Bitter Root

by Laydin Michaels

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. If you’re thinking to influence my writing, I can’t be bought. If you’re thinking to share a pleasant dinner, I’m all yours.”

  He laughed heartily. “No influence peddling here. My dad took care of that for the family. I would just enjoy talking with you over dinner.”

  “You’re on, then.”

  The hostess called them to be seated, and they crossed the bar to the dining room. The other diners at their table were involved in conversation, so they were able to talk uninterrupted.

  “So, what do you think of the Pot? Is everyone treating you nice?”

  “Oh yes, everyone has been wonderful. Adi’s my primary focus, of course. She’s very intriguing.”

  “Adi? Really? I find her about as exciting as watching paint dry.”

  “Oh come on, you know she has a story. She’s hiding something and that’s what I want to unlock. Her secret. I think the human interest potential of a runaway turned professional chef will really appeal to the masses. Her relationship with Bertie and you defines her. I want the backstory, the root. What motivated her to leave home and how she ended up here.”

  “You looking for pearls among the cockles, girl. Adi is as plain as plain gets. She isn’t hiding anything. You want her to dredge up her past for your story? What if her past is hurtful to her? That just ain’t right to be pulling at someone for something they let go of so long ago. Look here, now, if you hurt that girl, you’re going to have me to deal with, you hear?”

  “I don’t want to hurt her. That’s the furthest thing from my mind. I just want to have all the facts. If there is something in her past that could damage you, or your business, wouldn’t you want to know?”

  “Aw, you can’t be serious. Adi was practically a baby when she landed at the Pot. She grew up right here. We know all we need to know about her. She’s a good person with a good heart. And it don’t hurt that she’s an amazing cook.”

  “You have to wonder what it is that keeps her so tense all the time, though.”

  “She’s not tense all the time. That’s just special for you. Most of the time she’s laid back and easygoing. I don’t think you get just how shy she is.”

  “I don’t find her shy at all. She’s hiding something, and she knows it’s my job to find out what it is.”

  “Now see, that’s where you’re wrong. Your job is to write about the restaurant. Whatever Adi isn’t telling you has nothing to do with the Pot.”

  “How can you say that? How can you even know? Has she told you what it is?”

  “No.”

  “Then you really have no way of knowing how it could impact your business. This article is going to bring all sorts of attention to you and your place. If there is a time bomb ticking in the kitchen, it’s likely to blow once we publish.”

  “Whatever happens, happens. Just give Adi the space she needs. She’s special, that girl, and she’s the reason my restaurant is so damn good. Her past don’t affect the present.”

  “I can’t give her space. It’s part of my job. If I don’t get all the information I need to feel secure with the article’s veracity, I can’t put my byline on it.”

  “You can’t be serious. Something that happened, or didn’t happen, to a fourteen-year-old kid is going to keep you from writing your story?”

  “It all depends on what that something is, T’Claude. That’s why I have to keep asking until I get the truth.”

  “Whatever. Good luck with that.” He stood and dropped a couple of twenties on the table. “Dinner’s on me. Take care.”

  Griffith sat back and blew out a frustrated breath. She felt out of sorts. The need for background on Adi was imperative, but talking to people about it made her feel sullied. Dirty. She had to get Adi to open up to her on her own. There wasn’t a clean way around it. In LA there wouldn’t be any question about the need to know what was in someone’s closet. The people here are so…private.

  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number she had for Adi.

  “It’s your dime, best be talking.”

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah, what you want?”

  “Um…this is Griffith McNaulty. I’m trying to reach Adi Bergeron?”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? This is Bertie. Adi’s still working. She won’t be leaving the restaurant for a few more hours. You can call the main line there if you need her. I doubt she’ll be able to take a call, though.”

  “What time does she usually finish on a Tuesday night?”

  “It’ll be eleven if it’s a typical night. If it’s busy, it’ll be closer to midnight.”

  Griffith checked the time. Eight forty-five. Two or three hours to go. She could go back to her room and search more missing persons reports.

  “Okay. I’ll catch up with her later then. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. If you want, you can come on over to my place and wait for her here. I don’t have much going on. Just watching my programs on television.”

  “Thank you, Bertie. I might just do that. I didn’t realize she lived with you. I guess I just assumed she lived on her own. Would it be okay to come over around ten thirty?”

  “Sure, honey. You come on when you feel like it. I’ll be up. I don’t go to bed until I know my girl is home safe.”

  “Great. Thanks again.”

  “Well, all right. Bye now.”

  Griffith said her good-byes and left for the hotel. She put in another hour studying old missing persons notices before grabbing a quick shower and heading over to Bertie’s house.

  It struck her that she didn’t exactly know where Bertie’s house was, but the feeling she knew them had made her forget that fact. She called again and got directions. The house was charming, a little Victorian cottage, probably dating from the early 1900s. There was a nice wraparound elevated porch with a wicker swing.

  Griffith rang the bell and waited. Bertie opened the door in a quilted robe covered in small pink roses.

  “Hi, Griffith. Come on in and make yourself at home.”

