“Say you will forgive your young man.”
Lou’s face turned stony; only her respect for Gertrude kept her from pulling back from the touch.
“I can’t do that, Gertrude. He betrayed me too deeply. He destroyed my life.”
“You love him, yes?” Lou nodded. “I saw his face. He didn’t defend himself; he didn’t try to talk his way out of your accusations. That is not how a bad person would act.”
“The Al I thought I knew couldn’t have written that article.”
Gertrude took several short breaths and pointed to her water. Lou gave her a sip. Seeing her dear friend struggle with a simple task frightened Lou. It seemed another bit of joy was getting sucked out of the world. She took a deep breath and returned the cup to the table.
“Maybe you didn’t know the Al who wrote it. Maybe you knew a different Al, one who knew and loved you. People change. You are worth changing for.” Gertrude pointed her finger at Lou.
“It’s too soon. I can’t even think about him without getting so angry I want to . . . pry his teeth out with a dinner fork.”
Gertrude’s eyes crinkled and her shoulders moved a little, trying to express the laugh she didn’t have energy to make.
“Little savage. Just don’t let your heart get too hard. He made you happy. That was not an act. Try to forgive him— promise me.”
Lou looked into Gertrude’s watery eyes and pale face, her wispy hair floating away, the first part of her escaping toward heaven. She couldn’t deny Gertrude.
“I promise.”
“Good, now where is my Otto? I need to rest.”
Lou stood and moved the chair so she could push Otto’s bed closer to Gertrude’s. Gertrude’s eyes still sparkled in response. Lou bent over to kiss Gertrude on the cheek, then did the same to Otto.
“I’ll be in the chair if you need anything.”
Gertrude’s lips twitched, but her eyes were already closed, her breathing slow and sleepy.
Lou settled into the chair to watch over her favorite customers and think about Gertrude’s request. She had been happy, even amid her restaurant failing, but with her emotions rubbed raw from too many assaults, Lou needed a distraction. Being trapped in the hospice bubble isolated her, leaving her in close quarters with her troubles and amplifying the solitude. The more time alone, the more she worried about Otto and Gertrude, her stalled career, and whether her heart would ever heal.
The subdued quiet was only broken when nurses came in and out, checking vital signs and replacing IV bags. One suggested she take a shower, handing her a towel and soap. Afterward, she scrounged up a notepad and pen from the nurses’ station.
Over the next day, Lou sat vigil as Gertrude’s breathing became more labored, her skin more purple. She scribbled ideas in the notepad. New recipes, table settings, and a plan. Sometime in the night a nurse brought her some bland chicken noodle soup and stale crackers. Lou kept writing. A new restaurant was being born even as Gertrude’s breathing became more ragged.
Action in the hospice picked up as the sun rose, and visitors came and went. Midmorning Gertrude opened her eyes and beckoned Lou over. She bent close to Gertrude so she could hear her whisper.
“What are you writing?”
“A business plan. For a new restaurant.”
“Good. Second chances are good.”
Lou tilted her head in confusion. Gertrude waved at the notepad.
“You deserve a second chance at your dreams. Otto was my second chance at love.”
“It will take some work, but I have a plan. Do you want to hear about it?”
Gertrude nodded and listened as Lou poured out all her ideas.
“It is a good plan.” Her breathing became short and quick. “Liebchen, you must take my advice and find your happiness.”
“I will.”
Lou rubbed Gertrude’s icy hand, more purple than not.
“Keep my Otto company until he is ready?”
Lou nodded.
“Of course.”
Gertrude took a deep, wet breath, patted Lou’s hand, and closed her eyes again, reaching for Otto’s hand. Lou helped her find it, linking the two together, as it should be. She walked to the coffee station, trying to control her breath. The nurses she passed nodded and let her have some privacy.
