by Gigi Pandian
“He’s busy. But I’m sure he’d be happy to cook.”
“I am not busy,” Dorian called out behind me. He hopped down from his stepping stool and snatched the phone from me. “Allo? Oui. Oui.” He nodded thoughtfully. “This is a superb idea. If only Zoe had not banished me from my home—”
“I didn’t banish you.” I tried to grab the phone back. Dorian shushed me and scurried away. “I’ll keep Percy out of the house this afternoon, so you can cook before you move into Julian Lake’s house for a few days.”
“Merci.” He handed the phone back to me.
“I’ll make sure Dorian has everything he needs to cook,” I told Brixton, “then bring the food to the teashop tonight.”
“Cool. This is going to be wicked.”
“You’re going to be with Blue and your parents the whole afternoon, right?”
I swear I could hear the sound of his eyes rolling. “Sure, probably.”
“I’m serious. There’s a killer—”
“No, there’s not. Those cops told me I was wrong and the guy had been there for years. That’s why they think my grandfather—”
“I know. I’m sorry, Brix. But the man you saw spying on Ivan is a very dangerous man. I don’t know what he has to do with the man who was found, but he’s killed before.”
A pause came from the other end of the line, then a swear word I chose to ignore. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. You need to stay far away from him. Don’t go anywhere on your own.”
After I hung up the phone, I had to figure out how to keep Percy out of the house all day. He was expecting me to pick him up in a little over an hour, so I had time to figure it out.
I drove to the market to get the ingredients on Dorian’s shopping list. Usually I walked to local shops or farmer’s markets every few days, to supplement the vegetables from the garden and the staples in the pantry, but today I was both in a hurry and needed to buy in bulk. After surviving the fluorescent lights at the supermarket, I dropped off four bags of groceries with Dorian. I was about to head back out to pick up Percy, but Dorian stopped me as he looked through the sacks of food.
“Where is the garlic?” he asked.
“We already have plenty of garlic.” I pointed to four heads of garlic, Purple Stripe hardneck, and Western Rose softneck.
Dorian narrowed his black eyes. “I need more for this tomato sauce recipe.”
“Are you sure garlic pasta is the way to go for a party?”
He chuckled. “If everyone eats the garlic, they will not mind.”
“Remind me to pick some parsley from the backyard to mute the effects.”
“Garlic will welcome your friend home with luck.”
I paused at the swinging kitchen door. “I didn’t realize you were superstitious.”
He clicked his tongue. “Not superstitious. Food has cultural significance, as you of all people should understand. It feeds both the body and the soul. Everything I am creating for tonight will welcome Blue Sky home.”
I leaned in the door frame and looked over the left half of Dorian’s body that was rapidly turning to stone. He didn’t dwell on his limitations. “Thank you. That’s so thoughtful.”
Dorian waved off the comment, and moved his stepping stool to unpack the last bag of groceries. The simple task took longer than usual, since he could only use his right arm to lift the stool.
“I can help when I get back,” I said.
“It is unnecessary. I have selected recipes that only require the use of one good arm.” Dorian said the words casually, but he didn’t look at me. He peered into the grocery bag containing the first tomatoes of the season and shook his head. “I will make do,” he muttered, dismissing me with a wave of his clawed hand.
I smiled and left Dorian to the feast preparations. I did a quick walk-through of the house, making sure it was tightly secured and thinking about how different my life had been six months ago. I used to eat for healing and nourishment, with pleasure coming in last on my list of priorities. Since Dorian had come into my life, he’d shown me that delectable foods didn’t have to be unhealthy. Which was an accidental discovery.
When Dorian showed up on my doorstep—or, in a moving crate in my living room, to be more accurate—he learned I didn’t keep bacon, butter, or cream in the house. Dorian respected my eating habits, but he refused to eat the same “boring” food I ate. I used my flavored oils, salts, and vinegars to season simple soups, stews, and salads, but in cooking with what I had on hand, he showed me how easy it was to turn simple meals into mouthwatering feasts.
I knew why I was thinking so much about food. I was starving. I’d been feeling so anxious I hadn’t stopped to take care of myself. I knew better than to disregard my body. I stuck my head back into the kitchen to grab a snack to take with me. The thoughtful gargoyle was one step ahead of me. He handed me a toasted baguette sandwich wrapped in parchment paper.
My friend and I were so alike but also worlds apart.
And that gave me the perfect idea for what to do with Percy. I slipped up to the attic before leaving the house.
I picked up Percy from a local brewery where he was enjoying an extended lunch accompanied by beer and a pretty young woman. She wasn’t happy to see me, but she perked up when Percy whispered something in her ear before paying the bill.
“Not too worried about Lucien after all?” I said once we were on the sidewalk.
“I was in a darkened back booth, so I knew I’d see him before he saw me.”
I led Percy to the truck. My myrrh air freshener was no match for the scent of batch brewed beer that had ensconced itself in Percy’s clothing.
“I thought you lived in the other direction,” he said as I pulled onto the highway.
“I need the house to myself to cook for a good friend’s welcome home party tonight, so I’ve got another idea—”
Percy gaped at me. “I’m dying and you’re having a party?”
