by A. J. Carton
“With the Stromboli extension and the East Coast stop over?” Cara asked. “I know you were worried about that.”
Jack nodded.
“So you’ll be gone, what? Six – eight weeks?” Mike added. “The kids are going to miss you.”
Jack nodded again. “I’ll miss them too. But it seemed like,” he shrugged, “something I shouldn’t pass up.”
“Well, I think that sounds great,” Julie exclaimed glancing around the table at Piers, Mike and Cara. She didn’t, Emma noted, try to catch her mother’s eye.”
“Wow,” was all Emma could muster. “Sounds exciting.” She rose from the table then added. “Time for dessert.”
Emma walked into the kitchen, her heart slowly sinking lower in her chest. He’s going away for almost two months on the trip of a lifetime and he never said a word.
Then another thought occurred to her. And her heart slipped further, all the way into her stomach. Maybe he’s not going alone. Maybe he’s going with somebody else.
Emma removed the cold Bavarian cream mold from the refrigerator, her ear still trained on the dining room where the conversation lingered on Jack’s trip.
Mechanically, she dipped the mold into a bowl of hot water to loosen the cream. Then she quickly flipped it upside down over a serving dish. She’d done it a hundred times before.
“Norman Sicily,” she heard Cara say. “You know, the Rogers, Frederick II - Stupor Mundi. I hear the chapel at Monreale is spectacular. Mike, we’ve got to go there,” she added.
“The food’ll be great,” Mike replied.
Emma gave the mold a gentle shake. For reasons she dared not explain, her heart was breaking. Why didn’t he say anything? a voice in her head asked. Why should he? the same voice answered.
That’s when Emma noticed something. It was happening in slow motion. Right before her eyes. The Bavarian cream, her famous and beloved Bavarese, was slipping out of the mold all right. But it wasn’t slipping onto the platter she’d carefully poised under it. Instead, the round glob of white creamy jelly was slipping past the platter onto the floor. In a split second it would land and shatter.
Emma must have let out a scream. She didn’t know exactly what she screamed, but she guessed it was bad. She dropped the mold. It clattered noisily onto the floor. But she managed to catch half the dessert on the platter. She caught the other half in her bare hand.
Outside the kitchen, the dining room grew eerily silent.
Emma looked up to see Celina staring at her, wide eyed in horror.
“Everything OK in there?” Jack called.
“Everything’s fine. Just dropped something,” Emma answered.
“I hope you didn’t burn yourself.” That was Piers.
“Need help, Mom?”
Someone in the dining room pulled back their chair. Seconds later, Jack poked his head around the kitchen door and saw what had happened.
“Leave!” Emma shouted at him, not very politely. “Everyone stay put! Everything’s fine! Now get out!”
Jack did as he was told.
By then Emma was almost in tears. Bavarian cream seeped through her fingers onto the floor. What had landed in the platter looked more like English trifle than Italian Bavarian cream.
Emma slopped what was left of the cream back onto the platter and washed her hands in the sink. That’s the trouble with tricky desserts, she reminded herself. They’re tricky. Why didn’t Jack request something simple like, she tried to think, like brownies!
The Bavarian cream now looked like large curd cottage cheese. Tears streamed down Emma’s cheeks. But she knew she wasn’t crying about the dessert. She was crying about herself. She’d given up Dan and now she had nothing. Or more precisely, no one.
“Is OK, Senora.” Celina suddenly stood at her elbow comforting her. “I fix. Why doan ju go sit down?”
Emma dried her eyes. Splashed cold water on her face. Took a deep breath and left the kitchen.
“Coffee anyone?” she tried to sound cheerful taking her seat at the end of the table.
The Monroes smiled politely and shook their heads. Julie glanced around the table and shrugged. Mike raised his hand and started to say “espress…”, but Cara cut him off with a glare.
Jack stared at his placemat.
“We’re stuffed, Mom,” Julie finally replied. “I’m not even sure I have room for dessert.”
Everyone else at the table nodded their agreement. Except for Jack.
“I always have room,” he smiled. Then, barely able to stifle a laugh, he added. “Wait till you see what Emma’s prepared for dessert.”
As if on cue, Celina appeared in the doorway. She held a serving dish with what looked like a tower of cottage cheese streaked with red jam. She set that in front of Emma. Then she brought out small glass bowls on cut glass dishes garnished with silver spoons.
Emma smiled gratefully at Celina.
“That looks interesting,” Cara exclaimed. “What is it?”
Emma shook her head and shrugged. “Just a little something I invented.” She bit her lip and glanced apologetically at Celina. “A variation on an old war horse. I call it a Bloody Bavarian.”
