Bread and Butter (28 page)

He stayed very calm. He unplugged the griddle, set the plate and its pancake, the spatula, and the pitcher of batter on the cooking surface, and carefully wound the griddle’s cord into a neat loop
. T
hen he carried it all back to the kitchen, the warmth of the metal seeping through the napkin to his fingertips. Hector looked up, smiling when he saw the whole setup and then losing the smile when he saw Britt’s face. Britt gave him a dignified nod and kept going, past Hector to the back door that opened onto the alley, into which he stepped, looking both ways to see that no one was nearby, and hurled the entire mess—pan, cups, dish, utensils, and plate—against the brick wall.

WHEN THE LAST TABLES DEPARTED,
the servers turned up the stereo as they finished cleaning the dining room
. T
he door to the kitchen got propped open so that the room filled with the sounds of the dishwasher thrumming and the silver clinking, waiters laughing as they polished glasses and flatware. Camille reappeared periodically with a bus tub of folded napkins or polished silver and then strode back into the kitchen once more.

Britt asked Jason for his cell-phone number. He’d told himself at the beginning of the night that by this time he’d know, he’d have heard from Harry, from the police, from someone, but he’d heard nothing
. T
hey would need a hand tomorrow.

When it was over he left his car and Camille drove him home. He’d realized that he was too sapped to drive
. A
t his apartment they stood in the kitchen and shared a beer, then peeled off their sweaty clothes and got beneath the shower
. T
here was nothing sexy about it—they were both sore and spent from emotional tension and physical labor. Under the stream of the water their bodies seemed slick and pale.

The pleasure of being cool and dry in the soft sheets of the bed was almost unbearable
. T
hey lay side by side, hands clasped. “I don’t know how I can sleep,” said Britt into the darkness.

“He’s fine,” she said firmly. “He’s probably on his way back by now.” They let this fiction settle between them like a soap bubble while they waited for sleep.

L
EO MET BRITT AT WINESAP
the next morning
. T
he empty restaurant seemed cool and forbidding, all the energy of the previous night long gone.

Leo wished that Thea hadn’t had Iris last night. He’d had no choice but to include her in the communal farewell he’d bestowed on everyone
. W
hen Leo had left she’d been sitting at the bar, a beer before her, laughing at something Kelly had said. She’d looked loose and happy, her cheeks and eyes glowing. He’d been jealous of his employees, of everyone who got to enjoy this version o
f T
hea when he had to leave. None of them saw her this way with any frequency, not even Leo.

His parents had already called that morning, his father focusing on Leo’s failure to keep Harry out of the restaurant business.

“I mean, it’s ridiculous,” his father said. “The hours, the failure rate
. Y
ou all went to college! For what, so you could serve people and worry about the quality of…of”—he spluttered—“carrots?”

Leo couldn’t think of a thing to say
. T
hat his father might have harbored this feeling toward his career—toward the restaurant he’d named for a childhood memory!—had never occurred to him.

Britt was waiting for him in the dining room
. T
hey had both brought coffee and white paper bags, so each shrugged and set to work on the first of two coffees and the first of two pastries. Leo couldn’t tell if Britt’s offering meant anything at all, but either way they seemed to cancel each other out.

“Jason did a great job,” Britt said eventually, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Which we knew he would, of course
. T
hank you, Leo.”

Leo nodded. “No problem
. T
hank him.”

“I did. I’ll come up with something else for him
. A
bonus, something.” Britt rubbed his face and pushed his hair back over his skull. He looked tired and papery around the eyes. “Anyway. How’d you work things over here?”

“Thea took Jason’s station and I expedited.”

Britt said, “You did, huh? Been a long time. How did it feel?”

Leo smiled. “I felt like a total fraud for the first hour. But I have to say that after that it felt good
. T
oo busy to worry.” He stopped smiling. “I was afraid he wasn’t ready. But I thought that would mean, I don’t know—staff problems, low numbers
. A
problem menu.”

“Not this,” Britt said, and Leo had to agree.

“Britt,” he said. “You ever get the feeling that Dad’s disappointed we went into this business?”

Britt glanced up from his phone. “Sure,” he said. “You think he was happy when I said I was leaving a nice stable white-collar job to work at a restaurant?” He laughed. “Of course, when Harry did the same thing it was a sign of fearlessness. I can’t control what he thinks
. W
hy?”

That was Britt: reasoned, brisk, a little chilly but also enviably serene.

“I just never thought of it before,” Leo said. “He’s upset that we let Harry get in over his head.”

Britt’s composure cracked, just for a moment, showing only in the vehemence with which he crumpled an empty coffee cup.

After a moment Britt said calmly, “I haven’t expedited since you made me learn back when we first opened. If we could fit an expediter in, I might try it again, just to show the kids I know how.” He tipped his chair back precariously and rolled his neck.

