Aunt Vera had covered the losses while she was still alive, and Aladdin’s Lamp had slowly been run into the ground. It was only after her death that things had changed.
“It’s hard to walk away from a well-paying job,” he confesses. “And there was no doubt, I was making better money than most of my peers. All I had to do was shut up, take my money, and stop caring about my work.”
Poor Josef. Overwhelmed with money problems, I’d been too busy to try to get to the root cause of what was bothering him.
“When you started, I was briefly hopeful. You added new items to the menu and you seemed to care.” He grimaces. “But after a month, I came to realize it wasn’t enough. The restaurant was in dire straits, and you didn’t have enough money to save it.”
He’s right. Had it not been for Owen and Wyatt, I would have failed.
In less than two months, they’ve turned things around. Last night, George Nicolson and Anita Tucker had praised my food. Maisie Hayes had commented on how much the place had improved. I’d made it through the first round of Can You Take The Heat?.
“What was yesterday about?” I ask Josef. “With the changes Wyatt and Owen have made, we have a real chance of success. You know that.”
“I can’t explain it,” he replies. “After so many years of failure, things were finally going to turn around. I panicked.” He looks up, his voice earnest. “It won’t happen again, Chef.”
I’ve been remiss in my duties as a business owner. I should have tried to understand why Josef was unhappy. “What do you want, Josef?” I ask him now. “What’s going to make you jump out of bed in the morning, eager to get to work?”
He takes a deep breath. “I would like a fresh start,” he says. “I want to be the head chef in a small Lebanese restaurant in New York, but the offers aren’t pouring in.”
Comprehension sets in. “If we win Can You Take The Heat?, you’ll be able to put that on your resume.”
He nods. “Yes, Chef Jackson. As you can see, I need you to win this contest. I promise you, there will be no repeats of yesterday.”
He resumes chopping the celery, then moves on to the carrots and onions. I stare into space. One thing becomes clear. Kevin’s right; Josef didn’t sabotage me last night.
Something nags at me. Kimmie’s been around kitchens for a long time. She would know that over-salting the gravy wouldn’t do anything other than throw off our rhythm for a few minutes. Gravy doesn’t take long to make.
But my mother doesn’t know anything about food.
I recoil from that thought. It can’t be my parents. It just can’t.
40
Wyatt
The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.
James A. Garfield
After Owen leaves, I contemplate his words for a long time, and I make a decision. I’ve been avoiding talking to my mother about this situation, but if my father’s back in New York, my mother needs to know. Jack Lawless abandoned both of us when he left, not just me.
I dial her work number and she picks up on the second ring. “Wyatt,” she says happily, “what a surprise. You’re never going to guess what happened.”
I rub at my temples. I have a bad feeling about this. “What happened?”
“Jack came by the house to see me. After all these years, he came back. I can’t believe it.”
The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. “When was this?” I ask carefully.
“On Tuesday.”
I do some rapid calculations in my head. I told Stone Bradley to get my father evicted on Friday, exactly a week ago. Almost immediately, my dad had countered. “And you’re happy about this?”
She exhales. “I’m not a fool, Wyatt. I know your father left us when we needed him. But I can either be angry at the past, or be happy in the present, and I’m choosing the present.”
I’m getting schooled about letting go of the past from a woman who owns three dozen tennis shoes with holes in the soles, because they might be useful one day. Fucking great.
“I see.” I keep my tone neutral. “What did he want?”
“To help me, dear,” she replies fondly. “He knows one of the producers of Hoarders. He’s going to get me on the show.”
I clench my fingers into a fist. I don’t want my mother on Hoarders. I don’t want the world laughing at her, as if she was some kind of strange animal in a zoo. I don’t want the cameras zooming in on the piles of torn underwear that she can’t bring herself to throw away. I don’t want the host of the program making my mother cry in order to titillate the TV-watching public. “If you wanted help, you just had to ask me.”
“Is that true, Wyatt?” she asks sadly. “Maybe I’m too proud to ask for help from a son who is obviously ashamed of me. You don’t think I know how bad the house is? Knowing that I have a problem is a lot easier than doing something about it.” She sniffs, and I can picture her at her desk, her hair in a tight knot, her clothes neat to a fault, all carefully designed to keep her illness hidden from her friends and co-workers. “Your father was kind to me when he visited.”
My father is lying scum. “Did he take photos of the house, mother?”
“Of course, dear. The producers of the show need it. He came in with an SLR camera and took enough photos for two rolls of film. I laughed at him about upgrading to a digital model, and he was quite indignant. I’d forgotten what a camera buff he was.”
So my father has pictures now. Ammunition to blackmail me, in case his little display at Piper’s isn’t enough. If I didn’t hate him so much, I’d almost admire his diabolical cunning.
“Mom.” I stare out of the window. “I’m sorry I haven’t been very kind.” I draw a deep breath. “It was hard for me to grow up in that chaos. It was easier to try and forget about my childhood than to make peace with my past.”
