by Mia Malone
“Gotta give it to you, Brody. Not bad.”
“Like how you cut out the bread, so it's not too overbearing. Like the balance between the nutmeg and tarragon. Like that you used gruyere instead of parmesan. Would have chopped the lobster in smaller pieces myself but didn't mind the way you did it. Didn't like the beans. Would have done a fennel salad myself.”
“Huh,” Brody said, knowing that this was praise of the highest order. “What’s wrong with the beans?”
“Too acid for my taste. Cut out the sweetness of the lobster.”
“Huh,” Brody repeated, weighed the tastes in his mind and nodded. “Might try a fennel salad, see how it works out.” He turned to Jag and pointed toward the list on the pantry door. “Fennel bulbs. Flat-leaf parsley. Maché or something like that.”
“Gotcha.”
Jag ambled over to scribble on the list.
“Lime?” he called out.
“Oh yeah,” Brody muttered, remembered his earlier resolve to shout less and praise more, and added, “Good call, Jag.”
Jag promptly dropped the pen, picked it up and turned slowly.
“Shit,” he said succinctly. “You just cost me a hundred bucks.”
“What?” Brody asked, but realized that the boy had made a bet with someone on how long it would take for him to let Jag influence the dishes. “Pat or Jools?” he asked.
“Pat.”
“Of course,” Brody said with a sigh. “Goddamned moron.”
“You’re changing the plate?” one of the men in front of him cut in. “Just like that?”
“My place so I might,” Brody said calmly.
“It’s a nice place.”
“Thanks,” Brody said. “I like it. It’s...” he paused to gather his thoughts and went on knowing that the two men in front of him would understand, “Creative. I do whatever the fuck I feel like. Most of the specials are planned, but sometimes... I just walk in and look at what I’ve got and think, you know? Fuck it. And then I do something different, off the cuff.”
“Lucky bastard. Quaint place in your home town. Working with family. Got yourself a fine-looking woman who smiles like fucking sunshine. You sure landed on your feet.”
“I did,” Brody agreed.
“Wouldn’t mind working in a place like this.”
“Got all the help I need,” Brody said. “Might ask a few buddies to make guest appearances, though. You know? Get a week to do whatever the hell they feel like doing. It would give me some time off. Might teach Jag a thing or two.”
“Seriously?”
“Might,” Brody repeated, not prepared to admit that the idea had just popped into his head.
He’d have to think some more about it, but it could be fun, he realized. Another way to be creative.
Both men insisted that they wanted to be put on the list for an appearance, and they were arguing about who should go first when Brody caught sight of Marie who had walked outside to take a phone call. She looked shell-shocked, but then she clamped her jaws together and closed her eyes.
“What the hell?” Brody murmured and walked toward the door.
Marie
When I saw my daughter's name flash on the screen, my heart jumped. I'd been the one calling her every week, and the one asking her questions about anything I could think of. Her answers were short, and the only thing she’d ever asked about was how bad the weather was in Maine and didn't I miss a real winter, and when would I go back to Minnesota? Since we were moving into spring, and I'd liked the winter in Maine, and didn't miss Minnesota at all our conversations had mostly been uncomfortable.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said and got up to leave the Café.
Then I sat on a bench by the dock, looking out over the water as I listened to my daughter talk about how she was visiting my sister, and how they had gone shopping together earlier that week.
“That’s nice, Amelia,” I said gently, hiding how it stung that she wouldn’t come and see me, and go shopping with me.
Across the water, I could see my small home and focused on the pink building as I listened to Amelia describe the skirt her aunt had given her. The mermaid was looking so good I’d started to wonder when someone would notice and comment on it, but people passed by my house, waving and smiling and apparently not seeing the changes I’d done. Some commented on the waves I'd added and said that they liked what I'd done, but no one seemed to see that the lines were even, that her features were more defined, or how the surprised look had been replaced with something more... sultry. She looked a little bit flirty even, and I wanted to add a final touch by putting small highlights in her eyes and on some of the scales which now were a softer green rather than the flat turquoise Dottie had chosen. I'd caught Brody looking at the painting a few times as he passed it on his way through the door, but he seemed to shrug it off.
I should tell him or Dottie what I'd done, and I didn't know why I hesitated. At first, it had been something I did for fun since Dottie would cover her up anyway, but now... she was mine. I often slid my fingers over her before entering my small home. The weather was getting warmer, so I spent many mornings sitting with Boone at my feet next to her on the porch, drawing or sketching. I did some more patterns and swirly designs, vectorized them and uploaded them to a stock photo site, but the commission I got from the few downloads was measly, so I wasn't sure if it was worth it.
“You could come too, next time I’m here,” Amelia said, and I turned to look out over the water.
“Maybe,” I hedged.
“Why not? Aunt Linda says I can stay here the whole summer break. You could come home too when you don’t have that place in Maine anymore.”
Theoretically, she was right. I’d rented the house until end June but had started thinking about asking Dottie if I could extend the contract a while longer. I had thought that I’d go to Maine and figure out where to go next, and now I didn’t want to leave.
