The Way to Her Heart

by Amy Reece

  ***

  Josh was prepping dinner when the doorbell rang. She was late, not that he had been watching the clock. He’d noticed, that’s all. He rinsed the flour from his hands and made himself walk slowly to the door. “Hey, come on in.” He stood aside for her to enter, wiping his hands on a dish towel, which he then slung over his shoulder. “Come on back to the kitchen. I need to finish dinner. Freddie, move out of the way.” He shoved the Great Dane aside impatiently. He led the way through the spacious living room with vaulted ceilings into an ultramodern, professional-looking kitchen. Freddie followed close behind, his toenails scrabbling on the tile, his whip-like tail wagging madly at the guest. Josh motioned for Bernie to sit on a stool at the breakfast bar and took his place at the counter, where he resumed dredging chicken cutlets in Parmesan bread crumbs. “You want something to drink?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  He looked back over his shoulder at her and rolled his eyes. He wiped his hands, turned, and opened the refrigerator. “Coke, Sprite, milk, or tea?”

  “Coke. Please.” She seemed to remember her manners at the last minute.

  He poured the soda in a glass, added ice, and placed it in front of his guest with a smile he hoped was charming, or at least not terrifying. “Do you mind if we talk about the project while I cook?”

  “Uh, no. I can take notes.” She retrieved a spiral notebook out of her bag. “So, I’m a lawyer and you’re a teacher. How much do I make a year?”

  He placed the cutlets in the pan heating on the stove. “You make $85,000.” The butter sizzled around the chicken in a pleasing manner. “I, as a teacher, make a mere $40,000.” He turned to watch her, noting Freddie was resting his head in her lap and drooling on her jeans.

  “So, we have a combined income of $125,000? Wow, that’s a lot of money,” she remarked as she rubbed the dog’s floppy ears.

  The cutlets began giving off a delicious aroma as they browned. Josh turned the chicken over. “You think? I was worrying it was going to be hard to give little Josh Junior the kind of life I hoped he would have. I mean, how are we going to pay for ballet lessons for Baby Bernie?”

  “No way! My daughter is not going to take ballet! We need to start her in Brazilian jiu-jitsu.”

  “What? You think we need to start her in martial arts at eight years old?” He removed the browned cutlets to a plate and poured a liberal amount of Chardonnay in the pan along with lemon zest, stirring up the browned bits on the bottom of the pan.

  “She needs to be able to defend herself.” She took a long drink of her Coke.

  Josh wondered at the vehemence behind her statement as he poured himself a glass of iced tea and sat across from his new economics partner. “Okay, so martial arts for our daughter. I think Josh Junior should be playing T-ball. You have a problem with that?” He could swear he heard her stomach growl. Good. He liked when his dinner guests had a healthy appetite.

  She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze, doodling in the margin of her notebook paper.

  Josh wondered what she would look like if she ever smiled. Or laughed. He returned to the stove, added cream to the pan, and stirred the sauce, which was developing nicely.

  “Josh? Hon, I’m home. Whose car is out front? Oh, hello. I’m Claire, Josh’s mom.”

  Bernie glanced up at the blonde woman who had entered the kitchen and was unwrapping a scarf from around her neck.

  “Mom, this is Bernie. We’re working on an economics project.” He took his mom’s coat and scarf as she pulled him down to kiss his cheek. She was beautiful and didn’t look anywhere near old enough to be his mother, something he was mature enough to have realized in the last year.

  “Thanks, sweetie. Hi, Bernie. It’s nice to meet you. Wow, it smells great in here. Is that lemon Chardonnay chicken? Josh, you know it’s my weakness!” She wandered over to the stove to peek into the various pans. “What’s the occasion?”

  Bernie began packing her notebook in her bag hurriedly. “So, when do you want to meet again?”

