“I'll write it for you,” Rosalie offered. “We can just sit and talk about a few things and I can do it.”
“Thank you, dear, that would be lovely.”
Rosalie got up to sit in front of Mrs. Haverty so they could chat.
“How about you, Mr.?”
“Just call me Ishmael,” he told her.
“Fool got that out of a book,” Rosalie muttered.
“Oh, yeah? When did you ever read a book?” he retorted.
“You aren't going to take his picture with those awful dreadlocks and that scruffy beard, are you Grace?” Rosalie appealed to her.
“This is how he looks and I want everything in the book to be accurate,” Grace replied uncertainly.
“You just go right ahead, Grace, and take that nice young man's picture the way he is.” She turned back to Rosalie. “And he is nice. You see the way he helps Mrs. Wall and gives up his seat when the bus is crowded,” she said firmly.
“It's up to you, Ishmael,” Grace whispered. She wasn't so sure she could take this bickering much longer. Any more of it and she would go flying off the bus at the next stop no matter where it was.
“You go ahead and take it,” he said defiantly.
They were coming up to a stop and Grace waited until the bus stopped rocking to take the picture. Was it her imagination or did Hank hold up the bus to give her time to get the picture. She quickly snapped four photos to make sure she got a good one and then thanked Ishmael for his help.
“I'll be back tomorrow!” Grace called to Rosalie and Ishmael as they got off the bus.
Darn, forgot to get them to sign the releases. I'll do that tomorrow, she promised herself. In the meantime, she needed to write everything down. She stowed the folder in her purse and opened her notebook to write.
“I think those two like each other,” Mrs. Haverty told her, throwing Grace a wink before turning back to her traveling companion.
And I think you and Mr. Roberts like each other, too, Grace giggled to herself.
This time Grace remembered to watch for her stop. She was really anxious to tell her parents about the day's success.
Before she could get off, Hank called to her.
“Rosalie told me about your project. How's it going?”
Grace looked up, startled that Hank talked to her again.
“Fine,” she nodded. What was it about this man that made her be so short with him? She'd been able to talk to Rosalie and Ishmael and Mrs. Haverty.
“Good,” he answered. “See you tomorrow.”
Grace's insides twisted when he grinned at her. She was used to her insides twisting whenever someone talked to her, but this was kind of a warm feeling. She nodded back and all but ran out the door.
Chapter Three
Hank had had a very good day. Mandy woke up with the puppy in her bed and a big smile on her face. He told her it was only for the first night so Sam wouldn't be scared, but he had to sleep in the crate until he was house broken. They took him for a walk around the back yard before school and his daughter had actually laughed when Sam got himself all tangled up in the leash. He couldn't wait to tell Mrs. Haverty and thank her for the idea. It was the first thing that had worked.
Hank enjoyed being a bus driver. He liked people and got a kick out of watching the strangers coming and going, making up stories about them in his head. He guessed he got that from Anna although her stories were much better. He enjoyed all his regulars, too, although sometimes they moved away or the college kids graduated and went off to start their lives.
Now he had a new regular; Grace the notebook lady. Rosalie had told him all about her and what she was doing and he was impressed. He hoped she'd do well with her project, but she seemed so stiff and awkward around people. Maybe he could help her out. Carrie was a great cook and Anna had been, too. He would love to tell her story and have her picture in the book. It was one more way that she would live on.
Grace got off in front of Coulter's and watched the bus drive away. This time she waved back. She was beginning to recognize these people and they were recognizing her, too, even though it was only her third time riding. She had more names for some of them, too. Mr. Briefcase, Miss Bookworm, Miss SadEyes. She knew each of them had a story and she was itching to put them in the book.
Evie watched her daughter practically bounce into the restaurant. Her pale face was slightly flushed and her ice-blue eyes sparkled. Evie's knees went weak with joy. Grace was coming out of her shell. No, not coming out … bursting out!
“Keith,” she called, “I think Grace has something to tell us.”
He came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray.
“I thought you might be back in time for a snack before the lunch crowd gets here.”
“Thanks, Dad, I'm starving,” she told him, taking the tray out of his hands. She was pleased to see cut up fruits and vegetables and bowls of low fat cottage cheese and yogurt for dipping. Dad was really trying to follow the doctor's orders. If he hadn't, Mom would have come down on him like a ton of bricks.
They filled their plates and Grace tucked in. Evie and Keith looked at each other, their faces wreathed in smiles. Grace seemed so upbeat and happy and it was nothing less than a miracle.
“And how was the bus ride today, Grace?” Somehow it didn't feel right calling Grace by her childhood name.
“Very nice. Here,” she reached into her purse for Rosalie's folder, handing it to her mother. “See what I got today?” She reached for her notebook and handed it to her Dad. “And these are the notes I made from everything that happened.” Except for what Hank said to me and that warm feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Grace waited anxiously for her parents to finish reading. When they finished, they both beamed their approval at her.
“Quite a day, Grace, quite a day,” Keith patted her hand.
“What's this about different sections of the book?” Evie asked her.
“Do you like the idea?” Grace held her breath waiting for Evie's approval.
