Текст книги "The Coincidence of Coconut Cake"
Автор книги: Amy E. Reichert
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN •
Al felt his stomach drop; the itchy burlap poked at the skin exposed between the top of his sock and jeans leg. A trickle of sweat ran down his back as the yellow slope blinded him in the bright sunlight. He heard Lou’s woo-hoos of delight waft past him. How in the bloody hell did she convince him to sit on a burlap sack and race down a giant slide? The children coming off seemed so happy, he now believed it was a complicated scheme to trap fools like himself into parting with the two dollars it cost. Al couldn’t believe people actually paid to do this. He wouldn’t accept any sum of money to do it again. At last the interminable yellow slope ended and Al opened his welded-shut eyelids to see Lou’s glorious smile, hair mussed like she’d just rolled out of bed, and cheeks flushed with the thrill of gravity and speed. And just like that, Al decided he would descend the yellow path of doom as many times as Lou wanted him to. Thank God she seemed happy with one trip for now.
“You okay? You look a little pale,” Lou said as Al stood up, clutching the scratchy burlap.
“Yes. It looked a bit smaller from down here.”
“I love that slide. I used to ride it with my dad when I was too little to go by myself. Ready for some food, or do you need a little break?”
“Food might not be the smartest. The animals?”
“Cows it is.”
August had rolled in hot and steamy. Al and Lou had arrived at the Wisconsin State Fair by nine in the morning for fresh egg omelets in the Agriculture Building and some apple cider donuts. They’d nibbled their donuts and wandered the stalls celebrating various products grown and raised in Wisconsin. You could sample and buy anything, from honey-filled plastic sticks to ostrich steaks to cranberry scones. They followed up their breakfast with a stop at the milk barn, where Lou had forced him to try root beer–flavored milk. While he’d been skeptical, it tasted delicious and precisely like a root beer float.
Now, after the slide, Al didn’t think more food would stay put. His stomach roiled, reminding him of those boiling mud pits he’d seen on a public television show about Yellowstone National Park.
As they approached the Cow Barn, Al prepared himself for bovine hell, but once again he was wrong. Instead of piles of manure, muddy cows, and ratty stalls, Al saw row upon row of neatly kept hay piles, clean cows, and hardworking young kids picking up manure before it hit the floor. He smelled fresh hay more than anything else. The cows blinked long lashes over their shoulders at the passing people, tails swishing away flies. At the end of an aisle, a teen boy washed a cow.
“Okay, I’m starving. You’ll just have to man up and eat something,” Lou said.
“I’m fine now. Where to?” Al said with a smile, realizing it was true.
“Corn on the cob, for sure, then whatever grabs us.”
They spent the next hour nibbling their way through the food stalls, sharing spiral-cut potatoes, pork sandwiches, and cream puffs. They found a table in one of the many shaded beer gardens, and Lou retrieved some ice-cold Summer Shandys to go with their food. The beer had a light lemon edge that offset the malt, making it an ideal hot-summer-day drink. The potato spirals, long twirls coated in bright orange cheese, combined the thin crispiness of a potato chip with a French fry. And the cream puffs . . . The size of a hamburger on steroids, the two pâte à choux ends showcased almost two cups of whipped cream—light, fluffy, and fresh. Al had watched the impressive assembly line make it while they waited.
As he watched Lou devour her cream puff, Al’s stomach still roiled, but now for different reasons. Today, he would tell Lou about his job. He wanted to ask her on an official date but needed to reveal his secret identity first. He wanted her to know everything about him and A. W. Wodyski.
• • • • •
Lou slid into the chair next to Al, so they sat side by side. She handed Al an already-sweating beer bottle and set the cheesy potatoes between them. She smiled a little at his appearance, his hair out of place and damp around the edges. He wore jeans (thank God he hadn’t worn khakis). His light-colored polo showed evidence of butter gone amiss while he was eating corn on the cob.
