A Slice of Life

by Margaret Lake

  She got up to head home but turned around to throw one more zinger at her parents.

  “Oh, and I'll be making up some flyers to give out. We need to get this thing rolling.”

  Keith put his arm around Evie and pulled her head down onto his shoulder. He could feel her shaking, but he didn't know if it was from tears or joy … or maybe both.

  “Well, well, well. Our little girl has sure grown up in a hurry.”

  It was Saturday and Grace thought the bus would be too crowded for her to talk to anybody. She'd stayed up late making the flyers on her computer and her time would be better spent getting them copied and distributed.

  Grace stopped at the florist first, thinking about Rosalie's mother. This used to be a bustling business, but now felt the effects of the recession just like everything else.

  Grace hesitated before going in. It wasn’t just a sudden attack of shyness. Coulter's had ordered their flowers from Betty's Blossoms for as long as she could remember, but just as Coulter's business had gone down, so their need for so many centerpieces had lessened.

  Okay, so that would be her line. What was good for Coulter's was good for Betty's and, in fact, for all the stores. This whole area needed to be revitalized. Shoppers needed to start coming downtown again. Forget those impersonal malls on the outskirts. The merchants needed to band together and …

  Grace stopped herself in mid-fantasy. She was so new to all of this. She'd better learn to take baby steps or this toddler would find herself flat on her face and holed up in her apartment again.

  Half an hour later she left the florist elated at her success. Betty was so excited by the idea, she offered to do floral arrangements for the photos and Grace promised to give her shop credit for the arrangements. She would include a description of the flowers so if someone saw something they liked, they could order it. Betty promised to drop off a recipe and a bio on Monday and since Grace had her camera with her, she took Betty's picture right then and there.

  Grace went from one store to the next and met with success at each one. They all were happy to take the flyers and put them at the registers. Many wanted to be in the book and promised to have something ready for her by Monday.

  She was glad she'd thought of including photos and a bio. It was an added incentive since most people seemed to be excited about having their picture in a book.

  Back at the restaurant, Evie and Keith watched as Grace hurried by the big windows, throwing them a hasty wave. It was good to see her flushed with excitement instead of embarrassment. In fact, it was nothing short of a miracle.

  Chapter Four

  Grace had spent most of Sunday on the computer, finding out everything she could about self-publishing to the e-readers. To her surprise and delight, she found that she could also do a nice hardcover book for those that wanted it.

  She wasn't going to stint on the production of that one. Glossy paper, full color photos. The cover would be a shot of Coulter's … maybe with a bus parked outside. That thought put a smile on her face and kept it there through the rest of her research.

  She found a number of services who would format the book and put together a cover for a reasonable price. She wasn't about to attempt that herself.

  Then she browsed around the forums until she found a couple that she liked and joined. She was stunned at the wealth of information in these places. Everything from blurbs to covers to marketing. She jumped right in, asking questions and writing down the answers. These complete strangers were so helpful.

  The first thing she did when she could tear herself away from this fascinating world was sign Coulter's up for Facebook and Twitter. She didn't know what she was going to do with them, but it was a start.

  When Grace looked up from her computer, she heard the big clock on City Hall strike six. She couldn't believe she'd been sitting at the computer all day. Her shoulders ached and her stomach growled and before she did anything else, she really had to head for the bathroom.

  She pulled the first five things from the fridge, all leftovers from the restaurant she'd brought home yesterday. While they were heating in the microwave, she thought about everything she'd learned today. It was pretty overwhelming. She had no idea what to do next. Rosalie. She'll be able to help me … that is if she's come up for air yet, Grace giggled to herself.

  After dinner, Grace settled down in her recliner to read for the rest of the evening. She did like a good fantasy and her current read had transported her to the misty isles where immortal gods ruled the destiny of man.

  Her Kindle had been an inspiration and she thought it was time to name her. “Samantha,” she said aloud. Satisfied, she returned to the foggy hills of her magical kingdom where she knew her next adventure awaited her.

  Monday found her waiting impatiently at her bus stop. She had a stack of flyers and release forms in her purse and hoped she could hand some out. Other people might have overheard what she was doing and want to contribute like Mrs. Haverty and Michael. If not, she was going to talk to everyone on the bus and hand out flyers if it killed her. Somehow, she didn't think it would.

  “There you are, Gracie,” Hank smiled. “Got something for you.” He handed her a big envelope. “From me and my sister, Carrie.”

  “Thank you, Hank. This means a lot to me.” It was a lot easier to smile back this time.

  Grace made her way to the back, hoping Rosalie would be there. She was, with a beaming Michael beside her.

  “You're not supposed to be here for a couple of more stops, Michael,” Grace teased him.

  “Fool's been riding the bus all morning just waiting for me.” There was pride in Rosalie's voice.

  “Are you going to be calling me fool for the next fifty years, woman?” he chided her, fixing her with his eyes.

  “Don't you dare try to stare me down, mister. The only one who can stare me down is my Gran,” she rejoined loftily.

  “Now, Gracie, tell us what you did all weekend.”

