by Mary Ellis
‘Guess what mine are!’ cried Joan, pointing at the purple shapeless critters.
Jill lowered her face to table level to study. ‘I believe those are pigs from Mars, because everyone knows South Carolina pigs are pink.’
Robert broke into hoots while Joan jumped to her feet. ‘That’s right. You’re so smart!’ She threw her thin arms around Jill’s neck and hugged.
A minute later, Jill practically had to pry off her fingers. ‘Shouldn’t we clean this up and go wash our hands? Daddy will be finished visiting soon.’
Like mini-robots at work, the pair put away the modeling clay and washed up at the sink. It wasn’t until they left the playroom neat as a pin that Joan asked, ‘Are you going to find Mommy’s sister so Mommy can have half her liver?’
Was there no detail they hadn’t explained to a six-year-old?
Jill tightened her grip on the child’s hand. ‘You bet I am, kiddo. And if her sister won’t hand it over, I’ll give your mommy half of mine.’
That was the world’s stupidest thing to say. Once the words left her mouth, she would have given anything to take them back.
Robert took Jill’s other hand. ‘It doesn’t work that way, Miss Jill. You have to have the right blood type, plus certain other factors. But it was nice of you to offer. Could you call me “Bobby” instead of Robert? That’s the name my friends use when Dad’s not around.’
‘I would be honored.’
Jill went from feeling like the world’s biggest idiot to an accomplished children’s advocate in record time. Something told her this case would involve far more than tracking down a few missing persons.
FIVE
After being scrubbed, gowned and masked, Robert and Joan were permitted a brief visit with their mother with the nurse by their side. Jill and David watched the exchange from the hallway window. Even from this distance, Charlotte looked exhausted by the time her children were hustled out and visitation time declared over.
Upon David’s insistence, Jill accompanied the Sugarmans to Applebee’s for lunch. It was an invitation she gladly accepted and learned more about family dynamics during a crisis in those sixty minutes than at any point in her life. Hopefully, more than she would ever need. Her own family history was by no means average. As an infant, she was adopted by a nice couple who lived on the outskirts of Pensacola. They had adopted a boy three years earlier and since he’d worked out well, they decided to give a girl a try. Jill got along well with her parents and brother, Liam. She had plenty of friends and earned decent grades in school. But when she was nine and Liam thirteen, her parents were killed in a car accident, ending anything close to normal in her life.
An endless succession of foster homes had turned her brother rebellious. Jill, however, found solace in books and became an exceptional student. When Children’s Services could no longer place them together in the same foster home, Liam tried his best to remain in her life. Jill continued to love him even though his body art, multiple piercings, and vulgar language reflected a change in his once sweet personality. Then a string of bad decisions landed Liam in jail and their relationship ended forever.
Until this afternoon, she’d given families little consideration. She had thrived in college on a full scholarship without the need to join a sorority or encircle herself with friends. Sharing coffee with acquaintances, participating in study groups, and sending cards to an aunt sufficed for human companionship. Today as she watched the Sugarmans, sweet memories that had been buried for years rose to the surface, giving her a rare pang of loneliness.
For the return trip to Charleston, Jill opted for Rivers Avenue instead of Interstate 26. With plenty to sort out in her mind, she was in no hurry to get back. Once she reached Calhoun Street – the general demarcation line of the historic district – she rolled down the windows to breathe in the sea air. Millions of tourists couldn’t be wrong – the city’s unique charm was its vibrancy amidst eighteenth-century architecture. Charleston wasn’t static and museum-y, protected to the point of obscurity. This city bustled, night and day. Jill couldn’t wait to walk the cobblestone streets and peek into gardens and curtain-less windows. But not tonight. Tonight, she picked up a taco salad, parked next to a shiny Cadillac, and entered through the restaurant’s rear entrance.
In the kitchen, the Manfredis and their employees steamed and sautéed, chopped, and flambéed at the top of their game. Jill received only a nod from Eric as she climbed the steps to her room. But that was fine with her. She would eat her dinner, watch a little TV, say her prayers, and fall fast asleep. Safe, blissful sleep, for the second night in a row.