The words bristled. Percy was in much better shape than Dorian. And one of the lessons I’d learned after being alive for so long was that you need to slow down and enjoy the small moments in life. Not only did they make existence more meaningful, but they helped you see things more clearly. I was going to give myself this evening to celebrate life with Blue, Brixton, and Max. I didn’t know what would happen the next day, but time with them tonight was a gift I could give all of us.
“I’m going to help you help yourself,” I said. “I found the photocopied pages of that book we were talking about.” I pointed to my purse that lay at Percy’s feet. He lunged for it and greedily scooped up the pages.
“You have it,” he said. “You have it! Where did you find these?”
“I used to do a lot of research. I found those pages years ago. You’re the one who’s the backward alchemist. I’m going to leave you at a library.”
“A library? Zoe, are you serious? I can stay out of the way at your house.”
“I need to concentrate, and so do you. You can read these pages and see what they tell you.”
“But—”
“I’ll pick you up in four hours. You can come to the party with me.”
“Can we have dinner first?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m going home to cook for the party.”
“But you’re cooking vegan food.”
Family.
Twenty-Nine
Long before I saw her, I knew Blue was there. The fragrance of her homemade teas filled the cozy space. I’m sure it was my imagination, but even the weeping fig tree in the center of the cafe appeared to have perked up that night. The illusion was created because the tree-ring tables that normally circled the living tree had been moved aside to make room for the crowd that had gathered to welcome Blue home.
I’d dropped off Dorian’s feast before picking up Percy from
the library. Unsurprisingly, Percy hadn’t gleaned anything useful from the hours surrounded by information.
As Percy and I walked into the party in full swing, everyone was facing the back of the café. The sound of two acoustic guitars strumming with two voices harmonizing echoed through the teashop. Abel and Brixton were performing “Imagine,” a perfect choice for the occasion. Their voices blended to create perfectly imperfect harmony. Their arms moved in rhythm on their guitars.
The song concluded. Heather whistled and the crowd applauded. I caught a glimpse of wild gray hair moving stealthily through the crowd, toward Brixton. My heart skipped a beat as I thought about how easy it would be for someone to get to Brixton if they wanted to. Blue snuck up behind Brixton and gave him a hug. He turned nearly as red as the beets in my garden but hugged her back.
I saw another smiling face in the crowd. Max Liu. He must have felt my eyes on him, because his gaze met mine. I felt my stomach give a little flip-flop as his smile grew wider.
“These two are way too good,” Blue said to the crowd. “I’m calling for a forced break so you’ll all eat this wonderful spread of food Zoe prepared for the occasion. Eat!” She caught my eye and winked.
“First,” Max said, “a toast to the heart of the neighborhood.” He raised a clay mug of tea. “Blue, you were here for me during a rough time in my life, and you made me feel at home. I can confidently say that every person here feels the same way. Thank you, Blue.”
“Hear, hear!” several voices chimed in.
Blue wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m only crying because the food is getting cold.” She laughed and cleared her throat. “This is the first place that’s ever truly felt like home.”
I knew the feeling more acutely than she or anyone else in that room knew. I wished I could have told Blue how much I related.
We all knew Blue Sky as the owner of Blue Sky Teas, the woman who knew how to brew exquisite teas, who’d helped Brixton with his homework at the teashop since he was in elementary school, and who brightened any room with her infectiously relaxed demeanor.
But the woman who let her curly gray hair run wild and lived in baggy jeans also had a past that nobody knew about until earlier that year.
“Thanks for welcoming me back,” Blue concluded. “Now eat!” I could barely imagine blissfully chubby and exuberant Blue Sky as Brenda Skyler, a stick-thin workaholic who wore power suits, dieted, and worked for her husband’s legal practice, where she unknowingly helped him with illegal schemes. She wasn’t culpable for the crimes she didn’t know about, but she was guilty of forging documents and faking her own death to begin her new life.
The woman in the teashop that evening was a mix of the two. She’d lost weight in jail, and her radiant face, usually full of natural color from the time she spent wildcrafting outside, was pale.
The party guest list included me, Brixton, Heather, Abel, Brixton’s best friends Veronica and Ethan, Max, and a dozen of Blue’s friends who I hadn’t previously met, as well as Percy, who I’d brought along with me. Ivan wasn’t feeling well enough to attend.
The teashop usually closed at seven o’clock in the evening, but tonight it was open for this private party. Two of the tree-ring tables had been pushed together for the spread of food prepared by Dorian in my kitchen that afternoon. I needn’t have worried about his infirmity. He’d outdone himself with a freekeh and parsley salad , freshly baked bread with garlic tomato sauce for dipping, bowls of nuts, each home-roasted with a different spice mix, plus a dessert tray of miniature tarts and mousses. Everyone congratulated me on the food.
“How did you get the tomato sauce so creamy?” Heather asked, popping a bite of sauce-dipped bread into her mouth.
“A chef never reveals her secrets,” I said. I’d have to ask Dorian later. She was right. A delicate flavor I couldn’t place added depth and balance to the flavorful garlic.