Except, Brody hadn’t asked me to stay. What we had was good, or, I thought so, at least, but maybe he figured a short fling was enough.
“I don’t know, Amelia. We’ll decide later. I’m –” I cut myself off, and restarted, “I’m seeing someone here.”
“I know,” she said curtly. “Joey told me. Some guy who cooks in the local café, he said.”
“Yes,” I agreed, and I didn’t like the way she’d described Brody, but decided to let that slide. “Brody. He’s a nice man, Melie.”
“Amelia,” she corrected me, and added carelessly, “Dad met someone too, so I guess it’s okay.”
I hadn't told my kids all the details about their father's death, precisely. It was so sordid and had seemed unnecessary. I'd also been unable to come up with the right words for sharing that their father apparently died whilst doing the mattress mambo with a woman who charged for her services. And gave discounts, apparently.
Her choice of words and the way she sounded annoyed me, though, and I struggled to hold the anger out of my voice.
“I can hear that you disapprove of this, Amelia. Can’t you at least try to be happy for me?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said breezily. “How’s the business going?”
“I do okay,” I said.
And I was. Not fantastically well, but I’d asked Clara Clarke who owned the small gallery across from the Café if she'd sell some of my things, and she'd squealed, clapped her hands together and immediately cleared out space in her small store. Then I created a stack of business cards, and Brody put a sign in the Café which shared where the drawings on the wall could be bought. It felt like I was exploiting him, but he just laughed and informed me that he liked being exploited on a regular basis and shared that they were fed up with answering questions anyway. I had still not painted anything I wanted to sell and was stunned when Miss Clarke shared that she’d sold four of my ink drawings.
“I’ve sold some of my art,” I said when the silence stretched out. “Pictures of the to
wn and the beaches. When summer comes, there will be more tourists so I hope things will pick up, and –”
“Mom,” Amelia cut me off.
I was walking back toward the Café but stopped because her voice was suddenly small and tense.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Aunt Linda didn’t want to tell you. You wouldn’t have time for her now that you are so busy with your new life...”
“Amelia, what’s wrong?” I pushed.
What the hell was she saying? If something was wrong, then I wasn’t too busy for my sister.
Family stick together.
Mom and Dad used to say that all the time as we grew up, and I’d said the same to my children over the years.
“Aunt Linda has cancer. I think you should come back.”
I clamped my jaws together to stop a small whimper creeping up my throat and closed my eyes.
God.
My sister was sick? She had... cancer?
“Is she there?” I snapped.
“Mom, she –”
“Put Linda on the phone now,” I ordered, heard a small scuffle and then my sister's voice.
“Hello, is that you, Marie?”
I blinked. Amelia had handed the phone over quickly so she must have been just nearby and surely knew it was me.
“Linda, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You are so busy, and I didn’t want to be a nuisance.”
“Don’t be silly, I’m not too busy when my sis is sick. Tell me what’s going on, Linda, please...”
I felt Brody coming up behind me and leaned back into his chest. His arms came around me, and his cheek scraped over mine. He hadn't shaved that morning because we'd made love, so he hadn't had time.
Oh God. My sister had cancer, and I was busy having sex with my man.
Linda explained in brief terms that she’d gotten the diagnosis earlier that week, and they’d start what she labeled procedures already next week.
“Chemo?” I asked.
“No. Surgery.”
“Okay. Alright. I’ll head back as soon as I –” I twisted around and looked up at Brody. “I’ll be on the first plane I can catch.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Okay, I’ll text you the details,” I said hoarsely. “Can Mike pick me up?”
“Of course. He’ll take the big car.”
I blinked because why wouldn’t he? Mike always drove the big car.
“Linda,” I asked quietly. “What kind is it?”
I didn’t want to ask, but I needed to know. There was cancer that could be cured or kept in check... and there was disastrous cancer.
“Oh,” she mumbled and hesitated. “Female,” she said finally.
Okay. Breast cancer, or in her uterus then. Was that the bad kind, I wondered, and cursed my lack of knowledge. One of my college friends had died of lymphoma and a colleague from bone cancer. Those must have been worse, I thought.
“I'm on my way,” I said and closed the call.
***
I sat in my sister’s guest room and stared at the wall, not knowing what to think and finding it impossible to relax. Both flights had been awful, the planes packed, and I'd had an incredibly short transfer in Detroit, so I had to run to catch the connection. When I arrived in Minneapolis, my brother-in-law and daughter were waiting at the airport. They were calm and very matter of fact, so I tried to act as if I was too, but I wasn't. I'd had several hours to think during the flights, and the awfulness of what was happening had caught up with me. I'd cried a little and tried to hide it by looking out the window and sniffle as quietly as possible. The man in the aisle seat had looked searchingly at me but thankfully left me alone.
“Let’s go get your luggage,” Mike said calmly.
“I only have this,” I informed him and wiggled my cabin bag.
“Okay,” he murmured, but I saw how he and Amelia exchanged a glance. “You can send for your things later.”
“Of course,” I said hoarsely.
