“Yeah, well, I didn’t. I never expected it to be this hard. But you were so enthusiastic about me following my dreams, and after you stood up to Mom and Dad for me, I couldn’t tell you the truth.” Dina swiped her eyes dry. “That’s why I quit the restaurant. One of my roommates moved out, and even with tips, I couldn’t make rent. I got a job in a call center in Van Nuys. I’ve been working there since I got back.”
Alex sat back, simultaneously stunned and guilty. She’d been hiding the truth so she didn’t disappoint him? That was the last thing he’d intended when he encouraged her to go to Los Angeles against their parents’ wishes. That was the same thing his parents had done to him, causing him to stay in psychology long after he began to suspect the field wasn’t for him.
“Dina, I’m sorry. I never meant—”
“It’s not your fault. I was desperate to get away from all Mom and Dad’s plans, and I’d always been good at acting, you know? I got a lot of practice at home ‘living up to my full potential.’ When you jumped in to back me up, I thought, why not?”
Alex saw Rachel watching them with puzzlement. “Dina is a genius.”
She still looked confused, so Dina said, “He doesn’t mean that metaphorically. They tested me. Off the charts in math. MIT offered me a full ride before I finished my junior year of high school.”
Rachel blinked. “Wow. And you didn’t want to go?”
“There’s a difference between being good at something and wanting to do it for a living. Alex convinced me that counting cards in Vegas wasn’t my best career move, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend the rest of my life locked in a lab with a bunch of nerds.”
Alex gauged Rachel’s reaction and saw she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing. But they’d had that exact conversation after Dina got caught playing poker in an illegal home game with a fake ID—the hazard of having a brilliant sister with dark leanings and a rebellious streak the size of Colorado.
“So what are you going to do next?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know.” She peered up at him. “I can’t let Mom and Dad know I failed. It was bad enough that I crushed their dreams. Even worse that I did it for nothing.” Dina looked to Rachel, wide-eyed. “What do you think I should do?”
Rachel shook her head. “This is purely your decision.”
“But I value your opinion. What do you think?”
Alex watched Rachel wrestle with words for several moments. “I think you’re giving up far too easily.”
It was the last thing either Alex or Dina expected from her. “W-what?” Dina stammered.
Rachel leaned across the table, her voice tight. “Here’s the thing about dreams. Everyone thinks that if something is meant to be, it’s going to come easy. Life isn’t easy. It isn’t supposed to be. Doing something worthwhile takes sacrifice. Do you think I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent at work? I’ve spent years being miserable. But I’ve given up everything to get to where I am, and I’m not going to let one little setback get in my way. I’m going to prove them wrong. No matter what. That’s what it takes sometimes: sheer stubborn will.”
Alex looked between his sister and Rachel, a stirring of disquiet in his stomach. Somewhere in that speech, she’d stopped talking about Dina and started talking about herself. He glanced at his sister and saw from her stricken, tear-filled expression that she thought it was directed toward her.
He covered his sister’s hand with his own. “Dina, has acting ever really been your dream?”
Dina swallowed, the first tears sliding down her cheeks. She shook her head.
“Then come home.”
“I—I can’t.” A sob lingered in her voice. “Rachel is right. If I come home and tell Mom and Dad I’ve failed . . .”
“Forget Mom and Dad. This is about you and what you want to do. Dina, I spent way too long doing things because I was afraid of disappointing them. I should have quit school years earlier than I did.”
“But if I come home now, it’s like all those years were wasted.”
Alex shook his head with a gentle smile. “Nothing’s wasted. Not with God. Even those supposedly useless psychology degrees come in handy now, and I’m betting what you’ve learned as a struggling actress won’t go to waste either. Sometimes you just need to have faith that He’s got what’s next.”
Dina’s posture straightened a degree. “All my stuff is still in LA.”
“We can drive back and get it if that’s what you want to do. You can stay with me until you figure it all out. I’ll support you in whatever decision you make.”
Dina’s glance flicked to Rachel, then back to him. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course I would. I’m your brother. I’ve got your back.”
Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll go throw these away.” Rachel began to gather their containers, her voice hoarse.
“Is she okay?” Dina asked in a small voice as soon as Rachel left the table. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate her advice—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Alex said, but that unsettled feeling was back. Far more had just happened than a pep talk gone awry. When Rachel returned, they went back to his car, the mood muted.
“You can drop me on your way home,” Rachel said.
“Actually,” Dina said, “since it’s still early, I’m going to go hang out with a friend. You can take me to the DU dorms. I’ll get a ride home later.”
“Are you sure?” Alex asked. “Who is this friend? Do I know him?”
“She is Marcella Trujillo. You remember her, right?”
“Sorry, no.”
“Yes, you do. She was the one who asked you to her senior prom.”
Beside him, Rachel cracked a vague smile.
“I remember that. Excuse me if I don’t walk you in.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Dina shot back. Hard to believe this was the girl who had been crying forty-five minutes ago. Now she seemed light, unencumbered. He wasn’t sure which was stronger: his relief that she’d finally come clean or his guilt over making her feel like she had to lie in the first place.