When Lou returned to Otto and Gertrude’s room, Otto’s breathing was loud and heavy, but the two still held hands. Gertrude’s covers had slipped off her legs. Lou pulled them up and noticed Gertrude wasn’t breathing. She watched for a few minutes to make sure, as a mother would watch her newborn baby, then sigh in relief as the chest rose and fell. But Gertrude’s chest did not rise and fall. A tear plopped on the blankets. Lou covered Gertrude up, made sure Otto still slept, and went to tell the nurses.
• • • • •
Otto stayed unconscious while Gertrude’s body was wheeled away. Lou knew because she held his hand the entire time, feeling it grow colder. She pulled the chair next to his bed and continued to plan. It kept her mind from dwelling on the remarkable people the world was losing.
Otto moved his sheets and opened his eyes.
Lou’s stomach twisted. She had to tell him. She reached for his hand and looked into his shiny blue eyes.
“Otto, Gertrude passed earlier today.”
Otto smiled and nodded his head. Of course, he knew already. He tilted his head toward the door.
“I’m not leaving you alone. I promised Gertrude.”
He worked his mouth until he could manage a crackled whisper.
“When you love someone, Schätzchen, you are never alone.”
Lou kissed his forehead.
“Thank you for everything.” Lou’s voice choked. “Give Gertrude a hug when you see her.”
Lou picked up her notebook and settled into her chair. She looked back at Otto’s shining head and peaceful face, thinking about second chances.
Otto died in the early morning, Lou keeping vigil.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX •
Lou swirled a spoonful of browned butter on a plate, set a preserved lemon in the center, then topped it with a small piece of sautéed Lake Michigan whitefish. She sprinkled parsley over the top like confetti and stepped back to admire the new dish. Otto and Gertrude would have loved it.
Since she’d started at The Good Land a few days ago, Chef Tom had been letting her play with new ideas before her shift. She enjoyed working in a busy restaurant, feeling the heat of a dinner rush and the rhythm of a well-run kitchen. While his restaurant was much bigger than Luella’s, it didn’t take long for her to fit in. She would enjoy the steady income, too. But these weren’t her recipes, they weren’t her ideas feeding the hungry diners. That’s why the few hours when she got to play in Chef Tom’s sandbox were her favorite of the day.
“When’s the funeral?” said Chef Tom as he walked up beside her.
Lou gave him a small smile.
“Wednesday.”
Tom put his arm around her and squeezed. Lou sniffed and slid the plate toward him.
“What’s today’s invention?” He already had a fork in hand.
“Deconstructed Lake Michigan whitefish meunière.”
“Bit tiny, isn’t it?” Tom winked.
“It’s meant to be a small plate.” Lou rolled her eyes.
“May I?” Chef pointed his fork at the dish.
“You’re the boss.”
“Yes. I am.” He sliced into the fish, making sure to get some of the lemon and butter. He set it on his tongue and chewed thoughtfully. If she’d done it right, he would experience the browned butter first; then it would be cut with the tart and tangy lemon, followed by the barely crisp, flaky fish. As he chewed, the flavors would meld together to replicate the classic dish, but in an entirely new way. Lou held her breath as Tom swallowed, then grinned.
“That is the best one yet, Lou.” He studied her as he took another bite. “While I love having you here, you’re wasting your talent on my line.”
“Ha! This is my kitchen. I make the menu. Get your own kitchen.”
Lou gnawed her lip.
“Speaking of my own kitchen, I’ve been thinking about that.”
“As you should.”
Tom took another bite.
“Some of us don’t have buckets of money being thrown at us by abundant customers.”
“Yes, yes, your point.”
“I have my business plan written for a new restaurant. Could you read it? Give me your thoughts?”
“Of course. Bring it in tomorrow.”
Lou’s lips twitched.
“It’s already on your desk.”
Chef Tom sighed dramatically.
“Oh, fine—I’ll go read it. And get that dish ready as the small-plate special tonight.”
Lou glowed. Tom really was a great friend. She started breaking down whitefish into small pieces and making sample plates for the waitstaff to try, then worked on her regular prep. She cleaned up her station, putting the final touches on her mise-en-place. She turned to see Tom standing behind her with the business plan in hand. He was rifling through the pages.