I tried to get details out of them during the drive but either they didn't know, or didn't want to talk about it, and eventually, I gave up. They'd do a procedure next week, and then we'd see, Mike said and changed the topic. Linda waited for us on the couch in their spacious living room which I'd always thought was more than a little pretentious, but walking through the wide double doors to find my big sister sitting there was familiar and soothing.
When I’d thought about her during the trip, I’d imagined her gaunt and marked by her illness, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. She looked just like she did three months earlier. Her hair was a shade darker than it had been and was as always, immaculately groomed. She'd lost some weight, and her makeup was flawless.
“Tits,” she squealed, and I winced but tried to hide it. She moved to get up but sank back into the couch with a sigh. “It’s so good to have you here.”
We talked for a while, about my trip and about her visits to the hospital. Linda had always been a lousy patient, whiny and squeamish, and this was no exception. She complained about the doctor who apparently had cold hands, the nurses who were bitter and sour-faced, and how it smelled in the hospital. She did not talk about her diagnosis or the procedure she was going through except for saying that it was scheduled for Wednesday the coming week. I didn't ask and thought that I'd corner Mike in the coming days or go with her to the hospital and ask the doctor myself.
When I yawned the third time, Linda told me she was tired too, so I should go to bed and that we’d sleep in the next morning. I hugged her and walked into their second guestroom. It was small but nicely decorated, and since I didn’t have any luggage, I didn’t need more space anyway.
Then I sat on the bed and stared at the flowery pattern of the wallpaper, wondering what to do. I felt like the worst sister in the world when I realized that I still didn't want to move back to Minneapolis. It wasn't a bad city, I thought, and my sister was sick goddamnit. I could rent a small place for a few months to start with, to see how things went with her treatments. Or perhaps I could be there when things were rough, and in Maine when she felt better? Cancer patients weren't in need of a full-time nurse, were they? I didn't know, and also wasn't a nurse anyway, so I added that to my list of questions for the doctor.
When my phone buzzed, I knew who it was.
Brody.
“Babe, you asleep?”
I didn’t hesitate and called him.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “No.”
“How’s your sister?”
It calmed me down to talk about how well she had looked, and what we’d do the next couple of days. Linda wanted to go to a restaurant the next evening, and I’d agreed, thinking that we should take our chances to get out while she felt well enough to do it. They would certainly push her through chemotherapy after the surgery, and there'd be plenty of dinners at home then because there was no way my sister would appear in public with no hair. She would also not wear one of the bandanas or turbans I’d seen pictures of, and I knew she could get an okay wig, but it was always possible to tell when someone was wearing one, and she’d hate that.
While I listened to Brody’s deep voice tell me that we should take it one step at the time, and assure me that the doctors would know what to do for her, I knew that I wouldn't move back to Minneapolis. I'd have to find a way to be there for Linda and still spend time in Maine because there was no way I'd give Brody up. She might need me, but I needed him.
“I miss you,” I whispered.
“You’ll see me tomorrow.”
“What?”
“It’s Saturday, baby. I’ll head out as soon as the worst rush is over at the Café. Jools will help Jag the last couple of hours, and then we’re anyway closed until Tuesday, so I go back Monday night.”
I exhaled, and my shoulders relaxed when I realized that he’d come t
o Minneapolis.
It felt as if I’d been thrown straight into a free fall and there he was, ready to catch me before I hit the ground.
“You get to pick the restaurant,” I murmured.
“What?” he asked on a chuckle.
“Tomorrow night. In my gratitude to you for you coming out here, I will battle my brother-in-law who thinks he's a food aficionado of extraordinary quality, but mostly just likes steak, and you get to pick where we go. They're footing the bill so pick a good one, they can afford it.”
“Babe.”
“I will,” I insisted and felt a giggle bubble up my throat, in spite of everything going on.
“I can think of other ways you’ll repay me,” he murmured. “Later, when you’re back in Maine, I’ll figure out a way for you to express your gratitude.”
A shudder went through me with a rush of heat which settled in my belly.
“Anything you want,” I whispered.
“Anything?” he asked, and the way his voice slid through me sent another shiver down my spine.
Then my eyes flew wide open as I realized that I’d just promised him to do anything he liked. Knowing Brody, it wouldn’t be me making him breakfast in bed. It would be me doing something entirely different, and it might not even be in bed.
“Don't worry,” he said, and there was humor in his voice. “You'll like it.”
Oh, God.
Chapter Fifteen
I give up
Brody
Brody watched the crowd and tried to keep his face bland and mildly amused. He’d been to functions much like this one over the years, either because he’d had an asshat of a boss who demanded it, or because he’d been involved with a woman who’d demanded it.
Marie had said that he didn't have to come with the excuse that he didn't know anyone anyway, but her sister wouldn't budge. He'd calmly shared that it would be a pleasure to join them for brunch at the Country Club, which it wouldn't be, but he was curious and didn't mind going.
The people seemed friendly, and it was evident that they all adored Marie, if the number of genuine smiles and kisses on her goddamned cheeks were any indication. They were also a little bit too enamored with their own perceived importance, prancing around a country club for a goddamned Sunday brunch. The men wore fucking sports jackets or suits, and the women what looked like very uncomfortable dresses, which made them all overdressed if you asked him, which they didn't.
