by Maria Geraci
“Okay, you’re sorry. I get it and I accept your apology. But I thought I made myself clear. I’m never going out with you again.”
“Never is a long time, Grace.”
“Well, at least you know my name now.”
A pained expression crossed his face but he didn’t apologize again. He pulled out his wallet and handed her a card. “If you change your mind, call me. I’d really like a second chance. But I’m not going to beg.”
She took the card, even though she never intended to use it, because not to would have seemed childish and grudgelike, and walked past him back to her table.
“Thanks a lot, Benedict Arnold,” she said to Sarah.
“I thought you could use a moment alone,” Sarah said. “He was always so nice in Zumba class. And he seems sorry enough.”
“You’re tipsy on his overpriced champagne. You keep saying how nice and how sweet he is, but we’re not in Zumba class anymore, Dorothy. You weren’t there to witness the horror that was our date. Honestly, Sarah, whose side are you on?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
Grace lost her frown. Ever since the first day of first grade, Sarah had always been on Grace’s side. She’d been there through every single one of the Richard Kasamatis in her life. Could Grace say the same thing back? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“Is that more Dom?” Ellen asked, pointing to the bottle in Grace’s hands. “Because if it is, hand it over.”
Grace had forgotten she was still clutching the champagne. She handed the bottle to Ellen, who divided the contents into ten glasses. Grace raised her flute. “Ladies, join me in a toast. No matter how contrite or rich or good-looking Brandon Farrell might be, trust me on this: I’m never, and I repeat, never going out with him again.”
Maybe if she said it enough times, she’d actually start believing it.
8
Lettuce Is a Simple Vegetable
The next day was Sunday and the weather turned warm again. Grace went to Mass with the family as usual, then later, they all met back at the house for supper. The only difference from last week was that this time there was no Phoebe. Abuela seemed resigned, Mami disappointed, and Pop distracted. Around seven, Grace kissed the folks good-bye, then drove back to her place. Charlie followed in his car.
Grace lived in a twenty-year-old two-story stucco Spanish-style town house. She’d bought the place a year ago, and in that time she’d torn up the original carpet and replaced it with wooden floors, painted the downstairs a creamy sage that Sarah had suggested since green was Grace’s favorite color, and retiled the kitchen. She loved everything about this little house.
They settled themselves on her living room couch. Charlie pulled his Mac out of the computer bag and began punching buttons. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this done.” He angled the screen so Grace could follow along with him. “I’ve gone through all the financials from the store, as well as the personal stuff. Mami and Pop are okay. They’ve paid off the house and have done a good job saving. No worries there.” She waited for the dreaded but she could sense in Charlie’s tone. “And actually, the store itself isn’t in bad shape.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“It’s just . . . business has seemed so slow lately. Revenues aren’t what they used to be.” In the two years since Grace had taken over as manager she’d seen sales slowly decline.
“Sales are down, you’re right about that. But that’s not the problem. The store has still managed to squeak by in the black every month. But Pop has had to dip into the business reserves for unexpected expenses, which means there’s not a lot left for an emergency.”
“Like a new roof.”
“Exactly. You know the Cracker Barrel restaurant they built off the next exit? It’s doing pretty good. Hell, they all are. There’s a motel going up right next to it. And I happen to know for a fact there are more companies looking to buy property off the highway. Florida Charlie’s is sitting on some prime real estate.”
Grace froze. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Don’t freak. I’m just saying Pop shouldn’t rule out selling the land. The building’s old. At least fifty years. I’ve heard you say a hundred times the bathrooms need remodeling. And now there’s the roof. Without a renovation, the property is decreasing in value.” He met her gaze. “I’ll be honest, the roof repair is going to strain the store’s finances to the point that a few bad months will put us in the red. It’s only a matter of time after that before Pop has to end up selling anyway.”
“What about a loan?”
“That’s an option, but it would mean putting the property up for collateral. I don’t know if the business is worth doing that. That would be Pop’s call.” He hesitated. “There’s nothing wrong with jumping off a sinking ship, Grace.”
“You know what that would make me, Charlie? A rat.”
“Selling the store could be a good thing. Mami and Pop have enough money saved that they can enjoy their retirement. And the money they’d make would be icing on the proverbial cake. And you could do what you want. I know it hasn’t been easy for you stuck at the store.”
“It isn’t all bad.”
“Don’t romanticize it. How many times have you told me you wished you could quit and do something else?”
“I just can’t break Pop’s heart like that.”
“So you’ll do what? Wait till he’s dead, then sell the place? You’ll spend half your life miserable doing something you don’t want? No one asked you to be a damn martyr, Grace.”
The sudden vehemence in his voice made her sit up straight. It wasn’t like Charlie to be so passionate about anything. “What’s with you?”
He raked his hand through his dark hair. “Sorry, work has been complicated lately.”
“It isn’t Phoebe, is it?”
“I already told you, she’s not a problem.”
“Is it the Miami thing?”
“Yeah, it’s the Miami thing.” But Grace wasn’t convinced. There was no use prodding him, though. Grace could see in his eyes that he’d shut down. He glanced at his watch. “I have an early morning appointment and I still have a shitload of work I need to get done.”
