Al pulled her into his arms as her body quivered with each sob and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Lou quieted after a few moments and stepped out of Al’s arms, wiping tears away from her red eyes with the edge of her apron.
With a sniff she said, “Clearly, I still have some wounds left to heal, but I would never ask you to not take a job you wanted. I’ve been on the other end of that and it sucks. I’m happy you have a job you want. Not many people can say that. I am a bit disappointed you didn’t tell me about it sooner, but I guess I understand why you didn’t.”
Lou stepped closer to Al so she could hold his hands and look closely in his eyes.
“I love you. You say you love me. Spending time with you brought me back from a really ugly place. In hindsight, I believe I’m better off now. I lost my restaurant, but I’m also rid of Devlin and I found you. I want a future with you. Don’t ever be afraid to tell me about your life. If you want to share it, I want to know it. Can you do that? Tell me things even if you think I’ll be upset and end up a mess like I am right now?” She gave him a little smile as she finished.
Al soaked in her words, let them seep into his worry lines. She didn’t care about the new job. She only wanted to know him more. He could do that. Al smiled in relief. He really didn’t deserve her.
“Lou, full disclosure from this moment on.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. He could see Lou take a quick breath, just like she did when they first met at the pub so many months ago.
“One last thing,” Lou said. “Promise you won’t be anything like the last guy.”
“I can absolutely promise that.”
He pulled Lou in tight, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, the vanilla smell always right behind her ears, her soft hair against his cheek. He didn’t realize how terrified he was of losing her until just now. He took a deep breath.
“Feel better?” Lou asked.
“Quite, you?”
“Much better. Now, back to work. We have a feast to prepare.”
“Lou, who is going to eat all this?”
“Silly man, Thanksgiving isn’t about the meal. It’s about the leftovers. Turkey-and-cranberry sandwiches, stuffing on toast, and gravy fries. Thanksgiving is great, but the day after is even better.”
Yes, Thanksgiving was his holiday. Today was good, but tomorrow would be better.
• • • • •
“Isn’t it pretty? An entire day’s accomplishments spread out for consumption,” Lou said.
“Like a fat man’s fantasy.”
Al and Lou sat at the table with the feast in front of them. Lou’s arteries congealed as she recalled the pounds of butter that went into the meal and the two pies cooling in the kitchen. But you couldn’t skimp on butter on a holiday, and any substitute would feel wrong to a girl born and raised in the Dairy State. At least she’d resisted putting cheese in half the dishes.
“Do you want to carve the bird? Or should I?”
“I’d love to, if you trust me.”
“Butcher away—it all goes to the same place. Use these.”
Lou handed him the carving knife and fork. Al tilted his head. The blade was typical, long and thin, not particularly sturdy. The fork had two tines attached to the handle. What caused Al to pause and what endeared them to Lou were the handles, covered in haphazard paint splotches of every hue. No sign of the original wood appeared under the rainbow handles.
Noticing his pause, Lou explained, “My family has used these since I can remember. One year, when I was about five, my dad explained how they were special utensils for holidays. I decided the plain wood wasn’t good enough. I took the box when my parents didn’t notice and hid it in my room. I spent months painting it just so. When I completed my masterpiece, I put it back in the hutch with the fancy plates and silver. At the next Thanksgiving, my father took them out to carve the turkey. He knew immediately what had happened.”
“What did he do?”
“He asked my mother where she’d purchased such fine carving tools, because they were surely meant for royalty. My mom was so confused; then she saw my handiwork and played along. We pretended we were eating at a royal feast. I played princess and hostess. It was our best Thanksgiving.”
“Rest assured, the Queen would be green with envy if she knew such a fine carving set existed.”
Al set to carving the turkey, neatly removing the wings and legs, impressing Lou with his deftness. He removed the breasts and set them on a cutting board, then turned the bird to get at the thighs.
“This isn’t your first bird,” Lou said.
“We do eat turkey in England, just with slightly different trimmings.”
While Al finished cutting the turkey to manageable pieces, Lou filled their plates with a little of everything. She still struggled with Al’s new job. The hurt had surprised her. She had thought she was over Wodyski’s bad review.
While they chewed, Lou examined the hurt, turned it around in her mind to see it from every side. He’d known she wouldn’t like it—that was why he waited until he got the job. She could accept that as a thoughtful gesture. But why apply to begin with? He knew about the review; she was kidding herself if she thought he hadn’t looked it up online to read it. He also knew how wrong that smug son of a bitch was. She’d served Al the very same meal Wodyski received and he’d raved about the perfectly cooked fish, delicate sauce—said Julia Child would be proud.
Lou thought about what she’d told Al in the kitchen, verifying she meant every word. She did understand wanting a job your partner didn’t support. How long had Devlin begged her to quit the restaurant, never listening to her dreams? From what she knew about Al, he loved food as much as she did, but he also loved writing. Now he could marry the two—a perfect job. She could never deny him that. Yes, she did mean every word. She would support his job, be excited for him, and look forward to a few nice meals on the paper’s dime; it was the least they owed her.