As favorite annual events go, State Fair topped her list. She always came early for breakfast and to beat the worst of the crowds. Now it was early afternoon and people poured in. The barns crawled with strollers, crying and sticky children, and tired-looking parents. And the people watching didn’t get better.
Al sampled their potato spirals, leaving a smudge of cheese on the corner of his mouth. Lou smiled and picked up a napkin.
“Hold still—the cheese is fighting back.”
Using her napkin-wrapped thumb, she brushed the cheese away, briskly at first, then slower as she became distracted. His lips were wet from the beer and full from the heat. Using her bare fingers, she grazed his bottom lip. Al’s blue eyes ignited. The beer tent and exhausted families disappeared. She only saw him, felt his shallow breath caress her fingertips, shooting desire through her. Every part of her was hot and electric and hungry.
Lou leaned toward him, seeing her hand tremble against his mouth. She licked her lips and saw her hunger reflected in Al’s eyes. This was happening. The world seemed to shudder.
“Mommy, why is that lady touching his face?”
A high-pitched voice broke the spell like a snowball to the face. Lou and Al both turned to see a sweaty mom and chocolate-smeared boy sitting across the table from them. A large diaper bag now dominated the table—that explained the shudder. The mom glared at Al and Lou as if they had interrupted her. Lou glared back.
“She is wiping something off his face, Hunter, like Mommy wipes your face.”
“Why can’t he wipe his own? He’s a big boy.”
Al and Lou laughed.
“You’re right,” said Lou to Hunter. “He is a big boy. But sometimes big boys need help. Like you need help to get all that chocolate off your face.” She pushed a stack of napkins across the table and smiled at Hunter’s mom, who snatched the napkins and set to work.
Lou gave a small smile to Al. He wiped his damp palm on his pant leg and pulled a folded newspaper article from his jeans pocket. He carefully unfolded it, flattened it a little on the sticky picnic table, and passed it to Lou.
“I thought you’d like to read this,” he said.
She took the article and looked down to give it her proper attention. The article wasn’t long, maybe a column and a half, with a long crease down the middle. But after reading the headline and byline, Lou almost blacked out. She clenched her teeth, dug her nails into fleshy palms, and flared her nostrils to take in the deep breaths she needed. She’d thought she had come to terms with the events of the past four months. She accepted that closing the restaurant made business sense, but seeing the name A. W. Wodyski in print ripped open all the old wounds that had barely healed over. She felt raw, exposed, and cold despite the warm day.
“Why are you giving this to me?” she hissed.
Al looked a little stunned. “I thought you’d like to read it . . . er . . . It’s a good review on The Good Land. We had such a lovely meal there. And Chef Tom is your friend.” Al widened his eyes at Lou’s vehemence.
Lou noticed Al’s discomfort and struggled to rein her rampaging emotions back in. Hunter and his mom were watching her, too. She took a deep breath and focused on the gesture.
“You’re right—we had a wonderful time there, but I prefer to make my own opinions about restaurants rather than listen to some overeducated pompous ass.” Hunter’s mom flinched at the profanity. “Thank you for thinking of me. I shouldn’t have blown a gasket like that.” Lou crumpled the paper in one hand and shoved it deep into her favorite red purse.
Al’s eyebrows scrunched. “Blown a gasket? I’m not sure I get that one.”
Lou laughed and the anger subsided. “I’m sorry. It means I got angry, but not at you. You don’t have anything to do with it. It’s all work related and this article reminded me of it. It’s not fair you had to take the brunt of it, especially since our outings have been the ideal escape from my stress. Ready for another beer before we leave?”
Al nodded slowly, his brow still furrowed, and Lou stood to get another beer.
She felt a little guilty for scaring him with her reaction. Too bad she had to work later today; she didn’t want today to end. Perhaps she should invite Al to Luella’s—then it could continue.
