible about herself that she lashes out at everybody around her.”

  “Mostly at you, right?”

  “The spareribs were more than a new dish. They were a symbol. She knows I’m the obvious person to take over the Kouzina after she leaves. But the easiest way to fight change is to treat me like the lowest level of hired help, so I’ll take off my chef’s coat and saunter into the sunset.”

  “She doesn’t want that.”

  “Of course she doesn’t. But what her head knows, her heart doesn’t.”

  “I understand the divide. Intimately.”

  Roxanne put her hand over Cassie’s. “I’m sorry things are rough. How are the roommates working out?”

  Cassie didn’t know how to answer. Two weeks had passed since Amber and Will had moved in, and ever since they had made themselves scarce. Sometimes she heard the hum of laughter or voices from what was now their suite, but for the most part their door was closed and silence reigned.

  The situation, though, went beyond awkward. They were two families coexisting in a space meant for one, trying to stay out of each other’s way.

  “Savannah doesn’t speak to any of us. Will is polite but clearly uncomfortable.” She searched for positives. “Amber’s a good cook. I filled the refrigerator and cupboards, so she takes what’s available and makes something delicious. In one of our rare conversations she told me she learned to cook in restaurant kitchens.”

  “I think I’m jealous. How’s her moussaka?”

  Cassie managed a smile, because Roxanne, who had been educated at the Culinary Institute of America, was a talented chef. “She knows better than to try Greek. She makes things that can be warmed up while she’s at work. Will takes his and disappears. Savannah only eats if I’m not in the room. I’m left to sit at the kitchen table with a plate of food in front of me and nobody to talk to.”

  “Have you found out more about them?”

  “I asked her about herself. She says she left home when she got pregnant, and she’s made it on her own.”

  “Where was home?”

  “Arkansas, but she’s been all over. She says she’s been chasing the American dream, but she’s never caught it.”

  “She raised that baby alone.”

  “Apparently. Maybe Will’s father came along, too, at least at first. She’s vague. I get the feeling her past isn’t something she wants to dwell on. Travis says she flies under the radar, but everyone has only good things to say about her. One restaurant manager told him that once Amber brought back her paycheck because he’d calculated her hours incorrectly and overpaid her. He was so impressed he hired her as his bookkeeper.”

  “So she probably won’t slit your throat or steal your family heirlooms.”

  “The only heirloom my parents left me is a strong desire not to live my life the way they lived theirs.”

  “And you haven’t.”

  Cassie finished her drink and reluctantly got to her feet. She had her phone, and the minute she could sneak around the corner, she was going to call Uber for a ride. “I’m sorry I missed Yiayia, but I’m glad I saw you. I think I’ll head home before it gets any hotter.”

  “I’m driving you, so don’t argue. Ten minutes at most each way and still plenty of time here to get things going.” Roxanne disappeared into the pantry but continued to talk. “Mama made me promise no specials today, and the three of us can turn out lunch with our eyes closed. We don’t get as many customers for lunch as we used to. Hell, we don’t get as many customers, period. The place needs sprucing, and so does the food. We need a website, a mailing list, yada yada.”

  Cassie knew Roxanne was talking to keep her from arguing. By the time she was out of the pantry, Roxanne had her car keys and was waving them in Cassie’s face. “Let’s go.”

  Before leaving, she introduced Cassie to the two cooks, Oliver and Kristina, who were chopping like their lives depended on it. “You notice how crowded it is in there?” she asked as they headed toward her car, parked behind the restaurant.
“The kitchen needs an update, too. I’d kill to open it to the dining room so customers could watch us cook.”

  “But it’s always been that way and should stay that way,” Cassie said, filling in the last part of the sentence in Yiayia’s high-pitched voice.

  “You got it. I drew up a sketch and showed Buck some changes that would make it easier and more efficient.”

  “Did he like them?”

  “Whenever I ask he just smiles. He’s so crazy about Mama, if she told him we were serving poison mushrooms for lunch, he’d clean and cook them himself. Probably take a bite to be sure they were tasty enough, too.”

  “Buck? Yiayia?”

