“I was pretty out of it.”
She hugged me gently. “Of course you were. Have you changed the bandage?”
“I’ve been avoiding it.”
“I’ll do it.”
She ushered me into the kitchen and stopped upon seeing Nick.
“Cecilia, Nick. Nick, Cecilia. Cecilia is Jane’s fantastic nurse and my friend.” I smiled as I added the last part. “And Nick is . . . a close friend of the family.”
He winked at me and crossed the room. I turned back to Cecilia. “What do you need?”
“Did they give you an ointment? Cleaner?”
“All of the above.” I reached for a brown paper bag on the counter.
“Sit here and we’ll get this done.”
I sat down as Cecilia pulled up a chair across from me and started unwrapping my hand.
Nick came to stand beside me. “You are in capable hands, and I need to get some work done.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “Rest well, okay? Call if you need anything. Nice meeting you, Cecilia.”
I looked up. “Hey, but . . .”
“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to talk.” He touched a finger to my cheek and turned away.
Cecilia stayed quiet until the front door clicked shut. “He’s cute.”
“He is.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m only here another week or so.”
“Why does your leaving mean he can’t be cute?”
“Something that cute I might want to keep.” I clamped my right hand over my mouth.
Cecilia laughed and looked back to her work.
“Isn’t that odd? Tons of men in New York, years of unsuccessful, tepid relationships, and some single dad who wears flip-flops in Seattle sets my pulse soaring. I can’t explain it. You know what he said to me just now? ‘I know you.’ Like he saw me, the real me, and I was just what he wanted . . . And what’s worse? I felt that way about him the moment we met and shook hands. That’s pathetic.”
“I think it’s sweet.” She twisted my wrist much as Dr. Jackson had done in the ER. “This is great work, Elizabeth.”
I glanced over. It was a blotched, purple, swollen mess. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Not what you did, but your stitches. Dr. Wharton is a fantastic plastic surgeon. Was he on call or did they bring him in?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You aren’t going to have any problems with this.”
I told Cecilia the entire story and my suspicion that Brian or Donna had called Health Services on me.
Cecilia bit her lip. “It might have been Donna. Brian’s outburst really upset her because it upset other patients. I gather one woman was so distraught she left without treatment. Donna’s tough and curmudgeonly, but she loves her patients and they trust her. I suspect she thought we’d both crossed a line.”
“Did we?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t ask you as a nurse to cook meals for Tyler. I asked as a friend.”
“Can she hurt you?”
“No, not really, and she’s not like that. She’s more like a protective mother hen. I’m supposed to protect her chicks, too, not cause commotions.”
I realized I was no longer angry about the call or my hand—the life of the kitchen over the past several hours had chased it all away. “Could just as likely have been Brian. He was mad at me too. Thought I’d set Tyler up.” I touched one of the Pyrex dishes. “I hope these are better and help him.”
Cecilia looked around the kitchen. “I think what you’re doing is amazing. What can I do?”
I noticed the unsealed smoothie mixtures. “Nick was going to seal those, but he left.”
We fell silent while she sealed the smoothies and I put the final items away and labeled the meals.
She wiped the run-off from the last pouch. “I read an article last week about an executive chef in Minneapolis who quit his job to run a Salvation Army soup kitchen. He said, ‘Faith is part of the recipe. The main ingredient.’ That’s not that far from what you’re doing.”
“I wish I could take credit like that, had faith like that, but this is a blip for me. I head back to Feast soon, I hope.”
Cecilia shrugged and laid the last packet in the box.
“Thanks, Cecilia, for doing this.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“You said it looked good.”
“I wasn’t talking about the hand.”
“Am I that easy to read?” I chuckled.
“Yes, but I understand. I’ve been on both sides—afraid of where I am and where I’m going to finally feeling comfortable with the journey.” She leaned against the counter, as if settling in for a long chat. “If you’d met me fifteen years ago, about the time your mom was dying, you’d have found me in a teenage residential rehab facility in Arizona. God showed me a lot of grace when he put me there and then brought me out whole.”