Eric could thrive on six hours of sleep, but less than that left him cranky, clumsy, and easily distracted. Such was the case that Sunday morning, because dozing off in a plastic chair in the ER didn’t amount to much of anything. He’d already cut his thumb while slicing eggplant and dropped a pan of bread on the floor. Now if it wasn’t for the smoke detector blasting in the stairwell, he might not have known his skillet was on fire.
‘Enrique!’ Nonni yelled for the doorway. Her next phrase in Italian was better off left untranslated.
His grandmother hurried for the bucket of sand in the closet as fast as her arthritis would allow. Eric ran for the fire extinguisher which hung on the opposite wall.
Jill Wyatt, however, was quicker than either of them. She slipped on an oven mitt and covered the skillet with a lid, thereby cutting off the oxygen. Flames went out almost immediately, while the ventilation fan sucked out most of the smoke.
Nonni, her mouth a perfect O, stared at Jill. ‘Don’t let this one get away, nipote. She’s a keeper.’
Eric pulled the pan off the burner with the other mitt. ‘Jill, this is my grandmother, Donatella Angelica Manfredi, but everyone calls her Nonni, even those not related to her.’
‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’ Jill tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
‘Would you like a job?’ asked Nonni. She clutched her pink flowery robe together at the throat.
‘No thank you, ma’am. I can’t cook.’
She clucked her tongue. ‘If I can teach my grandson, I can teach a chimpanzee. Enrique still doesn’t know not to walk away from a hot pan of oil.’ She shuffled back to the closet to put away her sand.
Eric chose not to explain himself since time was short. ‘Nonni, why don’t you try to get more sleep? I’ll handle things out here.’
‘Just don’t forget where we keep the bucket of sand,’ she said, shuffling from the room.
The moment his grandmother was gone, Eric turned to his tenant. ‘Thank you, Jill. My family is in your debt.’
‘You’re welcome. I couldn’t sleep anyway with that loud smoke alarm.’ The corners of her mouth turned up in a grin. ‘Did your grandmother just call me a chimp?’
‘She might have, but don’t be offended. Nonni also offered you a job, and that’s never happened with a stranger. Sit, I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.’ Eric switched off all burners and pulled a batch of bread from the oven. But by the time he carried over the coffee, Jill had already gotten out the Cheerios. ‘Cold cereal? Why don’t I make you an omelet? It’s the least I can do for your heroism.’
‘Absolutely not. You’re already up to your elbows.’ Jill’s gaze flitted over the commercial kitchen in total disarray. ‘Do you open early for brunch on Sunday? Where are your helpers?’
‘We’re not open at all on Sundays. That’s a day to attend Mass and relax. My grandfather always said: “Any restaurateur that can’t make a living in six days deserves to go out of business.”’ Eric slicked a hand through his hair.
‘So what happened? The same pranksters from the alley hit the kitchen last night?’ Jill took a sip of coffee and grinned over the rim of her mug.
Normally Eric would have fired off a retort since clever banter was his specialty, second only to his pasta pescatore. But not today, not after last night. ‘No, we had excitement of another kind. My father was robbed on his way to making the night deposit. So
me thug conked him on the head and stole his money pouch. Dad hides it in his left inside pocket – never his right side, always his left.’
Jill’s smile vanished. ‘Oh, my goodness. Is your father OK?’
‘He will be. The doctor said his skull is bruised, but not fractured. He has a few cuts from when he fell, but all in all, he’s one lucky man. The hospital plans to keep him a few days for observation before sending him home.’
‘I hope this isn’t too impertinent, but why was your father out alone at night?’
‘That’s a very legitimate question.’ Eric took a long drink of coffee. ‘Not only does Dad insist on making a night deposit, he won’t let anyone go with him.’
‘Sounds like he’s set in his ways.’
Eric nodded. ‘And we’re not talking routines developed in the last decade or two. We’re talking habits passed down from generation to generation, carried from one continent to another. The Manfredis are nothing if not traditionalists.’
‘Nothing wrong with preserving traditions, unless they endanger someone’s safety.’
