Grace blushed at Hank's words. He was certainly full of compliments and she had no idea how to handle them.
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Jeannie … one of our waitresses … she set the table with dishes from the restaurant. And my Mom, Evie, she helped me get dressed.”
“Why do you turn that pink color all the time? And how come you don't have any dishes? And why do you need your mother to help you get dressed?” After this run of questions, Mandy turned to her father and asked, “Can we eat, now?”
Hank was stunned. Mandy hadn't talked this much in two years and especially not to a stranger. He should say something to her about being so rude to Grace, but this was such a breakthrough, he couldn't bring himself to scold her.
The barrage of questions caught Grace off guard, but it just might be that her own shyness and nerves had made the child feel more comfortable in comparison.
“Yes, you can eat, Mandy. Feel free to use your fingers. It's the only way to eat fried chicken,” Grace smiled.
Mandy grabbed the drumstick and began eating. After the first bite had gone down (she remembered not to talk with her mouth full), Mandy pointed at the sweet potatoes.
“What are these? I never saw orange fries before.”
“Did you ever have sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving?” Mandy nodded. “Well these are the same potatoes only fried. Do you think you might like to try them?” Grace asked encouragingly.
“I tried to eat one in the kitchen, but Miss Grace slapped my hand,” Hank whispered to Mandy.
“Auntie Carrie does that, too,” Mandy giggled. “You eat one first, Daddy.”
Hank took a fry and popped it in his mouth.
“Mandy, honey, whatever you do, don't eat these fries!” he exclaimed.
“Why not, Daddy? Look, Miss Grace is turning pink again. You hurt her feelings,” Mandy scolded him.
“Because if you try them, you'll love them so much there won't be any left for me.” He popped another one in his mouth, grinning at his two ladies. Well, technically, only one of them was his lady, but for the first time in two years, he felt like a family … a real family … sitting down to a home-cooked meal.
“Oh, Daddy,” Mandy giggled again and took a bite of a fry.
Hank turned to Grace so his daughter wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. He laid his hand over Grace's and mouthed, thank you. On an impulse, he lifted her hand to his lips and hoped she wouldn't snatch it away. He knew without any doubt, now, that this beautiful woman was even more scared of people than his Mandy and he thought Mandy knew it, too. That's why she was talking so freely to Grace. He was so grateful to her for making the effort to have them to dinner. It must have been difficult for her, to say the least.
“These are really good, Miss Grace, and so is the chicken,” Mandy told her, breaking the mood.
Grace was glad the child was talking and especially glad that she'd chosen that moment to say something about the food. That opened up a topic of conversation that she could handle. It also gave her an excuse to remove her hand from Hank's and start eating herself.
“It's a special way I do it. Do you think you would like to learn to cook, Mandy?”
“Mom's are supposed to teach their daughter's how to cook and I don't have a Mom,” Mandy said matter of factly, taking another fry.
Now Hank was really stunned. Mandy not only never talked about her mother, but she never let anyone else talk about her, either. He couldn't take any more. Too much was happening too fast.
“Excuse me, Grace. I need a glass of water.” He got up from the table.
“I'll get it,” Grace offered.
“No, I'll get it.” He looked at her with pleading eyes, grateful that she nodded and let him leave.
Once in the kitchen, he gripped the edge of the sink and bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. Hank thought this might not be the best place to pray, but he suspected God didn't much care about things like that when he was being thanked for a miracle. Hank had no idea how long this miracle would last, but he didn't care. Just for tonight was enough for now.
And he owed it all to Grace. The beauty of the woman, her sweetness and her strength, and the generosity of her big heart, soothed his battered and lonely soul as no one had done since Anna died.
He had no idea what to do with all these feelings churning inside him, but his daughter was calling and he'd better pull himself together. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose on a paper towel, pasting a smile on his face.
“Daddy, look, Sam likes the fries, too.”