  “Hi, Bertie. I really appreciate your invitation to wait here for Adi. I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

  “Not a bit. How about a little something to wet your whistle? I’m having my little sip o’ hooch. Puts me right to sleep.”

  “That sounds great. What exactly is hooch?”

  “Heh, heh, it’s called a Dark ’N Stormy. Just a little rum and a little ginger beer.”

  “Yum. I’d love to try one.”

  “Coming right up. You sit yourself down on the couch and put your feet up. Don’t tell me your feet are fine. Everybody puts their feet up after ten in this house. It’s a rule.”

  “Got it. Couch. Feet.”

  “You learn quick for a foreigner. I might get used to you hanging ’round here.”

  “I do my best to assimilate. You make it pretty easy.”

  Bertie returned, drinks in hand, and sat beside Griffith on the comfy couch.

  “Ooh Lord, I’m telling ya, my feet need this time. It’s harder on the feet than anything else to work the restaurant all day.”

  “I’m sure it is. How old are you, Bertie? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Girl, just when I thought you were about civilized, you going to go and ask an old woman her age? Didn’t your mamma teach you better than that?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “I’m just pulling your leg. It’s no secret around here. I’m going to be seventy-five on my next birthday. Which, if you were wondering, is coming up next month.”

  “That young, huh? I’m just amazed you’re still working every day. Are you ever planning to retire?”

  “Retire for what? I’ll retire when the good Lord sees fit to retire me. We were put here on this earth to do, not to sit. I take my day of rest on Monday. What am I gonna do if I’m not working? Sit around here and grow mold? No, that’s not for me. I’m pretty happy with my life. You sound like Adi with that talk.”<
br />
  “So Adi has talked to you about retiring?”

  “Oh yes. She has made it her personal mission to get me to quit. Ain’t going to happen. Not for her, not for anyone. Besides, who’s gonna look after her if I’m not up at the Pot every day?”

  “Does she need someone to look after her?”

  “Don’t we all?”

  Griffith thought about it. She hadn’t had anyone looking after her since she left home at eighteen to attend the University of Southern California. She hadn’t thought she was missing anything by being independent. In fact, she had always felt it made her better at her job. Nothing tying her down. She was able to go where the stories were at a moment’s notice. She had built quite a reputation as a freelance journalist precisely because she had no one looking out for her.

  “I plead the fifth. I’m here to find out about you all, not to fill your time with my life story.”

  “Aw, now. We Southerners love to hear people’s stories. Makes you look suspicious if you don’t share.”

  “Well, what’s Adi’s excuse then? She’s a Southerner. Why does she get a pass on sharing her life story?”

  Bertie stared at Griffith for a long while before answering. “You trying to trip me up, huh? She has her reasons, and they’re good enough for me. I’m not going to be the one who tells you what she’s put behind her. She has to do that herself. I expect if she comes to trust you enough, she’ll tell you.”

  “I hope you’re right. God knows I’m doing my best.”

  “That’s all you can do, then. Come on. You have got to see what happened on General Hospital. You’re not going to believe it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Adi slid out of the truck and kicked the door closed behind her, cradling her injured hand. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. She knew better than anyone to avoid the sharp end of a knife. She could’ve lost her finger. As it was, she wouldn’t be cooking for the next few days. Thank goodness T’Claude had stopped by at the end of the night. He had arrived just in time to rush Adi to the emergency room.

  She had been deboning chicken for tomorrow’s special when she lost her focus. She couldn’t get Griffith out of her head. It surprised her that it wasn’t fear of being discovered she was thinking about, but the way Griffith looked sitting in front of her in the canoe. The sound of her happy laughter over the water. The kiss of sunlight on her cheek as she turned to ask about the gators. The play of the muscles in her arms as she pulled on her oar. So beautiful. The sharp sting of the knife pulled her back into the present.

  She was lucky she had missed any major tendons in her index finger. The doctor washed the incision thoroughly before stitching it up and sending her home with a prescription and warnings to keep the wound dry and clean.

  “You know, Adi, you could’ve just told me you wanted some time off. You didn’t have to cut your finger off,” T’Claude said as they walked back to his car. “At least you didn’t bleed on my leather seats.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I could pretty much debone a chicken in my sleep.”

  “You think? I don’t agree. Clearly, you need to be a little more awake to work with a sharp blade. I guess we can shut down for a couple of days. I don’t want Bertie trying to handle the place on her own.”

  Adi felt terrible. Jose was learning the ropes of the kitchen, but he sure wasn’t ready to run the place yet. “I’m really sorry, T.”

  “Aw heck, it will be the perfect opportunity to repaint the bathrooms. Lord knows they need it. Don’t worry about it. Let’s reopen on Friday. You can sit back in the kitchen and talk Jose through the meal prep. Bertie can help out, but she won’t be overwhelmed.”

  “You know she isn’t going to be happy about us closing down.”

  “I know, but that’s tough. She’ll get over it. And like I said, we can do some work on the place.”

  They pulled into the dark parking lot. T’Claude parked next to Adi’s truck. “You going to be okay to drive?”

  “Sure. No problem. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  T nodded as she climbed out of his car and got behind the wheel of the Ford.