My words wound her; how could they not? But I’ve been silent for too long, holding on to my simmering resentment. If the distance between us is to be bridged, I need to tell her the truth. I can’t nurse my anger until it hardens into bitterness.
When I was seven years old, I’d moved a stack of newspapers in the laundry room to reach the washer so I could do a load of laundry, and unwittingly, I’d disturbed a nest of mice. They’d scattered with squeaks in every direction, some running over my feet in their haste to flee. To this day, I remember how terrified I’d been, all because my mother couldn’t bring herself to throw away a pile of old papers.
She doesn’t reply. I hear a click on the other end of the line. She’s hung up on me.
Yet I’m not sorry. I’ve finally stopped pretending, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
41
Owen
Just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
I’ve spent more time thinking of the Westies and Seamus Cassidy in the last few weeks than I have in years. I can’t seem to focus on anything. A thousand thoughts chase each other in my head.
Wyatt’s right. Mendez isn’t good for my peace of mind.
Getting a hold of my uncle is turning out to be more difficult than I thought. Michael O’Connor doesn’t know anything. No one is giving me a straight answer and the truth seems impossible to find.
The images flash through my head constantly. My father’s body sprawled on the floor. My mother’s hand linked in his, fear and horror etched on her face. Aileen looking puzzled, not understanding why someone would want to kill her. The blood seeping out of their bodies, staining the faded shag carpet.
I will never allow that to happen again to someone I care about. If Seamus Cassidy is out of jail, then I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to neutralize him as a threat. I don’t care how bloody my hands get. This time, I will protect the people I love.
The people I love. Piper? Can it be true that I’ve fallen in love with her?
A slow smile breaks out on my face as
I search my heart. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but even in that short time, she’s become precious to me. When I’m with her, the ghosts of the past recede and my pain fades.
She makes me happy. She makes me feel whole, undamaged.
I draw a deep breath. I didn’t think I was capable of falling in love. I was too wary of letting people in. My heart had been ripped into pieces once — I couldn’t risk that kind of pain again.
But Piper slid into my life when I wasn’t looking. When she let her walls down and cried to us, she destroyed my barriers.
I will do anything to keep her safe.
There are two restaurants on Mendez’s list that I need to investigate, Emerson’s and The Pear Tree. It’s time to get to work.
I spend most of Saturday with Carl Marcotti, working with him on the design and layout of his new kitchen. Once we’re done, he asks if I want to grab a pint of beer at the local pub. “How about Emerson’s instead?” I ask casually. “The last time I talked to Max Emerson, he boasted that he was going to win Can You Take The Heat?. He talks a big game. I want to see if he can back it up.”
Carl frowns with distaste. “If you insist,” he replies. “I personally don’t want to give that thug any of my money.”
I raise my eyebrow, alerted by Carl’s tone of dislike. “I didn’t know that you knew him.”
“I don’t. A couple of my waitresses used to work there. I hear things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Emerson has a private room in the back of his restaurant. Tammy was assigned to work it, and she hated it. The customers would grope her and she was expected to put up with it. Max more or less told her that those men were his high-rollers and if she complained, she’d get fired.”
“High-rollers? Is Emerson running a gambling ring there?”
Carl gives me a confused look. “I thought that’s why you decided to pass on him,” he replies. “Everyone knows Lawless and Lamb run a clean shop, and Emerson’s is dirty as shit.”
I shake my head. “We only met Max Emerson once,” I tell him. “He was too cagey about his numbers, and Wyatt and I didn’t get a good vibe from him.” I’m cursing myself as I speak. I’ve been so busy fixing Piper’s restaurant that I’ve missed the obviously illegal activity at Emerson’s. What else have I overlooked?
We get to the pub. Even though it’s six in the evening on Saturday and the neighborhood is packed with people enjoying the warm weather, Emerson’s is almost empty. “Max told me on the phone that this place was doing great,” I remark. “It sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.”
Carl rubs his chin but doesn’t say anything. We settle in and order pints of beer, nachos, and chicken wings. Carl checks his phone while I look around discreetly. There’s only one waitress working the place, and she’s so surly that she makes Kimmie look friendly and welcoming. The place smells like stale beer and depression.
Max Emerson himself is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t surprise me. Max doesn’t cook and he doesn’t manage the front either. He’s an absentee owner, someone who wants the rewards without doing the work. I have no respect for people like him.
In comparison, Piper’s in her restaurant every single day, working her ass off so she can be successful. When we’re done here, Carl will go back to his restaurant and work for another five solid hours, making sure everything’s okay.
Our food arrives. The nachos are lukewarm and the chicken wings are bland. Carl grimaces in disgust as he eats. “How did this place even get on Can You Take The Heat? I can name a dozen places that are more qualified than this one.”
Another interesting question, and this time, I know who to ask. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to have a long chat with Maisie Hayes.
42
Wyatt
Sometimes, you have to get angry to get things done.
