Bitter Root

by Laydin Michaels

  “Well, no. Bertie’s…she’s my foster mom, I guess. We aren’t blood kin, but we are soul kin, if you know what I mean.”

  “So not truly family, then?”

  “Yes, we’re family. Just a different sort family. She raised me.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that. It’s personal.”

  “I can respect that, for now. I’m not saying we won’t revisit it later, but for now, I understand.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  “So how about your life outside of the restaurant? Do you have a special someone to spend your off hours with?”

  “No, just Bertie. We’re here from around eight in the morning till about eleven most nights. We just drag ourselves home at the day’s end and rest until we get up and come back the next morning.”

  “That sounds like a grueling schedule. Does the restaurant ever close?”

  “Oh sure. We’re closed on Mondays, and we take off for Christmas and New Year’s, along with the other major holidays.”

  “But no vacation time other than that?”

  “Not really. Well, Jose takes two weeks every August to go see his family in Guatemala. And Bertie goes to see her brother around his birthday in April.”

  “And you? Do you take any time other than those holidays?”

  “No, not me. I have to be here to cook. Besides, Bertie is here almost all the time and she’s my family.”

  “Okay. Well, I think that’s enough for now. I want to talk with Bertie next, and then Jose. Could I get back with you later this week for a follow-up?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I do have one last question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Where can I go to have a drink and you know, a little company, in this town?”

  Adi considered the question. She hadn’t taken Griffith for the fun night type. “Well, there’s Boudreaux Icehouse. It’s pretty much a beer and pool hall. I guess there’s guys there for company.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not into guys, if you know what I mean. I’d rather have the company of a friendly woman.”

  Adi swallowed hard. “Um. I’m not sure. I mean… I, uh. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t huh? Would you like to help me find out?”

  Adi’s throat was suddenly drier than a stale saltine. Her abdomen tensed, but she didn’t know if it was from fear or excitement. This is crazy. How can she know? She’d always been careful not to let on that she liked women. It wasn’t safe to feel that way here. She cleared her throat. “No. Thank you. No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Griffith looked sincere, but Adi couldn’t afford to let that part of herself out just yet. She didn’t need another reason to be afraid. One day, she’d be in a place where she could be herself, but for now, until Bertie was ready to retire, she lived here, and she wasn’t about to go making waves.

  “Yes.”

  Griffith reached out and rested her hand on Adi’s forearm. She felt the touch all the way through her. It was like an electrical shock. It’s just because I know she knows. That’s all.

  “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  She picked up her bag and walked to the door. Before she pushed it open, she looked back at Adi.

  “You’re sure? Really sure?”

  Adi felt her whole body heat with the glance. She wanted to change her mind. Take a wild chance and feel, but her answer was out of her mouth before her body had time to catch up. She’d been hiding so long it was automatic.

  “I’m sure.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I sure am happy you got our Adi to talk to you a bit,” Bertie said.

  Griffith looked into Bertie’s warm, honey-colored eyes. A smile creased her ginger brown face, welcoming and open. This is a strong woman. She needed to be tactful asking about Adi. It was evident that the fierce loyalty Adi had for her was equally returned.

  “Me too. It wasn’t easy. She doesn’t like talking about herself.”

  “I know that’s right. Adi can hold on to words tighter than a gator to a snapping turtle. But you got her to talk, so you should feel mighty happy about that. Now, what do you want me to talk about?”

  Griffith considered how to continue. What she wanted was to know everything she could about Adi, but the other members of the Boiling Pot crew were also important. She needed to flesh out all of the characters here.

  “Well, let’s see. First, tell me about how you came to work at the Boiling Pot. How long have you been here?” Griffith said.

  Bertie shook her head and laughed. “Lord, I been here so long! I was here the day T’Claude looked at this shop and decided he wanted to buy it and make it a restaurant. I been here since day one.”

  “So how did you meet Mr. Michaud? What made you want to work for him?”

  “Heavens now, I been knowing T since he was in diapers. My mamma used to work for his folks. I would help her out when I was home from school. Mr. Big Claude, he paid my tuition. I got my degree in education from Grambling thanks to that man.”

  “Really? So did you use your teaching degree?”

  “I sure did. I taught fifth grade for seventeen years. I was good too. Only reason I stopped teaching was because I came back to New Iberia to care for my mamma before she passed. Mr. Claude then hired me to teach that rascal, T’Claude. Lord, he was a handful that one. Couldn’t get that boy to sit still to save my life. But he learned. He truly did. Mr. Big Claude was afraid he’d never get into LSU, but he did just fine.”

  Griffith could see how proud Bertie was of Michaud. Clearly, the working relationship in this place was more like a family than a business. That would make a great addition to her story. The way the team connected was unique.

  “So why a restaurant? What motivated the decision to open the Boiling Pot?”

  “It was like this, T’Claude wanted my cooking. Sometimes when I was teaching him, we’d stop for lunch and I’d make him something special. When he was grown, he wanted me to work for him as his own cook, but I found the idea of that demeaning. I mean, I’m college educated, and I like making my way on my own terms. So I had to tell him no. But he wouldn’t have it. He said then we would just have to open a restaurant, him and me, so he could have my food and I could have my self-respect.”