“That's nice, honey, but I don't think it's a good idea for a puppy to eat fried foods. Just give him some chicken without the skin, okay?”
“I'm sorry, Hank, I didn't know,” Grace apologized. Hank's eyes were suspiciously red. Somehow it did her heart good to know that this big, friendly man who always smiled was capable of such deep emotion.
“Didn't you ever have a dog?” Hank asked, sitting back down and putting his napkin over his lap.
“No. We used to live right here over the restaurant and the city is no place to keep a dog. When we moved to the suburbs, we spent most of our time here so there was no one to take care of a dog.”
“You can pet Sam if you like,” Mandy offered. Sam was her first ever dog and she couldn't imagine anyone ever being without one. She'd take such good care of Sam, he'd live to be a million years old.
“Thank you, Mandy. I'd like that very much,” Grace replied.
“How about less talk and more eating? All this good food is getting cold while you two ladies are yapping. Just like a woman. Talk, talk, talk,” he teased them.
They dug in, licking their fingers and occasionally, Grace heard a muttered delicious. Other than that, her two guests did full justice to her food. Grace always had a hearty appetite herself and was pleased to see that Mandy did, too.
Hank finally sat back with a sigh of contentment, patting his full stomach.
“Grace, I don't know how you can eat that way and still be so slim.”
“Mostly I run it off in the kitchen and I do ballet exercises at the barre.” Grace could have kicked herself. No one but her parents knew about the ballet.
“You do ballet?” Mandy asked wide-eyed. “I want to do ballet, but ...” Mandy couldn't say anything about her fears to this nice lady.
“But you're afraid of what the other girls would say?” Grace asked softly.
Mandy could only nod, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Mandy,” Hank groaned, about to get up to hold his daughter. But Grace put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“I can understand that, Mandy,” Grace said, firmly keeping all traces of pity out of her voice. “When I was your age, I was quite a bit taller than the other kids in my class. They teased me about it a lot.”
“What did they say?” Mandy asked, interested in spite of herself.
“They called me stretch, skinny-minnie, said I was really a boy, not a girl because I was so tall.”
“What did you do?”
“I decided to hide. I slumped over, kept my head down, wore big clothes, held my books in front of me like a shield, never talked to anyone or looked anyone in the eye.”
“You don't do that now.”
“No, Mandy, I don't. Ballet taught me to stand straight and tall. Riding on your father's bus taught me the rest.” Grace shook her head, thinking of all the wasted years. “I'm still not very good at it. I'm only a beginner. That's why I keep blushing and why I'm so nervous about having you and your Dad over for dinner.”
Mandy didn't know there were other people who felt like she did. She'd pulled into her own little world long ago. Maybe Miss Grace wouldn't mind her scars.
“I have an idea. My day off is Sunday. Maybe your Dad could bring you over for a little while on Sundays and I can teach you some ballet. That way, if you ever decide to go to a class, you'll be so good, everyone will look up to you.” Grace hesitated a minute. “That is if you want to.”
/> “Yes,” Mandy breathed. “Oh, Daddy, can I, please?”
That's when Hank Watson completely lost his heart to Grace Coulter. He would agree to anything both to keep his daughter happy and to keep Grace in their lives.
“I suppose you'll want a blue … whaddayoucallem … those ballet skirt thingies?” He turned to Grace. “Blue's her favorite color.”
“Mine, too,” Grace laughed. “And it's called a tutu.”
“Don't you know anything, Daddy,” Mandy grinned.
“Alright, little girl. But I'm just going to drop you off. That stuff is too girlie for a he-man like me.”
This time both Grace and Mandy giggled at Hank's teasing and a bond was formed between them.
“And speaking of blue … who has room for blueberry pie?” Grace asked them.
“With vanilla ice cream?” Hank asked hopefully.
“Of course,” Grace replied. “Wouldn't be the same without it.”
Hank insisted that he and Mandy clear the table. It was a good thing, Grace sighed, that she had enlarged and remodeled the kitchen. Otherwise, they would never have all fit in there especially with Sam jumping up and down looking for more crumbs.