Encouraged by Jill’s attitude, Eric continued. ‘Not only does Dad insist on walking alone, he takes the same route every evening. He says his evening constitutional settles his stomach and helps him sleep.’
‘Perhaps a few Tums would work just as well.’ Jill added milk to her cereal and started to eat.
‘You’re not kidding. My sister and I have talked ourselves blue in the face trying to reason with him. Mom gave up years ago. I suggested an armored car make the pickup at closing time, but Alfonzo wouldn’t hear of it. He said it’s not how things are done.’ Finally embarrassed by his outburst, Eric avoided eye contact.
‘Aren’t most restaurant transactions electronic? I’ve seen the prices on your menu. Who carries around that kind of cash?’ She drained her coffee.
Eric scrambled up to refill their mugs. ‘Most people pay with credit or debit cards, except for a few of my parents’ friends – those cut from the same bolt of cloth.’
‘How much did the thieves get?’
‘For less than two hundred dollars they bashed him in the head with a club.’
Jill’s spoon paused midway to her mouth. ‘Your dad is lucky to be alive. Are your mom and sister still at the hospital?’
He nodded. ‘Nonni wasn’t comfortable sleeping in a chair so my mom asked me to bring her home this morning.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Now I need to cook up a storm for Sunday dinner. When news of my father gets around, we’ll have friends and relatives dropping in all day.’
Jill swallowed a mouthful of cereal. ‘Under the circumstances, I doubt visitors will have much appetite.’
‘Your family must be nothing like mine. At times of joy like graduations, weddings, and new babies, the Manfredis eat! During times of trouble or loss? We eat to drown our sorrows and forget our worries. And of course, we eat on all the run-of-the-mill days too.’
‘Yet you don’t seem to have an ounce of extra body fat on you.’ Jill finished her cereal and lifted her bowl to drink the milk. ‘Someday you’ll have to share your secret.’
Eric felt his cheeks started to redden. Throughout his adult life, women had commented on his physique. Praise was nice, but he’d never put much stock in it. Today Jill’s observation made him blush like a teenager.
‘No real secret. I’ve got a high metabolism, plus I work out an hour a day. It helps me deal with the stress of someone sending back their dinner.’ Eric turned the burners on under the pots of water.
‘I bet that doesn’t happen too often.’ Jill followed him to the stove. ‘What are you making for the hordes that will soon descend?’
‘We’re having chicken and eggplant parmigiana on cavatelli or linguini noodles, Caesar salad, fresh bread, and a Cassata cake. My sister always keeps an extra cake in the freezer for emergencies.’
‘What were you doing when you almost burned the place down?’ Jill’s left eyebrow lifted.
Again, Eric felt a blush creep up his neck. ‘Looks like I’ll have to prove my culinary worthiness. But to answer your question, my plan was to quick fry the chicken. A very hot skillet will crisp the breading. Then I bake the breasts in a moderate oven to keep the meat moist. Unfortunately, I walked away to stir a pot of boiling-over gravy.’
‘Could I be trusted to brown the chicken?’ she asked.
The question took Eric by surprise. ‘I would never impose on your Sunday. You probably don’t get many more days off than me.’
‘I’ve never cooked anything except ramen noodles and heat-and-eats. But if I don’t burn the place down, the experience will look good on my résumé if my current job doesn’t work out.’
‘All right, but you must accept free takeout for as long as you’re here. No more fast-food taco salads. Sorry, but I couldn’t help notice the bag when I took out the trash.’
‘Agreed, as long as no one hovers over my shoulder. I can’t handle that.’
‘I’ll give you a crash course.’ Eric pulled out another skillet, added some olive oil and turned the burner up to medium. ‘Keep careful watch. When a single drop of water bounces around before evaporating, the oil is hot enough to quick fry. Then carefully lay out six breaded chicken cutlets.’ He took the timer off the shelf. ‘Give them sixty seconds and turn them with tongs. Then sixty seconds more and pull the pan from the heat. Transfer the cutlets one at a time to one of those baking pans. Holler if you need help or have any questions.’
‘Got it.’ Jill’s face glowed with enthusiasm.