“Whoa.”
Cecilia laughed. “Yeah, you and I wouldn’t have been friends back then.” She waved a hand toward her outfit. “That’s one reason Donna watches me. She sees the clothes, the hair, the ink, and I told her about rehab. I make her nervous.”
“Why’d you tell her?”
“I never want to hide.”
“Have you thought about changing?” I realized how arrogant I sounded and rushed on. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that if she’s making life tough on you . . .”
“I have. Life would be easier, but it was that kind of thinking that landed me in rehab in the first place. I’m not staging a coup or protesting the status quo, the government, my sweet folks in Nebraska, or small puppies. I just like it. I love hair so black it turns blue or purple in the light. I love that my arms record the experiences that have formed me. I love that when someone is hurt or aches, my look startles them past their defense mechanisms and they talk to me, listen to me—actually listen to me because of this, not despite it.”
“Wow . . . I feel silly. You have no idea how much I spend on clothes to do just the opposite—to look so pulled together and in control that I’m afforded respect, and distance.”
“Not now.” She motioned to my blue Mariners T-shirt and ratty jeans.
I looked down and realized that I’d started raiding Jane’s closet days before, because her clothes fit and were comfortable . . . because I was comfortable.
“And what you’re doing here? This is not for respect or to maintain distance.” She laid her hand on the smoothie box. “This is deep in the thick of it.”
“It all feels different somehow.” I smiled and surveyed our work. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time, even with this hand. And that’s the great irony—I prepared nothing today. I simply directed Jane and Nick and you, and you all did the work.”
“Leading is also giving.” She walked around the island and grabbed her bag. “Do you want help delivering tomorrow?”
“Jane or Dad can take me. I don’t want to cause any more trouble for you with Donna. You can watch us from the window again.”
“If it was Donna, I’m sorry she hurt you.”
“It could’ve been Brian. I may never know.” I looked down at my hand. “And it’ll heal.” I whispered it, more to myself than to Cecilia.
After she left, I stood looking around the kitchen. It did feel good and right and whole. And it was equally true: I’d done none of the work.
“You’re awake.” Dad’s voice startled me.
“I am. Where are the kids?”
“They’re out talking to Jane’s nurse, Cecilia.”
“Did you meet her?”
“I did. She was trying out the porch swing as we drove up. I think Kate likes her hair.”
“Don’t tell Jane that. She’ll have a heart attack.”
“What happened here?” He motioned to the boxes on the counter.
“We finished the food for Tyler. I wanted to see it through. Can you carry them to the basement fridge for me? I’ll deliver
them, with your help, tomorrow.”
“Sure.” He grabbed two boxes and we headed to the basement. “Is this why Cecilia was here?”
“She helped, but so did Nick and Jane. They did most of the work.”
“Jane did?”
“I think she got a little worn out. She’s napping.”
Dad shot me a look.
“I didn’t push her, honest. We had fun. It was nice. I think she was having so much fun that she got tired before she knew it.”
“I wish I’d been here too.” He sounded wistful.
“I’m sorry we haven’t always been like that.”
“Don’t be. It’s never too late to learn that the love needs to be greater than the like.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“I made it up. I’ve thought a lot about where I went wrong over the years. I let you two believe the ‘like’ mattered most and that it was okay to drift and hold grudges.”
I let the words soak deep. The like and the love are different—and I’d confused them for a very long time.
Chapter 27
THE NEXT MORNING DAD AND I MADE THE KIDS BREAKFAST together.
“Just scoot the bacon aside and pour the eggs right onto the griddle.”
“They’ll run all over.”
“That’s the point, Dad. This can’t be new to you. At the fire station guys have to cook like this; it uses fewer pans.”
“They do.”
“Okay, pour.”
He poured the eggs on and scraped them quickly, not letting a single portion dry or burn.