“You work too much, Charlie,” Grace said, feeling a little sad for him. She could understand why Mami and Abuela wanted to see him happily settled down with a nice girl. Charlie needed balance in his life.
“At least it’s work I want to do, Grace.”
Touché.
His expression softened. “Florida Charlie’s had a good run in its day, but it’s a dinosaur. It’s the big companies that have taken over Florida tourism that will survive. Better to go out when you still have some dignity, right?”
What could Grace say to that?
She walked him to the door, hugged him good-bye, and watched as he drove off.
Sell off Florida Charlie’s? Grace had never once considered it. She’d always assumed the store would be there forever. That her children and even her grandchildren would nod to Gator Claus (maybe even share a word or two with him), walk through the double glass doors, and feel the same way about the store that she’d felt when she was six. But Charlie was right when he said she didn’t envision herself as the manager at Florida Charlie’s indefinitely, and certainly not for the half a lifetime he had implied.
Still, how could her brother sit there calmly and talk about selling off the store like it was a used car? Charlie had a way of seeing things too simply. The store didn’t make money, so sell it off. No emotion involved. Well, Grace wasn’t built that way. Abuela had been right all those years ago when she’d named them the Lettuce and the Tomato. The lettuce was a simple vegetable. Uncomplicated. But the tomato? It wasn’t even sure what it was. It looked like a vegetable, but inside it was a fruit.
Grace sighed. Sometimes she wished she could be the lettuce.
Thinking about Charlie’s idea made her head throb. Mayb
e she should take a couple of Tylenol and go to bed. But it was too early to go to sleep. Grace scoured her refrigerator for something sweet but all she could come up with was a tub of nearly empty Cool Whip. She didn’t want to think about the future of the store or even her own future. She just wanted to sit on her couch and eat ice cream. Preferably a whole lot of it. She grabbed her car keys and headed to Publix.
The grocery store was bustling for a Sunday night. It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and shoppers were trying to get a leg up before the last-minute rush. Grace dodged the crowded food aisles and made her way to the frozen dairy section. She could go straight for the big guns and get the Moose Tracks—creamy vanilla ice cream mixed with chocolate and peanut butter. But the mint chocolate chip had its appeal too.
Which to choose? Of course, she could always get both . . .
“I prefer pistachio, myself,” said a familiar male voice.
9
Just Joe
Grace turned to find Rosie Dimples aka Dr. Joe leaning against his shopping cart. He wore above-the-knee nylon basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Maybe he’d just come from the gym. Grace squelched the urge to reach out and smooth an errant lock of hair off his forehead.
“There’s no chocolate in pistachio ice cream,” she said.
“What is it with women and chocolate?”
It’s the universal substitute for sex, dummy. She wondered what Dr. Joe would say to that. He’d probably volunteer to fill in for the ice cream.
“It’s one of our daily food groups,” she said instead.
He smiled. “How’s the tooth holding up, Grace?”
So he remembered her name. Had he read her patient satisfaction survey? Melanie claimed he personally read each one. Tomorrow it would be a week since she’d been to his office. Surely he’d read it by now. Which reminded her, she really did need to investigate where Tanya had gone to work so she could find a new dentist. She’d planned to do it right away, but with all the roof drama going on at the store, she’d forgotten. Technically, she supposed, she was still Dr. Joe’s patient.
“The tooth is holding up great. Thanks for asking, Dr. Joe.”
“The patients find it easier to call me Dr. Joe rather than Dr. Rosenblum. But outside the office, it’s just plain Joe.”
There was nothing plain about this Joe, that was for sure. He seemed friendly enough too. Almost too friendly. There was no way he had read her patient satisfaction survey. Melanie was so full of it. She probably read them herself and only showed him the good ones to pump up his ego.
A woman with a cart full of baby items tried to slide between them. Joe pushed his cart off to the side to let her pass. You could tell a lot about a person by the items in their grocery cart. What did a hottie like Dr. Joe have in his? Probably a lot of pretentious, overpriced health food items. She tried to discreetly peek at the contents inside his cart.
“Are you checking out my turkey, Grace?”
“What?”
“Do you think my turkey is too big?” He pointed to the large frozen turkey that took up nearly half his cart.
She narrowed her eyes at him. He had to realize his double entendre, although the expression on his face seemed innocent enough. “That depends. How many people do you plan to feed with your big turkey?”
“Just me, my mom, and a few friends.”
Grace looked at the tag around the wrapper. “This is a twenty-five-pound turkey. You could feed half of Daytona Beach with this.”
“Really?” He looked alarmed.
“Not exactly, but it’s way more than you need. Unless you want to eat turkey leftovers until Christmas. The rule of thumb is about one pound per person.”
“I don’t even really like turkey all that much,” he said.
“Then I suggest you go with a smaller version.”
He pulled a list out of the back pocket of his shorts and handed it to Grace. “This is the menu I came up with, along with the list of ingredients. Would you mind taking a look at it and telling me what you think? That is . . . if I’m not keeping you from something.”