“We miss out, just watching,” said Leo, grateful to discuss business again. “It felt really good to be in the mix. Thea had a blast on the line. She’s really kind of made for that.” Britt hadn’t changed posture, but now he was eyeing Leo, his grayish-green eyes appraising.

Britt returned the front legs of his chair to the floor with a decisive thud. “You know what the first thing you said to me about this business was?”

“Yeah,” Leo said.

“You told me to stay away from the staff.”

“At the time I was thinking more not to go after the waitresses.”

“This is worse,” Britt said wearily. “Not to be crass, but there’re a lot of waitresses out there. I don’t know of anybody else of Thea’s caliber in this area. What do we do if you blow this? Recruit someone from Philadelphia or Pittsburgh to come to Linden? That’s not happening. You know of anybody already here who might grow to fit her shoes? Me neither. And we’re not even talking about labor laws. She could sue the shit out of us.”

Leo ventured, “She’s not going to sue us.”

“No one ever starts off bad, Leo. Things go bad when you don’t expect them to.”

“Oh, well, thanks for that.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I had to state the obvious now. You seem to need it.”

“So what are you hoping to achieve?” Leo said. “You think if you come here and shame me, I’ll just dump her?”

“Would you?” Britt said, watching him cannily.

“Not a chance,” Leo said.

Britt nodded. “Then I guess there isn’t any more to say. We have bigger things to worry about.”

Leo took a drink of his coffee. “Do you think he’d go see any of his old school friends, or anything like that?”

“I thought maybe he’d go see Amanda,” Britt said. “He could have driven to New York in a couple of hours. Or maybe he went camping.”

“Maybe he’s in California, trying to win back Shelley.”

Britt paused. “Actually, that’s not insane.”

Leo watched him dial his phone and asked, “You have Shelley’s number in your phone?”

“Don’t ask,” said Britt. “She was briefly our consultant.”

It was early in California, only seven, but Britt didn’t care, and when Shelley answered her phone, she sounded as if she’d been up for hours anyway.

“Shelley!” he said. “It’s Britt.”

“Hello, Britt,” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m looking for Harry. You haven’t by any chance talked to him, have you?”

“No,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“He disappeared yesterday,” Britt said, and it sounded both melodramatic and not dramatic enough. He cleared his throat. “I got to the restaurant, and I think he’d just left in the middle of his prep work. I haven’t heard anything from him.”

“How has he been?” she asked. “Has he seemed tense? Tenser than usual, I mean.”

“Yes,” he said. “Why? Do you know something?”

“I know the same things you know—how he gets in that vortex he can’t get out of. Maybe his dosage is off.”

“What dosage?” Britt said. Leo looked up.

“The milligrams, you mean? I can’t recall—I never take prescription drugs.”

“Dosage of what? What’s he taking?”

“It was an antidepressant, last I checked. But it’s been a while—for all I know he’s taking something else now. Or maybe he stopped altogether? That could be the problem. He doesn’t tell me these things. But then, I guess he doesn’t tell you either.”

LEO LOCKED UP AFTER THEM
and then stood in the Winesap parking lot, wondering what to do. He didn’t want to see his parents worried about their investment, or about the son whose exploits always seemed to have delighted them. Until Harry had come back and opened Stray, Leo had felt much the same. Perhaps the family had always operated with the tacit belief that as long as the older two remained stable and successful, Harry was free to take any risk he liked
. T
hey could feel pleased about their real estate and businesses and vicariously enjoy and be worried by Harry’s deliberate poverty, his exuberant itinerancy. Somehow it had all balanced out.

He wondered i
f T
hea was home and if Iris was with her. Maybe Bryan had taken her to church. Did he go to church? Leo didn’t even know i
f T
hea did. He assumed not; he had never heard her express an ounce of religious feeling, but who knew? Who knew what his girlfriend did on Sunday mornings when he was not allowed to be with her? Maybe she and Iris had some Sunday morning ritual—waffles, a walk in the park—so dear that she told no one about it, ever. Leo despaired of ever having such a ritual with Thea himself
. A
ny ritual at all, except sneaking out doors at separate times.

It was a bad idea, of course, but he began to drive in the direction of her house. He understood now that it was crucial for him to see her and confirm whatever he was trying to confirm
. T
hat he could touch her, that she did indeed look at him differently outside the restaurant, that this was not all some desperate mirage he’d concocted out of loneliness or anger.

When he reached her house, he turned off the ignition and sat in the heating car for a long moment, peering at the windows to see if she was home. Her garage door was shut, so no help there
. A
s he got out of his car, he listened for the sound of Iris’s voice in the backyard. He looked up and down the street like a criminal, and finally went up the walk.