  So Gracie told her ending with her foray into Facebook and Twitter. “But I don't know what to do with them,” she sighed.

  “You should blog,” Rosalie stated firmly. “Don't you think she should blog, Michael?” Not waiting for an answer, she turned back to Grace. “You should definitely blog?”

  “Blog?” Grace asked. “Me? But what would I blog about?”

  “About all this,” Rosalie waved her hand to encompass the bus. “First you write about yourself. Then you tell about writing a cookbook. Then you blog about your progress, maybe two or three times a week.”

  “I guess I could do that,” Grace said hesitantly.

  You get all the people who are going to be in the book to follow you on Twitter and Facebook,” Michael added “and they'll retweet you.”

  “Good idea, Michael,” Rosalie told him, patting his knee. “See by the time the book is out, you'll have thousands of people panting to buy it.”

  “You think so?” Grace asked, her head in a whirl.

  “I know so,” Rosalie told her confidently.

  Mr. Roberts came down the aisle toward them, a long, white envelope clutched in his hand. He handed it to Grace, cleared his throat, and went back up the aisle to his seat.

  “Could this be for the book?” Grace whispered.

  “Well, hurry up and open it, girl!” Rosalie urged.

  “It is,” Grace breathed. “I never thought he would contribute. I hope he's not hurt because I didn't ask.”

  “Seems to me I'm the only one you asked,” Rosalie assured her, grinning broadly.

  “What recipe did he give you?” Michael asked.

  “Potato Kugel. It's a Jewish dish.”

  “What about his story?” Rosalie urged.

  “I don't know. Maybe it would be an invasion of his privacy to read it in a public place,” Grace whispered.

  “Are you crazy, lady?” Rosalie looked at her like she was indeed crazy. “It's going to be read by thousands of people all over the world.”

  “Oh, yes
, right,” Grace replied.

  Grace held the paper between them so the three of them could read it at once.

  My real name is Moses Rabinsky but in my adopted country of America, I am Leonard Roberts. I am a Holocaust survivor and the only one of my family that I know of to get out of the camps alive. I tell you this, not so you will feel sorry for me, but so you will understand what being Jewish means to me.

  I was born in 1931 in Poland. When the Nazis came to take me and my family, I was twelve years old. I was a big, strong boy, so they put me to work in the factories. I don't know what happened to my parents or my sister for I never saw them again.

  All through the war, I hated the Jewish God who could allow this terrible thing to happen to his people. When I was liberated, I said I wanted to be an American and have an American name. They gave me the name of Leonard Roberts, and that's who I was for many years until I met my wife, Ida. She, too, was a survivor, and she taught me to be proud of my Jewish heritage. I joined a synagogue and became a Jew once more. Ida liked to say once a Jew always a Jew and she was right.

  We were never blessed with children, but if we had children, I would have brought them up to love all things Jewish and to understand what was done to us was in no way our fault or God's. It is men that can do these terrible things to other men and we must always stand up for what is right so that things like this can't happen again to us or anyone else.

  So I give you a Jewish recipe in memory of my wonderful Ida who taught me to be a man.

  “Wow!” Rosalie breathed, for once at a loss for words.

  Grace was near tears once again. This seemed to be happening to her a lot lately. First Hank's tragic story, then Michael and Rosalie finding each other, now this. As Michael said, these were people facing life head on. Who was she to feel so sorry for herself that she'd let life pass her by for so many years?

  No more, she vowed. She was breaking out of her shell with a vengeance. Sure, life could be tough, but you took it and learned from it or let it crush you. She would never let it crush her again.

  Grace looked up to where Hank sat in the driver's seat, chatting with Mrs. Haverty as she got on the bus. Maybe what she'd been learning here had a purpose beyond writing a cookbook. Maybe she could use it to help a little girl who felt the same way she had at the same age, although Mandy had much better reason for her fears.

  Grace was late getting back to Coulter's. She had given all of her flyers to Rosalie to hand out around the campus and now she needed to have more copied. She hadn't had time to read what Hank and his sister had written but she planned to take a few minutes after the lunch rush. Actually, there wasn't much of a rush anymore and if the cookbook wasn't a success, they would have to drastically cut down on the lunchtime staff.

  Grace ran upstairs, changed quickly and dashed back downstairs. Halfway down she realized that she'd left Hank's envelope upstairs. She ran back up, laughing. She'd never forgotten things before because she did nearly the same thing every day. How different things were now.

  “Grace, where have you been?” Evie called to her.

  “Had to get more flyers,” she said breathlessly, tossing them on the reservations desk.

  “Stop and talk to your father a minute,” she said to Grace's back.

  “I'm late, Dad. What's up?”

  “This is what's up,” he smiled, waving his hand over a stack of paper. “I sent Johnny around to the stores to see if they had any recipes for us and this is what he brought back.”

  Grace's hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh, Dad, this is wonderful! I never expected such a quick response.”

  “We'll have a lot of recipes to test. I spoke to the staff and they're all willing to come in early and help. They know we're doing this for them as well as ourselves and they want to do their part.”

  “Then I'd better get busy if I'm going to keep up with all this!” Grace laughed.