She studied the list. “You’re not planning to make all this yourself, are you? You said your mom is coming to dinner? Is she going to help cook?”
“The only thing my mother knows how to cook is hot water.”
Grace found that impossible to believe. Whose mother didn’t cook? Of course, Abuela didn’t cook. Or not well, anyway. How Mami had become so talented in the kitchen was puzzling. But then Mami couldn’t sew the way Abuela did. “So did your dad do all the cooking when you were growing up?”
“I don’t think my dad could manage even the hot water.”
Grace frowned. “Will he be at dinner too?”
“He’ll be spending Thanksgiving with his newest girlfriend down in Boca Raton.”
“Oh.” Grace looked at the list again. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pen and began crossing off items. “You don’t need four different types of vegetables, but you do need both mashed potatoes and sweet potato casserole, even though they’re both starches. That’s a given for Thanksgiving. Are you going to stuff the turkey?”
“Stuff it with what?”
“Never mind. Just don’t forget to take out the insides before you cook it.”
“The insides?”
“It’s probably not too late to have this catered, you know.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You’re going to give me nightmares. Visions of exploding turkey gizzards are dancing in my head right now.”
He looked puzzled but laughed anyway. “You seem to know a lot about this stuff. Maybe you can help me figure out what to buy. If you’re not busy,” he said again.
She should say no, go do your own grocery shopping. But he’d been nice enough to stay late to fix her tooth. Grace was no Martha Stewart, but it appeared she knew more than he did and the least she could do was help him out. Although it still irked her that he pretended not to remember where they’d first met. And there was also the slight flirtation going on between them. Or was that her imagination?
Are you checking out my turkey, Grace?
He wished.
This was one area where Dr. Joe knew exactly what he was doing.
“Okay, I’ll help you out. On one condition. You admit that you know where you met me. Before I came to your office.”
“Is this a deal breaker?”
“Yep.”
Then he grinned and the dimples came out full force, like some secret weapon he held in reserve. “Do you really think I don’t remember our first meeting?”
“Isn’t that what you said in your office? That I looked familiar but you couldn’t quite remember where you knew me from?”
The look on his face said busted.
“Look,” he said, “I’ve had the practice for less than a month and I’m still trying to navigate my way around. I’m a single guy with an office full of women, half of whom are single as well. There’s a line that can’t be crossed. If I’d admitted where I’d met you in front of Tiffany that day, she might have gotten the wrong impression about me. Not to mention how unprofessional the whole thing was. Trying to pick up one of my own patients in a bar, even though at the time I had no idea that’s what you were. I’m trying hard to keep my private life outside the office.”
Grace supposed that was Dr. Joe’s delicate way of saying that half the women in his office were after him and he didn’t know how to handle it. Poor baby! Grace could almost feel sorry for him. But she wasn’t buying it. It was his fault he’d gotten rid of Tanya and Connie and replaced his office staff with a live version of Beverly Hills, 90210.
“So where exactly did we meet, Dr. Joe?”
“I already told you, it’s just Joe.”
Grace crossed her arms over her chest and waited.
He sighed. “Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to. Please.”
She reluctantly di
d a three-sixty.
“You’re right, I should have noticed your ass first. Do you need more? Because even though I ended up getting really trashed that night I can still remember the dress you wore. It was black and only came up to about—”
“Okay, okay, I’m convinced!” She laughed.
He grinned back at her. Whatever else Joe was, and she was beginning to suspect player was way up there on the list, she couldn’t help but feel a bit fascinated. Coupled with the fact that he seemed genuinely confused about Thanksgiving dinner, she decided to take pity on him. It was the holiday season. Do unto others and all that. Father Donnelly would be proud of her. She took off down the aisle, list in hand. “Come on, we’ve got some power shopping to do.”
The first thing she did was replace the turkey with a fifteen pounder. “This is a perfect size. If a couple more people show up, you’ll still have plenty and you can send home leftovers.” Next, they went to the fresh produce section, where Grace picked out onions and celery and items for a fresh salad. “You do know how to make a salad, right?”
“Sure. Just chop everything up and throw it in a bowl.”
She picked up a bag of prewashed greens and pointed to the bottom. “You see here where it says ‘ready to eat’? Ignore that. Wash it in cold water, then drain it well.”
“Why does it say ‘ready to eat’ if it isn’t?”
“I’m sure it’s perfectly fine the way it is, but I took microbiology in college, which I’m sure you did too. Scariest class ever.”
He nodded. “Got it.” He began rummaging through the tomato bin. “So you took microbiology? What did you major in?”
“I ended up in business administration, but I experimented a little first.”
He held up a bright red tomato. “How’s this?”
“Too ripe. It’ll never last till Thursday. Go for something a little firmer.”
They continued shopping in a comfortable fashion, going up and down the aisles, filling the cart with the rest of the items from his list. Grace noticed the frequent looks the other female shoppers threw first at Joe, and then at her. Get in line. He’s got an entire office of women after him! Still, it was sort of fun to be the object of other women’s envy. Joe didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he was so used to it that he simply tuned it out.