But she cherished their time as a work-free zone. If he knew the wreck her life really was, he’d want nothing to do with her. She didn’t want anything to do with herself. And they had been so close to kissing—if it hadn’t been for little Hunter. It wasn’t all in her head. He seemed to share her feelings. She had wanted to kiss him. She still wanted to kiss him.
• • • • •
“When you asked me to pick you up for work, I thought you’d be ready,” said Sue as she followed Lou into her kitchen. Lou saw the flashing green light and pushed Delete.
“Sorry, I got back later than expected,” Lou said. She smiled a toothy, sheepish grin at Sue’s stern face. She set her red purse on her bed, added the green metal water bottle with her bank’s logo on the side, and a stack of fresh bandannas. As she crammed the items into her bag, she felt resistance and heard a crunch of paper. Crap, she’d have to clean that out later.
“Hey, it’s not me who Harley will complain about,” Sue said.
“No, of course. You don’t do anything wrong in Harley’s eyes.”
Sue’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
Lou finished zippering the purse and lifted the strap over her head. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. What do you mean by that?”
“Everyone knows you and Harley . . . like each other.”
“Well, of course we do. So what if we like each other. I like you; what’s the deal?”
“I mean ‘like’ like. You both make googly eyes at each other’s backs when you think no one’s looking. It’s really cute.”
“We do not.” Sue walked out of the apartment, past Lou.
“If you say so . . .” Lou shrugged her shoulders and headed down the stairs. Sue smiled.
“He makes googly eyes?”
“Just like you do.”
Sue absorbed that information, a quiet smile on her lips, then returned her laser eyes to Lou.
“So, what prompted the lateness?”
Lou pursed her lips, then sighed.
“Gah! I don’t know. I’m not good at this. I think he wants to kiss me. I know I want to kiss him, but something always interrupts and ruins the moment. Today, it was a chocolate-smeared little kid whose mom acted like we were making out on the beer tent table.”
As they stepped onto the street in front of Lou’s apartment, Sue nudged her shoulder.
“Just grab him and get it over with.”
Lou rolled her eyes.
“Do you not know me at all? I am not the instigator in anything.”
“Sweetie, that needs to change if you’re ever going to get what you want.”
• • • • •
“Do you think she’s crazy?” John asked as he spun around in his office chair to face Al’s desk.
“What? No,” Al said. A little surprised by John’s comment, he turned to face him and gestured with his hands for John to speak quietly.
“You sure?”
“Yes, she’s not crazy. She has never done anything crazy.”
“Until now. That’s how the really crazy ones work. You go along, everything’s all smiles and sunshine, then bam! You’re tied up in a gas station bathroom being fed Cheez Whiz through a funnel.”
“Wh-what?”
John nodded knowingly. “She’s a crazy. How else do you explain it?”
“She crumpled up a piece of paper. Does that really qualify as mental? I don’t think so.”
“She crumpled up your article. You said she got all scary, like she gave in to her dark side, then shoved her crazy back in the closet.”
“Yeah, that’s not quite how I described it. But it definitely revealed a setback. Clearly, she’s not too fond of my critiques.”
Al grabbed a fistful of hair, leaned back in his chair to stare at the fluorescents. He could still feel her fingertips on his lips. If it weren’t for that chocolate-dipped kid, he could have finally escaped the friend zone.
“You act like it’s a bad thing if she’s crazy,” John said.
“Isn’t it?”
“Not at all. The crazies are great in bed.”
Al let out a sigh, sat up in his chair, and said, “Dare I ask how you know this?”
“Duh, how do you not know that? It’s natural law, like gravity.” John smiled, or at least his beard moved upward.
Al laughed.
“Now, back to the matter at hand: how do I tell Lou what I do for a living? I’ll need to spin it just right.”
“You tried. Why do you even need to tell her? Let it go and enjoy her company as long as it lasts.”
Al rubbed his hands on his pants and looked at the floor.
“I don’t want to leave Milwaukee anymore,” he said quickly, stringing the words together into one mashed sentence.
John’s mouth quirked.
