A Slice of Life

by Margaret Lake

  There were still some royalties coming in from the children's books Anna had written and illustrated, but he wasn't sure how long that would keep up. He'd hoped to put that money away for Mandy's college. Maybe counseling now was a better use of the money. Either that or save it for the next surgery. Money was definitely a problem and he shouldn't have squandered it on a puppy. He just hoped the little guy would make a difference.

  Grace hurried into Coulter's, flushed with her success. Her mother was there, supervising the lunch time set-up as usual. What was unusual was Dad sitting at one of the tables, playing solitaire. He'd been well enough to supervise the prep work up until now and she worried that he was getting sick again. The doctor said he could come back to work on a limited basis, but maybe it had been too soon. It hadn't been a massive heart attack, but the doctor said it was a warning that he should take seriously.

  “Hi, Pumpkin. Have a nice bus ride?” he called out.

  Grace didn't like the worry on his face so she was happy to report good news.

  She took a deep breath and then blurted out, “I did my first interview today.”

  “So soon?” he beamed. “Evie, stop fussing with those napkins and get over here.”

  Evie hurried over, not knowing whether to be worried about her husband or her daughter.

  “Tell her, Gracie,” Keith ordered.

  “I talked to someone today and she promised me a recipe and a story. She said she'll let me take her picture, too.”

  Oh, Grace, honey, that is wonderful!” Evie enthused. “Tell us all about it.” She started to sit down but jumped up. “Wait, I'll just get us a cup of coffee. Decaf for you, sweetie,” she said, patting Keith on the shoulder.

  She was back in less than a minute.

  “Now, tell us all about it, honey.”

  “Well, there isn't much to tell, really,” Grace said, “I wrote it all down.” She pushed the notebook over to her mother.

  “We'd rather hear it from you, Pumpkin,” Keith said quietly.

  Grace saw the hope in both their faces and knew she had to make the effort. After all, she'd talked to the girl this morning, a total stranger, and these were the parents she'd known and loved all her life.

  “It's kind of a long story. I mean, I'll have to tell you about the bus driver because it starts with him.”

  Evie and Keith exchanged glances, hardly daring to breathe for fear Grace would stop talking.

  “His name is Hank. He knows all about his regular passengers and they know all about him, too. He brought pictures of his little girl to show Mrs. Haverty and she showed them around.” She took a sip of her coffee. “He's really very friendly.”

  “Anyway, I was sitting across from this young black girl, Rosalie, and we were looking at the pictures and she told me all about Mandy. That's Hank's daughter.” Tears came to her eyes when she thought about the little girl. “She's so beautiful, but just on one side. Her face is all scarred on the other side from the accident that killed her mother.”

  “Oh, how sad!” Evie exclaimed, reaching for Keith's hand. They knew what it was to have a daughter with a problem and this little girl's problems were multiplied by the loss of her mother.

  “I wish there was something that could be done for her. I gather it's a matter of money for the surgery.”

  “Isn't it always?” Keith sighed.

  Evie gave her daughter's hand a squeeze. “Tell us the rest, honey.”

  Grace shook herself out of her gloomy thoughts. Dad needed to stay upbeat. He had enough problems of his own without taking on other people's.

  “Not much more to tell. Rosalie asked what I was doing and at first I couldn't bring myself to tell her. But she didn't press me and, of course, I knew I had to do it, so … I … uh … did.”

  Grace was breathless and sweating from telling the story. They were her parents, but she still wasn't used to talking so much. She was sure all the servers had their ears bent her way and that added to her embarrassment.

  “I'd better get to work,” she announced, fleeing to the kitchen.

  Evie sighed and Keith patted the hand that still held his.

  “It's a start, Evie,” he assured her.

  Neither one thought the cookbook would bring in enough money to avoid layoffs. They had enough in savings to keep going for now, but not for long. No one knew how long the recession would last and they had to be careful to hold on to enough money to see themselves through.

