“It’s always a good idea to let injuries like this fully heal before putting strain on the area. I’d say at least a month, and probably more like six weeks before you should try running again.” Maria sighed, Sam picked up her medication from the pharmacy, and they slowly made their way back to the car, Maria’s crutches clanking against the pavement.
“Six weeks!” Maria’s good leg bounced up and down in the car on the way back to her house. “What the hell am I supposed to do for six weeks? I go stir crazy when I haven’t run for six days!”
Placating a riled runner wasn’t exactly Sam’s specialty. “It’s not that bad. You might enjoy a little R and R.”
Maria snorted. “Please. R and R is for people who don’t own their own restaurant. You try overseeing all the operations of Stowe Away while on crutches.”
“Well, that does sound challenging,” Sam said. “What if I helped you?”
Maria peered at her, a doubtful expression on her face. “You? How?”
Sam tightened her grip around the steering wheel. “I dunno. I haven’t got the first clue about running a restaurant. Or running at all. But I can walk, which is more than I can say for you right now. You can just sit someplace and instruct me.”
For all Sam knew, the long silence that followed might have meant that Maria thought she was crazy, or that Maria was considering how to manage that kind of collaboration with her, or that Maria was drowsy with pain meds. As they drove past the spot where Sam had rescued her, the silence was too oppressive. She began rambling.
“It would be good for me to have something other than my mom to focus on. And I enjoy learning new skills and throwing myself into fresh challenges.” She hesitated. “And you’ll still be there to talk to customers and stuff. Because, you know, you’re the people-person.”
“Your offer has potential, Sam. But where does Eva fit into all this?”
“Well, as you know, she’s been improving steadily. I think she’d appreciate some time out of the house. She’d probably be happy to read in the café, and on days when that doesn’t interest her, she can stay by herself for short stints if Dolores agrees to check in on her a few times. I’m sure we can arrive at an arrangement that works for all involved.”
“Well then, you’re hired, Samantha Latham.”
Sam hoped Maria couldn’t see the nerves behind her smile.
“Okay, I’ll talk you through the basics. During the day, we run with a light staff—just one baker, a busboy, and a cashier. But there are at least a dozen people in the kitchen prepping for dinner. All told, we have a staff of sixty, and most of them work evening shifts. Front of house includes waitstaff, the host, and the bartender, and back of house is the kitchen staff and dishwashers. You know Brendon, of course. He handles personnel issues, ordering, and scheduling—we need to double check his inventory and the schedules he draws up, and we’ll have to put out any fires that arise due to said schedule.”
The weariness in Maria’s voice at the last bit told Sam that these fires arose often. “Brendon also helps oversee shipments of produce to the three other restaurants that our greenhouses supply. The main thing I’ll need help with is the greenhouses—they’re my baby. We’ll need to ascertain which veggies are ready to be harvested and use that information to generate the following day’s menu. We can go to the greenhouses together, but it would be great if you could walk the rows and tell me what you see. Then there’ll be some back and forth in terms of solidifying—and printing—the menu. Most of the other tasks, like reviewing the schedule or generating payroll, I can do sitting down. The real fun happens when problems arise and we have to troubleshoot. There’s nothing I can really do to train you for that—we’ll just have to wing it.”
After Maria’s lengthy introduction to the day-to-day operations of Stowe Away, the list of things Sam didn’t know about the restaurant business was getting longer, not shorter. “You’re not at the restaurant all the time it’s open, right? I mean, there’s the salon and poker…” she trailed off.
“No, I’m not now. The first year was pretty rough, though,” Maria confessed. “I was there at least fourteen hours a day, six days a week. And even though we’re closed on Mondays, I’d still be there half a day ordering inventory, negotiating rates with suppliers, and whatever else needed to be done. Hiring Brendon, and then some assistant managers, changed my life—and Pauly’s, too. I no longer work shifts, and I trust that when I’m not at the restaurant, it’s in good hands. I’m still on call, and I like to go in a couple of times a day to make sure things are running smoothly. But Brendon freed me to maintain a flexible schedule, to tend my garden when I choose, and to think about big-picture issues related to the restaurant’s future.”
