A SLICE OF LIFE
a novella
by
Margaret Lake
Author of
historical, contemporary,
and fantasy romance
illustrated children’s books
graphic novels
DESCRIPTION
Grace Coulter has been hiding in the kitchen of her family restaurant since she was eight years old. That’s when the name-calling began. Stretch, skinny-minny, boy in girl’s clothes, all because of the slender height that had her towering over even the tallest boys in the class.
Now, nearly thirty years later, Grace is head chef of the failing restaurant and still hiding in the kitchen. Like many businesses during the current recession, Coulter’s may have to start laying off employees or even close. But Grace has a plan to save the restaurant and the people she’s known all her life; a plan that will force her to go out into the world and face her fears.
Chapter One
Grace clutched her notebook to her chest and tried to calm her beating heart. She could see the bus coming down the street and knew she'd have to start her project once she got on. Breathing deeply and repeating relax to herself over and over seemed to be helping, but not fast enough. The bus stopped with a whoosh of brakes and the door opened in front of her. There was no one else at the stop so she couldn't even hang back behind a bunch of people. She needed to be first on the bus anyway so she could have her pick of seats.
This was her project, her idea, and if she was going to save her family's restaurant, she had to bite the bullet and get over her shyness. Coulter's was her father's life and her mother's, too; not to mention hers.
She'd always been able to hide in the kitchen, working under her father with her mother in the front. Now, with her father's illness and him having to cut down on his hours, she had to take the lead. Oh, there was no problem with cooking. The problem was in supervising the staff. For now, Dad was able to supervise while she took over the responsibilities of head chef. But soon; soon she would have to do it all.
Grace had been plagued all her life with debilitating shyness. Blushing, stammering, these were just a couple of the things that made her school years a living hell. That’s why she couldn't wait to get to the restaurant every day after school. She would sit in a corner out of the way doing her homework. And while she did, she watched and learned. Before long, Grace had worked up the courage to ask her father to let her help. She was only eight years old, but already knew what she wanted to do when she grew up.
Dad had been so pleased with her. At least this time when she blushed, it wasn't from embarrassment. By the time she was twelve, Grace was chopping vegetables and doing a lot of the prep work. When she was sixteen, she told her parents she wanted to drop out of school and go to work full-time in the restaurant. They weren't too pleased with her decision, but they knew their daughter had been terribly unhappy in school. If she promised to get her GED, they would gladly hire her. When she was twenty-two, the apartment over the restaurant became vacant and she moved into it.
Grace always counted the day she went to work at Coulter's as the beginning of her life … her real life.
Most of the staff had watched her grow up and had learned to respect her as a hard worker and gifted chef. There was no reason for her to be shy around them. Most days she smiled and said good morning, although it had taken her a long time to get to that point. But it was one thing to work alongside them every day in the ease and camaraderie of the kitchen. It was quite another to give orders to people who were ten or fifteen years older. She knew the day was coming when she would have to face that challenge. Dad wasn't getting any better.
On top of that, the recession had cut down their business and layoffs were looming. That's when Grace conceived the idea of a cookbook. She didn't know how much the book would make, but the Coulter name should count for something. And if they were to avoid layoffs, she had to move quickly.
That's why the bus ride. Her idea was to talk to people, find out about their lives, and get their favorite recipe to put in the book. She'd like to get photos, too. It would make each recipe so much more personal. Did she have the sheer guts to do this? She hoped so. A lot of people were depending on her.
With one last deep breath, Grace ducked her head and rushed onto the bus, barely stopping to throw the correct change into the till. She didn't see the amused look the driver sent her way. Neither did she realize that he held up the bus until she was safely seated. With seasoned riders, he knew they would hold onto the poles or the seatbacks as they made their way down the aisle. This lady had a death grip on her notebook which wasn't going to do her a damned bit of good against the sway of the bus.
Grace found a seat at the back of the bus away from the other passengers. Her fear of making a public fool of herself was overriding her desire to do the interviews. Dad had made a good start among the regular customers at Coulter's and now it was her turn to expand on what he had already accomplished. Her palms were sweaty and her throat was dry; something she hadn't felt in a long time. Mainly because she'd been hiding in the kitchen for most of her life.
This wouldn't do at all. She was 37 years old, for crying out loud, and should be able to at least look at people. When they came to the next stop, Grace lifted her head and watched new passengers come aboard and other passengers leave.
A young man in his mid-twenties with dreadlocks and one of those knitted hats; an elderly man with a cane in a suit and tie, sporting a neatly trimmed beard; two teenage girls (who probably should have been in school) wearing matching jeans, tank tops and nose rings, and a twenty-something woman with a baby struggling to pull a stroller loaded with grocery bags up the steps.
“Mrs. Wall, how many times do I hafta tell you to let me help with that,” the bus driver admonished her springing up to help.
He took the baby from her, jiggling and cooing at the infant while she dug in her purse for the fare. Grace was surprised when Mr. Dreadlocks picked up the stroller and set the groceries beside Mrs. Wall. He folded it up and set it on the seat in front of her while the driver handed the baby back to her. Apparently this was a ritual they had gone through many times.
