He looked over a pair of reading glasses with bright red frames. Slowly, he lowered his spoon to the table but did not offer his hand. His voice, when he finally used it, was higher pitched than I’d imagined, particularly coming from a man of his girth. “Chef Garrett, you are a lovely woman. I’ve seen the press photos, but I dare say you are more attractive in person.”
I pulled my neglected hand out of the air. “Thank you,” I said. I could feel the Splotch gathering steam.
“Nevertheless,” he said, “I am here to investigate your work as a chef, not to critique your physical appearance. Would you care to explain why you just attacked me?”
Clearing my throat, I waited for an ingenious lie to emerge, something that would absolve me of my guilt and put all aright. Nothing came. Not a dangerous, dark lie, not a white lie, not even a fib. All I could think about was the taste of the ice cream in my mouth. Margot shifted slightly from her position behind a camera. I tried matching the determination I saw in her face with the certainty in my voice.
“Sir, I needed you not to eat that particular serving of ice cream.”
A waifish woman next to him hmphed her disapproval, but he kept his focus on me. “And why is that?”
I swallowed. The room was absolutely silent but for the quiet strains of an indie duet on the speakers and the raucous thumping of my heart in my ears. “I must have used salt instead of sugar. I’ve been distracted and—” I stopped myself, hating the direction I was headed. “It doesn’t matter. I made a very big mistake, and the dessert is inedible. I’m sorry.”
McGuire put his nose close to the plate and inhaled. After a moment, he resumed a straight back. “I have some extra time this evening, Chef Garrett. While it is unorthodox to accept a second attempt, I do admire your fortitude and your chutzpah.” His mouth twitched. “Not to mention your backhand.”
“Thank you, Mr. McGuire.” I bowed slightly, feeling every bit the serf to his ruling class, and I turned back toward the kitchen. Walking with my nose upturned as a counterpoint to my humiliation, I reached the kitchen door and nearly collapsed when it shut behind me.
“Brilliant!” Avery was slapping me on the back hard enough to cut through my fog. “You were amazing! Best episode ever!”
I leaned into the tile wall for support. “Best episodes seem to come at my expense, Avery,” I said. He didn’t hear me because the kitchen was cheering.
Gathering my reserves and still shaking with adrenaline, I made my way through the kitchen, the thumbs up, the backslapping, and the high-fiving. When I reached Tova, I pointed to the walk-in.
“Yesterday’s ice cream, please. The one that tastes like ice cream.”
“Got it,” she beamed. “Heard you rocked it out there, Charlie. I can’t wait to see it on screen.”
I shook my head and willed my hands to stop shaking long enough to refresh the bourbon sauce. Second chances didn’t come along often in my line of work, and as I lined up a series of tasting spoons, I tried not to think about what this one had cost.
25
MANDA pushed the iPad across her kitchen table and grinned. “Nice recovery,” she said. “My favorite part was how they used slow motion for your facial expressions as you raised your hand to bat the spoon out of the guy’s fingers. That was gripping.”
I rummaged in my bag for the microfiber cloth I used to clean my phone. “At least McGuire loved the second try. That’s my only consolation.” I wiped at the iPad screen. “How did you even see the video on this screen? Have you ever cleaned this thing?”
Manda looked as though she were disappointed in my inability to grasp even the most basic of ideas. “That iPad has been used by six very young, very slobbery hands within the last twenty-four hours. When I need to choose between a clean screen and a technology-induced coma for my children while waiting in the doctor’s office, I choose the coma.”
I rubbed at a dried chunk of something oatmeal-ish in color and consistency. “Are you sure he’s not there?”
Manda leaned the top half of her body toward the window in her front room. Polly was on her lap so she leaned, too, and giggled. “Still no. And you’re getting paranoid and weird.”
“I am not,” I protested, setting the tablet on the coffee table. “I’m just not ready to see Kai yet. It’s too fresh.”
“Moooommmm!” Zara called from upstairs. “Dane is eating crayons!”
Manda tipped her chin toward the stairs. “Dane, honey, don’t eat crayons,” she called.
I stood. “Should we go up there? Aren’t crayons toxic?”
She shrugged and pried a lock of her hair out of Polly’s dimpled fingers. “Nah. Crayola would be out of business by now. Plus Zara will ruin his fun faster than I can get to the second floor. She’s a total killjoy. Typical firstborn.”
I cradled the cup of coffee Manda had brewed upon my arrival. “Thanks for this. I’m sorry it’s so early, but I needed to just hang out with you and remember what normal feels like.”