  “So you opened the Pot together?”

  “Absolutely. I’m the silent partner. We let folks believe it’s all T’Claude’s place, but I own fifty percent. And when my time comes, that will pass to Adi. She’s like my own daughter, so she’ll inherit my share.”

  Griffith was impressed. Leaving your legacy to someone outside your immediate family meant a lot. I wonder if Bertie has any children of her own?

  “That’s a big gift. Will your family support your idea? I mean, when the time comes? Why is it that you’ve chosen her? How did Adi come to mean so much to you?”

  “That girl nearly scared the life out of me. One morning I parked my car and headed inside when I heard a rustling by the Dumpster. I was sure it was some ornery raccoon or something. I walked over there, big as life, to chase it away when up pops this skinny stick of a girl. Lord, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Only thing that saved me screaming was the complete look of terror in her eyes. She looked like a colt about to jump out of her skin. And dirty, mmm, mmm. Couldn’t tell what color she was from all the road dust. I didn’t say much more than ‘Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and fed.’ And she followed me right into the Pot.”

  “Did she say anything about where she had been? What had happened to her?”

  “Look here, in this place we know better than to ask questions we aren’t going to like the answers to. I knew she had come from trouble. I knew we could help her find her way. That was what mattered.”

  “But weren’t you curious? Didn’t you ever wonder what had become of her family? Worry that they’d be missing her?”

  “Well, sure, I worried. I can’t imagine
someone having a child and not worrying for them every day that they breathe on this earth. Oh, I did my civic duty. I looked in all the papers and called around to the sheriff asking about missing kids, but got nothing. It was like she grew up out of the dirt under that Dumpster. Nobody looked for her. Never.”

  “The sheriff didn’t take her to social services? Foster care or something?”

  “He would’ve if I told him she was with me. No, I just said I’d seen a strange child out on the highway near Carencro. He never came to check my story. Couldn’t be bothered, I guess.”

  “So you just sort of adopted her?”

  “That’s right. We adopted each other.”

  “What did you do about school?”

  “Well, I taught her. Just as I had taught T’Claude. Some kids are meant for proper school, and some need something different. I tried talking her into going to the local high school, just so she could have friends and such, but she wouldn’t have it. Instead she made friends through church. Not too many, but good ones.”

  “Does she keep in touch with them?”

  “Oh, some I guess. They all went off to college after graduation, but Adi didn’t want to try for it. I know she could’ve gotten a scholarship, smart as a whip, that one. But the idea of leaving here scared her. It still scares her. She’s carrying something heavy in her soul. Something that makes her feel she doesn’t deserve what other folks take for granted.”

  “That’s a shame. That kind of fear can be so debilitating.”

  “Lord, yes. I was hoping that being recognized as the fine chef she is would bring out the brash in her, make her want to step out into life, you know? But no, if I didn’t practically force her, she wouldn’t have talked with you.”

  “I’m easy to talk to, or so I’ve been told. I’m not giving up, either. I wish I knew what it is that she’s afraid of.”

  Bertie just smiled and shook her head. “You got your work cut out for you, then. She ain’t likely to tell that story. The hurt it caused runs deep. ” Bertie tilted her head and gave her a serious look. “But listen here. If you hurt my girl digging around in her past just because you’re curious, you going to answer to me. Some people don’t need their past brought up just to satisfy other folk’s gossip needs. You be careful what you do, now. I want Adi to get free, but only if it ain’t going to hurt her. You might be just the ticket. I get a sense that she’s about done out on hiding and almost ready to swing it loose. Make sure it’s her wanting to tell you, not you worrying at something that can bust open and drown her. You hear me?”

  “I do. I’ll be careful. Thanks. And thanks for letting me talk with you, Bertie. You have a pretty amazing story yourself.”

  “Nah, just a bunch of nothing.”

  Griffith laughed. Being around people so self-effacing, so humble and kind, was a far cry from her life in LA. I’d forgotten what the rest of the world can be like.

  *

  “Not that. That’s cumin. We want the coriander. It’s in the aluminum can to your right.”

  “This can?” Griffith asked.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Adi said.

  “How much do you want?”

  “We need half a teaspoon. That will do these two fillets.”

  “You mix the spices for one order at a time? Isn’t that hard to stay on top of? Why not make a batch of the seasonings?”

  “You would think that would make it easier, right? But no, what that does is make for mistakes, under seasoned or over seasoned red fish isn’t what we’re serving. I do individual orders, because the individuals who ordered them want the best I can give them. It’s how I work.”

  “Hmm, there might be something to that.”

  “You think?”

  Griffith’s breath caught at Adi’s rakish grin. She was unbelievably sexy when she teased. I’d like to get her teasing me in a completely different way. Does she know what she’s doing to me?

  Griffith moved her hand closer to the cutting board where the red fish was being dressed. As she hoped, Adi’s quick movements caused an accidental brushing of their hands. Her body reacted to the touch with a tensing of her nipples. I can imagine those strong hands playing across my abdomen. She pictured the dark bronze skin on her white belly, working magic. Griffith moaned low in her throat at the image.

