A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) (22 page)

After dinner, I washed my dishes, put away the leftovers, and wiped down my countertops. By the time I was done, my clock read just past midnight.

A late dinner, but worth it.

When the knock sounded at my door, I nearly dropped my bottle of Method spray. I placed it safely on the counter, tiptoed to my door, and looked through the viewfinder.

Nico.

I flung the door open. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“You’re awake,” he said, giving me a companionable hug.

“You didn’t know that. I could have been in bed, sound asleep.”

“Your lights were on.” Nico stopped and sniffed the air. “That smells good. What is that? Is that tagine? That smells like …”

My stomach tightened as he thought.

“Like Éric’s recipe,” he finished. He followed his nose to my kitchen. “Did you make tagine? Do you have leftovers?”

“Do you have a reason for being here?” I countered. “I’m about to go to bed.”

“I was thinking about the restaurant on my way home. Thought I’d drive by to see if you were awake.”

“And the lights were on. Want some tea?”

“Sure,” he said, perching on one of my kitchen stools.

I had some orange left over, so I put some on a plate and gave it to him with a fork. “What’s on your mind?”

He chewed his bite of orange. “This really reminds me of Éric,” he said. “You know he’s opened a place in Seattle?”

“No,” I said, my heart constricting. “I didn’t.”

“He was a good guy.”

“Yes.” I didn’t trust myself to say anything else.

“I want to start drawing up some plans for how we want the layout to be remodeled. There’s a restaurant auction on Tuesday—want to join me? I’m on the lookout for a range.”

I wrestled with the thought in my hand. On the one hand, I didn’t want to leave work again. On the other—I wasn’t sure about sending Nico out on his own. “Okay,” I said. The schedule would work out somehow. I made two mugs of tea and handed one to Nico. “I’m planning on getting some contractor bids for the remodel this week. While I’m doing that, both of us should be figuring out which suppliers to use.” I sat down. “The other thing is that Mom and Dad are sending me to Nonno’s birthday in July.”

“You’re going? I was wondering if Mom and Dad were going to continue with the trip.”

I shook my head. “It’s too much, what with Mom’s treatments. She’ll just be starting radiation around then.”

“Want to do some wine tasting for the restaurant while you’re there? I’d like six or seven Italian wines on the wine list.”

“Where would I find a winery?” I asked, smirking. My uncle’s home, where our nonno lived, was in Montalcino, in the heart of Tuscany. You could pretty much throw a rock in any direction and hit a grape.

I was about to tell Nico how I wanted a couple of French wines on the list as well when I felt a light bulb switch on in my brain.

Italy was next to France.

Grand-mère’s sister, Cécile, still lived in the family château.

I thought of my own sisters—Grand-mère may have been able to hide things from her children, but her sister?

Sisters have a way of remembering secrets.

“That sounds like a good idea,” I heard myself respond casually. “I could go to France too. There might be some wines and cheeses we’d be interested in.
And then there’s the Bessette family château,” I said, trying to sound offhand. “You know they make their own honey. We could incorporate that into some of the dishes. The lavender too.”

Nico clapped his hands together. “
Bene!
You will enjoy the trip. It’s been a while since you crossed the pond, hasn’t it?”

“It’s been a few years,” I agreed. “And I haven’t been to the château since I was a kid.”

“Are you sure the tagine can’t come out of storage?”

“I’m going to bed, and so should you. Besides,” I said, “eating Moroccan food this late will only make you dream about Bob Hope or Bing Crosby.”

“Not Dorothy Lamour?”

“Not usually.”

He rubbed his mug handle with his thumb. “I would have liked to open a new place with Éric.”

I gave a sad smile. “Some things just aren’t meant to last.”

I woke up the next morning with heady beams of sunlight filling my room. My spirit still felt frayed around the edges. I reached for my phone and wrestled with my apathetic self, the one who didn’t feel much like getting out of bed.

The mail icon on the screen gave me reason enough to lift my head just a little.

Just because I had sun
and
an e-mail did not make everything okay.

And yet I opened the e-mail just the same.

I put my phone down, stunned.

Meet.

Before I could lose my courage and talk myself out of it, I hit the Reply button.

I typed quickly and hit Send before I lost my nerve. To my surprise, another e-mail arrived a short moment later.

I smiled and wrote a quick reply.

My family came over for dinner that night to see how I was getting along in Grand-mère’s apartment.

Sophie used it as her opportunity to share her news. Before we sat down to dinner, she told her tale of woe. “That’s what my doctor said,” she ended, with a tragic shrug of her delicate shoulders.

My father shook his head.

My mother crossed herself.

Nelson patted Sophie on the back.

Nico laughed out loud.

Sophie threw a pillow at him, and the moment was over. Blessedly over.

“Come on, Soph,” Nico said. “There is more to life than cheese. At least you don’t have to give up eggs—I can still make you pasta with olive oil and tiny tomatoes. I’m starved. Anybody else starved? Etta? Is dinner ready?”

“It is.” I leaped from my seat and made a beeline to the kitchen, where the roasted chickens rested. After making sure the vegetables were sufficiently glazed and seasoned, I plated everything and carried it into my little dining room.

Every seating surface had been called in for duty. I would have been fine with a dinner eaten in the living room, but my parents had been traumatized enough for the evening. Each person sat cozily elbow to elbow, but no one complained. In truth, Nelson was likely the only one who would even notice. We settled in to eat, prayed for the meal, and passed plates around.

“Aunt Juliette?” Chloé asked as she handed me her plate. “Since we haven’t looked inside the trunk yet, can we do it tonight?”

I froze.

I’d meant to move the contents of the secret compartment and replace them with something else for Chloé to find.

But I’d gotten distracted.

Whoops.

I cleared my throat. “Sure. Absolutely. Good memory there, Chloé.”

“The trunk?” my mom asked. “What trunk?”

“The trunk,” I said, aware of how strangled my voice sounded. “Grand-mère’s trunk? In the bedroom. Who wants carrots?”

“It’s supercool,” Chloé continued, her eyes bright. “We saw one just like it at the antique store yesterday.”

“Another old trunk?” Sophie tucked her napkin over her lap.

“It was
just
like Grand-mère Mimi’s. The lady at the shop said it was a Goyard or something. But what was cool was that it had a secret compartment. It was totally hidden in the lid. Juliette and I are gonna look at Grand-mère Mimi’s.”

I had to say this for my niece—her factual recall was quite strong.