“You cooked those perfectly.”
“I know heat.”
I laughed. “Of course you do.”
We hadn’t enjoyed each other’s company like that in years—maybe ever.
Dad helped clean up, then carried his bag down to the kitchen. I was sad to see him go, even for a few days, but I think Jane and I were once again proving too self-sufficient. He needed to feel needed.
“I’m going to bring back that generator,” he said.
“A generator?”
“There’s a cold snap expected, and I don’t want Jane to lose power and be without heat.”
I smiled. Only a dad could come up with that one. “She’ll appreciate that.”
“You’ll be okay?”
“We will.” I held up my hand. “It’s stopped throbbing, and as long as I don’t bump it on anything, it doesn’t hurt. And we prepared all the meals we need yesterday. You don’t mind dropping those at the hospital? I had planned to come with you.” I pointed to Tyler’s boxes.
“Not at all. It’s on my way out of town, and I’ve got Brian’s cell phone number. If I leave now I’ll be right on time.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome. These men are pretty lucky to have you cooking for them.”
“Let’s hope they enjoy it.”
I hadn’t told Dad any of the back story around Tyler’s meals, and I hoped Brian wouldn’t say anything either. Dad was so proud of me—and that felt good.
I headed up the stairs to dress for a lunch date with Nick. It was hours away, but I refused to wear sweat pants, and if Jane didn’t wake up I wasn’t sure how long it might take me to dress. I finally wrestled into a wool skirt, flat brown boots, and a cream-colored sweater. No zippers involved.
NICK ARRIVED RIGHT ON TIME, AND WE DROVE IN COMFORTABLE silence downtown. We parked and walked toward what seemed to be a grocery store loading dock. I almost backpedaled. After working in restaurants for years, I knew what lived under and behind those crates.
But I was wrong. We came to a beautifully carved wooden door at the edge of a small garden—a hidden oasis.
Nick opened the door. “I hope you like this,” he said, as he ushered me in to a softly bustling restaurant full of tables, crepe lighting, and an indoor bubbling fountain. It was lovely and felt special—almost outside reality.
We ordered way too much food, but Vietnamese is a cuisine I don’t try often, and I wanted to absorb every taste and texture. We started with the signature Tamarind Tree Rolls—salad rolls with fresh herbs, fried tofu, peanuts, fresh coconut, and jicama. We then moved on to the Crispy Prawn Baguette—a lightly fried prawn and baguette served with hoisin and fresh chili sauce. I was impressed at how light and crisp the batter was—it was no more than a dusting.
For a main course Nick ordered a curry chicken braised with potato and served with fresh lime and chili sauce. I couldn’t help myself—I ordered the beef stew. I do this almost anywhere I go, because the cultural permutations are infinite. This one was fresh and citrusy with a dash of carrot, lime, pepper, and salt. I mentally developed some changes for my next stew. We also ordered green beans stir fried with garlic, and Shrimp Patty Noodles—a frothy bowl of vermicelli noodles, tomatoes, fresh bean sprouts, shredded morning glory, and banana blossoms.
“I feel like I’m keeping you from a lot of work lately,” I said.
“This is special, and I needed the break. As I said, I don’t get out much. There’s Matt, but there’s also no time. Being a one-man show at work has been tougher than I thought possible.”
“Jane said the same thing. It was one reason Peter encouraged her to step back.”
“Neither of us charges enough for how involved we get in our projects. I feel like I’m building someone’s dream rather than just a business, and who can stop when the time’s up on that?”
“Dream building. I like that.” I took another bite of curry. “I’m beginning to think the best dreams need others to help build them.”
As the waiter collected our plates and provided containers for the leftovers, Nick glanced at his watch. “If you’ve got time, I need to grab Matt at Uwajimaya; then I’d like to take you somewhere special.”
“Waja whatta?”
“It’s an Asian grocery store down the street. Amazing place. Matt’s off school today, and Dad said they’d meet us there.”