  “I like watching you cook. It’s really magical. You’re like a painter or something. And so serious! This is the first smile I’ve seen on your face tonight.”

  “I’m sorry. I get kind of lost when I cook, disconnected. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  “Oh, no. It’s fascinating. Go on, keep doing your thing.”

  Adi smiled again before turning back to her work. Griffith enjoyed watching her in her element. She was completely absorbed in her work. She would ask for certain ingredients to keep Griffith involved, but truly, she was somewhere else entirely, and that was okay with Griffith. It gave her the freedom to imagine all sorts of scenarios with spices and skin and heat.

  So far they had prepared meals for over sixty diners. Each meal was a work of art and created individually. Watching Adi move efficiently and gracefully around the nicely equipped kitchen was a real turn-on. I’ve never imagined wanting to be a piece of meat, but to have those hands on me… A sharp noise behind her brought her back to where she was, a busy, working kitchen. Bertie was plating sides on dishes Adi had handed her way. She was the bass to Adi’s treble, weaving her own style of magic at the neighboring stove. Watching them in tandem was amazing. Griffith leaned back and enjoyed the show.

  Watching Adi, you would never guess what a skittish person she was in reality. She was confident and secure in her knowledge of cooking, and she made a point of going out to the tables to deliver about half of the meals in person. Jovial and friendly. Really well suited to her craft. Griffith felt especially lucky that she had dined late on Sunday, allowing Adi time to spend with her at her first meal. It colored the whole experience. She knew the diners who received that special level of attention would find their food even more delicious. Her article was practically writing itself. On the surface, anyway.

  She watched a while longer before heading out into the dining room. The noise level was higher than it had been earlier. Many of the diners were finishing their entrees and getting comfortable in preparation for dessert. She pushed through the entry door and turned, heading to the porch she had discovered on the north side of the building. It was a charming space, wooden clapboards painted dove gray, a full railing, and the ceiling painted baby blue to ward off wasps.

  She slipped into the wicker rocking chair and watched the night drift by. This was such a peaceful place. No wonder a scared runaway girl would choose this as the place to land. She imagined what that must have felt like to a young, frightened Adi. To come across an unlikely sanctuary that gave her all she needed to grow into such a fine person. If I can get her to talk about her fear, what she’s hiding from, I’ll feel better about this article. But is that true? Do I want to know out of professional integrity or is it something else? Griffith wasn’t sure if her motivation to find Adi’s past had to do with her need to be accurate or her curiosity about Adi. Did she really need that background to stand by the story? Probably not.

  Her determination not to be tricked into writing Adi into a person she wasn’t came from her experience with Tabitha. But Tabitha had been a criminal and had deliberately subverted the truth. The article she’d written had cost innocent people their life savings and her, her reputation. The stakes were different here. No one would be bankrupted by her not revealing Adi’s history. The one at risk was Adi. So why am I so hungry to know? Is it just instinct, the journalist in me wanting more? Is that a valid reason to dig into her past?

  When she had written the in-depth article about Tabitha Moore for the Wall Street Journal, she had failed. She had allowed her personal feelings to cloud her professional judgment. Her backside was still bruised from the beating she had taken from her profession. She had completely
bought Tabitha’s line that she had been a pawn in the Ponzi scheme at Trenton, Bigelow, and Culp. Griff had derided the CFO of that corporation, slandering his name in Tabitha’s defense, writing things Tabitha had told her as information from a “source.” Lies, most of them, and when the crap storm hit, Tabitha was nowhere to be found. She’d gone missing with over thirty million dollars that belonged to the workers’ 401k plan.

  Not only did her peers vilify Tabitha, but Griffith along with her. If she had been more impartial, she wouldn’t have created the doubt that gave Tabitha her chance to run. She couldn’t be any more penitent for her part in the escape and misinformation, but she had been duped as well. Tabitha wasn’t paying for her crime; Griffith was. She was persona non grata in the world of serious print journalism. Complicit through stupidity.

  Fact checking wasn’t optional and half-truths weren’t going to cut it. She would be subtle, but she would get to the truth, no matter how painful. It might be just an article on a chef for a magazine about food, but if she wanted her career back, she had to build it carefully and as strongly as she could at every step. And if her instincts were right, there was more to the story that might mean a step back toward the kind of writing she’d built her life around.

  She pushed herself up from the deep-seated rocker and headed back inside. No time like the present. She was fairly certain Bertie would back her up if needed. She walked into the kitchen just in time to see the quick caramelization of sugar on a crème brûlée. It looked yummy, making her wish she had one of her own.

  “You’re back. Perfect timing. I have two more crèmes to do, then Bertie and I were going to have a little bread pudding. You want?”

  “Um, yes!”

  That smile again, it just changed Adi’s whole demeanor. “Good. I’ll be done in a sec. Bertie’s making the Jack Daniels sauce now. Go watch.”

  Griffith walked up behind Bertie and watched as she deftly whipped in the whiskey. The sauce was a beautiful golden brown and smelled divine. “Hey there, get those mitts on and pull three ramekins out of the lower oven.”