  They had gone along with Grace's idea for two reasons. First so she would think she was helping. Second, and most important, if she got out of Coulter's kitchen, she might actually be able to talk to some people and get over this shyness of hers. There was no longer any need for it and they suspected that it had just become a habit. Today was a wonderful start and sooner than they dared hope for.

  Later that night, Rosalie burst into her apartment.

  “Gran, where are you?” she called out.

  “In here, honey girl,” Gran hollered back from the kitchen.

  “Hiya, Gran.” Rosalie kissed her grandmother on her still smooth cheek. “Something sure smells good.”

  “Just chicken fricassee and lemon meringue pie for dessert,” she replied.

  “That's it!” Rosalie exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “That's the recipe I'm going to give that lady!”

  “What lady?” Gran asked.

  “The lady on the bus. She's writing a cookbook and asked me for a recipe.”

  “Surely you can come up with something better than that. Chicken fricassee is such an old-fashioned dish. Nobody makes it anymore,” Gran protested.

  “That's why I want it. It'll be something different to put in the book. Please, Gran,” she wheedled.

  “Okay, I'll write it down for you,” she conceded. “Now go wash up, honey girl. I'm about ready to put dinner on the table.”

  After they ate and Rosalie did the dishes, she sat down to write her story.

  My name is Rosalie Downs and I'm twenty years old. I have two brothers and a sister younger than me. I was born in New York, but my Dad moved us to Detroit right after that so he could build cars. I came back east to go to college and now I live with my Gran. She's a nurse three days a week at the campus clinic.

  I don't know what I'm going to do with my life, yet. There are so many things I'm interested in. I would love to go to school forever and learn everything there is to learn and do everything there is to do. Gran and Dad say I have to decide on a career, but Mom says I need to find the one thing that I really love and can't do without before I make up my mind. She has a florist shop because she loves to create beautiful things and make people happy. Dad still has a job making cars, but Mom might lose the flower shop because of the recession.

  Cooking is one thing that I love, but not to do for a living. Gran is a great cook and she's teaching me. This recipe is hers.

  Rosalie read it through and decided she wouldn't change a thing. She hoped the cookbook lady felt the same way. That was funny. Rosalie didn't know her name. Come to think of it, Rosalie had done most of the talking, which wasn't all that unusual, but it seemed the lady had been quieter than most. Oh, well, she'd find out her name when she rode the bus tomorrow.

  Hank had warned his sister that he would be late picking up Mandy. He'd gotten to the pet store just before it closed to pick up the Beagle. He'd already bought all the stuff he needed for the pup and hidden it in the basement of the house. On impulse, he picked up a rope toy and one of those rawhide bones (extra small) for the puppy to chew on while he had to ride in the carrier. If he hadn’t been in such a rush to see how Mandy liked the puppy, he might have filled another basket full of toys.

  Hank hated keeping the little guy cooped up but he didn't seem to mind. He gave little tiny puppy growls as he worried the bone with his milk teeth, thrashing around the carrier. Hank had to laugh at his antics. He was feeling pretty optimistic that his gift might be just the thing to make his little girl smile again.

  H
e pulled up to Carrie's house and there was Mandy, sitting on the porch steps waiting for him. Her head was buried in a book as usual. She'd discovered a while ago that as long as she was lost in the make-believe world of books, she didn't have to talk to people. Reading was a good thing, but not when the girl was using it to hide from reality.

  Mandy looked up from her book and smiled shyly as he got out of the car. His heart gave the same thud it always had when he saw her. He would give anything if Mandy would run to him as she used to. All his hopes were now pinned on the brown and white ball of fur squirming and yapping in the blue carrier.

  “Got a present for you, baby,” he called.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” she said shyly, leaning her head to the right so her hair would fall over the left side of her face.

  Hank could see his sister watching through the screen, biting her lip at the child's sorrow.

  “Close your eyes, baby,” he said. Mandy had barely looked up from her book and he knew she hadn't seen what he was carrying.

  “Okay, Daddy.” She lowered her eyelids, obedient as always.

