by Sarah Jio
“Sounds perfect,” I replied. The cool wind stung my tired skin, but my heart, at that moment, felt very warm.
Cassandra’s glowing review of Giancarlo’s had rendered getting a table impossible. The line out front told us to make other plans.
“I know of a little place downstairs, at the bottom of the Market,” Dominic suggested. “It’s been around forever. It’s nothing fancy—just diner fare. But you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted their ham-and-gravy sandwiches.”
“I’m in.”
We descended the stairs into the bowels of the Market, where the scent of curry and allspice wafted on the damp air.
“I love it down here,” Dominic said quietly, as if we’d stepped into sacred space. “Up there, that’s for tourists. This is the soul of the Market.”
I looked around in awe. “I can’t believe I’ve been in Seattle this long and haven’t been down here,” I said. “I didn’t even know there was a lower floor. I’m embarrassed.”
Dominic pointed to a shop on our right. “There, that’s where you can find some of the most exotic spices in the world.”
“I can smell them,” I said, taking in a breath of the aromatic air.
“And you have to try Al’s beignets.” He nodded a hello to an older man who stood behind a small food cart. “We’ll take four, extra powdered sugar,” he said, the scent of fried dough swirling. Dominic handed the man five dollars, then tucked a steaming hot bag into my hand. “For dessert.”
We walked a few paces farther and arrived at the restaurant. Just as Dominic had said, it was nothing fancy, just a few booths against the walls and scattered tables and chairs set with nothing more than napkin dispensers and Heinz ketchup bottles that looked like they needed a good wipe-down. A few men sat at the bar on stools with squeaky hinges and torn vinyl seats. A simple green sign that read LINDGREN’S hung over the entryway.
A gum-smacking waitress approached us, offering me a grease-stained menu before handing one to Dominic. “How’ve you been, sugar?”
“Pretty well, thanks.” He turned to me. “Claire, this is Donna. Donna, Claire.”
“Nice to meet you, sweetie,” the older woman said in a smoky voice before turning back to Dominic. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. Funny thing, just this morning there were some men in suits in here, talking about your—”
“Ah, yes, I’ve been busy,” he said uncomfortably, cutting off whatever else it was she was about to say. He gave me a nervous, apologetic smile.
Donna shrugged. “All right, you two. Let’s get you seated.”
He pointed to the far corner of the restaurant. “Do you mind if we grab that table over there by the windows?”
“Sure, hon,” she said, winking. “It’s got your name on it.”
My curiosity persisted as I took a seat in a wobbly chair. “Men in suits? What’s that all about?”
He pulled a napkin out of the old steel dispenser and began folding it into small squares. “Oh, who knows,” he said, feigning an unconvincing air of disinterest. “Maybe they were complaining about the slow service at the café. Some businessmen just don’t realize that it takes time to make a good cappuccino.” His voice sounded strangely distant for a moment before he snapped back to his cheerful self. “Sorry, I don’t mean to complain,” he said. “Maybe it’s a sign that I should take that vacation I’m always talking about going on.”
A seagull squawked from its perch outside, prompting a glance out the old casement windows. Single-paned and drafty, they kept a watchful eye on the ferries filing in and out of Elliott Bay. I had a feeling that he wasn’t giving me the whole story and was making an effort to change the topic, but I didn’t mind, really. “Where would you go?” I asked, resting my chin in my hand, elbow firmly planted on the table. “On this vacation?”
Dominic’s eyes lit up. “Oh, well, Australia first,” he said, tracing a spot on the table as if it were a map of the world laid out before him. “I’ve always wanted to see the reef. Then New Zealand, and maybe Fiji.”
I imagined him snorkeling through blue water, his golden skin darkened even more by the sun. “Sounds amazing,” I said. “So why haven’t you made the trip yet?”
“Well, I—”
Donna returned to take our order. “What will it be? The usual?”
Dominic looked at me. “I always get the ham-and-gravy sandwich.”