“So how is this going to work?” Lou said, bringing Al back from his happy place with the food.
He chewed and swallowed.
“Funny you should mention that. I could start by reviewing Luella’s. Maybe that could help it out. Maybe even start a section in my column where I revisit Wodyski’s bad reviews and refute the ones he got wrong.”
Lou smiled at the gesture.
“No, you can’t do that. At least not with Luella’s. There would be too much bias, and it’s too late. The closing date is coming like a cheek-pinching great-aunt.”
Al nodded. “Okay then, so I won’t review any restaurant you work at or own. But at least I can still visit.”
“Aren’t you worried people will find out what you look like?”
“Not really. Frankly, I think it would take the pressure off.”
Lou’s head bobbed and her eyes narrowed in thought.
“So, will you need any dining companions? I’d like to volunteer my services. I’ll have some time opening up soon.”
Al smiled. “You must be reading my mind. I can’t think of anyone else more qualified. Plus, date nights on the paper sounds about right. Have you set a date?”
“Harley and Sue finally agreed to get new jobs, but I already know chefs who will hire them whenever they can start. I’m closing December twenty-second. We’ll have one last party on the twenty-third, and everything will be ready for the auctioneers after the New Year.” Lou took a few more bites and stared at her half-empty wineglass.
“I’m so sorry, Lou.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I thought I accepted it months ago, but now that it’s less than one month away . . . it’s really hard.” The table clouded over as if she were looking at it through a fishbowl. Some of her face muscles started to cramp from holding in the tears.
“I don’t mean to cry again; it’s just . . . I worked so hard and I was so close. I keep wishing I could do it over, do it better. Now I just hope I don’t owe money after the
auction. If I could do it again, I’d . . . do things different. But I don’t think I have the heart to try again.”
Al got up, knelt before her, and grabbed her hands. She couldn’t stop her heart from doing a little unexpected flip-flop.
“Don’t say that. I’ll help you do anything. Don’t give up on your dream. It’s not fair I get mine and you don’t.”
Lou took a shuddering breath and dried her eyes.
“Enough serious for today. Today is for giving thanks.” Lou looked into Al’s upturned face. “And I am so thankful you’ve finally started wearing jeans instead of khakis every day.”
Al laughed.
“And I’m thankful you introduced me to squeaky cheese and frozen custard.”
Al kissed the back of her hand, soothing her with his gentle touch. He still believed in her. Lou leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. She would find a new dream.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE •
Lou sat at the center table, her empty restaurant still and peaceful. She usually liked the pristine solitude of an empty restaurant right before open, when the silverware lay ready for use, the bread warmed in drawers, prep cooks smoked their cigarettes behind the Dumpster having finished their mise-en-place for the night, the entire restaurant waiting for action. Today was different.
Dishes lay wrapped in boxes and the last few bottles of wine sat along the counter, ready to go home as gifts for her guests. Blank walls studded with nails bespoke the decorations that once hung. The tables sat bare, all the tablecloths sent back to the rental company. Most of the pots and pans sat on a counter in the kitchen, recently scrubbed and ready for auction. All the cupboards and shelves echoed with emptiness, their contents packed in boxes or set out to be used for tonight’s feast. Yes, today was definitely different.
Open cookbooks and a scribbled-upon notebook covered the table. Lou had searched for a few ideas to add to Luella’s last meal. Tonight she’d hold a dinner for the restaurant’s remaining staff, Otto and Gertrude, and Al. Yesterday had been the last official day. Today, she’d use the last of her supplies before packing it up. Sue and Harley were starting new jobs after the New Year.
She should probably find some work, too. She picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and swallowed her pride.
After a few rings, Chef Tom’s booming voice said, “Are you finally coming to work with me?”
Lou laughed, feeling better already.
“Get out of my head. Yes, I’m calling to beg for a job.”
“It’s me who’s begging.”
Lou’s eyes began to tear up.
“This means a lot, Tom.”
“You’d do the same.”
“I owe you one.”
Her voice cracked.
She hung up the phone, one more step away from her past and toward her new future. The bells jangled on the front door, a reminder to pack them before she forgot. She quickly wiped her tears away.
“Hey, love, I didn’t expect you until later. I thought your parents were getting the grand tour,” Lou said as she turned around to greet Al. But instead of Al’s warm British accent, she heard a familiar voice, colder than she remembered.
“It’s time we had our discussion, Elizabeth.” Devlin’s eyes reflected the chill in his voice. Lou inhaled as she stood up.
“We have nothing to discuss. Leave, please. You never came here when we were together, and I don’t want you here now.”
Devlin took his time walking toward her, observing all the packed boxes, empty walls, and clear tabletops like a general studying the enemy’s weaknesses.
“I won’t be long.”
“Get out before—”
“Before what? You call the police?” A corner of Devlin’s mouth turned up. “Really, you’re going that route?”
“Fine.” Lou waved her hand, indicating he should get on with it.