  The drive to the house was uneventful, if a little challenging. Suddenly wiped out, she couldn’t wait to lie down. She unlocked the door and opened it as quietly as possible. She knew Bertie would’ve waited up and was probably asleep in her chair. She should have called her so she could’ve gone to bed.

  She stopped short after gently closing the door. Yes, Bertie was sound asleep in her chair, but Griffith was asleep on the couch. She looked so adorable, one hand curled under her chin, an errant strand of golden brown hair fluttering with each breath. Adi stood frozen, watching the almost-stranger sleep. A warm tenderness swept through her and the desire to walk over and tuck that strand of hair behind Griffith’s ear was almost too strong to resist.

  What the hell is the matter with me? Why did seeing Griffith, or even thinking about her, make her feel this way? She had done serious damage to herself as a result of this distraction tonight. It had to stop. Adi didn’t appreciate the way Griffith’s being here was interfering with her life. She liked her life, loved it, in fact. She didn’t want this. She hadn’t asked for it, and it was time for it to end.

  Adi reached back and pulled the door open, then closed it with a little more force than needed to wake the sleepers. Griffith sat up quickly, on guard almost immediately. Bertie opened her eyes and grimaced.

  “What in the world is wrong with you, Adi? That ain’t the way to come in the door after midnight and you know it. You’re not too big for me to take over my knee, now. You best be apologizing for that rude awakening.”

  “What happened to your hand? Are you okay?” Griffith said.

  “Lord. What happened?” Bertie got up and moved over to inspect her hand.

  “It’s nothing. Knife just slipped. It’ll be okay in a few days.”

  “The knife just slipped? How did that happen? You haven’t cut yourself in the kitchen since you were fifteen.”

  “Well, I have now. I’m sorry I woke you both. I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to go to bed.”

  “Griffith has been here waiting to see you since ten thirty. You be polite now and sit here and talk for a while. I’m going to bed. Griffith, I don’t want you driving around this late. It’s not safe. Adi will show you the guest room after your visit. I expect you at the breakfast table in the morning. Don’t disappoint me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Have a good sleep.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, Bertie”

  “I’ll look forward to the story of your hand in the morning. Sleep well.”

  Tension filled the room as Bertie left. Adi didn’t know what she should do. She knew what Bertie expected. But Griffith felt more like an intruder than a guest. She didn’t want to make nice right now.

  Griffith broke the ice. “I’m sorry to surprise you by being here. It wasn’t my intention to impose myself.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just really tired. Was there something important you needed to talk to me about tonight?”

  “It doesn’t seem important now. It can wait. Why don’t we just call it a night?”

  Suddenly, Adi felt bad. Griffith was such a puzzle. She made her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She wanted to hear things Adi didn’t want to say. But really, she was a nice person and didn’t deserve to be treated rudely. Griffith didn’t know she was throwing Adi into chaos. She sighed and dropped onto the couch next to Griffith.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You said that. I think you said it twice, even. Don’t sweat it. I’m not that thin-skinned. I ambushed you by showing up at your house. You have every right to be a little peeved. We can talk in the morning.”

  “No, it’s okay. What can I help you with?”

  “We’re friends, right?”

  “I guess. I mean, I hardly know you. So, I don’t know…”

  “Okay, well we have
the potential to be friends, then? I mean, I really enjoyed our time together on Monday. I feel comfortable around you. I think we could be good friends.”

  “So you came over here at ten thirty to ask me if we could be friends? I have to admit, I think that’s kind of weird.” Griffith laughed that darn laugh, the one that made Adi feel like a school of mullet were swimming around in her belly.

  “It sounds strange now, but when the idea hit me, it made perfect sense.”

  “Okay, if you say so.”

  “I wanted to say, let’s get to know each other. I want to spend time with you, off the record. You hardly know me. I hardly know you. Let’s change that. Does that sound reasonable?”

  “Look, you’re here for a reason. You’re here to write a story, of which I am the subject. That kind of limits the scope of our association. You’ll be wheels up back to LA once your work is done, right? Why would you want to invest in a friendship with me? It’s not like you’re sticking around.”

  “Because I like you, Adi. I really like you. I want to be your friend…and maybe, something more?”

  “Huh?”

  “Come on. You get that I’m attracted to you, right?”

  “Uh—”

  “Wait. You do like women, don’t you?”

  Adi felt her face go hot and knew she was bright red. She knew she was a lesbian; she just didn’t think anyone else knew. She certainly hadn’t advertised it. She had known since she was eleven years old and kissed Rachel Comeaux, but she hadn’t kissed anyone since then. She had educated herself about her sexuality thanks to the Internet, and the youth group at the community center. But she had never acted on her desire. She just felt she wasn’t ready, and it wasn’t like the little town she lived in was crawling with options. Her plan had been to move to New Orleans when Bertie was finally ready to retire. To find a job cooking and to explore her sexuality in a larger, safer place. Granted, Bertie didn’t seem to be in any hurry to retire, and it was getting harder not to break out, but Adi had learned patience at an early age. How did Griffith know?

  “It’s okay, you know? To be gay. It’s perfectly natural,” Griffith said. “I mean, if you are a lesbian, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”