“We’ve been making it since the Great Depression,” Donna chimed in. “Back then coffee gravy was the poor-man’s staple. Now it’s high class. One of those gourmet magazines wrote it up last year. They sent a photographer out from New York City to take pictures.” She pointed to a frame on the wall.
“I’m sorry,” I said, a little confused. “Did you say coffee gravy?”
She nodded. “The ham is seared in the pan, and when the fat is rendered, we pour in some coffee and let it reduce down to a nice thick sauce. It’s how people stretched the dollar back then.”
“Well, I’m not much of a coffee drinker,” I said, “but I think I’ll try it anyway.”
“Good,” Donna said. “You won’t be disappointed. Folks have been eating this dish for almost a century now. It’s a classic. Side of mashed potatoes to go with?”
Dominic and I both nodded.
“So, how’s your article coming?”
“Well, I’m not really sure if it’s going anywhere. My editor is expecting copy tomorrow, and I don’t have a single word written.” I frowned. “I can’t stop thinking about that little boy.”
“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “The hardest things always turn out to be the most rewarding.”
Dominic’s words rang true. I thought of the first and only marathon I’d run, shortly after Ethan and I got married. I trained for nine months and barreled across the finish line with a bloody toe and cramped muscles, but I’d never felt so proud of myself, so self-assured. When Ethan scooped me into his arms and nuzzled his face against mine, sweaty and red, I felt a sense of peace I’d never felt before.
I looked out the window, squinting into the distance.
“What are you looking for out there?” Dominic asked.
“Bainbridge Island,” I said, turning back to him. “I’m taking the ferry over to visit an old friend tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Ah,” he said, as if reminiscing. “It’s a beautiful place. I’d love to live there someday.”
“Why don’t you? You could commute. It’s only a half-hour ferry.”
He looked at his hands in his lap. “I can’t,” he said. “At least not right now. Real estate is pricey on the island, and every extra dollar I make I send home.”
“Home?”
“My mom’s sick,” he replied. “No health insurance. The medication she takes is costly, but it keeps her alive.”
“Wow. I’m so sorry. So you’re supporting her?”
He nodded. “You’d love her.”
My cheeks flushed.
I heard my phone ringing in my bag, but I ignored it. “She must really love you,” I said. “There’s something special about a mother’s relationship with her son.” I refolded the napkin in my lap and rested my chin in my palm. “I can’t stop thinking of Vera and Daniel. Just knowing that they once made their home at the café.” I sighed again. “It’s haunting.”
Dominic grinned. “I always thought we had ghosts.”
A few moments later, Donna returned with two plates. True to its description, the ham sandwich oozed with dark brown gravy. I sank my teeth in unabashedly.
“What do you think?” Dominic asked.
“Wow,” I said. “This is good.”
He smiled proudly. “I knew you’d like it.”
I heard my phone ringing again. This time I reached down, reluctantly, and fished it out of my bag, immediately seeing Ethan’s number on the screen.
“Sorry,” I said to Dominic. “Will you excuse me for a minute?”
“No problem.”
“Hello,” I answered, walking qu
ickly outside the restaurant.
“Claire, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all morning.”
I smirked. “To explain why you didn’t come home last night?”
“Claire, I’ve been at the hospital all night.”
I gasped. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s my grandfather. He had a heart attack. Right after he accepted the award last night at the gala. I’ve been by his bedside since he came out of surgery.”
“Oh no,” I said. “Is he going to be OK?”
“We’re not sure yet,” he said. “Time will tell. I tried to call you last night but you must have turned your phone off. And there was no answer at the apartment this morning.” He paused, detecting the noise around me. A man who appeared hard on his luck had begun playing a banjo a few steps away. “Where are you?”
I looked inside the restaurant at Dominic and I felt a pang of guilt. “I’m having lunch at the Market. With a friend.”