“I love it. But isn't this chicken dish a little complicated for the working woman?”
“I know and I've been thinking about it. I'd like to call that section Old Fashioned Recipes for the Old-Fashioned Sunday Dinner.”
“It's wonderful,” Evie enthused. “Don't you think so, Keith?”
“Yes, and I like the comfort food section, too.”
“Thanks, Dad. I want to call it Comfort Food From Mama's Kitchen. How does that sound?”
“Perfect!” he exclaimed. “Evie?” he asked his wife.
“Agreed. You've done a great job, Grace. Any ideas for other sections?”
“Not at the moment.” Grace couldn't believe how good she felt. “I think I'll wait to see what other recipes I get before deciding.” She took a last bite of broccoli dipped in yogurt and got up from the table. “I'll just go up and change so I can get to work. Wouldn't want to get myself fired for being late!”
She left her parents sitting with their mouths open, stunned that she had made a little joke.
Rosalie sat at her little desk in the corner of her room. She needed to write what she had learned from Mrs. Haverty but she had to write it like she was Mrs. Haverty. She chewed on a hangnail, then took a deep breath and plunged in.
My name is Louise Vining Haverty and as I write this, I am 72 years old. I grew up on a farm near a small town in Nebraska you probably never heard of. I was the youngest of six and the only girl.
There weren't a lot of fathers around when I was growing up. So many of the young men were killed in World War II. I was one of the lucky ones. My father came home and he and my brothers worked the land together. Then came Korea and Viet Nam and I lost an uncle and two brothers.
I couldn't stay there and watch my parents waste away with their grief so I came east. That's where I met my beloved husband, Colin Haverty. We raised three boys together, which kind of made up for losing my brothers. He died five years ago, but we had a good life and I cheri
sh the good memories we made.
This is my own recipe for chicken soup. Colin and the boys loved it.
Grace rushed through her morning routine faster than usual. She couldn't wait to see what Mrs. Haverty and Ishmael had for her.
“Hi, Grace,” Hank greeted her with that happy grin of his.
“Hello, Hank,” she replied shyly, dropping her fare into the till. He wasn't going to be in the book, so it wasn't so easy to talk to him.
“I hope you don't mind, but I'd really like to contribute to your book. Me and my sister, I mean.”
“That would be wonderful, Hank,” Grace replied happily. Funny how having a purpose made everything easier.
“So the deal is we write up a little something about ourselves and then you take a picture to go with the recipe?”
“Yes, that's it. Oh, and I'll need you and your sister to sign releases. I'll pass them up to you later.”
“You got it, Gracie!”
Grace moved to her usual seat in the back of the bus, careful to hold on as she'd seen the other riders do. But she was no longer sitting back here to hide. She sat back here because it was a good vantage point from which to people watch. Grace giggled at the thought of herself as a people watcher, but oh, my, how things had changed in just a few days.
Grace watched for Ishmael to get on at his usual stop but was disappointed when a different black man got on.
“Ishmael!” Hank exclaimed. “What have you done to yourself?”
Grace sat up unable to believe her eyes. This clean-cut young man was Ishmael? What happened to the dreadlocks, the beard, the funny clothes? He was even wearing a clean tee shirt tucked neatly into clean jeans.
As Ishmael made his way down the aisle, even Mr. Roberts had to look up, his mouth open in shock.
“You're a very handsome young man,” Grace blurted out without thinking.
“Yeah, well …,” he mumbled.
The boy's dark skin turned even darker with embarrassment. That was something Grace could understand so she quickly changed the subject.
“Did you bring me the recipe?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he replied, still a little uneasy with all the attention he was getting. He swung his messenger bag off his shoulder and reached inside to pull out a folder.
Grace took it from him, eager to read what he'd written. She glanced quickly at the recipe. She had to admit it was a little different. But what she was really eager to read was his story.
My name is Michael Josephson. No one has ever called me Mike, not even my family. I gave myself the name of Ishmael after reading Moby Dick at the age of ten. In my opinion, it is the most perfectly written book in the English language; at least that I have read.
I grew up in a middle-class suburban neighborhood. My father sold insurance and my mother taught pre-school. They were very normal people. I was not. As an only child who never had to fight with siblings over my parents' affection, I grew up arrogant, thinking myself too good for my family, my neighborhood, my school. I withdrew into the world of books thinking that literary pursuits were the only purity in this world.
In order to keep people away, I adopted a style of dress that you can see in the picture that accompanies this biography. I attended college but did not seek a degree. I only wanted to study literature, read literature, and debate literature with like-minded people.
As I rode the bus to and from campus, I began to see a different side of life; people that were living and struggling and facing life head on. I began to want to know these people and the only way I could do that was to interact with them; to help them in small ways. The changes in me had been coming on for some time but one day, on Bus Route #26 from downtown to the college campus, I had an epiphany; a final awakening.
I am going to complete my degree and pass on all the things I have learned to anyone who wants to learn them. I have started by changing my appearance to that of the man I wish to become. You will see the difference in the photo below. I hope you approve. I hope my parents approve. And most of all, I hope that one special young woman approves.