“What was that? You don’t want to leave anymore? Has my fair city grown on you? Or, perhaps, just one fine lady?”
Al smiled, accepting any ribbing as his due.
“It’s both. I do really like Lou, but Milwaukee has wormed its way into my heart. My short-sightedness kept me from seeing it sooner.”
John got up and clapped his hand on Al’s shoulder.
“Glad you’ve finally come to your senses. Now, back to your secret-identity reveal. You’re not telling her you run a drug cartel. Just spit it out. Get it over with; then you can get to the crazy stuff.”
Al rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “I think you might be right, at least about the spitting-it-out part. Thanks, John.”
“That’s me, the Dear Abby of smitten men everywhere.”
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN •
A large stage towered in front of the audience, plaid– and green-clad revelers dancing the best they could with a beer in one hand. The loud music gave Al a reason to lean closer to Lou while the partiers gave him an excuse to keep touching her so they wouldn’t get separated.
“I can’t believe they’re here. I loved these guys at university,” Al said into Lou’s ear so she could hear him above his favorite band from home, his lips touching her hair.
Irish Fest won as his favorite Milwaukee event. While not the homesick type, he missed HobNobs, Cadbury Flake bars, and good tea and he could buy them all here. The fiddle and bodhran called to a part of him he usually ignored.
Lou had surprised him late this morning with a simple text.
Irish Fest? You free?
He’d had a reservation at a new Italian trattoria, but he canceled it. They arrived late afternoon, walked the grounds, argued about their favorite dog breed (he always fancied an Irish wolfhound but he wouldn’t hold Lou’s preference for Westies against her), and watched the afternoon parade, complete with bagpipes and dancers.
“Why do I find it so hard to imagine you partying in college?” Lou said.
“That’s because I went to university. And we didn’t party—we had diversions.”
“Complete with picnic baskets and polo, I suppose.”
“Precisely.”
Lou turned to see whether he was teasing. And he was, only partly. He had attended a lot of polo matches, since Ian was the captain. Those days seemed so far away from the evening’s muggy air. After he’d danced in the crowd, sweat dampened his hair. He couldn’t hear drums and fiddle without at least tapping his toes. Even back at university he couldn’t help patting his hand on his leg under the table. Ian’s crowd didn’t dance at pubs, even when the music was good. Here, he could dance a jig, sing a song, or slop a little beer.
Lightning flashed behind the overpass looming over the stage. A few cool bursts of air chilled his damp neck. The band played on.
“I think a storm’s rolling in. Will the band have to stop?”
“It depends on lightning, I think.”
In answer, thunder boomed and the sky dropped its cargo. Before the band could finish announcing their forced break, the crowd scattered. Lou and Al looked for shelter, but every spot filled. Within a minute shelter didn’t matter anymore.
Before the downpour, Al had thought Lou looked alluring in her pale pink T-shirt and simple flowered skirt. Her soft brown waves bounced around her shoulders with the humidity. She was simply beautiful. But with the addition of water, she evolved into a siren. Her thin cotton clothes clung to every curve. She slicked her hair away from her face, as if emerging from an enchanted lake. He simply had to touch her.
Without the band playing, Irish music piped through the speakers to fill the dead air until the concert could begin again. Al remembered a dance from festivals back home. The steps were simple and repetitive, and he recalled the basics. Soaked from the warm rain, there seemed no point in finding shelter now. He pulled Lou into his arms.
“Let’s dance,” Al said.
“Really?” Lou’s eyebrows rose, then she nodded.
Al set one of her hands on his shoulder, the other he held. He slid his spare hand down the curve of her hip. What was he thinking, trying to dance? His chest constricted as his hands warmed from the heat of her skin through her wet shirt.
Think about the steps.
“Do you know how to polka?” Al asked.
Lou rolled her eyes.
“Have I taught you nothing about Wisconsin? Any respectable Badgers fan knows how to polka. Honestly.”