Heather had woven a banner out of wildflowers that was supposed to read WELCOME HOME BLUE. But some of the flowers refused to be tamed, so by the time the party started the string of letters read EL ME HOME BLUE. Blue loved it.
The teenagers took photographs of people standing under the sign to share on social media. Percy and I ducked out of the way as photos were snapped.
“It was so much easier before every bloody man, woman, and child had a damn mobile phone,” Percy whispered.
During a short break for everyone to fill their plates, I introduced Percy to my friends. Brixton and Abel resumed the live music, with Brixton still on his acoustic guitar, and Abel switching to a banjo. I wished Tobias could have been there to sing, but I knew he was exactly where he needed to be, spending precious last moments with his beloved Rosa.
Max brought me a lemon tart. “Penny for your thoughts.”
I took a bite of the tart, giving myself a few moments to think. “The tart is more tart than I expected,” I said. Smooth, Zoe.
“You didn’t taste them at home?”
Damn. “Too many things to sample. I trusted the recipe.” Please don’t ask what’s in it, I thought to myself. Although from the flavors dancing on my tongue, I could guess most of the ingredients, the two dominant ones being coconut oil and lemon.
Max nodded and bit into a chocolate mousse tart.
The connection between us from the day before was missing, and I knew why. He kept glancing distractedly at Percy.
“You asked what I was thinking about,” I said. “I was thinking about how beautiful it is that so many people came to celebrate with Blue at the very last minute.”
“It’s lovely,” Max said. Unlike our generic conversation. Max stole another glance at Percy, who was on the outskirts of a small group with Blue.
“You never told me the story of the plastic skeleton in your house,” I prompted.
“It was Chadna’s during med school.”
Great. He was jealous of Percy and I’d asked about his dead ex-wife. But instead of the reaction I was expecting, a grin spread across Max’s face.
“She refused to tell me why she kept it so long. On each of my birthdays, she’d tell me a little bit more of the story. That way she said I’d be forced to live a long life with her, to hear the end of the story.”
“That’s beautiful.”
The smile on Max’s face faded as I felt a tap at my elbow. Percy.
“I’m going to get more food,” Max said.
“What’s up, Percy?” I asked.
“I’m tired. I thought I’d go back to the house for an early night. Could I have the key?”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” I said.
“Fair enough.” Percy shrugged. “I was trying to be sly about giving you some time with your beau and letting you have fun at the fete.”
Maybe Percy had grown up, after all. I gave Percy a key and made sure he remembered how to walk back to the house.
“GPS,” he said, shaking his phone at me.
Brixton and Abel amped up the music. Blue began to dance with her friends. I was reminded of my love for Portland when I couldn’t tell the difference between Blue’s forager friends and the group of lawyers who’d come to her aid. Perhaps they were one and the same. Brixton was busy playing guitar and his friend Ethan was too cool for dancing, so Veronica joined the group of older women and let loose. At fourteen, she was already the tallest woman in the group. Her cascading black hair tossed from side to side in rhythm with the music. The awkward young woman I’d met six months before was slipping away, innocent adolescence sacrificed for a more fully formed young adulthood.
Max pulled me from the corner in which I was hiding to dance with him. Looking into his eyes, my stomach fluttered. Things were starting to feel like they had before Percy arrived in Portland—until Max abruptly stopped dancing.
His eyes narrowed and he walked to the door of the teashop without a word.
Tw
o men in suits stood at the door. Even though they weren’t dressed in policemen’s uniforms, their stance and Max’s interaction with them suggested they were detectives. With the volume of the music, from across the teashop I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Max was shaking his head. No no no. Had I dismissed the French police too soon?
The two men were insistent. Max shook his head one last time, then led them around the weeping fig tree in the center of the teashop. Not to me.
To Heather.
With an abrupt jerk of his arm, Abel broke off strumming his guitar. He smiled as he stood and whispered to Brixton to continue playing. I knew that look of bravado on Abel’s face was a mask applied for the benefit of his stepson. Brixton tried to argue but ultimately listened to his stepfather.
As soon as the music resumed, people forgot about the interruption. They went back to dancing and eating. Nobody else seemed to notice that the newcomers weren’t welcome guests. I followed Max and Abel to the corner where the detectives were talking with Heather.
“It’ll be easier if we talk to you both down at the station,” one of them was saying to her.
“What’s this about?” Abel asked. “Did you confirm the identity of the man Brix found?”
“You are?”
“Her husband.”
“It’s okay, hon,” Heather said, stroking Abel’s arm.
“Please step aside, sir,” the detective said. I hoped Brixton was too busy on the guitar to see the look the detective directed at Abel, or I feared the impetuous teenager might try to punch the detective.
“You have no right to interrupt this private party,” Abel said, his voice rising. Brixton’s guitar riff ended with a discordant crash. He flung the instrument aside and ran to his mom. All eyes followed him.
“It’s okay, Brix,” Heather said. “They only want to talk to us.”
“Us?” Brixton asked.
Heather linked her arm through Brixton’s, stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the side of his head, then nodded to the detectives.