  He set the carrier down and took the puppy out. He would have liked to put him into her hands, but he was afraid of startling her.

  “Please put the book down, baby,” he asked softly. He held out the puppy when she did as he asked. “You can open your eyes, now, baby.”

  Mandy looked up to see the squirming puppy in her father's big hands and let out a soft “Ohhh.”

  “Is it mine, Daddy?” she asked in awe.

  “Yes, baby, all yours.” It was all Hank could do to talk past the lump in his throat. He didn't have to look up to know that Carrie was wiping tears from her eyes. He put the puppy in her outstretched hands and stepped back so they could get used to each other.

  “Samantha,” Mandy breathed.

  “Samantha?”

  “Yes, that's the name of the girl in my book and that's my puppy's name, too.”

  “Hmmm, I think you'll find that Samantha is a Sam.”

  “That's okay. Everybody calls her Sam anyway.” Mandy looked up at him with the first big smile he'd seen on her face in two years, letting her hair fall back from her face. “Thank you, Daddy,” she beamed, then buried her face in the soft puppy fur.

  Hank sat down beside Mandy and gathered her and Sam up in his arms. He rocked them both until he knew he could control his emotions.

  He picked Mandy up to carry her to the car but stopped at the sound of his sister's voice.

  “Here's Mandy's backpack, Hank.” She turned to the girl. “Is that your new puppy, Mandy?”

  “It's Sam. Daddy gave him to me. He's my new friend.”

  “I'm glad, sweetheart,” Carrie told her, kissing the little girl and then Sam on the head. “You take care of him, now.”

  “I will, Auntie Carrie,” Mandy assured her.

  Carrie finally let the tears flow as she watched Hank's car turn the corner. Sam wasn't the whole answer, but it was a start.

  Grace wasn't so sure she should ride the bus again the next day and spent a restless night thinking about it. Dad had assured her that he was perfectly fine and that Felix could handle the kitchen until she got back. She knew that, but didn't want to admit it. She just wanted an excuse not to get back on that bus.

  Felix had been with them since he was sixteen, working his way up from dishwasher to busboy to waiter by the time he was eighteen. Her father had sent him to cooking school and now he was sous chef. He could do lunch time prep in his sleep.

  Come to think of it, she should put Felix's story into the book. The grandson of immigrants who escaped Cuba in a leaky boat with his five year old father, Felix was the embodiment of the American dream.

  Grace woke early the next morning. She'd missed her daily exercise twice in the last week in order to ride the bus. She needed to keep herself in shape for the grueling work she did.

  She didn't even have to leave her apartment. The second bedroom contained all the workout equipment she needed; TV with DVD, a CD player, a full mirrored wall and a barre. She'd never taken ballet lessons, but you could find anything on DVD these days and she had taught herself.

  The result was a trim, taut body with long, shapely legs. No one could convince Grace of that. She still felt like the gawky little girl, taller than everyone else with a too-wide mouth and long nose. No matter how many times her mother and father told her that she'd grow into her features, she never believed them. No matter how many times she looked in the mirror, all she saw was that gawky, scared little girl.

  After an hour at the barre, Grace showered and then drank her usual protein shake for breakfast. Dressing took only a few minutes. Then she twisted her hair into a bun and smoothed on the palest of pink lipsticks. Grabbing her notebook and purse, she hurried out of the apartment to catch her bus. She didn't want to miss Rosalie.

  It surprised her that she was almost eager. Okay, not eager, but not sick to her stomach with nerves, either. She had her fare ready, but this time she looked at Hank when she dropped it into the till. She didn't have much of a choice since he was speaking to her.

  “Hey, it's the notebook lady,” he smiled. “Do you have a name, notebook lady?”

  “G ... Grace,” she managed, blushing.

  Hank thought Grace looked awfully pretty with pink lending color to her pale, Nordic complexion.

  “This is Grace, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out. “It looks like she might be riding this here stagecoach pretty regular.”