“Like a Bloody Mary?” Jane Monroe asked.
“Same idea,” Emma replied. “Different victim.”
Nobody laughed.
At least the Bloody Bavarian tasted delicious. And thanks to Celina, Mike got his espresso after all.
“We have a long drive back to Calistoga,” Mike explained after the last of the Bloody Bavarian had been devoured by the guests.
“And the kids will be up early,” Julie added.
A few minutes later, everyone was gone. Celina shooed Jack into the living room. Emma followed her into the kitchen to clean up.
But Celina shook her head when Emma grabbed a dishtowel. “I no need help. Why no you go keep Mr. Jack company in the living room. He so lonely, Senora. He miss his wife. He need someone to talk to.”
Emma tried to protest, but Celina would have none of it. So Emma walked to the hall and poked her head into the living room.
“Did everything go OK,” she asked.
Jack sat on the couch reading the paper.
“Just OK?” he replied. “Emma, your dinner was fantastic. And the kids had a ball. I really think they like each other.”
“I think so too,” Emma nodded.
There was an awkward pause before Emma continued. “If you don’t need anything else, I think I’ll go home.”
“Yeah. You must be beat,” Jack agreed. Then he added, “Look, before you go, I want to apologize for something. Last Saturday…”
“Please,” Emma cut in. “What is there to apologize for? Last Saturday was all my fault. I promised I’d…”
Jack didn’t let her finish. “No, last Saturday was my fault. You were trying to solve a murder. To do your job. Make a difference. Help people. All I could think of was myself and my stupid dinner party.”
“You had every right,” Emma protested.
“If there’s any excuse,” Jack continued, “it’s that this dinner was a way for me to move on. Get back a life without Fran. But it wasn’t more important than what you were trying to do. Anyway, sorry I was a jerk. I’m really proud to know you, Emma. You solved that murder. You helped a lot of people. I’m impressed.”
Tears sprang into Emma’s eyes. She turned away. Impressed! she thought. That’s not what I want. I don’t want to impress Jack Russo. I want him to…She couldn’t finish the sentence. Even to herself. “I better go,” she said.
“No wait,” he walked over to where she stood and placed his hand on her arm. “There’s something else. I want to explain. About the trip. I didn’t mean it to come out this way. I didn’t want you to hear about it from Cara.”
Emma sniffled and blinked. Then she shrugged. “What do you mean?” She knew she sounded defensive. “The trip’ll be fun. You’re under no obligation to tell me. Do what you want. It’s your trip.”
Jack sh
ook his head. “No. Of course, I’m under no obligation. That’s not what I mean. The point is, I didn’t want you to hear about it like that.”
“Jack, frankly it doesn’t matter how I hear…”
“Listen to me,” he interrupted her again. “It does. I wanted to make this nice. Happy,” he stammered. “I mean, I was hoping to make this a surprise.”
Emma shook her head. “Make what a surprise?”
Jack took a deep breath. “Let’s start over. Emma, I reserved two places on the Sicily tour. The point is I’m hoping you’ll be my guest. I was going to ask you last Saturday. But I never got the chance. Then, with all the excitement about the murder…Anyway, I’m asking you now. Will you come?”
“To Sicily?” Emma exclaimed. “With you!”
Jack nodded. “You’d do me a great honor if you would.”
The invitation left Emma speechless.
“No strings attached,” Jack rushed to explain. “Just you and me goin’ on a trip together. But I gotta warn you, traveling with me may not be fun. I’m an ornery guy. All that pretentious academia stuff will bring out the worst in me. And the trip’s in October. I’ll be on my computer a lot trying to catch the playoffs and the World Series, and all the NFL games. And I hate shopping and tourist traps. I like museums. That’s in my favor. But I’m only good for half an hour, max. Then, honestly, I get sick.”
He shrugged fatalistically. “OK, the food part sounds good, but I’m fussy and opinionated. And you already know that my Italian stinks. So if, despite all that, you still want to take the plunge and accompany me on…”
Emma interrupted him before he changed both their minds. “Accompany you, Jack! Yes. I’d LOVE to go!!!”
THE END
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About the Author
A. J. Carton grew up in San Francisco eating her grandmother’s Bolognese cuisine. She now resides with her husband and children in Sonoma County, California where she enjoys writing about food and drinking the local wine.
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Copyright
Plum Gone. Copyright © 2015 by A. J. Carton. All rights reserved.
Fiction Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely accidental. All of the events, organizations and characters used in this story are fictional and/or solely the product of the author’s imagination and invention.
