"Maybe." Really, Julie was a prize question asker. She should introduce her to Teeny. Probably frustrate both of them intensely.
"Well, are you going to call her?"
"If I do, I'll probably not tell you." She wondered if she should summon Justin for dinner. Usually his nose led him.
"Oh. Not my business." Julie didn't look daunted.
"Have you ever thought of joining a debate team?"
Julie frowned. "Why do people keep asking me that?"
Justin appeared behind her, reaching for his plate. "We all want you to get some help."
"Wasn't. Talking. To you." Julie plunked herself into her chair while lasering her brother's back with her eyes.
Laura joined Julie at the table and wondered if Grace would sit down with them or take her dinner to her apartment.
When Justin joined them she checked out his plate. He had likewise loaded up the quinoa, which pleased her, but had skimped on his green beans.
"Shall I get the rest of your green beans for you?"
He sighed, but fetched the steamer basket and added more beans to his plate. "That enough?"
"Yes. Why do we go through this little vegetable ritual almost every meal?"
"Because I like it?"
Laura gave him the look he deserved, then smiled a welcome at Grace, arriving from somewhere else in the house.
She had noticed how little Grace spoke to the kids. She must be very good at her job-certainly the household seemed to run like a clock. If anyone were to ask Laura her opinion, she'd say give Grace some cooking lessons and she would be able to function as a cook for the house. Overseeing groundskeepers and staff did take time, though, and the house was both old and not easily repaired. No doubt finding the right specialist to mend a weak support in the ninety-year-old banister wasn't an easy job, and there was some kind of electrical upgrade going on in the great room. She could only imagine the details.
"This chicken is really good," Julie said. "How come it tastes like orange and...limes?"
"It was marinated overnight in oil infused with orange flavor and some herbs. You're probably tasting the lime kafir leaf, which is a Middle Eastern touch."
Justin complained, "You made dinner before I could help."
"And I owe you something for that exactly why?"
"I'm an impressionable youth. Saddened and frustrated in his quest to be a master chef."
"Don't tempt me," Laura said. "You have no idea what you're getting into."
Her tone heavy with disapproval, Grace said, "Mrs. Baynor has always stressed that the children's schoolwork comes first."
Grace seemed determined to rain on Justin's parade, regardless of what the parade was about. "Talk to your mother, then. I am willing to teach you, but only if you can learn."
Julie snorted and started to say something, but Laura held up a hand.
"Your brother doesn't get to comment on your herb garden, and you don't get to comment on his cooking plans."
Grace left the table, not seemingly in a huff, but Laura still felt the pall of her negativity. Grace would find a way to make skylarks stop singing.
Laura tried to let none of her opinion show in her face. When the kids were done she made sure they cleaned the grill and took her leave.
The number on her hand felt like it was on fire. She should call. They could see a movie-it was late to propose that. But she should call. Tomorrow night was free-all her nights were free.
She waited until after eight, which was clearly too late to make any kind of plans for the night. A cheery voice mail greeting wished her namaste at the end. She stumbled through reminding Suzy who she was. "I was thinking maybe we could meet at the coffee place. I mean at Makes Life Worth Living, on Main Street. Tomorrow or Sunday, say around three? Or earlier or later? I get texts at this number so call or text. If you don't then that's okay and I'll see you around."
There. Had she sounded pathetic? Had she sounded over-eager? She felt both. Suzy was very...physical. She'd never really had time to date before, not seriously, no more than a couple of trysts with co-workers who had the same time constraints. People arrived, then they left. The entire industry had been transient.
She jumped when her phone vibrated. Suzy had texted back, "In a class right now. Sunday at three sounds lovely. See you there."
She liked that it didn't say, "In class Sun good @3 CU." It made her feel like she wasn't a decade older than Suzy and therefore they'd have a chance at reasonable conversation and some mutual likes. Beyond the one thing they both, well, liked...
CHAPTER TEN
With a trip looming on her calendar, time seemed the last thing Helen could control. Before she knew it, she was back on a plane to California, wrung out from four busy days in New York. It didn't help her time management that her solution to hot flashes was extra time at the gym, and her cure for the fits of ennui was extra time out at night. After a Friday charity dessert fundraiser turned into a trip to a SoHo bar for some concoction that was the latest rage, she hadn't gotten in before four. Her understudy had sworn it would be worth it.
Of course it hadn't been worth it. She'd been tired all day Saturday and hadn't really been able to drift off on the plane. She now heard the change in the flaps, too, which meant they had passed the Sierras and were starting to descend into the San Francisco air space.
The worst feature of Grace's job, she often thought, was picking her up at the airport at six a.m. every Sunday morning. Grace was far more reliable than a hired car and usually let her crash across the backseat of the minivan for another forty-five minutes of respite.
"I'm so tired I can't sleep, I think," Helen said, buckling into the passenger seat. "I'm so glad you're driving. I'm hoping my own bed will make all the difference. How are things?"
Grace gave her a rundown of the ongoing project in the great room to upgrade the electricity. It seemed to be going on pace, but there was a constant pushback from the contractor about additional costs. "I always tell them that they gave me a bid and have to live with it. The permit fee, though, wasn't part of the bid. So that was paid."