Devlin stopped to stand in front of Lou, and his eyes softened as he took in her appearance: her hair piled on top of her head, her clean but tired face and white chef’s coat.
“We had a good plan together. We could still get back on track.” He reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. Lou swatted it aside.
“Don’t.”
Devlin’s eyes hardened like those of a hawk spotting its prey, and his lips pressed firmly together.
“I see. So, what does my replacement do for work?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I think it is. I still want you in my life, even after all this time. I need to know he can take care of you better than I can.”
Lou huffed, but she realized the sooner she played his game, the sooner he would go.
“He writes.”
“Ah yes, a writer. Sounds almost as stable as a restaurant owner. What does he write?”
“He’s a freelancer. And he just started as food critic for the paper.”
“Just started? Huh. It took him a while to find a regular job.”
Lou sensed Devlin building his argument, setting up his points as he would in front of a judge and jury.
“Quit the grandstanding. This isn’t court.”
“Isn’t it? I think there’ll be some judging needed after I tell you what Wonder Boy did.”
“Are you so petty you’ll try to ruin the one good thing in my life right now? That’s below you, Devlin.”
“I’m only thinking of you. I want to make sure you know who you sleep with at night.” Devlin picked up a pen and flipped it between his fingers. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re so committed to the man who destroyed your business.”
Lou’s face scrunched. “What are you talking about?”
“A. W. Wodyski.” Devlin tilted his head, studying her reaction. “Haven’t you ever wondered who he really was? You had to know that wasn’t his real name.”
Lou stilled.
“I did some research after I saw you at Irish Fest. I wanted to know who my future bride was spending time with.” Devlin paused and looked Lou in the eye. “I really do care for you, Lou. You’ll realize soon I know what’s best for you.”
He looked as if he meant it, every word. Lou’s spine shuddered.
“You’re making a lot of assumptions you have no business making.”
Devlin leaned in toward Lou, but she took a step back. He inhaled and nodded.
“Imagine my surprise when I found out your toiling young writer’s big secret. When you think about it, it starts to make sense. Wodyski started about the time Al moved here. Wodyski died, then your Al happened to get the open position. What if Wodyski never died? What if he just started using his real name?”
Lou’s stomach twisted as she sucked in all the awful words. She wanted them to bounce off, to not stick.
“You . . . you know nothing,” Lou whispered, then found her voice. “That’s all circumstantial.”
“You don’t have to believe me now. I know the truth. Now you do, too.”
“You’re lying.”
It hurt to fight back the tears, but she would not cry in front of him.
“I don’t lie, Lou. I may shape and bend the facts in my favor or make tactful omissions, but I don’t lie. You know that.” He paused, studying her clenched jaw and fists. “For when you’re ready to accept the truth.”
Devlin tossed a thick red-and-white paperback book on the crowded table and left, leaving behind echoes of doubt and disbelief. Lou read the title; it was a Polish-English dictionary. He had tucked one of his expensive personal note cards into it. She could see his slate-blue initials, DP, in the corner of the snow-white, thick stock.
She stared at the book, afraid of its contents. Her fingers twitched toward it. No. She shook her head to reinforce the sentiment. No.
Lou knew Al. He laughed at her silly jokes, savored good food, respected his parents, and showed kindness to Otto and Gertrude. A. W. Wodyski could not, could never be the same person she loved. They were not compatible.
With trembling hands,
Lou stacked her cookbooks and the offending tome to carry into the Lair. She should know better than to let anything Devlin said distract her. She had a meal to cook, guests to entertain, and a man to love. Tomorrow, she’d finish packing up this life so she could begin her new one. Screw Devlin.
• • • • •
Al watched the delays flash across the airport monitors as he played with the square box in his pocket. It thrilled him to think about what it contained. How could a tiny thing hold so much hope and happiness? As Gertrude had said a few months ago, when you knew, you knew. Tonight, Lou would leave one path alone and start another path with him. Tomorrow, she could meet his parents, but they had to land first.
The first hard blizzard of the season charged toward them, forcing flights to delay their arrival and land in different airports. His parents’ flight was due to land any minute. It was a race to see which would arrive first, the storm or the airplane.
“Dude, if you want to play pocket pool, choose a nice quiet bathroom stall, not the middle of the airport,” John said.
“What?” Al looked down and realized what it looked like. “What do you expect? I haven’t seen Lou since yesterday morning.”
He chuckled at John’s shock that he played along with his joke rather than act embarrassed as usual. That’s what the Al of ten months ago would have done. That Al would also never be at the airport waiting for his parents. He wore jeans and a gray T-shirt under a plaid button-down. He’d thought about wearing the Brewers cap Lou had given him at his first game, but that might prove too much for his parents to take in at one time. He no longer stuck out when they went to bars. Milwaukeeans just didn’t dress up for most nights out. Sure, they had the occasional bar or restaurant where the clientele wore trousers or dresses, but most places were casual. And he liked it.
Al started pacing to calm his nerves.
“You’re starting to make me nervous. Is there something I need to know about your parents before they arrive?”
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake Page 20