“So?”
He looked up at her, his face serious. Lou was used to the jovial Chef Tom, not this one—the one reserved for his vendors and accountants.
“That bad?” she asked.
“No, this is really good. Great, actually. Are your numbers accurate?”
“I think so. That represents the money I owe and that one is the value of the equipment.” Lou pointed to a spot on the page. “I’m looking at a less expensive property, and my start-up costs will have to be smaller than with Luella’s, but those numbers should be right. If the bank gives me the loan I’m asking for, I can start a very small kitchen—just me, a waiter, and a dishwasher. Only four or five tables. Very intimate.”
“What if you had an investor?”
Lou’s face got dreamy, then frowned.
“I’d love the extra money, but not having to keep them happy. I’d rather do it my way.”
“What if that investor gave you one hundred percent control of his share because your idea is so great he just wants to be a part of it?”
She grinned, understanding Tom’s meaning.
“Don’t get too excited. It wouldn’t be a lot, but I’ve had a good year,” Tom added.
“It would be more than enough. I’ll call the bank.”
Lou bounced as she dialed, buoyant at the thought she could soon climb back into her own sandbox.
• • • • •
Snow floated down in big, fluffy flakes, creating white car and tree silhouettes, muffling sounds, and converting the city dirt to a heavenly white. The ethereal weather brought those who mourned them closer to Gertrude and Otto, lending their joy and serenity to the solemn occasion. Lou had no idea what to expect at their funeral. The two had paid for and made all the plans in advance. They even had arranged for a Spanferkel roast afterward.
Almost two weeks had passed since she had spent those few days in hospice. During that time, she’d worked at The Good Land, gotten her life back in order, and learned the Meyers had left their house to her—while not enough to open a new restaurant, the surprise inheritance brought her plans that much closer to reality.
Lou had unearthed her one dark suit from the back of her closet, ironed it the best she could, and walked the few blocks to the funeral home. She intended to be there from beginning to end. She owed it to them. Harley, Sue, and most of her restaurant staff would arrive later. When she entered the building a few minutes before the visitation, the funeral home director was already waiting by the door, somber and looming.
All funeral directors reminded her of Lurch from The Addams Family. It wasn’t fair, and this gentleman looked nothing like him, but the association always stuck and caused giggles to surface at awkward moments. While the thought was absolutely inappropriate, it kept her mind occupied while approaching the open coffins.
She cherished their final moments together. They had given love, support, and hope—gifts she could never repay, nor would they want her to. Lou would miss them, but she was ready for her second chance. She gave each hand a little squeeze.
“Auf Wiedersehen.”
Lou walked away to collect herself and read the cards on the many flowers. She knew Otto and Gertrude had a full life outside her restaurant, but she always felt she had them all to herself. The flowers were evidence of how wrong she was. She turned to see many people cautiously entering the room. Some distant great-nieces and nephews collected in one corner. Lou offered her condolences and introduced herself. She didn’t think they really knew much about their great-aunt and uncle, not beyond the chitchat at family functions.
Lou wandered the room to find some photo albums and posted pictures. In every single image, they touched each other: holding hands, a hand on a shoulder or knee, or a full embrace with cheeks squished together. That was her favorite, something you expected teenagers to do, and it was one of their more recent pictures. They ate food in a lot of pictures, too, sitting side by side at picnic tables or lounging on a blanket in the grass.
The room filled up quickly, so she settled into a back chair, hoping there’d be enough seats for any of her former staff that came. Sue and Harley eventually arrived, as did many waitstaff and busboys. They surrounded her in their corner of the room, a phalanx protecting their lost commander. It felt good to be with her family, even in this sad setting; she’d missed them.
When the service began, Lou felt a tingle at the back of her neck. She turned to see Al enter the back of the room with a very hairy and rumpled man. He glanced her way, gave a nod of acknowledgment, and turned toward the minister. Lou turned back, too, not sure what to think about the newest mourner.