Warren was the grandfather I’d never had. Mine had both passed away before I was born, and when I married into the Kensington family, Grandpa Warren had welcomed me with open arms. I’d bonded with him the moment we met, in fact. He challenged me to a game of hearts, and I won. “She’s a keeper, this one,” he had said to Ethan. “Any woman who can beat a man at a game of cards is a woman you can spend a lifetime with.” I knew he wasn’t talking about me, not really. His late wife, Ethan’s grandmother, had passed away years before I came into the family. But I didn’t have to meet her to know that she and Warren had shared a deep love. You could see it in the pictures of their life together, but mostly you could see it in his eyes. More than fifteen years after her death, he still got teary talking about her.
“I’ll be over as soon as I can,” I said. “Tell him I’m coming.”
I ran back to the table, reaching for my bag on the chair. “I’m so sorry, Dominic, but there’s been an emergency. My husband’s grandfather is in the hospital. He’s had a heart attack. I need to go.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, standing up. “Can I help?”
“No, no,” I stammered, suddenly feeling the guilt I’d pushed aside earlier. “I’ll just catch a cab from here. I’ll…I’ll call you.” I looked down at my half-eaten lunch before I ran out the door.
Warren managed a weak smile as I walked in the room. His arms lay limp at his side in the gray hospital bed. “Look at you,” I whispered. “You know you can’t go and have a heart attack without giving me some advance warning.” I heard Ethan enter; I didn’t turn around to greet him.
Warren winked. “Sorry, honey; this old ticker has a mind of its own, I guess.”
“Well,” I said, forcing the tears back, “you have many good years left. We need to get you well.”
The old man nodded. “If you say so, dear. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather leave now and go see my sweetheart. I miss her.”
“I know you do, Warren,” I said. “But we love you too, don’t forget.”
I felt the warmth of Ethan’s body near. “He needs to rest,” he whispered to me. “Let’s sit down.”
I didn’t like his know-it-all tone, but I agreed that Warren looked tired, so I followed him outside the room, where we sat down on a bench in the hallway. Nurses bustled around us. The air smelled of beef stroganoff and disinfectant.
“They think he’s going to recover,” he said. “For now.”
“That’s a relief,” I replied, rubbing my hands together nervously.
I looked up to see Ethan’s parents, Glenda and Edward, walking toward us.
“How is he this afternoon?” Glenda asked Ethan. She ignored my presence.
Ethan shrugged. “The same. The doctor says his heart’s weak. He’s not going to be able to keep the same schedule he did. We have to help him manage his stress. It’s finally time he slowed down.”
Glenda looked at Edward and then at me. “Claire, darling,” she said.
I gulped. She only addressed me as darling when a favor or a directive was imminent.
She gave Ethan a knowing look. “Claire, we think you should probably curtail your weekly visits to Warren for the time being.”
“I’m sorry?” I said, a little stunned. “What do you mean?” I’d been visiting Warren at his home once a week for the past two years. We played hearts, watched old films, or just read together, he with his war novels, and I with my romance novels.
“It’s his heart, dear,” she continued. “You heard Ethan. The doctor says it’s been weakened. With all of your…well, it’s just that Warren doesn’t need any extra…drama right now.”
“Extra drama?” My cheeks burned. “You think my visiting him is bad for his health?” I looked at Ethan for backup.
“Well of course we don’t mean that, darling,” Glenda said, patting my back ceremoniously. I hated the patronizing tone in her voice. “We’re just looking out for his best interest, as he makes his recovery—”
“Mom,” Ethan said, holding out his hand in protest. “Grandfather loves Claire. She’s one of the few people who make him happy.” He squeezed my hand in solidarity, but I was too shell-shocked to squeeze it back.
I felt Glenda’s stone-cold gaze on my face when I turned to Ethan. Rogue tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t bear to let his parents see them brim over my lids, yet I knew I couldn’t stop them. “Thank you,” I whispered to my husband, before releasing his hand and turning to the elevator.
“Claire, please,” Ethan said, after his parents had walked farther down the hallway. He pulled me close to him and kissed my forehead lightly. “Don’t listen to my mom.”
