Francesca's Kitchen (14 page)

“A
m I a bad mother?”

It was lunchtime, and Loretta was sitting at a little table in the deli on the first floor of the office building where she worked. Her chin propped on her hand, she took a disinterested bite of her tuna salad sandwich and stared forlornly at the building's main entrance, where people were bustling in and out through the big revolving door. It was another bitter cold day, the latest in a long line. Everyone inevitably walked in from the outside with their shoulders hunched, their hands buried deep within their pockets, and their chins tucked low against the collars of their overcoats. Those walking out assumed the same posture as they approached the door, always hesitating for just an instant before passing through it, as if they wanted to brace themselves before braving the icy air's impending assault. Watching all of them come and go sent a chill up her spine, and Loretta wished for all the world that she could be someplace, anyplace, warm.

“Bad?” said Shirley, who was sitting opposite her, pondering her own tossed salad and low-cal dressing with a less-than-enthusiastic eye. “Of course not. What on earth makes you ask such a question?'

“My babysitter—my nanny—whatever you want to call her,” muttered Loretta in reply. She dropped her sandwich onto her plate, dabbed the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin, then started to tear the napkin bit by bit into little pieces.

“Oh, boy. What's happened now?” said Shirley. “Don't tell me you caught
her
making out on the couch with some guy.”

“Oh, shut up,” huffed Loretta, flicking a piece of torn napkin at her friend. “How could you even think such a thing? I mean, she looks good for her age, but not
that
good.”

“Well, it is the twenty-first century,” offered Shirley with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Anything's possible.”

“Please. That's all I need.”

At that, Loretta tried to go back to sulking in silence. Shirley's curiosity, however, had been piqued.

“Come on,” she prodded Loretta, “tell Auntie Shirley all about it. What happened? What did your nanny do that's got you looking so blue?”

“No,” said Loretta. “You'll just think I'm an idiot if I tell you.”

“Perish the thought. Come on, let's have it.”

Loretta let out a long, weary sigh. “Okay, you want to know what happened?” she finally said. “Last night, she cooked the kids spaghetti and meatballs without even asking me.”

“Uh-huh,” nodded Shirley thoughtfully. “And how was it?”

“What?”

“The spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Delicious,” griped Loretta, then added, with another sigh, “So were the cookies.”

“She made cookies?”

“Homemade chocolate chip.”

“I see,” said Shirley. “Was that all?”

“No,” answered Loretta ruefully. “Before I came home, she made the kids straighten up after dinner so that the whole kitchen was the neatest it's ever been when I got home.”

“What a witch,” said Shirley deadpan. “I can understand why you're so upset.”

“It's not funny,” cried Loretta. “I know it sounds stupid, but I felt embarrassed, almost…I don't know…humiliated.”

“Oh, come on,” said Shirley with a dismissive wave. “Why on earth would you feel that way? After all, it was only a plate of pasta.”

“I told you, she's an old Catholic,” Loretta sulked. “They're all the same. They have this way about them. Without even trying, they make you feel guilty for no good reason, like you're doing everything wrong. Trust me, I know. My mother is an old Catholic.”

“And what does she have to say on the subject?”

Loretta rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, never mind,” she sighed. “Don't even go there. That's another story all by itself.”

“Loretta,” said Shirley after a time, looking at her friend with a kind grin, “hasn't it occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, all this nice lady wants to do is help? You know, if you were to ask me, I'd say that she's just what you need right now.”

Loretta slouched back in her chair and pouted. Deep in her heart, she knew that Shirley was probably right. Thinking back to the previous evening, even she wasn't quite certain just what it was that had caused her so much grief when she had come home to find a nice plate of leftover spaghetti and meatballs waiting for her at the place her children had set for her at the table. Mrs. Campanile had covered it in foil to keep it warm, as she did with the leftover chocolate chip cookies. She even left some leftover meatballs and sauce in the fridge. Walking through the door, cold and weary, Loretta could not have denied that there was something wonderful about that delicious smell of food that greeted her. Later, though, after Mrs. Campanile had gone on her way and she sat down to eat her supper, Loretta had wanted to break down in tears when Will said to her, “Isn't that spaghetti and meatballs delicious, Mom? I wish you could cook like that.”