He dropped her in front of campus housing for the University of Denver, where Marcella was apparently a business major. Then he looked to Rachel. “Home now?”
“Probably best. It’s a long day tomorrow.” Rachel paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong with Dina back there.”
Alex chose his words carefully. “I think we both know that had nothing to do with Dina.”
Rachel didn’t speak, just stared out the window. Alex tried a different tack. “What happens if Mitchell doesn’t want to invest in your restaurant?”
Rachel whipped her head toward him. “Do you think he’s going to turn me down?”
“No, I think he’s going to beg you to let him invest in your next venture. But what if he doesn’t? What if no one does?”
“That’s not an option. I can’t fail now. Not after coming this far. I won’t.”
“You’ve really never considered doing anything but cooking.”
“Not once.”
A quick glance confirmed what he expected: she was dead serious.
“What else would I do, Alex? I don’t have a college education. I barely have a GED. My high school grades were a disaster. But everything clicks when I’m in the kitchen. It’s who I am. Without it, I’m nothing.”
“That is absolutely untrue. You are so much more than just a chef.”
Rachel let out a harsh laugh, one that sounded suspiciously teary. “Really. Tell me one thing that you like about me besides my cooking.”
“Well, for one thing, you’re gorgeous.” The words slipped out before he could consider them, and he knew they were wrong the moment they passed his lips.
She snorted derisively. “It figures.”
“Rachel—”
“No, don’t ‘Rachel’ me. That right there is exactly why I’m so single-minded about cooking. Given the choice to be known for
my abilities or my looks, which do you think I’d prefer?”
“Rachel, you know I didn’t mean it that way. There is far more to you than your cooking or your looks. You’re stubborn and determined—”
“Both of which came from my years in the kitchen,” Rachel said flatly.
Alex took a steadying breath, feeling the conversation slipping away from him. He was nearing Rachel’s house, so he took a moment to pull up to the curb and put the car in park. “All I’m saying is, that’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from publishing, it’s that most of it is completely out of my control. Don’t you think there might come a point where this is all too much? Where you might want something else?”
“Tell me, Alex. If your career completely tanked and you married a woman who made a lot of money, would you quit writing? Would you lounge around and let her pay the bills?”
“Of course not. I would feel—” He broke off when he realized what she was getting at.
Rachel smiled at him, but the expression held no humor. “I have to go. It’s getting late and I’ve got a lot of work to do before tomorrow.” She pushed open the passenger door and stepped out.
“Rachel, wait.” Alex jumped from the driver’s seat and caught her on the sidewalk. “We need to talk about this.”
“Alex, really, there’s nothing to talk about. I’m just rambling. I’m tired—”
“No. You’re not.” He took her elbow. “Don’t shut me out. I’m just trying to understand you. That’s what you do when you care about someone.”
She stared at him for a long moment and then gave him a single nod. He took that as an invitation and uncertainly followed her up the path to her front door.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
RACHEL DIDN’T SLAM the door in his face, so Alex must have guessed correctly about her intentions. She walked through her house ahead of him, flipping on lights, until she reached the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
“Uh, sure. Thanks.”
She scooped beans into the grinder and began the process of making their coffee. “You should have met my mom. She was one of the strongest, most determined women I’ve ever known.”
“Was? Did she pass away?”
A pained expression crossed Rachel’s face. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose. She used to be a nurse. After my dad left us, she worked crazy hours to support us. But somehow she still managed to get most Sundays off to spend time with me. She talked about getting her degree as a nurse-practitioner so she could work normal hours in a clinic instead of in the hospital.”
Alex pulled out a chair and seated himself, careful not to disrupt the flow of words. Right now, it felt like she was talking to herself as much as to him.
“I had no idea how good I had it. I was really young when my dad left, so I don’t remember the times he was drunk and unemployed, how often my mom picked up extra shifts to pay the bills and the babysitter when he was incapable of watching me. I only knew that all my friends had dads and I didn’t.” She grimaced. “I thought I deserved one. So I started praying every night that God would bring me a father. The faith of a kid, you know?”
“You did deserve a father,” Alex said. “But sometimes we don’t exactly get the ones we hoped for.”
“You have no idea how true that is.” She poured coffee from the French press into two mugs. “Cream or sugar?”
“Both, please.”
She mixed their coffees, then brought them to the table before picking up where she had left off. “I was eleven when Mom met Dale. He was perfect, at least to me. He had a good job; he wanted kids with his ex-wife but they weren’t able to have them; he was a Christian. Immediately, I thought he was the answer to my prayers. I don’t know if my mom had doubts and ignored them because I liked him so much or if he had her fooled too. But it didn’t last long. We saw the truth pretty soon after the wedding.”
Alex flinched inwardly, already anticipating where the story was going. But he only nodded and sipped his coffee.