‘But first you’ll have to put your hair up in a ponytail, scrub your hands like a surgeon, and put on a white coat. They’re in a wooden cabinet in the employee lounge.’ He pointed in the right direction.
‘Anything else I can help you with?’
‘Nope, that’s it. Believe me, you have the time-consuming job. If you distinguish yourself with the chicken, maybe I’ll let you work on the eggplant.’
‘Are eggplants those odd-shaped, purple vegetables?’ she asked.
‘Yep.’ Eric bit back a grin as Jill left to wash up.
As much as he also hated people hovering over his shoulder, he longed to linger close to Jill while she worked. And it wasn’t because he feared a second batch of oil catching fire.
He loved the way Jill smelled. Maybe it was her shampoo or her perfume or the fabric softener she used.
Or maybe he simply spent too much time with rosemary, parsley, oregano, and thyme … not to mention garlic. He’d noticed the scent of jasmine in her suite last night and again this morning when she sat down with her box of Cheerios. But with forty or fifty people expected for Sunday dinner and no help except for a woman who thinks making ramen noodles is cooking, Eric forced those thoughts from his mind … and went in search of some odd-shaped purple things.
SIX
Jill was rather proud of herself. She had browned forty skinless, boneless chicken breasts to utter perfection. Not one of them burned to a crisp. Who said this cooking stuff was difficult? Of course, by the time she finished the last batch of chicken, Eric had already done the eggplant parmigiana, baked six loaves of bread and made the biggest Caesar salad she’d even seen. His sister’s Cassata cake was defrosting on the counter, waiting to be sliced.
‘Those look great, Jill. I can’t thank you enough.’ Eric picked up her final baking pan lined with chicken and carried it to his work station.
‘What comes next?’ she asked, following him.
‘I’ll add seasoning, top with sauce and cheese, and stick them in the oven after the first batch comes out.’
‘Should I get out the jars of sauce?’ she asked.
‘You’re pulling my leg, right?’
Her hesitation provided all the answer he needed.
‘What do you think that is simmering on the stove?’ With his wooden spoon, Eric pointed at a large pot.
‘I’m thinkin’ you bottled the extra the last time you made it.’ Jill shifted her weight between hips.
/> He winked at her. ‘Nice save, but no. I make at least one variety of sauce every day. Restaurants pretty much make everything from scratch, even the pasta. Although we do keep some imported noodles around in case we run out.’
While she hovered on his right, Eric dumped a pot of skinny noodles into a huge colander. A huge cloud of steam rose into the air. ‘Are those the linguini?’ she asked. ‘Would you like me to make the cavadellis?’
Without warning Eric pivoted and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Yes, those noodles are linguini. The first batch of cavatelli is already done. I won’t make more until it’s needed. What I really want you to do, Miss Wyatt, is relax and enjoy what’s left of your Sunday. Your work is officially finished.’
From his touch every muscle in her back and shoulders tensed. She stepped back so fast she practically bowled over his sister.
‘Everything OK in here?’ Bernie peered from one to the other.
‘Yes, we’re fine,’ said Jill.
‘Yeah, other than you sneaking up on people,’ said Eric simultaneously.
‘Did you expect me to knock on the door where I grew up?’ His sister picked up the colander, shook out the last drops of moisture, and dumped the pasta into a serving bowl. ‘I came back to help, brother dear. What would you like me to do?’
‘I’ve got lunch ready to serve, so why don’t you give our tenant a tour of the restaurant?’ Eric pulled his soiled apron over his head.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in the way,’ Jill said, taking off her white coat as well.
‘You, in the way? I sincerely doubt that.’ Bernie took Jill’s hand as though she were a child. ‘Come with me. You and I set out plates, napkins, and silverware for the buffet line.’
Jill went willingly, grateful for something to do on her first day off in a new town and for the opportunity to save face. For someone who didn’t like people hovering, she sure did enough of it with Eric.
Once they had readied the buffet except for the hot food, Bernie showed her the three dining rooms that comprised Bella Trattoria – each with a different thematic décor. However, they were still in the largest room when the first guests began to arrive. Eric wasn’t exaggerating when he used the term horde to describe the anticipated crowd.