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” Claire asked. “You have to stay for Josh’s signature dish. It’s to die for, trust me. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is so you can wash up.” Claire brooked no refusal, grabbing Bernie’s hand and leading her out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

  Claire was seated at the bar, sipping a glass of white wine, while Josh filled plates with food at the stove when Bernie returned to the kitchen a few minutes later.

  “Come sit down, Bernie,” Claire said. “Josh is a wonderful chef. You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you?”

  Bernie shook her head and sat next to Josh’s mom. She seemed confused and somewhat out of her element as Josh set a plate in front of her. There was a piece of chicken lying on a bed of fluffy white rice, covered in a creamy sauce, with asparagus spears nestled alongside, a garnish of twisted lemon slice topping it off.

  She looked up and met his gaze. “Thanks,” she said with a ghost of a smile.

  “You’re welcome,” he said with a grin. Then he winked at her. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

  Josh and his mom both dug into their meals while Bernie picked up her fork and knife and cut into the chicken. He watched as she scooped up a bite with some rice and sauce and placed it in her mouth. She closed her eyes, and he could swear she groaned. He couldn’t blame her; the creamy, lemony sauce perfectly complemented the succulent chicken and wrapped itself around the tender grains of jasmine rice. He wasn’t being overly prideful. It was simply one of his best recipes and never failed to please.

  “It’s good, huh?” Claire asked. “Josh is an amazing cook. I’m so lucky. Thanks, sweetie.” She reached and rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand.

  “Jeez, Mom. You’re embarrassing me,” he said. He looked up at Bernie and caught her biting her lip, looking at him and his mom.

  “Sorry, sweetie, but it’s true. I’m not much of a cook, Bernie. If it was up to me, we’d eat frozen pizza three times a week. And the rest of the time I’d just bring something home from the restaurant. My husband was the chef in the family, and Josh obviously inherited his genes.” Claire took a sip of wine while her hand shook slightly and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  Bernie said nothing. She returned her gaze to her plate and dug into her food again.

  Josh and his mom exchanged bemused glances as they watched their guest inhale her dinner. She sure wasn’t much of a conversationalist. They didn’t let it stop them as they caught each other up on the events of their days. Josh told her about the economics project, while Claire filled him in on an order mix-up at the restaurant involving a double order of artichokes.

  “Maurice said to tell you that he’s going to teach you how to prepare them tomorrow. He’s planning to feature them in an appetizer for the rest of the week,” Claire said.

  “Good. I’ve never done anything with them before.” At Bernie’s questioning look, he explained, “We own a restaurant, and I work there part-time as a chef’s assistant. Maurice is the head chef and has pretty much taken me under his wing.”

  “My husband started the restaurant,” Claire said. “I handle the business side of things, both for the main restaurant and the other one we started in Rio Rancho.”

  “You want seconds, Bernie?” Josh asked. She shook her head, so he took her plate and stacked it in the sink before retrieving three dessert dishes from the refrigerator.

  “Oh, Josh, you didn’t!” Claire laughed. “You’re going to make me fat. You know I’m helpless in the face of your chocolate pudding.”

  “You don’t have to eat it. In fact, I’ll just put yours back,” he teased.

  “Oh no you don’t, mister! To what do I owe this incredible meal? You fixed all my favorites.”

  Josh didn’t answer. He simply placed a small blue cut-glass bowl in front of each of them. For reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, he had spent an extra hour earlier
in the afternoon making the time-consuming dessert. Whatever the motivation, it was creamy, buttery, chocolatey wonderfulness on a spoon and well worth the time and effort.

  Bernie quietly devoured her helping, her spoon clinking against the glass.

  Claire cleaned up the dishes after dinner, claiming that was the deal—Josh cooked and she did dishes.

  Josh retrieved his laptop from his bedroom and set it up in the living room. He didn’t ask if Bernie had brought hers, remembering she didn’t have a cell phone and figuring she probably didn’t have a laptop, either. “So, I found an Excel spreadsheet for a household budget that looks pretty good. You want to take a look?”