Hank scraped and rinsed the dishes while Mandy slotted them carefully into the dishwasher. Grace was surprised that Mandy did the job so efficiently.
“Do you like working in the kitchen, Mandy?”
“Oh, yes. Daddy always lets me help.”
Another idea was forming in Grace's head. One that would bring her closer to Mandy and maybe open her up a little more. If the girl agreed, they could cook Hank a simple dinner for after their ballet lesson.
Grace would never admit to herself that she wanted to hold these two close forever; that she loved not only the child, but the man. Her heart was not yet ready for hope.
Carrie called Grace at Coulter's on Saturday to remind her about Sunday dinner.
“Oh, Carrie,” Grace moaned, “I'm sorry. I forgot all about it.”
“Don't worry, Grace,” Carrie assured her. “I know all about the ballet lesson. You can bring Mandy with you when you finish.” When Grace hesitated she added, “Hank will be here. I wouldn't impose the whole Ford clan on you without him and Mandy to guard your flank.”
Grace couldn't help but laugh. She really was feeling a little intimidated, but with her own personal guard, she thought she'd be okay.
“That's fine, Carrie. I appreciate it.”
“No, Grace,” Carrie replied seriously. “We appreciate what you're doing for Mandy … what you've already done. Not only for her, but for Hank. He's over the moon about your success last night.” And about you, Carrie said to herself.
“I was the same way at her age and I didn't have half the reasons Mandy does. I've wasted my life being scared and shy and I don't want to see that happen to her,” Grace replied simply.
“Okay, enough or I'm going to cry,” Carrie sniffed. “I hope you don't mind but I bought Mandy what I thought she'd need; leotard, tights, slippers and a pretty little skirt. Not one of those stiff stickie out skirts.”
“A tutu,” Grace laughed. “You're as bad as your brother.”
“I should hope so,” Carrie grinned. “I know you're busy so ta-ta or tutu, whatever the word is.”
“See you tomorrow, Carrie.”
Grace was still smiling when she hung up and turned around to see her parents grinning like a pair of fools.
“What? So a girl can't be happy?” She kissed them both and hurried back to her work.
Chapter Seven
Grace had spent every spare moment working on her blogs and building up her on-line followers. Sunday morning was no different. She hurried home from church and booted up her computer to find that she already had nearly 500 followers on Twitter and over half as much on Facebook. She couldn't believe how proficient she was getting at all this computer stuff.
Rosalie had told her how to link everything up so she only had to do one entry and now she was ready to post her first blog … or not. Panicked, she called Rosalie on her cell. When Rosalie answered, Grace could hear voices in the background.
“So sorry, Rosalie,” she apologized. “I didn't know you had company.”
“It's okay, Gracie. It’s just Michael. Gran made sausage quiche for Sunday brunch and Michael invited himself over after church.”
Grace heard whispering in the background and a giggle from Rosalie.
“You stop that! I'm trying to talk to Gracie,” she scolded.
“Hi, Gracie,” Michael shouted into the phone.
“Oh … I guess this is a bad time.”
Grace was grateful they couldn't see her turn beet red with embarrassment. She’d hoped to catch Rosalie alone, but felt as if she were intruding on a family moment.
“No, no, it's fine. Just let me set this fool straight.”
Grace wanted to hang up right then, but it would have been rude, so she gritted her teeth and listened to the happy young couple squabbling.
“Don’t you give me that frownie face, Michael. You behave yourself and go help Gran with the table. Gracie and I have important business to discuss.”
“Okay, Gracie. He's out of my hair for a few minutes. What's up?”
“Oh, Rosalie, I feel so silly now that I had a chance to think about it.”
“Think about what?”
“It's the blog,” Grace sighed. “I've got it all ready to go and I just can't bring myself to click that final click and send it out.”
“Is something wrong with it?”