"Any surprises in the homework?"
"No, both children are on track."
Something in Grace's trailing off tone made Helen glance at her. "Is there something else?"
"Justin seems convinced he's getting a car soon."
Helen laughed. "I'm not sure where he's getting that idea. Not from me."
"Laura, I think, has promised him cooking lessons, which will distract from his schoolwork." Grace smoothly navigated the transition from the airport zone to I-280 south.
"He mentioned that-I'm all for it. As long as he's up on his work. No using it as an excuse. No repeats of last year when he found it hard to begin his homework, let alone finish it and turn it in on time. Julie is okay?"
"She's fine. She's put on a pound or two. She's eating a great deal."
"She was getting a little overlean, so I gather she's liking Laura's food. No attacks?"
"None that I'm aware of."
That little bit of news left her feeling more relaxed and she closed her eyes to doze. While it would be nice to have a household manager with the same lightness of spirit that seemed to envelop Laura, Grace's browbeating ways and tight financial management kept all the highly distracting details out of Helen's way. There had been some wonderful nannies in years past who had also managed some of the business of the household, but Grace was the first to take it over completely. The kids, she knew, didn't need a nanny's benign affection the way they had as youngsters, and Grace had started tackling the long-ignored upgrades to the ninety-year-old house.
There was no one up when they arrived at home. Grace went back to her apartment behind the garage and probably wouldn't be seen until Tuesday morning. Helen let herself in the side door and quietly carried her small suitcase up the stairs to her room. Even though this bedroom and the one in New York had most of the same amenities, all the same toiletries and duplicates of lingerie and even shoes, this room
was home. The proliferation of photographs across the dresser was one difference, and she always fancied that the little noises of the kids sleeping kept the whole house from having the chill of the New York condo.
Whatever it was, it proved magic, and the next thing she knew her alarm clock was buzzing. It was after ten. She could hear the unmistakable sound of a shower running. Even at this distance from the kitchen, she could smell something warm and breakfasty. Her stomach promptly yelled, "Get up!"
The other grand thing about home was no witnesses but the kids. She pulled on her robe, ran fingers through her hair and went down to see what was cooking. The smell was so stomach-clenching good that she half expected to find Laura, moving her hands in that way she had, busily producing something delectable.
Instead she found her son frowning over the griddle. He had a box of Bisquick in one hand and a spatula in the other and was muttering, "But how do I tell if it's hot enough?"
She gave him a half-hug and peered at the bowl next to the stove. "Is that pancake batter?"
"It's supposed to be. I'm hungry and I thought I could practice on you guys. And I made a coffee cake from one of Laura's recipes. It uses applesauce and yogurt and almost no butter, so low-fat, honest."
"It smells so good my stomach hurts." She ran a little water on her fingers and then flicked them at the griddle. The drops promptly popped and steamed. "That griddle is plenty hot. Might even be a little too hot. But give one a try and you'll see. The first one is always a test."
"But I don't want to waste any batter."
"Unavoidable. If you get lucky and it turns out you can still eat it."
"Be fearless," he said to himself. "If I don't flip it it'll burn and that's worse than cleaning it off a burner, right?" He tried to do it in one quick motion and mostly succeeded, though much of the uncooked batter trailed across the hot surface to cook.
"It's the right color," Helen said. "The batter looks good."
He nodded grimly, gaze never leaving the griddle. A minute later he slid the little cake onto a plate. She quickly applied a smear of apple butter, cut it in two and offered him half.
"Now that is good," she said. "Congratulations. Now make me three more. And your sister would probably like three or four."
"And I get the rest." He made a move to shelter the bowl as if Helen were threatening to make off with it. "The cook gets the rest."
"Is that one of Laura's rules?"
"No, it's my rule."
"I can live with that. After such great pancakes I think we're going to have to save the coffee cake for after dinner. These are good enough to be dessert."
"But I want to have some now."
She grinned and wrapped her robe more tightly. What had she been so restless about? Some things-like her son's stomach-would never change. Peering out at the garden she thought it might be a lovely day.
"She's seen you in jeans," Laura said to her reflection. "Not that anyone wears anything else. And she's more likely to like jeans than the designer wear."
She ran a hand over her hair. It was getting scruffy. Why hadn't she gotten it cut yesterday? It would have been more productive than driving down to Scotts Valley in the vain search for an olive grower and a bistro that had been written up in Chef's Gourmet. The bistro had gone out of business. Such was the vagaries of running a restaurant. But the olive grower and tasting room where she had hoped to sample some artisanal oils and infusions simply hadn't been where they were shown on the map, and calls to their number had gone unanswered.
"It's just coffee. To see if she wants to bolt for the nearest door. Or if you do." She peered closely at her mouth in the poor hotel bathroom light. Was that another wrinkle? One of the things she loved about the hue of her skin was that wrinkles didn't show as much as they did on paler skin. Still, those lines were new and they didn't look like they'd been caused by laughter.
She realized she was frowning-that's where those little buggers were coming from. Too much frowning. It was time to get dressed for a coffee date and spend some time with a very lovely woman. Just what she had been looking for, leaving the corporate resorts behind. Life. A life.