Evidently Maria wasn’t just a restaurant-owner—she was an entrepreneur, and Sam grew more and more impressed with her ambition. They pulled into Stowe, Sam regretting the impending end of their drive. A tad more sullenly than she’d wanted to, she asked, “Where can I drop you?”
“Home, please,” Maria responded, and for the first time since they’d left the hospital, Sam heard pain in her voice. “I texted Brendon about everything, and he’s going to have one of the busboys drive Pauly home.”
All too soon, Sam found herself in Maria’s driveway, her passenger struggling to exit the car. Sam snatched the crutches from the backseat and brought them around to Maria, who stood and stared at them.
“I deplore crutches,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Had much experience with them?”
“I might have jumped off the roof when I was in grade school and my best friend dared me. At least then, it was summer. I don’t know about crutches on snow.” She gazed toward the house, and the frozen path connecting it to the driveway; clearly no one had gotten around to shoveling it.
“You’ve had enough trauma today. You’ll have plenty of time later to learn the intricacies of crutches and snow.” Grinning, she swooped Maria up into her arms and kicked the car door shut, the crutches sliding down the car until the side mirror trapped them. She’d already successfully carried Maria once before, and it imbued Sam with the confidence to do so again; her arms shook less this time. Maria laughed at her impetuousness, wrapping her arms around Sam’s shoulders and resting her head against her heart. Sam didn’t remember the distance between the car and the house ever being so long, and she fumbled a bit with the front door, but managed to pull it open and duck inside. “Where to, Madam?”
The pain meds and the comfort of Sam’s arms caused Maria’s eyes to droop before she managed an answer. Once Sam reached the master bedroom, she settled Maria into bed and, vowing to return promptly, hurried to the car to retrieve the crutches, and then to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. By the time she reentered Maria’s room, Maria was sleeping soundly. Sam extracted the two bottles of medicine from her bag and lined them up on the nightstand next to the water. She stood and looked around for a moment before spotting a built-in bookcase on the far wall. She rapidly scanned titles until she spotted a well-worn paperback copy of Love in the Time of Cholera. She pulled out the book and held it to her nose. Its soft pages smelled musky. She opened the front cover and discovered it was inscribed.
November 11, 2002
To our darling Maria,
May you never lose your thirst for reading and learning, and may you always be surrounded by tenderness and love. Happy birthday, Bookworm!
Love,
Mom and Dad
She quickly closed the book, feeling like she’d intruded on something private. She made a mental note that Maria’s birthday was approaching and then crossed over to the bedside, depositing the book next to the medicine. Turning, she gazed at Maria, whose lips were slightly parted, and placed a gentle kiss against Maria’s warm forehead. She murmured “feel better” against soft skin before closing the door partway and retreating to her car.
Sam chase
d Maria, who was surprisingly fast on crutches, through Stowe Away’s swinging doors into the kitchen. She wasn’t remotely close to catching her when Maria grabbed a clipboard from one of the counters, tucked it under her arm, and started crutching back toward the front of house. Walking backwards through the doors, Sam planted her feet in the space between the bar and the rest of the restaurant, crossed her arms, and glared. “You know, at this point, I should probably be offended.”
“Offended? Why ever so?” Maria’s breathlessness undermined her sweet, innocent expression and Sam’s stern stance didn’t soften.
“You obviously don’t think I’m capable of following your instructions, since you insist on doing everything yourself.”
Maria, who was never at a loss for words, fumbled around for a reply. “Um, habit?”
Sam exercised her much-practiced authoritative caregiver voice: “Sit. Now.”
Hanging her head slightly, Maria allowed Sam to guide her to a stool adjacent to the one Eva sat on as she read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
Once Maria was settled, Sam took her crutches into the kitchen, stashed them in a broom closet, and returned. “I’ve already checked the inventory, the kitchen staff has dinner prep well in hand, and we’re going to the greenhouses when Pauly and Brendon get back from picking up tonight’s menus. If you’d like, I can bring you the schedule to review. Again.”