“I don't know,” Grace sighed.
“Then why don't you read it to me?”
“Okay.” Grace was relieved that she didn't have to ask. She still had bad moments, but she was getting there.
My name is Grace Evelyn Coulter and I am 37 years old. My parents are Evie and Keith Coulter and they founded Coulter's Restaurant over forty years ago.
They met when Keith was in culinary school and doing an internship at a hotel and Evie had a summer job waiting tables. He was 20 and she was 18.
It would be a more romantic story if I could tell you it was love at first sight, but it wasn't. Evie always said that Keith kind of blended in with the walls and she wouldn't have noticed him at all if he wasn't always dropping something when she went to pick up her orders. Keith said it was all her fault because she always looked sad and he felt bad for her.
Keith didn't know it then but Evie was pining away for her high school sweetheart. The boy (Evie still can't remember his name) had taken a summer job near the college he would be attending and left a tearful Evie behind.
One night, Keith was walking on the beach with some friends and he saw this sad little figure sitting on a rock at the end of the jetty. As they got closer, he saw it was Evie and wondered what she was doing there. His friends teased him into going up to her to ask for a date. All of them had tried but she'd turned them down.
So Keith went over to sweet, sad, little Evie, sitting all alone on a rock in the moonlight, waves sending white foam shooting up as they crashed against the jetty. He didn't ask her out or make a pass at her. He just sat beside her until she turned to him, tears streaming down her face, and threw herself against his shoulder. He put his arms around her and held her until she was all cried out.
That's how their friendship began. They would meet on the beach two or three times a week. Sometimes at night, sometimes in the afternoon. Evie would be happy when she'd gotten a letter from the boy and sad when she didn't. When she was sad, Keith let her cry and when she was happy he told her stories and made her laugh.
Gradually, Evie began to look forward to their times together and so did Keith. She no longer ran for the mail every day and he no longer dropped things when he saw her. He began to talk about what he wanted to do with his life. He didn't want to be just any old chef. He wanted to create grand dishes which he would serve in his own restaurant and Evie began to see herself at his side, helping him achieve his dream.
By the end of the summer, they were in love and they had their plans all set. Evie would stay on at the hotel and save as much of her salary as she could. Keith had already secured a promise from the head chef that he could come back to the hotel when he finished culinary school. They would marry the day after he graduated and live with her parents while they worked and saved money.
After a few years, Keith started looking around for premises for the new restaurant and found the building where Coulter's is now located. The added bonus was an apartment upstairs where they could start raising the family they both wanted.
On their fifth wedding anniversary, Coulter's opened. They made it a grand opening and anniversary celebration combined and sent out invitations to family, friends and local businesses to attend a buffet dinner as Evie and Keith Coulter's guests.
The opening was a success and so was my arrival nine months later to the day.
There was silence coming from the other end of the phone and Grace was getting nervous.
“Rosalie?”
“Gracie, I just don't know whether to laugh or to cry or to say that was the sweetest damn story I ever heard.”
“You liked it? You think it's okay? Not too long?” Grace asked anxiously.
“It was just as long as it had to be for you to tell the story of how Coulter's got started,” Rosalie assured her. “Go ahead and click that mouse. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
“Do you think people will laugh and say rude things? You know, flame me?”
“One or two might, but those are people that flame everybody. We call them trolls and we just ignore them.”
“Okay, I guess I can do that.” Grace took a deep breath and clicked. “It's done.” She let out her breath. “Thanks for staying on the line with me while I did it.”
“Girl, you are so funny,” Rosalie laughed. “I've got to get ready to drag my man to church.”
“Why don't you and Michael stop by Coulter's for lunch one day this week, or dinner if that's better for you.”
“We'll do that. Bye, Gracie.”
Half an hour later, Hank was at her door and this time, Mandy wasn't hanging behind him. She still had a death grip on his hand, but she said hello to Grace. That was a lot more than she'd done the first time.
A Slice of Life Page 7