“I don't know,” Loretta admitted gloomily. “Maybe you're right. I know my life is a mess, but it's
my
mess. It's the only thing I have. I'm a grown woman. I feel like I should be able to sort everything out by myself, without needing someone else to do it for me. God, I just need a little break, that's all. A chance to catch my breath. Then I could finally get things in order. Instead, I just bounce from one thing to another, and I feel like…like…”

“Like you're doing everything wrong?” Shirley finished for her.

Loretta narrowed her eyes in an icy glare. “You know,” she grumbled, “you're not being very helpful.”

“Sorry,” said Shirley. “Just joking. But I wish you would stop and listen to yourself for a moment. You just got finished saying that all you need right now is a break. Maybe this Mrs. What's-Her-Name is it. Why not let her try to help?”

Loretta was about to try to explain why when she looked past Shirley and caught sight of someone stepping out of the elevators. She leaned forward to get a better view. Her spirits suddenly began to rise, and a faint smile came to her face.

At seeing her changed demeanor, Shirley turned around in time to see Ned Hadley, the scion of New England Trucking, for whom the firm had been doing so much work that week, stepping into the lobby. “Well, well,” she said at seeing his now-familiar face. “Look what the cat's dragging out.”

As Hadley turned and hurried toward the revolving doors, he happened to glance toward the deli, and the two women caught his eye. At seeing them look his way, he nodded a greeting and gave them a wink before slipping out the doors.

“God, he is
so
stuck up,” said Shirley, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” said Loretta, nodding in agreement, even though she was inclined to a slightly more favorable opinion of the young businessman.

Now, at hearing Loretta's less-than-convincing tone of voice, it was Shirley's turn to let out a grumble. “Don't even think about it,” she warned her friend.

Loretta smiled and gave a dismissive wave of her own. “Who, me?” she said, trying her best to act as though she had no idea at all of her friend's meaning. She knew full well, though, that it hadn't escaped anyone's notice, least of all Shirley's, that the young Mr. Hadley had shown a particular interest in her during the past few days. Whenever Loretta came into the room or passed him in the corridor, he was sure to give her a smile and make some pleasant, casual remark that, while harmless enough, perhaps bespoke more familiarity than that to which he was entitled.

“How's my girl today?” he might say with disarming charm as he passed her desk. Or at seeing her approach, he'd say “Here's some sunshine coming my way!”

Loretta was too old and too wizened from experience to be taken in by his artful banter; as an attractive woman in a business dominated by men, she endured it almost every day. As a single, stressed-out mother, however, one who could only faintly remember what it was like to hold a man, she was still too young not to be flattered by the attention. Besides, the thought of someday having a knight in shining armor show up to rescue her, a prince to take care of her and allow her to finally bid farewell to her dread of the monthly electric bill's arrival, was a pleasant daydream.

“Get those little notions right out of your head, young lady,” said Shirley, bringing her back. “That man has the word ‘cad' stamped all over his face.”

“Oh, come on,” laughed Loretta. “Why do you say that?”

“Don't you know anything?” puffed Shirley. “The guy just got divorced three months ago. Don't ask me how I know this. Anyway, from the stories I hear, he's probably on the make for whatever he can get. Trust me, I've seen his kind in action. He's just out looking for an easy score.”

“Gee, thanks a lot,” said Loretta, even though she had heard some of the very same stories. “I didn't know I was so easy.”

“You know what I mean,” Shirley replied with a huff. “Just be careful, is all I'm saying, and make sure you give him the brush-off if he comes on to you.”

Loretta settled back in her chair and smiled. “My word of honor,” she said with fingers crossed.

“Good girl. So, anyway, what are your plans for your terrible nanny now that she has offended you with her cooking and cleaning?” asked Shirley, returning to the original subject.