  The passengers chorused their hellos and over them all she heard Rosalie.

  “Hey, Gracie, come on back here. I've been riding this bus nearly all morning waiting for you.”

  Grace hurried past the smiling faces (except for Mr. SuitNTie), nodding and smiling back (just a little one), although she still couldn't make eye contact. She just kept moving toward the back of the bus, homing in on Rosalie's broad smile like a beacon.

  “Lady, you look like you just ran past a bunch of people with whips and chains. Settle down.” Rosalie moved over to make room for Grace. “Look, I've got everything right here. See what you think.”

  Rosalie took a folder out of her backpack and handed it to Grace. Now this was something she was eager to see. She read Rosalie's bio first. It was just like the girl and a wonderful story. She smiled her approval at the girl and then turned the page to look at the recipe.

  “Chicken Fricassee. I wouldn't have thought to include this.”

  “Is it okay?” Rosalie asked anxiously. “Gran was making it last night and I thought maybe people should start cooking it again. You know, like for Sunday dinner.”

  “It's wonderful. In fact, I think I'll do a whole section on old-fashioned cooking. Thank you, Rosalie. This is all so perfect.”

  “You like it? I'm so glad. I even put in a picture. It's just a snapshot of me and Gran but seeing as how it's her recipe, I thought that would be alright.”

  “It's perfect, Rosalie. I wanted candid shots. I even brought my camera to take a picture of you on the bus since this where we met.”

  Grace felt someone looming over her and gasped when she saw Mr. Dreadlocks standing there.

  “Oh, it's you,” Rosalie said, scornfully.

  Mr. D ignored her comment.

  “What are you two all cozy about?”

  “Well, if you must know,” Rosalie told him snippily, “Grace here is writing a cookbook and I just gave her a recipe to put in it. Me and Gran's picture is going to be in it, too.”

  “Well, hey, I've got a good recipe. Can I be in the book, too?” he appealed to Grace.

  “Sure,” Grace replied. She needed every recipe she could get if the book was to be a success. She might not use them all. They had to be tested first and maybe brought up to date for today's palate. She didn't want to lose the flavor of the original recipe, though, so it would be a balancing act.

  Mr. D beamed at her and then scowled at Rosalie.

  “Oh, yeah? What kind of hot dogs and beans out
of a can are you offering?” Rosalie smirked.

  “Mac and Cheese,” he told her, drawing his dignity around him. “I've got my Mom's recipe for Mac and Cheese.”

  “Yeah, and what box does that come out of,” Rosalie laughed.

  Mr. D ignored her and appealed to Grace.

  “It really is something special, Grace. My Mom always cooks from scratch and even puts in something special to make every dish different.”

  “I think that sounds just fine. Can you write a short bio for me to include and I'd like to take a picture.”

  Grace hadn't said so much in one breath to anyone outside the family for years.

  “But Grace, Mac and Cheese alongside my Gran's chicken?”

  “It won't be, Rosalie, I promise you. I just had a wonderful idea. Besides the section for old-fashioned dishes, I'll make one for comfort food.”

  “If you're talking about comfort food, young lady,” Mrs. Haverty told her, turning around in her seat, “you'd better include my chicken soup.”

  “I'd love to,” Grace beamed. Two more recipes without even trying. “Can the two of you write me up a short bio? I've got my camera with me and I can take your pictures now if that's okay.”

  “My picture?” Mrs. Haverty simpered. “If I'd known I was going to have my picture taken, I would have fixed myself up.”

  “Look fine to me,” Mr. SuitNTie told her gruffly.

  “Why, Mr. Roberts,” she gushed, “that's the nicest thing you ever said to me.” She turned back to the trio behind her. “In fact, it's one of the few things the old goat has ever said to me,” she confided.

  “Old goat my foot,” he muttered.

  “If you'd rather wait until you bring me the recipe and bio, that's fine,” Grace assured her.

  “Oh, I don't think I can write anything,” Mrs. Haverty protested. “You just go ahead and make something up.”