Ang Lee
Owen threatened to beat me to a pulp if I didn’t take him along when I went to see my father. I’m fairly sure he was joking, but I still knock on his door Sunday morning.
He opens it, barely glancing up from his phone. “Have you read Maisie’s blog post today?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I’ve been so stressed out at the thought of meeting my father that it’s completely slipped my mind that the results of the first round were going to be announced today on Maisie’s blog. “Piper made it through, didn’t she?” I demand.
“She did.” He gives me a pointed look. “You still haven’t called her.”
“Not yet,” I confess. “I want this mess out of the way first.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Wyatt, do you like Piper?” he demands.
“Of course,” I reply automatically. I don’t just like Piper. I really like her. Whenever I think of her, I smile like a silly fool. Every time I hear someone with a Southern accent, I’m reminded of her. When I see someone on the street with curly blonde hair, my heart starts to pound.
“Then call her, because I don’t want to lose her.” He looks at me seriously. “For the last seventeen years, I’ve resisted getting involved. But I’m in love with Piper, and I think you are too.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to mess things up with her.”
Am I in love with Piper? I ask myself that question and the answer is instantaneous. Of course I am. I’m madly, crazily, head-over-heels in love with Piper Jackson. I’m also, unfortunately, a control freak who likes to compartmentalize his life in tidy little boxes. “As soon as this situation with my dad is sorted out, I will.”
“She’s too important to risk, Wyatt.” Owen’s voice is urgent.
He’s absolutely right. I don’t want Piper to think I’m still angry with her. I’ve known Piper for a little over two months, and I’ve been happier than I’ve ever been in my life. The three of us have attended restaurant auctions together. We’ve painted her restaurant and chosen the dishes on her new menu. All the hours we’ve spent together in the evenings after her restaurant has closed has brought us together. I can’t imagine my life without her in it.
“I agree.” I don’t intend to fuck this up. I care for Piper too much. “What were you saying about Maisie’s blog?”
“I was looking at the list of winners,” he says with a frown. “Piper’s beat Soul Kitchen, no surprise there. But Emerson’s beat The Queen’s Beaver, which seems strange to me.”
My lips twitch involuntarily. The Queen’s Beaver is a cheeky name for a British pub. “You didn’t expect that?”
“No,” he replies. “I’ve eaten at The Queen’s Beaver before. Their chef is very concerned with local and seasonal ingredients. The food there is light years better than Emerson’s.” He gives me a troubled look. “Carl Marcotti told me yesterday that Max Emerson ran a gambling ring in the back of his restaurant.”
I grow still at that. “Mendez put Emerson’s on the list for a reason,” I say slowly. “Max Emerson is a sleazeball, but I didn’t think he was dangerous.”
“Someone picked Emerson’s as a contestant on Can You Take The Heat?, even though there are better choices. Max has advanced to the next round, though he shouldn’t have. None of this makes sense, and I want answers.” His voice is hard. “I need to talk to Maisie.”
“Good idea. Let’s visit her after I deal with my father.”
Owen seems surprised. “You’re coming too? You don’t approve of Mendez.”
“No, I don’t,” I agree grimly. “I think he’s lying to you about Seamus Cassidy, and I don’t think the Westies are operating in Hell’s Kitchen. But if Emerson’s is in the contest, then eventually, Max Emerson will be competing against Piper. I want to know what we’re dealing with.”
The security guards have been instructed to escort my father upstairs. He shows up precisely at ten, and a guard brings him up to the conference room I’m waiting in. Owen’s seated at my side. On our way here, I’ve filled him in on the most recent developments. He knows my father took photos of the chaos in my mother’s house, and he’s reached the same co
nclusion I have.
Embarrassing me isn’t enough. I’m about to be blackmailed.
“Hello son.”
His greeting sends a fresh surge of rage through me, but I take a deep breath and calm down. I know that my father is needling me deliberately. He’s trying to make me angry and throw me off my game.
Jack Lawless notices Owen and he stiffens. Good. He expected that we’d be alone today. In this game of cat and mouse, I’m done being chased and I’m ready to be the predator. “Who’s this?” he asks, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.
“Owen Lamb, meet Jack Lawless.” I perform introductions blandly.
They don’t shake hands. My father takes a seat at the table. “I thought you’d want us to have this discussion in private.”
“On the contrary, I’d like Owen to be part of this discussion.” I feel a faint sense of satisfaction at my father’s consternation. Let’s see how well he does when he’s off balance. He thought that I’d meet him in secret and he’d make his demands. He’s counted on my sense of shame about the way I grew up.
He takes a deep breath and launches into his spiel. “I know you want me gone from your life, but I’m broke. If you could help me with that, I’ll leave New York, and you won’t hear from me again.”
“How much?” From the start, I knew this was about dollars and cents. The Wall Street Journal article had spoken admiringly of our financial successes, and my father had thought he could make some easy money.
My bluntness takes him by surprise. “Three million.”
At my side, Owen stiffens with outrage. “You’re fucking insane,” he snaps.
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