“Oh, I don't know,” confessed Loretta, “but it's Friday, and I'm going home on time for once. And for tonight at least,
I'm
taking care of dinner—somehow.”

Shirley chuckled and gave her an impudent grin. “KFC, here you come,” she said brightly before taking a bite of her salad.

Later that afternoon, after the firm had finished up the closings for the New England Trucking deals and the inevitable blizzard of papers flying back and forth between the attorneys had mercifully subsided, Loretta was finally free to go home. Anxious to beat the traffic, she hurried to the closet to get her coat and hat. On the way, she mulled over the options for dinner. Shirley's last little dig at lunch had ruled out fried chicken as a possibility; Loretta wouldn't give her the satisfaction of being able to needle her about it on Monday. Pizza or Chinese food seemed the most likely alternatives, she decided as she pulled on her coat and headed for the door. She was trying to remember which restaurants she might pass on the way home when she happened to walk by the glass walls of the conference room, where the last of the closings had just taken place. The room was now empty save for Ned Hadley, who was seated alone at the head of the table, talking a mile a minute on his cell phone. His brow was furrowed, indicating that he wasn't entirely pleased about whatever the topic of the conversation might be. At seeing Loretta, his faced brightened. He flashed a winning smile and beckoned her to come in. Putting the phone briefly to his shoulder, he mouthed the words, “One minute.”

Loretta was anxious to get going, but all things considered, she could see no harm in waiting one more minute. Despite Shirley's admonitions at lunch, Loretta returned his smile and stepped into the conference room. Perhaps her friend was right. Maybe doing so wasn't the best idea. But Loretta was curious, and as far as she knew, curiosity killed only cats.

“T
omorrow night?”

“Just for a few hours,” said a hopeful Loretta. “Maybe seven to ten?”

They were standing in the front hall by the door, where Francesca was just getting ready to leave. Will and Penny were off in the kitchen, tearing open the boxes of Chinese food their mother had just brought home. As she wrapped her scarf around her neck, Francesca leaned over to get a peek at them. The two were kneeling on their chairs across the table from one another, quarreling over who would have the spring rolls. Even though she had looked forward to cooking once more for the children, it had been only a minor disappointment when Loretta has called earlier that afternoon to tell her that there was no need to bother, that she herself would be bringing dinner home. As things worked out, Joey had called Francesca just that morning to tell her that he might be stopping by in the evening to pick up some laundry she had done for him. Given that she had yet to breathe a word to her son and daughters about what she had been up to these days, Francesca had fretted all afternoon that Joey would arrive at the house before her if Loretta was forced to work late again. Not at all anxious to endure the inevitable questions that would have arisen about her whereabouts and activities, she was just as happy to go home on time. This new request, however, posed something of a predicament.

“I know it's kind of last minute, asking you to babysit tomorrow night,” Loretta went on. “I totally understand if you already have other plans, or even if you're just not up for it, so don't feel obligated.” Then, in a meek voice, “I, um, just thought I'd ask.”

The pleading look in the younger woman's eyes gave Francesca reason to suspect that a date with a promising gentleman was hanging in the balance. Other than five-thirty mass, Francesca had no plans whatsoever for Saturday night and would have been delighted to say yes right away, but again, her thoughts turned to her son. Occasionally, he came unannounced for dinner on Saturdays, before going out for the night. Alarm bells were certain to go off from Providence to Oregon if he called and she didn't answer, or worse, if he came home that night to find her gone.

“I don't want to say no,” she told Loretta after mulling the situation over for a moment, “but I can't say yes just yet. Could I let you know tonight, or maybe tomorrow morning?”

“Of course,” said Loretta in that desperately hopeful tone that a parent acquires when the opportunity to socialize with another adult finally arises for the first time in ages. “Please, call me as late as you want tonight or any time tomorrow. I'll wait to hear from you.”

Francesca patted Loretta on the hand, promised she would let her know as soon as she could, and then went on her way.