Mr. SuitNTie nodded politely at Mrs. Wall but kept his hands folded across the crook of his cane, staring straight ahead.
The two girls, Miss Nosy One and Miss Nosy Two, giggled at their own private joke as teenage girls had been doing for centuries.
The driver sat in his seat and turned around to face the passengers. “Everybody all settled? Okay, let's get this stagecoach on the road.”
This, too, seemed like an old ritual as several of the passengers smiled at the driver. She hadn't looked at his name tag when she boarded the bus. Heck, she hadn't even looked at the man, but now she did. He was tall and husky and maybe in his mid-forties. She thought his buzz cut hair might be sprinkled with gray, but she was sitting so far back, she couldn't be sure. He had a broad and friendly face and the build of an ex-jock. He seemed like a good man and not at all like the surly bus drivers she saw portrayed on TV.
Grace felt a little more relaxed and, although she was pretty sure she wouldn't be talking to anyone today, she thought she might at least observe. So far none of the passengers seemed like they would have any recipes for her, but at least she had picked a bus with a nice driver and people that looked out for each other.
Mr. Dreadlocks and the two Miss Nosies got off at the college. Either the girls were older than they looked or they were cruising for freshman boys. Grace had never done anything like that. In fact, she'd never had a date in her entire life.
Her parents worried that she might be agoraphobic at one point so she'd given in to their wishes and gone to see a psychiatrist. After some testing and
a few sessions, the doctor had assured her and her parents that she was not agoraphobic; just painfully shy. He suggested she come back for counseling but she had refused. It had been hard enough talking to him before, but she knew she couldn't handle prolonged counseling.
A group of college students got on the bus, greeting the driver by name. Hank. The name suited him. He even knew all their names. The man was terminally friendly. For just a moment, Grace wished he knew her name and would ask her what she was doing. But the moment passed and she was back in her old habit of sitting in the far corner of her seat, hoping no one would notice her.
Before Grace knew it, the bus had completed its route and she was right back where she had started. Other passengers had come and gone, but Grace hadn't noticed.
Hank looked in his rear view mirror, waiting for her to move away from the window. She finally looked up and realized where she was and why he was staring at her. The other passengers were staring at her, too, probably because Hank was.
Grace gathered up her notebook and purse and hurried to the exit. As the bus left, she noticed a few people watching her through the windows. She stood frozen in embarrassment until one of them threw her a jaunty smile and a wave. Without thinking, Grace gave a half wave back and then quickly turned to walk away. It would be four days before she worked up the courage to ride the bus again.
Once more, Grace waited for the bus, the exact fare clutched in her sweaty palm. Here it came, right on time. She wondered how Hank kept the bus on time when he stopped to help or chat with his regular passengers.
She climbed the steps and forced herself to look at him.
“Welcome aboard our stagecoach, ma'am,” he smiled. “We hope you enjoy the ride.”
Grace gave him a wobbly little smile back. It was the best she could do, but the man was so friendly, she had to at least be polite. The niceties attended to, she hurried to the back again. And again Hank watched her in his mirror, giving her time to seat herself.
Grace smoothed her skirt underneath her before sitting and crossed her ankles primly. She always wore skirts with low heels, only changing what she wore with the change of seasons. Sweaters and ankle-length woolen skirts in the Winter; short sleeved blouses and long skirts in a light cotton in the Summer.
Nobody seemed to mind the delay and she wondered how many of them were regular riders. They must be used to Hank's courtesy.
At the next stop, Mr. Dreadlocks and Mr. SuitNTie got on again just as they had the first day she rode. Again Grace ignored them, sure they would have nothing to offer.
This time, Grace was determined not to let her shyness get in the way. She practiced the relaxation techniques she'd learned from self-help books and felt a bit more in control.
She watched students getting off and on at the campus. She watched an elderly lady get on at the stop after that. Neatly dressed in a light-weight summer suit that matched the blue of her eyes, the lady greeted Hank with a smile.
“How's your little girl, Hank? Still as beautiful as ever?”
“You bet, Mrs. Haverty. I've got new pictures if you want to show them around.” Hank took the pictures out of his breast pocket and handed them to the elderly woman.
The people seated behind Hank shoved over to make room for her. They oohed and ahhed over the photos and passed them down the bus.
“A little blond-haired angel, that Mandy. You're a lucky man, Hank Watson.”
“Don't I know it,” he declared.
“When will we see her on the bus again?” Mrs. Haverty asked him.
“Pretty soon, now. School will be out in another week.”
Grace could almost feel him beaming with pleasure and when the photos reached her, she could see why. Silky blond hair floated around a finely etched and delicate profile. After looking at several of the photos, Grace realized that the camera had only caught the girl from her right side and there wasn't much of a smile on her face.
Her head was ducked down as if to avoid looking directly at the camera. Grace thought she recognized the signs. The girl was shy. It must have been a difficult situation for such an outgoing father. Was the girl's mother as shy? Grace knew that didn't mean much. Both her parents were outgoing and gregarious and it must have been difficult for them to understand her affliction.