“I’m all yours.”
Rather than turn toward the car, Nick reached for my hand and starting walking down the street. He gently pulled me as the streetlight turned yellow, and we raced the last few steps into the store. It was huge, lit with bright lights and stocked full of eclectic packaging, fresh produce, fish—it was another world, vibrant and colorful.
“Hey, they have those sodas where you pop the marble in from the lid.” I tugged my hand free.
“Do you want some?”
“I love those.”
Nick reached for a case as I raced on. “Hey, slow down, New York.”
“You keep calling me that.”
“It fits you—tough, frenetic. Not everything needs to be such a rush.”
“That’s so Sea—”
“Dad!”
Matt came running up an aisle. “We saw you walk in, but you didn’t hear us yell.”
“I’m sorry, buddy. I’ve been chasing Miss Elizabeth.” Nick slanted a glance at me, letting me know his double meaning had been intentional. He picked his son up into a hug, then released him. Matt didn’t miss a beat as he threw his arms around my waist.
Nick’s eyes flickered before he pulled his gaze to an older version of himself. “Dad, this is Elizabeth Hughes.”
Nick’s father reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Nick says you’re helping your sister.”
We shook hands as I lifted my left one. “I don’t know how much help I’ve been.”
“He mentioned that too.”
Matt tapped my arm. “What happened?”
I squatted down to describe it as Nick chatted with his dad. When I finished, the three of us stood alone. “I didn’t see your dad leave.”
“No big deal, he headed off to meet Mom. Besides, you were clearly telling Matt a great story.”
Matt still held a look of disgust mixed with complete awe.
“I have a plan. Miss Elizabeth has never been to Old School Custard. Shall we?”
“What’s the flavor?”
&nb
sp; “Has that ever stopped us?” Nick pulled out his phone and started tapping. “It’s our lucky day, kiddo. Salted Caramel.” He turned to me as we headed out the door. “It’s a frozen custard shop that makes only one flavor a day, but they always have chocolate and vanilla for backup.”
“I’ve never had frozen custard.”
“You’re in for a treat—tons more calories than ice cream, but much creamier. Complete yum.”
Old School Custard was a small shop with walls covered in pictures of all the local high schools. I found Garfield and imagined Tyler in that huge building, teaching his beloved math. I then noticed an amazing chalk calendar with the flavor for each day listed, with creative drawings, and I understood why it was addicting—who could resist flavors like Malted Milk Balls, Carmel Macchiato, Espresso, or Banana Nutella?
I ordered The Turtle sundae—two scoops of Salted Caramel custard, pecans, hot fudge, caramel sauce, and whipped cream. Nick ordered The Recess, pretty much the same thing, but with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups instead of pecans. And Matt’s Playground came complete with crushed Oreos for “dirt” and gummy worms.
We sat digging in like schoolkids.
“Please don’t tell me you do this often. I’m going to be sick.” I finally laid down my spoon.
“No way. This is a twice-a-year type treat, but it’s so worth it.”
“We were here last week, Dad.”
Nick took another bite. “Busted.”
Matt was the only one who showed some restraint and was unable to finish. We pitched his, saying a few sad words of farewell, and headed back toward the car. I felt Matt slip his hand within mine. I smiled and squeezed it. The kid had won his way into my heart, and it had nothing to do with Salted Caramel.
“Matt, we’ve got one more stop. I bet Miss Elizabeth likes food markets.”
“You kidding?” I interjected.
“We’ve got a neat one here, small, high end, on Melrose. You’ll love it.”
We drove a few blocks and parked near a yellow brick building, unassuming from the outside, but inside it was a completely refurbished warehouse with small shops selling crafts, artisan cheeses, wines, and meats. At the back was a gorgeous small restaurant, Sitka & Spruce. Its kitchen was completely open to the dining area, even utilizing one end of a large table at which customers sat.
A Katherine Reay Collection Page 43