Lou smiled, her eyes sparkling in the rain, the lashes clumping from the wet.
Al listened to the music to catch the beat, then started moving his feet to the music. Lou watched for a few seconds, then picked up his movements. They stayed in the same spot until he felt that she had the timing.
“Ready to spin?” Al said.
“Spin . . . ?”
But Al had already started turning them in tight circles. Lou’s look of surprise almost made him stop; then she laughed.
“Wasn’t expecting that.”
For the rest of the song, they plunged through the puddles, rain still pouring down, streaming off their faces as they turned. While everyone else huddled to stay dry, he and Lou had the entire area as their personal ballroom. The clean smell of rain washed away the day’s dirt and festival scents. The splash of their feet and pounding water muffled the music. They felt the heavy bodhran thumping more than they heard it. When the song ended, he couldn’t tell whether he was more out of breath from the fast dancing or the laughter, but he wished for another song as an excuse to keep her in his arms.
Al looked down at Lou. When they first met as he shivered in line at the newsstand, he hadn’t imagined her soaking wet, laughing and dancing in a summer thunderstorm with him. All the crowds, all the noise, all the distractions floated away until he saw only Lou standing in front of him. He could smell her, the rain intensifying the scent of vanilla at such a close distance. Her breath warmed the exposed skin on his throat. Everything felt more intense. He was a man tasting life for the first time.
They stood in the slackening rain, gazes locked, brown to blue. He couldn’t look away. Her wet hair stuck in strands to her face and a drop of water dangled on the tip of her nose. She licked her lips. He wanted to taste those lips, too, but not yet.
Pull it together, mate.
To break the silence Al said, “You’re a brilliant dancer.”
“What can I say? I’m a delight.”
Lou spread her arms wide. Al, thinking she planned to kiss him, wrapped his arms around her. Her lips formed a surprised O, arms still spread, as he leaned in for a kiss. In the confusion, he missed her mouth, making contact with her right nostril instead. In hopes of salvaging his romantic attempt, she wrapped her arms around him, too, and tilted her head upward.
“Elizabeth?” a male voice said.
Al jumped away from Lou as her energized body deflated. She turned toward the intruder.
“Devlin.”
Al’s mouth opened in shock. “This is Devlin?” He studied the well-dressed, dry man in front of him. Al hated him. He wasn’t just attractive but great looking. From all the time spent with John, he could see that every item Devlin wore was the best available. This man could clearly give Lou anything she wanted.
Devlin leaned in and kissed Lou on her cheek, but his eyes never left Al’s face. As he pulled away, Devlin met Lou’s unreadable eyes, then scanned her clinging clothes and dripping hair.
“I need to talk to you.”
He reached for her arm, but she pulled it out of reach.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m entertaining clients.” He pointed to the VIP area next to the stage. “I saw you dancing in the rain.”
Al noticed he didn’t mention her dance partner.
The joie de vivre overflowing from Lou just moments ago dried up and drifted away. Her lips remained sealed tight. Al wished she would say something so he could tell how she felt. He’d love an excuse to tell this prat to shove off.
“There are things you don’t know. About that morning.”
Lou stayed silent, but her eyes looked watery.
“I didn’t sleep with her. I didn’t even tell her to come over.”
Al rolled his eyes. He was really doing this right now.
“Lou, I can take you home.” Al took her hand. Devlin glared at him.
“You can leave. This doesn’t concern you.”
Al took a step forward and Lou pulled him back, squeezed his hand, and let it go.
“It’s okay, Al.” She turned to Devlin. “Go on.”
Devlin looked at Al.
“He stays,” Lou said.
Devlin shrugged his shoulders.
“Megan had been working with me. The night before my birthday, I told her I needed a memo first thing in the morning. She took it literally and arrived shortly before you did. I answered the door in my boxers, assuming you were surprising me. I went to the bathroom to get dressed and she found your lingerie. By the time you arrived, I had realized her intention and was collecting her clothes for her.”