• • • • •
Don’t look again. Don’t look again. Whew—she turned around. If he looked at her again, he wouldn’t be able to control himself; he’d be on his knees begging in an instant. He’d heard about Otto and Gertrude’s death in the office. Hannah had called him in to ask whether he knew them. Their obituary was written based on a packet of information the deceased had wanted included. They wanted it known they frequently ate at the remarkable Luella’s, owned by Lou Johnson. He’d only met them a few times, yet they’d left an indelible mark. The two together seemed unbeatable, impervious to the ups and downs of life. For them, it was only ups as long as they were together; they made sense. As a model of marital harmony, he could think of no better.
He intentionally entered just as the service began, bringing John as insurance. He meant to pay his respects, not harass Lou. But she looked so broken when their eyes met. Dark circles marked her face, and she looked too thin. All the chairs held bodies, heads facing the minister who talked about soul mates and shared happiness. Al didn’t care much for funerals; they reminded him of his limited time to prove himself.
His parents had stayed for two weeks after the incident. He’d spent that time discussing his future with them, sharing many of the places Lou showed him: the art museum, The Good Land, Sprecher Brewery, and Miller Park. Alas, Northpoint Custard was closed for the winter, but they had one at the airport. When he drove his parents for their flight home, they had left early to eat at the custard stand. He had ordered everything and set it on the table in front of them, a communal feeding trough for the family.
“That’s lovely. It smells just like the fish ’n’ chips shop by the house,” his dad had said.
“I know. But this is quite a bit better. Try the perch. So much tastier than cod.”
They had sampled in silence, with a break to mutually agree the deep-fried cheese curds represented genius—evil genius, but genius.
“So, you’re staying then?” his mum asked.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“You seemed reluctant to come, and then with the misunderstanding.” Katherine waved her hand and conti
nued, “We thought you might want to come back to England.”
“Mum, it was a screwup, not a misunderstanding.”
“Language, Alastair.”
“Anyway, I thought about leaving. I could make a fresh start, create a new identity. But I like who I’ve become and I like this place. I fit here. I’ve made new friends, and it has an exciting, eclectic food scene I want to watch grow. I’m not proud of how I started, but I found myself here. I’m not going to leave and risk getting lost again. So, I’m afraid you’ll just have to visit soon. Though try the summer next time.” It went unspoken, but he knew they were thinking that Milwaukee also housed the woman he loved.
• • • • •
The noise of many people moving at once brought Al out of his memories. The service ended and people filtered out into a large dining room, forming a line at the Spanferkel buffet.
“You coming?” John pointed a finger toward the food.
“No, not hungry.”
John joined the line as Al noticed Lou in her seat, waving her friends toward the food, her head down, and a wadded tissue swatting at tears. He’d taken a step in her direction when he saw Devlin sit down next to her. Al stepped into the foyer to watch. He should’ve left. But he didn’t.
Lou stiffened but nodded when Devlin spoke. She stood to walk away. This time when his lips moved, she turned and strode toward the bathroom.
Devlin rose and stalked toward the exit but noticed Al hovering in the entry.
“You. You screwed it all up,” he said, pointing his finger into Al’s chest. Al didn’t flinch.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Al said, moving Devlin’s finger off his body.
“Get what? That people don’t leave me? That she belongs with me? I can take care of her.”
“Lou can take care of herself.” Al paused. “You dated her for a couple of years, right?”
“Yes.”
“In all that time, you never once understood who she was. She has a gift, one you’ve never appreciated. She has too much talent to hide away in your kitchen preparing fancy meals. She’s not a private chef you can shag after dinner.”
For someone who grew up at an all-boys school as the son of a teacher, Al possessed a surprising lack of knowledge about how to take a punch. So when Devlin threw a hammer fist at his face, Al’s reflexes didn’t know to duck. He heard a sound like a lobster cracking open. Hot blood streamed from his nose, leaving an iron taste in his month.
The Coincidence of Coconut Cake Page 23