I nodded as the elevator opened. A nurse in blue scrubs eyed the sign ahead. “Oops, wrong floor,” she said. In a wheelchair near her was a woman in a hospital gown who clutched a tightly swaddled newborn to her breast, his face red and puffy. The new mother smiled, a tired, satisfied smile, as her proud husband hovered over them. Love oozed from their every fingertip. The elevator door closed.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” I said in a voice that quivered. “I can’t stay here. I have to go.”
I waited for the elevator to open again and then stepped inside. When the doors closed, I buried my face in my hands and wept.
Chapter 11
VERA
The plump female shopkeeper at Frederick and Nelson eyed me disapprovingly before looking up at Lon’s assistant and letting out an annoyed sigh. “Another one?”
Andrew pointed to a rack of formal dresses in the distance. “She’ll need an array of gowns,” he said. “Mr. Edwards prefers red, but throw in some other colors—for variety. And she’ll need other garments too.” He gave the woman a knowing look, before checking his watch. “Charge it to Mr. Edwards’s account, as usual.”
“All right,” the woman said, raising an eyebrow. “We have work to do.”
“Good,” Andrew said. “Please see to it that she arrives at the hairdresser by four. Mr. Edwards will be meeting her for dinner at five, and not a minute later.” I felt like goods on a delivery truck.
I followed her into a changing room and stood numbly in front of a mirror as she pried off my clothing. My dress fell to the floor in disgrace, a crumpled pile of dark blue frayed fabric.
Another woman walked in the room, this one younger.
“Melinda!” the older woman barked. “Get rid of this dress. She won’t be needing it anymore.”
I felt a surge of sadness as I watched the sales assistant pick up the dress and carry it away. The pocket was torn and the hem ragged. And yet, I had worn it the last time I’d cradled Daniel in my arms. It felt, in some way, as if I were discarding a part of him. A part of us.
“Please,” I begged. “May I keep it?”
The woman let out a dry cackle. “That old rag?”
I stared at my bare feet, trying with all my might to keep the tears from coming.
“Fortunately for you, Mr. Edwards has taken a liking to you,” the woman continued. “Y
ou can wear nicer things now.”
I closed my eyes tightly as she tugged at my undergarments. I half-listened as she measured my bust. “He typically prefers a rounder figure,” she said, staring at my breasts with a scrutinizing expression. “It would do you good to eat more.”
I grimaced as she unhooked my corset, exposing my body completely. The cold air felt cruel against my bare skin. The mirror’s reflection revealed a stomach that sagged at its center, where I’d carried Daniel just three years prior. I had birthed him at home, alone. Caroline had been there at the end; she’d patted my face with a cool cloth and sung to me. Labor had been long and painful. But when I’d held him in my arms, none of that had mattered. I’d have done it all over again for him. My Daniel. I felt the tears welling up again. I will not cry. I will not let this woman see me cry.
“I see you’ve had children,” the woman said disapprovingly, strapping a beige corset around my ribs.
I nodded. “Yes,” I said quietly. “Just one. A wonderful little boy who—”
“It’s good you gave him up,” she said. “No sense raising a bastard child.”
“How dare you?” I said, taking a step back.
The woman shrugged. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said, perhaps more worried about losing the commission from Lon’s account than hurting my feelings. “I only meant that it’s hard to raise a child these days in any circumstance, let alone out of wedlock.”
She stepped closer and pulled a white silk slip over my head, inching it snugly over my body. She folded her arms as she gave me the once-over. “You do know what happened to the last one, don’t you?”
I shook my head. “The last what?”
“Mr. Edwards’s last girl.”
I shook my head, remembering Susie, the former maid.
“She got pregnant,” she said. “The little fool. He was forced to let her go.”
I didn’t want to share Lon’s bed any more than I wanted to share his dinner table. But I would do anything to find my son. Lon was well connected. Gwen had seen him lunching with a senator. If anyone could get the police to search for Daniel, he could.