Grace passed the photos across the aisle to a smiling young black woman she hadn't noticed before. She might be a good place to start. The woman had a grace about her and a genuine smile that made it … not easy, not ever easy … but not so difficult to smile back.
“She is beautiful, isn't she.” the girl said. “It's really too bad about the accident.” She shook her head, handing the photos to the person ahead of her.
“Accident?” Grace asked.
“Oh, you're not a regular, are you? You don't know.”
“I'm sorry, no.” Grace hardly ever spoke to strangers but the beauty and sadness of the child intrigued her.
The girl moved to the seat next to Grace and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It happened a couple of years ago. The car Hank's wife was driving was hit by a drunk driver. His wife was killed instantly and Mandy was badly cut up by flying glass. She's pretty scarred on the left side of her face and body.”
Grace was horrified that the little girl had not only lost her mother but was left physically traumatized as well.
“The poor thing!” Grace exclaimed. “What about plastic surgery? Can't they fix her scars?”
“Show me the insurance company that’ll pay for cosmetic surgery,” the girl snorted.
“I see,” Grace replied grimly.
So caught up was she in this tragic story that she didn't even realize she was carrying on a conversation with a total stranger.
“I'm Rosalie,” the girl told her, holding out her hand to shake.
“Grace,” she replied, forcing herself to take the offered hand.
“I saw you here a few days ago. Whatcha got in that notebook you're clutching so hard?”
This was her opening if only she could take advantage of it.
“It's okay,” Rosalie assured her. “I get it that it's personal. I've got personal things I don't want anyone sticking their nose into.” Still, she raised her eyebrows, inviting Grace to answer.
“I … it's not that,” she stammered. “I'm writing a cookbook,” she blurted out, “and I'm collecting recipes in here.” Grace blushed to the roots of her hair, but Rosalie didn't seem to notice.
“You don't say!” exclaimed Rosalie. “I love to cook. Maybe you could put one of my recipes in there?”
Grace couldn't believe her good fortune. Talking to Rosalie first was turning out to be a godsend.
“Well, you see, that's what I'm doing. I'm going to ask people I meet, like you for instance, to let me put one of their recipes in the book. But not just sticking them in there. I want to add some background. You know, an anecdote about who they are and a picture if they don't mind.”
“Mind!” Rosalie exclaimed. “You mean I get to have my picture in a book that people will buy? Heck, I'd buy one of those myself and maybe even one for my Mama and Grandma.”
“Then you'll do it?” Grace asked tentatively, still not believing her luck.
“I've got to find the perfect recipe. It's got to be one of my best.” Rosalie was so excited she nearly missed her stop. “Will you be riding the bus tomorrow? I'll have it all ready for you and a little story, too.”
Rosalie didn't wait for an answer but jumped up to exit the bus. She stood on the sidewalk waiting for Grace to pass so she could wave at her.
Grace ducked her head shyly, not wanting the other passengers to see her. She was feeling so many things right now. Still reeling from her encounter with Rosalie on top of the shock of Hank's tragic story, Grace had a lot to process.
To cover her awkwardness, she opened her notebook and wrote down everything she could remember from her conversation with the talkative young woman. Whatever she brought to Grace tomorrow, she would add their meeting
to it.
Once more, Grace rode the bus all the way around to her original stop. Once again, Hank had to wait for her to realize where she was.
Chapter Two
Hank watched the lady with the notebook in his rear view mirror until she was safely off the bus. She was kind of a funny bird with her long skirts and her blond hair pulled back in a bun. She didn't seem all that old, but she sure acted that way; kind of closed off and skittish. Maybe something bad happened to her when she was younger … like had happened to his Mandy.
He liked to remember what she had been like before that awful day. Her and Anna. They had been two of a kind; laughing and happy. They loved to dance barefoot in the grass, chase butterflies, and lie for long hours in the hammock watching the clouds. On rainy days, Anna got out the rain gear so they could dance in the puddles. In the Winter, they bundled up and made snow angels and whole snow families. When the blizzards rolled in, they would spend the day in the attic of his parents’ old house where they had left all their memories behind when they retired to Florida. Anna and Mandy would go through the trunks and boxes, sipping hot chocolate, looking for treasures and making up stories about them.
Hank loved the old house where he'd grown up and was grateful to his parents for giving him such a good deal on it. It meant he had some stability for Mandy. He'd never be able to do the things with her that Anna did, but at least she still had her room with the fairy garden her mother had painted on the walls. At least there was the back yard with the hammock and the bright yellow forsythia bush and lilacs that bloomed every year.
Now there would be one thing more. Hank smiled happily, thinking of the Beagle puppy he was picking up after work. Mrs. Haverty had suggested it as a way to give Mandy something to think about besides her scars and the kids who made fun of her.
First grade hadn't been as bad as kindergarten because the other children were getting used to her face, but the damage had been done. Mandy was withdrawing more and more and Hank was desperately considering counseling. His insurance wouldn't cover it any more than they had covered Mandy's two cosmetic surgeries.
A Slice of Life Page 1