Maria’s pride and self-sufficiency were both impressive and endearing. Still, Sam had hoped Maria would trust her enough to ask for help. She longed to be the one Maria turned to, if only to repay her for the many kindnesses she had shown Sam.
After maneuvering a spare stool so that Maria could elevate her ankle, she leaned over and tapped her mother. “Hey, Ma, how’s Harry doing?”
Her mother looked up with the startled expression of a person just ripped from the world of a good book. “He’s fine. Don’t know why he hates Snape so much. And don’t like snakes in the walls.”
Judging by the placement of her bookmark, Harry was probably talking to Moaning Myrtle about the secrets of the ladies’ bathroom. Sam had wanted to ease her mother back into reading, and the first few books in the Harry Potter series were short enough, with simple enough writing and plot scenarios that Eva found them reasonably digestible. She took frequent breaks to rest her eyes, but she seemed pleased with her ability to process fiction.
One hand on her mother’s back, Sam turned back to Maria. “How’s about you two chat about who you think the heir of Slytherin is while I call the wine distributor about tomorrow’s order? It’ll be good for both of you.”
Maria looked sheepish as she assented. Sam drifted away to tend to various tasks around the front of house, listening with one ear as her two charges chatted.
“It’s not…Harry,” Eva said slowly, but with confidence.
“Why do you say that?” Maria prodded, gently. “He seems to think it might be.”
Eva tried and failed to come up with a better response than, “It’s just not.”
Evidently, Sam wasn’t the only one with a teacher mode. Maria sat up a bit straighter, the way she sometimes did with her brother, and squared her shoulders. “Well, let’s assess what we know. What attributes does Harry possess that makes him seem a likely candidate?”
Eva pondered this for a moment. “He speaks…snake language.”
“Yep, and who else could do that?”
“Vol…de…mort.”
Maria looked aghast. “Eva!” she hissed. She grabbed her arm, looking around furtively.
Eva threw her hand over her heart and gasped. “What? What…happened?”
“You can’t say his name!”
Eva swatted her shoulder and smiled. “Maria. Scared me.”
“Well you scared me first! Around these parts, we call him He-Who-
Must-Not-Be-Named.”
Across the restaurant, the front door opened and Pauly entered with a box of the evening’s menus. He beckoned to Sam, and the two of them met around the vacant table closest to the front door. As Sam removed a couple of the menus, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Maria and Eva were still talking before whispering to Pauly.
“I’ve got a guest list for Maria’s birthday party. Will you look at it?” She snuck a scrap of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Pauly, who put it on top of a menu and bent over it.
“The poker ladies. The salon artists. Brendon. We should add more restaurant staff.” He wrote some initials.
“Can you take care of inviting them? Or ask Brendon to do it?”
“Okay.” He passed the paper back to Sam, who pocketed it.
“The restaurant closes at ten, but when do customers actually leave?” Sam asked.
“Um,” Pauly said, “you should ask Brendon. I’m usually home by then.” They glanced at Maria, who was gesturing emphatically as she explained that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s reign of terror was predicated primarily on racism, that he sought to create a world dominated by pure-blooded wizards. Her eyes sparkled as she basked in the thrill of literary discourse. “Maria’s going to love the party,” Pauly said.
“You’re sure she likes surprises?”
Pauly shrugged. “Sure, who doesn’t?” He grabbed the box of menus and brought them to the hostess’s podium. Crossing her arms, Sam studied the layout of Stowe Away. It was spacious enough, and if they pushed a few of the tables off to the side, they would have a nice wide space for dancing. Kathy was bringing a karaoke machine—evidently allowing her students to sing on Fridays was good motivation to get them to work out during the other four days of the week. And Brendon was going to talk with Stowe Away’s two bakers about cupcakes.
It was the first party Sam had organized, and she wanted to make sure it was perfect for Maria.