Get on with it, she scolded.
Refusing to look any longer at her reflection, she pulled on well-faded jeans and a fitted blouse of brilliant aquamarine. She hoped the blue-beaded wires she hung in her ears would distract from the untidiness of her hair. Her iPad and purse in hand, she marched out to the car, feeling more like she was going into battle than to a date.
Suzy was already at Makes Life Worth Living, seated at a cozy table next to the street windows, and she was stirring something with the lush mixed spice aroma of chai. Her long hair was a buttery wheat hue in the sunlight. Like Laura, she wore jeans and a blouse, but hers was a deep rose and unbuttoned to show off a pretty white camisole, all of which set off her long neck and highly defined collarbone.
"Shall I get us some apple bread as well?" Laura hoped the butterflies in her stomach weren't audible in her voice. "I think I'm hooked on it."
"It's delicious." Suzy pushed her silky blond hair back over her shoulder. "That would be nice."
After she was settled with a Sumatran dark roast and two toasted slices of apple bread, she asked Suzy, "So are you related to the family that runs the winery or just work there?"
"I'm Carol's yoga instructor and when they opened up I helped with some of the decorating and designing the label. I love wine and Carol suggested I might staff the tasting room for a little extra income. The summers get really busy. Right now they're all crazy trying to finish the renovations before they start crush, which is any day."
"Some vineyards are already in it."
"Their own grapes are later, which is good-the temporary pickers are freed up from the big farms."
"It's such a fascinating business. I have a good palate, but the difference between jammy and plummy eludes me."
"I've met people with really bad palates, but they can describe wine and food like nobody's business. One was even a celebrity chef type. I swear, if they hadn't been completely different colors, he couldn't have told the difference between a chardonnay and a merlot. But he was lovable anyway." Suzy sipped her chai and half-closed her green eyes as she inhaled the aroma. Laura found it oddly charming. "I could live on this stuff."
"Give me coffee, but I make a mean chai cupcake. Cardamom, ginger, fennel, some clove, touch of cinnamon..."
"You'll have to make me one sometime." Suzy's eyes glittered with unmistakable invitation.
Still feeling taken aback by their undeniable chemistry, Laura said, "As soon as I have an oven. I'm still living out of a hotel. It's not easy to find housing in this area."
"Tell me about it. Rentals are rare. I finally found a bolt hole in Atherton. Some friends and I are talking about buying and sharing a house. An investment and a place to live all in one. No matter the economy, real estate is a good investment here." She broke off a piece of one of the slices of apple bread and ate it with relish. "That is so good."
Laura tried not to stare as Suzy licked her fingers. What was up with her? First woman in years and years to show interest when I can be interested back and I'm a tingling, responsive mess. "I'll admit it. I really wanted to see you again, but I picked here because even if the conversation didn't go well, the apple bread would be worth it."
Just as she realized she couldn't have said anything less flattering, Suzy laughed. "And how is the conversation going?"
"So far it's better than the bread." Phew, okay, maybe she'd saved herself.
"You haven't had any of the bread." She tore off another piece of the bread as Laura did the same.
"I don't need to." She ate her piece anyway, distractedly thinking it was as delicious as always.
"So why did you pick the South Bay to explore?"
"I went to high school in Santa Cruz and I also had a recommendation for a potential private chef post in the area. So it wasn't as bad as sticking a pin in a map."
&nbs
p; "Sure. It's good to have family near."
"Well, there's family and there's family." Not sure how much to reveal, she added, "They're my father's cousins and quite elderly. He paid them to take me in for a few years, after my mother died. I graduated and the next day my beat-up car and I headed for New York to learn more about being a chef."
Suzy looked puzzled. "Your father paid someone to give you a home?"
"And I got an allowance. He never married my mother and when I turned up at his home in Florida, passport, birth certificate and a social worker alongside, he was somewhat embarrassed. Especially being white, like his wife and two other children."
"He sounds like a creep."
Suzy didn't know the half of it and Laura didn't want to think about it. "He was forced to provide for me since Jamaica had dropped me into the hands of U.S. immigration. I was an American with an employed parent close by in Florida." She took another bite of the apple bread and let it soothe her senses. She saw no reason to tell Suzy about the year she'd come back to piece her life back together and the ride on the roller coaster. "So here I am again. I love this area. It has a lot of good memories. The people I lived with were very nice to me."
"You've had an adventurous life. So you went to New York and became a chef and traveled all over the world."
"And I loved most of it."
"Do you like the place where you're working now?"
"It's the perfect assignment-four nights a week. The family is great and I have lots of free time."
"So do you have to be anywhere tonight?"
"I don't have to be anywhere until Tuesday at five."
"How intriguing..." Suzy grinned. "I'm teaching a class in the morning though. That gives us from now until eight a.m."
"For what?"
Suzy gave her a twinkling look over the top of her mug of tea. Just as Laura felt a blush start in her cheeks there was fierce knocking at the window. She looked through to find Julie eagerly waving.
"Is that her?" Julie shouted through the glass.
Helen came into view, obviously chastising Julie though Laura couldn't make out the words. She smiled and waved.
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