  Roxanne unlocked the doors of the Miata, which had the top up today because seagulls flourished this close to the water. “How’d you miss that? Buck’s been in love with Mama since the day he took over as chef. Why do you think he stays on cooking the same boring menu? He’s been ready to retire for years. He has family back in Kalymnos and Rhodes that he never gets to see. He’d love to go back, spend a few months now and then, maybe more. But he stays around because Mama’s here.”

  Cassie was still processing this as Roxanne screeched out of the parking lot. Buck Andreadis was a quiet, gentle soul, portly and balding, but with a rare smile that lit up a room. He, like Yiayia, was probably in his mid-seventies. But where Yiayia was always bustling around the kitchen snapping orders, Buck seemed rooted to the spot, moving his hands with such measured grace it was easy to miss how much he did and how quickly.

  “He told you how he feels? Does she know?” Cassie asked at last.

  “She’s never let on, but remember what he’s doing today? He’s chauffeuring her from appointment to appointment, listening to excruciating rundowns of whatever the doctors tell her, buying her lunch somewhere nice outside Greektown. You’d have to love Mama to put yourself in that position. And the biggest clue? He cooks what she thinks he ought to. He’s actually a wonderful chef. Everything he does, he does well. He just doesn’t get to make his own choices.”

  Cassie thought about Roxanne’s theory. “Tell me, whose idea was it to have him chauffeur Yiayia today? His? Hers?”

  Roxanne didn’t answer, and Cassie laughed. “It was yours, wasn’t it!”

  “Well, I might have mentioned it.”

  “You’re cultivating a romance. You’re hoping if the two of them get together, he’ll whisk Yiayia back to Greece to meet his family and leave you in charge.”

  Roxanne tossed her hair. “The thought crossed my mind, but only when I realized how much he loves her.”

  “The very moment you realized it.”

  “Well, I think she’s sweet on him, too. I really do. Only she’s sure that part of her life is over. She’s been a widow for more than twenty years.”

  “At least she’s not wearing black and covering her hair with a kerchief. Doesn’t this seem a little late in her life for another love story?”

  “No such thing as too late for love.”

  Cassie wondered about that as Roxanne rounded the lake, finally pausing at her neighborhood security gate until the guard saw and waved them through. “Gary’s been gone for three years now,” she said. “Are you ready to fall in love again?”

  “Maybe. But I’ve said my final farewells. You’re not close to saying yours.”

  “I may never be.” Cassie still had moments when she forgot her husband wasn’t alive. When the phone rang, too often she expected it to be Mark.

  “Take it slow, honey. When and if you’re ready, you’ll know.”

  When they reached her street, Cassie unbuckled her seat belt. “Come in and meet Amber. You’ll be in and out, and later you won’t have to convince her you are who you say you are. I have a feeling she’s careful about strangers. The pest control guy showed up, and she made him wait outside until I approved him. Even though he was in uniform.”

  At the front door Cassie found Travis standing in the entryway talking to Amber. “Hey.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You found us.”

  “I wanted to see if Amber was doing okay, and if she and Will needed anything.”

  “I told him you’re treating us like honored guests,” Amber said.

  Cassie wondered how many of the people Travis interviewed got this kind of treatment. He was a great guy, compassionate and thoughtful, but she guessed, most of the time, a brief follow-up phone call was his go-to. The difference? Few of the people he interviewed were as pretty as Amber. Today her new housemate was wearing faded jeans and a gauzy white blouse with a beautifully embroidered yoke. Her red-gold hair was loosely pinned so wisps fell around her face.

  Roxanne stuck her hand out. “I’m Roxanne, Cassie’s aunt and some relation or other to this guy.” She inclined her head toward Travis.

  Amber took her hand, and while they shook, Roxanne continued. “See, the time’s passed for honored guest status, Amber, so I propose an upgrade. Come have Thanksgiving at my mama’s house and graduate to honorary family.”

  Cassie was embarrassed she hadn’t asked first. “That’s a great idea, and eventually I would have thought of it.” She watched Amber’s expression, which seemed to be an equal mix of gratitude and horror.

  “I’ll be there,” Travis said. “I’d love to have somebody to talk to who doesn’t sketch our family tree on a napkin and show me where his branch converges with my twig. I can guide you and Will through the crowd.”

