Now he could cook only in private. In his own home as he mused on Mom and the life passion he had inherited from her.
Nick opened the cabinets and removed the pots and pans needed for tonight’s dinner. Maxie was a picky eater, so he often remixed the few ingredients she liked. Tonight he was whipping up sausage and cheese rolls. He preheated the oven and prepped the sausage. The pastry dough he rolled flush across the counter. After placing sausage chunks and sprinkled cheese on top, he would deftly fold the pastry and cut them into slices. Some butter for light coating, minutes in the oven to bake, and time to cool off, and dinner would be ready.
Mom would ask him, where are the veggies?
He had that covered as he would’ve smirked and told her.
From the pantry, Nick retrieved ripe tomatoes, dried basil, and olive oil among other ingredients. The concoction was going to become the dipping sauce. Blender full of sliced and diced ingredients, Nick snuck in a bundle of spinach leaves at the last second. Maxie wouldn’t be able to tell. He could practically hear Mom’s shriek of laughter. She’d done the same to him growing up.
“Papa, is it dinnertime yet?”
He peeked over his shoulder at Maxie. She had dirtied her overalls yet again, now with what looked like smeared crayons. He abandoned the blender to meet her in the doorway. She was a spitting image of her mother, with soft little features, from her puckered pink mouth to the nub of a nose, wild gold hair framing her face. He crouched low to her eye level.
“Wanna help me set the table?”
Maxie vigorously nodded.
“You wash your hands yet?”
This time she shook her head side to side.
“What are you waiting for, kiddo? C’mere.” Nick hoisted her off her feet, carrying her the entire way to the kitchen sink. He turned on the faucet and held her up as she created a sudsy mess washing her hands. For the first few seconds, the sound of streaming water seemed enough for her. Then she plucked up the courage to surprise him with innocent grief.
“I miss when you cooked with Grandmama.”
The strings of Nick’s heart tugged sharp and hard. “I know, kiddo. Me too.”
“But she’s not ever coming back.”
“No…she’s not.”
Maxie said nothing as Nick lowered her back to her feet. Her sadness emanated off her in a haze. He wanted desperately to clear it for her, but how could he when he couldn’t clear his own?
Together, he and Maxie moved on to setting the table. Maxie wasn’t up for speaking. He wasn’t much either. His thoughts were already on tomorrow and the exhausting day at the restaurant awaiting him. The headache-inducing accounting and budgeting that needed to get done. The piles of bills stacking up by the day. He couldn’t avoid them forever, even if he tried to napping away at his desk. And now he had a new hire in the mix—Rosalie Underwood was a wildcard.
He hoped, like the others she’d know better and stay out of his way. He was doing just fine sabotaging the restaurant on his own; the last thing he needed was a new hire sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
Chapter Three
It was minutes after five o’clock by the time Rosalie and Remi turned up. A man Rosalie assumed was Ma’s boyfriend, Henry, lazed on the porch. He sprawled across the two-seater swing and held a beer bottle in hand. He sat up as Rosalie shut off the car engine.
Rosalie had never met him, but she already knew she didn’t like him. He was more of the same. From the time she was a young girl, a half-dozen boyfriends walked in and out of Ma’s life. Different faces. Different names. Deep down, though, the same man. Each and every one a slacker, a liar, a brute, and a man who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Henry had all the markings of these men, from his shifty gaze and wrinkled, ill-fitting clothes. He was them.
“Is this Grandmommy Lacie’s house?”
“Yep. Like it?”
“It smells funny.”
“That’s brine from the bayou.”
“What’s brine?” Remi asked, unable to help her innate curiosity.
Rosalie shut the car door with her hip, one arm holding Remi and the other her mommy bag. She cautioned the five-year-old about running off before she set her down. The burly cypress trees with their hunched branches were the last barrier from the bayou. A quick stroll beyond, and you reached the murky green water banks in no time. Even someone with as pint-sized footsteps as Remi.
“How’s it going?” Rosalie asked, meeting Henry on the porch steps.
He had gotten up, wiped beer off his mouth, and jutted his chin in acknowledgment. His once-over drank them in, assessing their belongings and moving on to their car.
The muscles in Rosalie’s stomach contracted. “Is my mother home?”
“She’s cooking.”
“Grandmommy Lacie!”
“Remi!”
Rosalie yelled after Remi, but it was too late. Remi scuttled past them, crossing the porch and yanking open the screen door. If nothing else had changed about Ma’s house, it was that no running was allowed. Certainly not in shoes from outside. Those were to be left beside the door and coat closet.
Their suitcases were forgotten on the porch as Rosalie sped to catch her. Remi reached the midpoint of the hall when she snatched her up. She hardly ever spanked Remi, but she would be lying if she said it wasn’t a temptation in that moment. The urge spread as an itch across her palm. She suppressed it by inhaling a deep breath and casting Remi a stern look.
“Sorry,” said Remi, bottom lip plumped.
“Remember the house rules we talked about? No running inside, baby. Grandmommy Lacie doesn’t like it.”
A simpered laugh sounded from behind them. Both turned around to discover Ma standing in the hallway. Hair tucked into curlers and apron draped over her slender frame, Ma hadn’t changed much. Except for a wrinkle here and there, she reminded Rosalie where she had gotten her features from. Her toothless smile, lips pinched together, stretched wide across her face. She was staring at Remi.
“Who says I don’t want my grandbaby running in my house? My grandbaby can do whatever she wants. C’mere for a hug!”
Remi abandoned Rosalie to hug Ma. The two embraced in a bear hug that left Remi’s feet dangling off the floor. Rosalie’s ribs squeezed tight as her teeth found her tongue. She gnawed on the fleshy organ, literally biting down to keep from speaking.
“You hungry, sweetie?”
“Not anymore. I had a grilled cheese!”
Ma shot Rosalie a scolding glance. “Didn’t I tell y’all I’d be cooking? How about some cake? You think you got any room for a slice?”
“Uh-huh, I do!”
“Let’s cut you one then.”
Ma led Remi to the kitchen, leaving Rosalie in the dust. Standing there as the bad guy in the situation, Rosalie had no choice but to return to their toppled luggage on the porch. She carried the pieces inside and double-checked she locked the car. Henry strolled in steps behind her.
“You’re worried about nothing. Nobody’s finna take the car.”
“It’s a habit.” Rosalie shrugged.
“That’s Bmore. You’re back in St. Aster now.”
Rosalie watched Henry disappear down the hall. He joined Ma and Remi in the kitchen. She hung back alone to collect herself. Five minutes in and she was already struggling. Already she was an outsider. Seven years later, nothing had changed.