At the last moment he decided to call instead, believing that phoning her from her front porch was somehow less of a breach of their code of conduct than ringing the doorbell
. W
hen she answered, he couldn’t bring himself to lead with the fact that they’d been outed. Instead he stood there on her porch, saying that no one had heard from Harry yet.

“I think you’ll have to cook again tonight,” he said.

“We can’t ask this of Jason for much longer. Whatever happens, I want to keep him in-house. I’m afraid if he gets all comfy there we’ll lose him altogether.”

Leo realized that he could hear her moving on the other side of the door, her footsteps and the echo of her voice. His being out here was too creepy to continue. When she began to speak again, he interrupted her. “Thea—I’m here. I’m outside.”

“You’re what?”

He sighed, mortified. “I’m on your porch. I wanted to call before I rang in case Iris is there and you want me to go away.”

“She’s at Bryan’s,” Thea said. The door swung open, and she stood there, barefoot, in cutoff jeans and a white tank top, magenta bra straps showing. She looked baffled. “Get inside.”

He followed her in
. T
he air smelled of fruit and sugar. “Baking?”

“Muffins. Iris likes them. I usually send a few home with Bryan.”

This was worse than he’d imagined: she still baked for her ex-husband; she saw him throughout the week and planned the care of their daughter with him; she probably kissed him hello and goodbye and wondered why they’d ever split when they shared such commonalities as offspring and fruit-laden baked goods.

“Are you close with him, with Bryan?”

“No. I get the feeling Iris likes me to cook for him in some little way, so I do. He cleans the gutters in the fall for the same reason, I’m pretty sure, but we don’t discuss it.”

“Oh.” He sat down on the bench at her kitchen table, where two platters of blueberry muffins, sparkling with sugar, sat cooling in the center. Next to them was a bowl of bananas and nectarines. Thea placed a glass of water before him and sat beside him, facing him. She reached for his hand and asked, “Why are you here, Leo?”

“I have something to tell you,” he said, and her hand froze over his. Her mouth went white.

“Okay,” she said slowly.

“I’m sorry—this must be unnerving. I’m having a hard time saying it, I guess.”

“They’re going to be here soon,” Thea said, “and if you have something to say to me, I’d prefer to hear it alone.”

Leo looked at her. Her lips and the tip of her nose were bleached of color. “You think I’m here to end this,” he said. She didn’t answer. He shook his head and admitted, “I’m not. I’m definitely not. But Britt knows.”

Thea exhaled; her spine seemed to droop. After a moment she said, “Britt’s not dumb.”

“No, but he also said everyone knows. ‘From the newest busboy to the sous chef’ were his exact words, I believe.”

Thea looked away. Two spots of color bled into the apples of her cheeks; a flush crept up her chest.

“I know you’re embarrassed,” he said. “I don’t know what I thought would happen. This business is like a…a beehive. Or an anthill. They all know everything without even saying it aloud, I swear to God.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Thea said.

Leo continued. “I know why I did this, but why you? What do you get out of this? Even the ones who would blame me can’t really blame me.”

“‘What the hell was I thinking’—is that it?” she said.

Leo looked at her. “Well, yeah. It’s not too late if you regret this. No one really
knows
, they just think they know. It would all go away if you want it to
. T
hey’d think they were wrong, that’s all.”

“Is that what you want?” Thea asked. “Shall we hit the reset button and forget it ever happened?”

“It’s not at all what I want,” Leo said. “I just can’t figure out why you wouldn’t.”

Thea picked up his hand and looked it over, as if she were examining an item before buying. She didn’t look up at him for a long time. In the silence of the kitchen he began to fear that her face was taking on the last intimate expression he would see from her, one of chagrin and farewell. He let himself hope that her eyes might be filling with tears—this might be the best that he could hope for, a regretful break.

But when she finally did look up again, her face was composed.

“I would offer you a blueberry muffin,” she said, “but they’re kind of ex-husband muffins.”

Leo’s throat was tight. He took a sip of water, coughed slightly, and finally managed, “Do you not want to share?”

“I don’t, actually,” Thea said. “Not those, not with you. I don’t know—I’ve given these to him too many times, as in I don’t take him back, but I give him muffins. I can’t give him love anymore, but I can give him breakfast. I don’t want to give you the same thing, is my point. I want to give you the opposite
. W
hat can I make that says the opposite, Leo? You tell me.”

“You don’t have to make me anything,” Leo said. “Just give me saltines. Ritz crackers.”

“Is that so?”

He cupped her face in his hands, tentatively, because she looked slightly angry, even if her eyes seemed tender. Her jaw was so narrow, he was thinking, its angles swept so steeply up from the point of her chin. He had seen the planes of this jawline in profile for years; sometimes he was still taken aback by the privilege of looking at Thea head-on, at a range so intimate that he knew the slightly uneven peaks of her lips, the faint freckles that dusted her nose.