“That warm, loving man disappeared and was replaced by a critical, harsh dictator. The house was too messy. My mom didn’t cook enough. She worked too much, which obviously meant her priorities were out of order. Our church was far too liberal—because girls could wear pants and they allowed secular movies and music. Gradually, he managed to change everything about us. We left our church for his. My mom cut back on her hours at work and eventually quit. I started picking up the cooking duties, something he actually appreciated because it meant I would ‘make a good wife someday.’” Rachel enclosed the last part in air quotes. “My wardrobe had to be approved by him every morning. If my skirts and tops were too tight, he’d call me a slut. If I wore shapeless, baggy things, he’d tell me I needed to try harder to look feminine or no guy would ever be interested in me. One time he said I didn’t wear makeup because I was a lesbian and an abomination before the Lord. I cried for hours, and when I finally apologized—for what, I have no idea—he blamed me for making him feel bad.”
Alex listened to the litany with revulsion. He’d come across domestic abuse situations like this while in his grad program, but knowing Rachel had lived through it made him physically ill. “How did you and your mom deal with that?”
“Mom completely changed. She turned from this strong, capable woman into someone who only existed to serve him. I don’t know if she went along with it because she truly loved him or if she just was doing her Christian duty to obey him. But I could see the change in her. It was like a light got dimmer each day. She begged me to do what he said, defended his behavior as work stress. I think he blamed her when I didn’t do what he wanted because I was her daughter.
“For a while, I toed the line, but I figured out fast that even if I did everything right, he’d invent reasons to punish me. So I rebelled. I cut class. Dyed my hair. Smoked in the woods behind the school. I figured if I’d be punished, it might as well be for something I actually did.”
“And that didn’t go over well, I imagine.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Not at all. Finally, when I was fifteen and the school had called to say I was absent for the third time that month, he confronted me. Said if I wouldn’t follow his rules, I couldn’t stay under his roof. I figured I’d call his bluff, thought my mom would step in. But she didn’t. She helped me pack my bag.”
Rachel’s voice broke on the last word. Alex reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “Before you say it, I know all about Battered Woman Syndrome and PTSD. And I know she was doing the only thing she could to get me out of there. But that’s when I realized the person I’d known was dead. And I swore that I would never let a man do that to me. I would never let someone erase who I really was.”
And there it was, whether Rachel realized it or not: the whole root of her reluctance with him, her workaholism, even the neat-freak perfectionism she probably didn’t realize she possessed. The psychologist in him strained to point it out; his sense of self-preservation stopped him in time. Instead he asked, “Where did you go?”
Another smile, but at least this one held some humor. “Where any fifteen-year-old leaving home goes, of course. To see her stepfather’s ex-wife.”
“Ouch. I’m sure that was a surprise.”
“Oddly enough, Louise knew who I was. She wasn’t even that hard to track down; she owned a little Italian restaurant in Hartford. Anyway, before I even got out my full name, she took one look at me and knew. She asked if I needed a place to stay, and that was that.”
“Your mom and Dale were okay with that?”
“Apparently. She went away and made a phone call. When she came back, she was furious, but she said there would be emancipation paperwork coming in the mail. This woman didn’t even know me, but she took me in. A bond of shared trauma, I guess.”
“So that’s how you got your start in the kitchen.”
Rachel nodded. “She gave me the choice of going back to school or getting my GED and go
ing to work in the restaurant. I chose the latter. I worked as a food runner until I turned sixteen, which was when I was legally allowed to do kitchen work. It was like I was made to do it. I picked up everything they taught me, easily. The staff became like family and Louise became my mentor. By the time I was eighteen, I was running the kitchen. True, it was a hole-in-the-wall in Hartford, but it was mine and I loved it.
“And then one day, Louise handed me a bus ticket to Manhattan and a list of restaurants. ‘Start at the top and work your way down until you find someone to take you on,’ she said. I didn’t realize until later that the list was copied straight out of the new Michelin Guide. It started with Alain Ducasse at the Essex House and ended with Café Boulud.”
Alex smiled. He might not be a foodie, but he understood the significance of the two restaurants she’d just mentioned, how that list had expressed Louise’s hopes for her.
“It was hard. You have no idea how hard it was. I was sure that Louise had made a mistake sending me there. I thought about quitting so many times.”
“So why didn’t you?” Alex asked softly.
Rachel rose from the table and returned with the green journal in hand. Slowly, she pushed it across the table to him.
He took the notebook gingerly and flipped open the cover, not knowing what was inside but understanding what a gesture of trust this was. “What is this?”
“It was my mom’s once. Her ‘book of gratefuls,’ she called it. She had a series of them over the years, always carried one in her purse. And every time something good happened, whether it was finding a parking meter with time left on it or a sunny day in January, she’d write it down. She said whenever things looked bleak and she was tempted to think God had abandoned her, she could look back and see all the blessings He had given her.
“It was years before I could even open it. I hadn’t known she’d kept going after she married Dale, so this felt like a relic of the mom I’d lost. But when I was about to leave for New York, I forced myself to look. And I saw this.”
She flipped past the first few pages and pointed to an entry toward the bottom. He would have instantly recognized that the writing didn’t belong to Rachel, even if the date didn’t read fifteen years ago, nearly to the day.
The Saturday Night Supper Club Page 25