  “I may not have the day off,” Amber said, the first chance she’d had to speak. “Dine Eclectic is planning to stay open, but you’re so kind to include me.”

  “Come if you can,” Roxanne said. “Cassie will bring you.”

  Cassie stepped in to make sure Amber knew she was welcome. “I’m making baklava. I hope you’ll come. I haven’t been home for Thanksgiving for years. It’s...” She ran out of words and shrugged.

  “Noisy and crazy,” Travis supplied. “The food is unbelievable, though. And when Yiayia can’t host anymore, some of the traditions will disappear. So this is your chance to be part of something different and special.”

  Amber’s expression lightened. “Different? No construction paper turkeys decorating the table?”

  “We have those, along with name tags in Greek.”

  Roxanne opened the front door. “I’ve got to skedaddle.” She said her goodbyes and started down the walk. Cassie trailed after her, to leave Amber and Travis alone.

  “That girl’s seen a world of hurt,” Roxanne said, as she slid into the driver’s seat. “You did the right thing to bring her here. Let’s just hope she can keep whatever it is away from this house. But if I were you? I’d keep my eyes open. Not because she’s trouble, but because it might be following her.”

  She was gone with a wave, leaving Cassie to wonder what Roxanne had seen and how, if it was true, each of them would be affected.

  9

  AMBER HAD CONSIDERED AND reconsidered ways to avoid attending the Costas family Thanksgiving. She couldn’t imagine an entire day spent with Cassie and Savannah trying to be civil and interested in what was going on when the distance between all of them showed no signs of narrowing.

  Neither could she imagine a day spent with Travis, who thought of her as a human-interest story or a charitable endeavor. Worst of all, she couldn’t imagine a day spent at Cassie’s grandmother’s house.

  Lyra Costas was well-known in the restaurant community as a staunch defender of traditional Greek cuisine. She was well-liked but also feared because she had widespread support in the city’s Greek community, which was ten percent of the population. Local leaders consulted her on issues ranging from Greektown sidewalks to the best candidates for mayor. When she spoke, people listened.

  Unfortunately there was no way to get out of attending this celebration. Dine Eclectic had decided not to open after all, and when she told Will about the invitation, he
had been delighted. They had rarely celebrated Thanksgiving with other people. Wherever they’d lived, she’d tried to make the holiday special, but she’d never been able to make up to him for their lack of family. And she had never been willing to explain how lucky he was not to be with them.

  As she followed Cassie into the garage, she wished she could avoid Thanksgiving entirely.

  “Yiayia won’t like my baklava.” Cassie, who was carrying a sheet cake pan, followed by Will, carrying a second, didn’t sound concerned. “I used chocolate-hazelnut spread along with hazelnuts and pistachios. I made this recipe once in New York for a party and it was the hit of the night. But there is not here.”

  Amber cradled a large casserole dish with traditional sweet potatoes topped with miniature marshmallows. Despite living in the same house, she and Cassie rarely conversed, and she had to rake through possibilities to politely continue the conversation. “Why did you make it that way, then?”

  “I’m half-Greek. It’s half-Greek. I figured that made it perfect.” She paused while Amber obligingly managed a polite laugh. “And the family will like it, even if Yiayia doesn’t, especially the younger crowd.”

  “Half-Greek?” Amber followed Cassie’s lead and stowed their dishes in the trunk before she climbed into the car.

  “My mother’s ancestors were from somewhere else in Europe. We existed on the outskirts of the Costas clan because my parents didn’t want anything to do with anybody. Roxanne and Yiayia swept me away from home as often as they could, but I never went to Greek school—”

  “Greek school?” Will climbed into the back, and at the same moment the house door slammed, and Savannah stalked out and got in beside him.

  Cassie turned to tease him. “Will, don’t tell me you never went to Greek school, either?”

  Savannah, who had been informed that no, she could not stay home alone, made a sound of pure disgust. Despite the havoc she’d wreaked, Amber felt sorry for the girl. She was clearly miserable and trying to drag everyone down as she sank even lower. Amber had been a rebellious teenager, too, and every single day she remembered how it had affected her life.