  She hesitated, then sat beside him on the sofa and peered at the laptop screen. He angled it toward her, and she leaned closer to see the spreadsheet. She took a quick look at the computer screen and then moved away from him, scooting to the other end of the couch. “Yeah, that looks great. So, we have to go grocery shopping?” Mr. Griego had assigned them to choose a grocery store and “shop” for a week’s worth of groceries, using their cell phones to take pictures and keep a list.

  “Yeah, and we have to find a house too. What does your schedule look like Thursday? I’ll be at the restaurant late tomorrow, but I don’t work Thursday.” He took advantage of her turning her head away to give himself a quick sniff. Shit. Did I forget deodorant this morning? It’s like she can’t stand to be near me.

  “That’s fine. I’m off Thursday too. What time should I be here?” She stood and gathered her bag.

  “We can meet at your house, if you want,” Josh offered.

  “No! I mean, no. Your house is fine. I’ll be here around four. Thanks for dinner. It was really good.” She left before he could say anything else.

  Josh watched her practically run out the front door. He flopped against the back of the couch and flung his arm over his face, laughing ruefully. Freddie climbed on the couch with him, sighing as he laid his head in Josh’s lap.

  “Josh, honey? Where’s Bernie? Did she leave already?” Claire had changed into her sweats. She curled herself elegantly into an armchair, cupping a mug of tea between her palms. “It’s chilly tonight. Do you want some tea, sweetie?”

  He shook his head without looking at his mother. “Nope. No thanks.” He stroked Freddie’s head absently.

  “So…Bernie. She’s…interesting.”

  Josh laughed softly. “Yeah.”

  “You’ve never mentioned her before.” Claire was clearly fishing.

  “I didn’t even know her name before today.” But he had noticed her. A lot. And that made him a bit of an asshole since he had a girlfriend.

  “And you fixed my favorite dinner in the whole world. For me, or for—?”

  “I’m begging you not to finish that question.”

  Claire looked at her son sitting on the couch with his arm flung over his face. She bit her lip and looked down at her mug. “Okay, Josh. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine, Mom. It’s just…complicated. She’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I think I like her,” Claire said.

  “I think I like her too,” Josh whispered. “Maybe.”

  Chapter Two

  “What kinda name is Bernie? That’s a boy’s name!” The little girl with wild, tangled hair had wandered over from the trailer two spots up the street, where a couple were unloading a U-Haul truck.

  “Yeah, but it’s better than Bernice. I hate my name! What’s yours?”

  “Gabriela, but everyone calls me Gabby. Do you want to play with me?”

  “Yeah. Is that your mom?” Bernie pointed to the woman carrying a large box into the trailer. “She’s pretty.”

  “I guess.” She shrugged. “Do you have Barbies?”

  The two little girls retreated to Bernie’s trailer and thus began a fast friendship, forged over dolls.

  Bernie

  Bernie hurried to her car, hoping she could convince the heater to work. It had turned decidedly chilly once the sun set, and Bernie wished she had a thicker jacket. The decrepit car cooperated, for once, pumping out a miserly amount of heat as Bernie turned off Josh’s street. At least she didn’t need to stop for fast food. Her stomach was still pleasantly full from the delicious dinner Josh had prepared. She lovingly patted the small food-baby pooching out above her jeans, something she hadn’t experienced for many months. She would dream about that chocolate pudding. She’d never tasted anything like it before and wondered what it would be like to eat that kind and quality of food every day, like Josh apparently did. How were he and his mom not fat? Neither was, though. She remembered Josh’s muscles flexing below his t-shirt sleeves as he chopped and the tiny glimpse she’d had of his defined abs and tanned skin when he reached for plates in a tall cabinet. Enough of that line of thinking, Bernie! He is way out of your league. And he has a girlfriend. And you have no energy to spare on guys right now. But he had winked at her when he set the plate of chicken and roast asparagus in front of her. She had looked up into his cobalt-blue eyes and had nearly forgotten her own name, much less how to say thank you, so she had said nothing.