The night before Maria’s birthday, Sam and Eva went over to the Sanchez residence to watch Doctor Zhivago. They all knew the film was long, but between Eva’s bathroom breaks and Maria’s cell phone ringing with calls from the restaurant, it took them over four hours to get through the whole thing. When the end credits finally rolled, it was after eleven.
“Listen, Sam, it’s so late. Why don’t you and Eva just stay?” Maria said, yawning and stretching.
Eva’s eyes brightened at the suggestion, but Sam fidgeted. “Um, where would we sleep?”
“Eva can take Pauly’s bed, and you and Pauly can crash on the couches,” Maria said. “I’ve got sweatpants and stuff you two can sleep in.”
“Pauly, are you sure you don’t mind giving up your bed?” Sam asked.
He nodded enthusiastically. “I even have an extra toothbrush I can give Eva,” he said.
“Great, it’s settled then,” Maria said, standing and taking her hair down from her ponytail.
Eva likewise rose, and Pauly escorted her to the bathroom, explaining something about the hot and cold handles on the sink being backwards.
“I guess it’s settled,” Sam agreed.
“There are pillows and blankets in the trunk,” Maria said, pointing. “I’ll bring you a spare toothbrush. Do you need a contact case, too?” Maria asked, already halfway down the hall toward her bedroom.
“That’d be great, thanks.” Alone for a minute in Maria’s living room, she dug around in the trunk and extracted bedding for her and Pauly. Ten minutes later, they were all tucked in.
“Good night, Eva,” Pauly called out loudly from the couch next to Sam.
“Night, Maria,” Eva said sleepily.
“Good night, Samantha,” Maria sang from her bedroom.
“Jesus, are we at sleep-away camp?” Sam said loudly, and everyone laughed. “Good night, you crazy people!” she said.
She had never particularly excelled at sleeping in new locations; the next morning she was up with the sun. She crept to a bookcase in the living room, which bore titles ranging fro
m Aeschylus to Marquez, and selected The God of Small Things. A floorboard creaked on her way back to her couch, and Pauly stirred. So much for stealth.
She plopped back down on her couch while Pauly rubbed his eyes and sat up. “What time is it?”
“Six, I’d guess, but I forgot my watch at home.”
“There’s a clock in the kitchen.”
Walking through the dining room, Sam noticed some of Pauly’s drawings spread out on the table. He was improving, no doubt about it. His sketch of Stowe Away demonstrated a confidence lacking in his previous drawings and an eye for detail. That Eva could still teach him flouted all of Sam’s worst fears that had haunted her since her mother woke up from the coma. The aneurysm was indeed a kind of death, but there was life afterward.
Dirty dishes littered the kitchen counters and sink, evidence of a night spent snacking during an epic film. Even after months of spending time with Maria, Sam doubted whether she really knew her, but she was positive Maria kept an immaculate kitchen. Loading the dishwasher as quietly as she could, Sam realized she was positive of something else about Maria: she loved breakfast.
Eggs didn’t seem festive enough, so Sam headed back into the living room. “Hey Pauly, do you have a waffle iron?”
“Sure. Here, I’ll show you.”
On top of the waffle iron sat a recipe book, and spying bananas on the counter, Sam looked up the ingredients for banana waffles. The fridge contained strawberries, kiwis, and raspberries, so Sam grabbed some ice cream and rooted around the cabinets for a blender to make smoothies.
She was stirring waffle batter when Pauly hopped up on the counter, and a thought occurred to her: “Wait, she does like waffles, right?”
“Sure. But she likes frittatas more.”
Of course. Frittatas were, after all, Stowe Away’s morning specialty. Setting down her mixing spoon, she located the cookbooks and thumbed through them looking for frittata recipes. The closest thing she could find was spinach and Swiss quiche. She got out the ingredients, cleared off a spot on the countertop, and starting kneading dough. It sat for a few minutes as she got out a pan and filled it with oil, spinach, and shallots. While they were sautéing, she returned to the dough. “Rolling pin?” she asked Pauly, who watched from his perch on the countertop, nibbling a strawberry.
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