  She dropped a kiss on the top of Keith's head and ran into the kitchen.

  Lunch was a little busier than it had been in a while. Several people came by to drop off their recipes and stayed to eat. The mood among the staff was considerably lighter. The cookbook wasn't even out and it was already bringing in business!

  Grace wasn't able to read Hank's bio between shifts. She and Keith thought they'd better do an inventory of their pantry and freezer. The extra lunches hadn't wiped them out, but they wanted to be prepared if this was going to be a trend.

  Grace was anxious to get to her reading but first, she and Evie and Keith had a quick meeting. More people had come in at dinner time and they now had quite a respectable stack of submissions. There was no way Grace could keep up what with blogging and social networking added on.

  They agreed that Evie would read through the bios and pick out examples for Grace to write about on the blog, Keith would review the recipes, and Felix would be in charge of testing. Keith, Evie and Felix would taste and write up a comment to be included with the recipe. That would add a personal Coulter's touch.

  Grace got away as soon as she could. It was late, but she wanted to read these last two herself. This whole project had become very personal to her but soon she would have to give up her bus rides. She already knew some of Hank's story so she started with his sister.

  My name is Carrie Watson Ford and I am 38 years old. For a time, I wasn't sure I would live to be 38. On my 30th birthday, I received the news that I had breast cancer. It was a terrible shock. No other woman in my family had ever had breast cancer. I underwent a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery, and with the love of my husband and two boys, I have survived well past the five year danger period.

  My brother was always the optimist in our family while I was the pessimist. Coming out on the right side of cancer has given me as sunny an outlook on life as he has always had.

  Today, I am a very happily married housewife, coping with the myriad of troubles two young boys can get into. But as Frank Capra says, “It's a Wonderful Life.”

  Getting my boys to eat their vegetables has been a continuing challenge, so I would like to share my recipe for garlic roasted cauliflower with you. It has been a hit with them from the first.

  Grace didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. She suspected that Carrie would like it better if she laughed.

  She took a breath and picked up Hank's story. She thought she would know what he had written, but she was wrong.

  Hi, I'm Hank Watson, 42 years old and I drive a bus. I've been driving for the better part of 20 years and I love it as much today as I did when I first started. Yes, there are days when I'm tired and the traffic or the weather is bad and I'm feeling pretty cranky, but the people who ride my bus always make me feel better.

  Let me tell you about my passengers because they're the reason I love my job. Some of them are retired and don't know what to do with themselves. They ride for the company or just for something to do. Some of them go to the senior center on the local college campus, others go to the hospital to volunteer. Some of them have part time jobs bagging groceries. The one thing they all have in common is that the day will come when they stop riding my bus because they can no longer take care of themselves or they have died. I remember them and I miss them, but I am not saddened by their loss. They have lived their lives and the time has come for them to move on as it comes to all of us.

  There are also the young people who go to the college to learn what they can learn or to put off having to get a job or a dozen different reasons. Some are looking forward to the future, some are not, but all of them have things they have yet to discover about themselves and life. It is a joy to watch them. They, too, stop riding my bus after a while, because their time to move on has come. I remember them and I miss them.

  People of all ages and professions and stations of life ride my bus. Some I know their stories and some I don't, but I can be sure of one thing. They all have a story to tell.

  One day a lady got on my bus with a notebook and a mission. Her mission was to tell these
stories in this book and for that I admire her greatly. Everyone deserves to have their story told.

  I was going to write about my late wife, Anna, because I wanted this to be a tribute to her to keep her memory alive. But I realized that the way I live my life and the kind of woman I raise our daughter to be is the best tribute of all.

  Here is my recipe for my daughter's favorite blueberry pancakes that I make from scratch every Sunday.

  By the time Grace finished reading, she had that warm twist to her insides that she had felt before when Hank had grinned at her. He really was a very remarkable man.

  An idea began to form in her head. If she was going to help Mandy, she had to meet her. And the best way to meet her was to invite her and her father to Coulter's for dinner. She wondered if she could do it. What if Hank refused? What would she do then? It would be so humiliating.

  Grace spent about thirty seconds biting her lip and worrying about it, but then she realized she didn't have a thing to worry about. A man as friendly as Hank wouldn't refuse a simple dinner invitation and even if he did, he certainly wouldn't be rude about it. He might have other plans, but then he might suggest a different night … or she could make the suggestion. Yes, she could do that. She couldn't have two weeks ago. Heck, she wouldn't have even issued the invitation two weeks ago.

  She'd really like to have made a party of it with Rosalie and Michael, Mrs. Haverty and Mr. Roberts, but she thought that might be too much for Mandy all at once. Even the restaurant might be too much, but she would assure Hank that they would be seated at the back table in the corner near the kitchen. It would be a little more private and Keith would keep them company while she worked. Being close to the kitchen, she could stop by and talk to the girl.

  Yes, it was a good plan and she couldn't wait to ride the bus tomorrow to talk to Hank. It might be her last bus ride and she wanted to make sure everyone knew why she wouldn't be back … at least for a while.