Lou showed no sign of responding. Devlin took a step closer to her.
“I didn’t cheat. I would never risk our plan like that.”
Lou took a deep breath and blinked a few times.
“Thank you for telling me.” She looked at Al. “I’m ready to leave.”
She turned and walked away, neither fast nor slow, weaving through the crowd. Al followed her.
As they left the grounds, he asked, “You okay?”
Lou nodded.
“That was unexpected and answered a few questions,” she said.
“You believed him?” Al wanted to gather her back in his arms, worried that if he didn’t keep her close, she would slip back to Devlin. His worry made him breathless.
Lou shrugged. “It’s something to think about, anyway.”
• • • • •
The sweat followed the path of least resistance down Lou’s spine, past the waistband of her shorts, and onward—or perhaps downward was more accurate. It didn’t help that she kept recalling the feel of Al’s arms around her as they’d danced at Irish Fest a week ago, or the solid wall of his body when he spun her. With those types of thoughts, she was steamy inside and out. If only it were New Year’s Day and she could do the Polar Bear Plunge in Lake Michigan. That might cool her off.
She was too pale to be out in this sun. Lou usually did the roasting, not the other way around. But how can you say no when your best customers offer up their vegetable garden if you’ll help weed? So that’s where Lou and Sue were on a ninety-degree day in late August. Otto and Gertrude supplied cold lemonade and fresh radish sandwiches, thinly sliced radishes with butter and salt on white bread—delicious. Sue and Lou supplied the labor.
She yanked each weed with fervor, imagining it as a hair on Devlin’s perfectly coiffed head. How dare he ruin her night with Al and muddle everything with the truth. And it was that. Devlin never lied. Why should he when he could negotiate his way out of any dilemma? So everything that had happened since the coconut cake coincidence could have been avoided if she’d stayed for two more minutes that morning. She and Devlin would still be affianced. She wouldn’t have gone on tilt at the restaurant. A. W. Wodyski never would have written that searing review, and she wouldn’t be faced with having to give up on her dream.
But she and Al wouldn’t be friends.
And there was the rub. Even with all the heartache, Lou wouldn’t change the past few months.
Lou stood up, a handful of weeds in one hand, the other using an already-damp bandanna to smear perspiration around her face. Sweat that had pooled on her flat back while she was bent over sluiced down, putting her already damp underwear into the realm of drenched.
She rounded her shoulders a few times, stretching the tightening muscles. A vision of Al rubbing her lower back flashed and a new warmth flickered. This had to stop! She couldn’t keep having flash fantasies about Al. Lou shook her head and returned to the weeding.
The Meyers’ garden wasn’t large, but weeds threatened to drown the tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers—a summer ratatouille plate formed in her mind. It appeared they hadn’t done much weeding at all this summer. She wanted to pull them all so Otto and Gertrude wouldn’t try to clear the garden themselves. Lou glanced at the elderly couple.
Otto hovered over Gertrude, adjusting a large umbrella he had attached to her chair, making sure she stayed in the shade. He puffed a little with even that effort. Gertrude smiled at her husband’s attentions but still looked a little too pale. They both did. Sue had encouraged Gertrude and Otto to go inside while she and Lou finished, but they refused to leave, insisting they would keep her and Lou fed and watered.
“So Lou, Sue tells us that Devlin interrupted a kiss with a certain English gentleman.”
Still folded at the waist, Lou raised her eyebrow at Sue, who didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Lou straightened so she could look at Gertrude.
“I’m not sure the term ‘kiss’ is entirely accurate.”
“He used his lips? Yes?”
“Yes, but he missed and got my nose. And thanks to Devlin’s interruption, we didn’t get the chance to work on his aim.”
“Aahhh, and you believe Devlin’s story?” Gertrude pointed her finger at Lou.
“Does it matter?” Lou shrugged.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you feel like Ginger Rogers? Is he your Fred Astaire?”
Lou nodded.