  She drove to a laundromat and did homework while she washed, dried, and folded the portion of her wardrobe she wasn’t currently wearing; it didn’t take long. While she waited for her whites to dry, she glanced at the bulletin board plastered haphazardly with community notices. She walked across to the board and pulled down a flyer advertising guitar lessons and one offering online concealed-carry classes to reveal a tattered poster nearly hidden underneath.

  Missing since 7-5-2015.

  Gabriela Rodriguez, age 17.

  Suspected runaway.

  There were numbers to call. A pitiful reward for any information. The picture was faded, but Bernie recognized it as Gabby’s junior portrait. Gabby had absolutely hated it, saying it made her nose look huge. Oh, Gabby. I don’t believe you ran away. Not for a minute. The police hadn’t listened to Bernie when they questioned her. She had told them Gabby had nothing to run away from, that she had been reasonably happy at home with her dad. It may not have been much of a home, but there had been love. Bernie’s stomach clenched as she thought about Gabby’s dad. She hadn’t seen him in weeks and made up her mind to go by and visit soon. She should probably stop in and check on her mother as well. Shit. That was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.

  It was only ten when she finished her laundry, so she drove to Denny’s and took advantage of their twenty-four-hour hospitality and coffee while she finished her calculus homework and the required chapters from Jude the Obscure, which she had to read for her English 12 class. Depressing stuff, to be sure. Why couldn’t they read anything interesting in school? She enjoyed reading but preferred novels written sometime in this century. And was a happy ending every now and then such a bad thing? God knew there were few enough in real life; it was nice to at least read about them.

  She drank decaf until close to midnight, when she packed up and left, mindful of the two cops the waitress seated a few tables away. Although there was no official teen curfew in Albuquerque—she had Googled it—she was underage for seven more months and preferred not to answer questions about her reasons for hanging out until midnight in a coffee shop. She gathered her notebooks and bag, not hurrying, trying to look casual, placed a five-dollar bill on the table to cover the coffee and tip, then left without glancing at the cops’ table. Just act like you know what you’re doing. Hold your head up and don’t slink. Confidence is key. It worked and she made it to her car without a problem. She drove around for another half hour before finding her most recent hideaway, behind a Walgreens near the high school. It was perfect: in a decent area of town and hidden from the street. She backed her Civic into the small space between the dumpsters, locked her doors, and crawled into the backseat to sleep.

  ***

  Her alarm woke her at five a.m. She had bought the cheap wind-up clock at the dollar store and used it to make sure to wake up and be on her way before st
ore employees arrived and noticed the car parked between the dumpsters. She combed her hair into some semblance of order and pulled her car out of her hiding place. She drove to school, where she could get a shower in the girls’ locker room and then free breakfast because she was on free-and-reduced status. The food was terrible, but it filled her stomach. On school days she only had to buy dinner. Weekends were tougher, but she kept a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread in her car so she didn’t have to exist on fast food.

  The locker room was deserted when she arrived, which was how she liked it. Her footsteps echoed as she walked between the rows of benches and lockers to the farthest corner. The stench of decades of sweat and stale perfume followed her into the showers. She washed her hair, still unused to the short cut but glad it was easier to deal with in her present reduced circumstances. The purple streak had been a frivolous addition, but it helped mitigate her sorrow over cutting the long, black tresses that used to reach halfway down her back. Not that it mattered, of course. Nobody noticed her around here anyway. She’d probably let the purple fade out.

  She finished her shower and got dressed in the clean clothes she had washed the night before. She brushed her teeth and then leaned toward the splotched mirror to apply mascara and lip gloss, glad she had been blessed with good skin so she didn’t need much makeup. She ran a small amount of gel through her short hair and was done. She detoured to her car to drop off her duffle bag and pick up her backpack before heading to the cafeteria to eat what passed as breakfast in the Albuquerque Public School system.