Grace looked up at Michael with tears in her eyes. She, too, was beginning to find herself on Hank's stagecoach.
“Is it alright?” he asked anxiously.
“It's wonderful,” she told him sincerely. “Why don't you sit next to me. Rosalie should be getting on soon and I can't wait to see her reaction.”
“Me neither,” he mumbled, his skin turning dark again.
“Let me get your picture, first.” Grace dug her digital camera out of her purse and waited for the next stop. She snapped the picture just as Mrs. Haverty came down the aisle.
“Well, well, well, who have we here?” she smiled.
“Just me, Ma'am.” Michael smiled back.
“I'd know that smile anywhere!” she exclaimed.
“May I introduce you to Michael Josephson, Mrs. Haverty?” Grace put in.
“So that's your name. It suits your new look.” Mrs. Haverty patted him on the arm and then handed Grace her recipe. “I hope you like it.”
“I'm sure it's just fine. May I take your picture now?”
Grace snapped several pictures while the bus took on more passengers. One of them was Rosalie who hurried down the aisle, waving a folder.
“I've got your bio, Mrs. Haverty!” she exclaimed.
Mrs. Haverty stepped aside so Rosalie could see Michael.
Hank idled at the curb so he could watch. This was too good to miss. The rest of the riders must have thought so, too, because all of them had turned around in their seats, craning to see the show.
Rosalie slowed, then stopped dead, the smile fading from her face. The folder slipped from her fingers and Michael bent over to pick it up for her just as she did the same. The inevitable happened and they banged heads literally for the first time, although they'd been banging heads figuratively for weeks, now.
Rosalie fell to the floor, gazing up at the handsome young man in front of her. “Ishmael?” she whispered.
“Not anymore,” he shook his head, offering his hand to help her up. “My name is Michael.” He held on to Rosalie's hand, pleased that she didn't pull away.
“Michael?” she whispered again.
“Can I … uh … buy you a cup of coffee when we get to campus?”
“I … uh … I have class.”
“After, then? I'm going to need help finding who Michael is again and if there's one thing I can count on, it's your honesty. You won't let me backslide,” he grinned.
“You've got that right, mister.” She paused before adding. “Maybe you could walk me to class?” She cocked her head, smiling up at him.
“Yeah, that’d be nice.”
They got off the bus together, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes as the other passengers applauded … not that Rosalie and Michael noticed.
“How long do you think it will be before they realize this isn't their stop?” Mrs. Haverty chuckled.
“Well, I wasn't about to tell them,” Hank laughed.
The bus pulled away carrying a lot of people whose day had been brightened by the sight of young love blooming right in front of their eyes.
Grace waited until after the dinner rush to approach her parents. They had been thrilled with what she had done so far, but she was getting impatient. She wanted to move the project along faster and she needed her parents’ help. Dad seemed like he was getting bored and she wanted to give him something to occupy his time.
“Mom, you and Dad have a minute?”
“Sure, honey. Just a sec and I'll get your Dad.” Evie hurried over to where Keith was dozing in the corner. “Keith, wake up, Grace wants to talk to us.”
Keith scrubbed his face with his hand so he could wake up. He was irritated with himself for dropping off. Now he wouldn't be able to sleep that night.
“What is it, Gracie?” he asked.
“I know we've got a good start on the cookbook but what I've done so far is only a drop in th
e bucket.”
“What about what we've gotten from our regular customers?” Keith asked.
“Yes, that helps but we have two problems. One, we need lots and lots more recipes. Twenty or thirty isn't going to do it. Second, as they come in, we have to test them and get them ready for the book. That's where you come in, Dad.”
“You want me to do the testing?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “You're the perfect person to do it. You'll do the testing, make any adjustments necessary, but not to change the essence of the dish, and then write it up in usable form.”
“Sure, I can do all that.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Grace turned to Evie. “Mom, I need you to take the pictures. Set everything up with the right wine or maybe a cocktail or maybe the right kind of coffee to go with a dessert. And something that can be identified with Coulter's.”
“You mean like a menu?”
“Yes, or anything with our name on it. Just mix it up so the reader isn't looking at the same thing all the time.”
Evie and Keith were dumbfounded. They couldn't believe this was their shy recluse of a daughter.
“I want to do a children's section, too. Something for picky eaters as well as some things that will challenge a young palate.” She paused and looked at them eagerly.
“I can help with that,” Evie told her dryly. “You were about the pickiest eater there ever was.”
“Not anymore!” she laughed. “If I didn't exercise every day, I'd weigh a ton.”
“Grace,” her father said slowly, “this is all very well and good, but we talked about things like getting an agent and finding a publisher. All of this takes time.”
“I know, Dad, that's why I'm not doing it that way. You know that Kindle you bought me for Christmas? Well, there are cookbooks available for e-readers and Coulter's is going to be one of them. No lines, no waiting.”
“But, honey, you don't know anything about that sort of thing,” Evie protested.
“I know, Mom. That's why I'm going to join some forums and find out all about it.” She patted Evie's hand. “Don't worry, Mom, I'll take care of everything.”
A Slice of Life Page 3