“Then Devlin’s story does not matter.” Gertrude paused. “Sue says your young man is handsome.”
Lou looked at Sue again, blushed, and tried to cover it by dabbing her face with her limp bandanna.
“He has this amazing rim of golden yellow around his pupil that separates the black from deep blue. It’s like a solar eclipse. I can’t stop staring.” Lou looked up into the sky for a moment, then back at Gertrude. “And a wet shirt looks exceptional on him, too. As my mom would’ve said, ‘I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.’ ”
Gertrude laughed and clapped her hands together. “Aha. The truth is out. We must meet this love.” Gertrude’s smile revealed how much she enjoyed sharing these little bits of their lives. Lou returned the sentiment. In so many ways, Gertrude and Otto had filled in for her parents this last year. While they’d only known each other a short time, Lou enjoyed having someone to check up on and who checked up on her.
Lou bent to pick a few more leaves and chewed the inside of her cheek. “I could; it might be fun—if Sue and Harley can control themselves. Maybe a barbecue? Would you be up for that, Gertrude? I’d have it on my patio. Something relaxed, where everyone can get to know everyone else.”
“Ah, Liebchen. We’ll leave the late nights to the young.” Gertrude’s hand trembled as she sipped her lemonade. “Bring your young man into the restaurant sometime—then we’ll meet him properly. Besides, then your barbecue can be the double date Sue really wants.” Gertrude’s lips twitched upward.
Sue stood up suddenly, braids racing to catch up with her head. “What? Why am I getting dragged into this? Clearly I’m not the only one who talks.” Sue looked at Lou, then let her suppressed laughter escape. “We are quite the pair. You have the hots for a guy who can’t find your mouth, and Harley and I couldn’t figure out how to repopulate the planet after Armageddon. Pathetic.”
Lou gave Sue a quick side hug.
“We’re two bright and creative ladies—I’m confident we’ll sort it out.” Lou paused. “Should we? Have a barbecue?” Lou said, tilting her head sideways to emphasize the question.
“Absolutely . . . I want to meet this guy. And I can’t wait to see what Harley does.”
“You don’t think Harley will scare him off, do you? He can be a little intimidating when he wants.”
“If you like him, Harley would never do that.” Sue shook her head, then continued. “When should we do it?”
Lou paused, closed her eyes, and used her fingers to count out dates.
“How about the first Tuesday in September?”
Gertrude looked confused and asked, “But won’t you need to work at the restaurant?”
Sue and Lou exchanged a look. Lou said, “Starting in September, we won’t be open on Tuesdays anymore. We can’t really afford it.”
“First Sundays and Mondays. Now Tuesdays? Liebchen, why are you keeping it open?”
“We don’t need to close it yet. There’s still time.” Lou tromped to the other side of the garden and began weeding, ripping handfuls of crabgrass and clover from the earth. Flecks of dirt flew high and flurried to the ground.
Gertrude watched Lou’s reaction and nodded her head. “I see. She doesn’t want to scatter her family to the winds.”
“She won’t close until we all have jobs lined up. She handed out recommendation letters. The busboys and waitstaff are starting to leave for better-paying jobs.” Sue leaned in closer to Gertrude. “And she worries about you two; worries you won’t have anywhere to go that will take care of you like she does.”
“Bah. Those are excuses. She is afraid. She needs something to nudge her confidence, give her a safety net.” Gertrude looked up at Otto, who nodded in agreement at his wife’s astute wisdom. The three watched Lou attack the verge.
• • • • •
Al looked down at the text message.
Next Tuesday @ 6, my place. Me, you, & 2 friends. Come hungry.
He looked up at the dark glass in front of him. Moisture beaded on the other side, condensing on the cooled window. He strode to the kitchen to refresh his tea and check the time. Twelve thirty. Lou’s up kind of late, he thought. Wonder why. He felt a twinge thinking she might be on a date, a little jealous other people spent time with her. He poured fresh water into his electric kettle and flipped it on.