Although she was anxious to get home, Francesca did not drive directly there after leaving Loretta's house. Instead, she headed first for the library, to pick up some new books being held there for her. She might just as easily have put off the errand until Saturday, for there really was no hurry, but for reasons of her own, it was important that she not wait. As she drove her car along the darkened streets, listening to the tires grinding through the salt and sand, Francesca tried to imagine what type of man Loretta—or the “Simmons woman,” as she still thought of her—was planning to go out with on Saturday night. Was he someone of her age? Was he handsome? Did he have a job? Whoever it was, she hoped he was someone worthwhile. From what Francesca had seen, a good man was something that little family desperately needed.

These ruminations were interrupted by a sudden hesitation in the engine, something Francesca had noticed happening with increasing frequency lately. Though it passed quickly and the car accelerated back to its former speed, it still caused her heart to skip a beat. Francesca knew that the car was past due for service; judging by its occasional coughing and sputtering, especially whenever she turned the ignition, it seemed to have developed the vehicular equivalent of a cold. Sooner or later, she would have to get it looked at, but with her new responsibilities as a nanny, finding the time to do it was something of a challenge.

“I could use a man of my own,” she muttered as she pulled into the library parking lot. She parked near the entrance and left the car running while she hurried inside to retrieve her books.

Later, when Joey arrived at the house, Francesca was in the basement, pulling the last of the two big loads of clothes she had just washed for him out of the dryer. At hearing the front door open, she called for him to come down to give her a hand. Joey descended the stairs and paused for a moment on the bottom step. He clicked his tongue and shook his head as he came over to help her.

“I don't know, but the service isn't as good here as it once was,” he joked in that quiet, gentle way of his, the one that always reminded Francesca of her husband.

“Oh, really,” she said with a harrumph. “And how is that?”

“Well, I never used to have to carry my own laundry upstairs,” her son explained. “Somehow or other, it all just ended up back in my bedroom drawers. It was like magic.”

“Hey, you want that kind of service again, you'll have to get yourself a wife,” observed his mother.

Joey let out a harrumph of his own and picked up one of the clothes baskets.

Back upstairs, Francesca instructed him to dump the clothes onto the kitchen table and set the baskets on the floor. She took a seat and began to fold the clothes, while Joey stood at the sink, staring out the back window.

“You know, if you weren't so lazy, you could sit down and help here,” she chided him.

“You want me to?” said Joey. “I don't mind.”

“No, just go back to what you were doing,” said Francesca, peevishly shooing him away.

She was more likely to stand on her head than let her son fold the clothes; she just enjoyed heckling him about it. With a mischievous smile, Francesca hummed a tune to herself as she got to work.

“My, you're sounding rather chipper tonight,” said Joey over his shoulder.

“Why shouldn't I be chipper?” she answered. “What do I have to be sad about?” Then, changing the subject, “You hungry? I have some leftover 'scarole and beans in the refrigerator, if you want to heat it up while I do these clothes.”

“Nah, thanks,” said Joey with a shake of his head. “I'll get something to eat later on.”

“Plans for the night?”

“Nothing special.”

“Good,” said Francesca. “Does that mean I'll be seeing you this weekend?”

“Well, not tomorrow night,” he said.

“No, why not?”

“I'm going out.”

“A date?” said Francesca with interest. “Who is she? Anyone I know?”

“No, she's nobody,” Joey replied, still staring absentmindedly out the window. “Just someone I met.”

Francesca let out a huff as she set about matching up the socks. “You know, that's what you always say. ‘She's nobody.' It's about time you stopped wasting your time with nobodies and started trying to find yourself a
somebody
, somebody you can settle down with and start a life together and maybe raise a family—or at least, somebody you could bring home to meet your mother one of these days.”

Joey turned from the window and leaned back, his arms folded against his chest. “You know I tried all of that once already, Ma,” he said, not a hint of impatience in his voice, even though this was a well-worn topic of discussion. “Didn't work out for me,” he went on. “And it was probably just as well. I like things better this way.”

“What's better about going through your life without someone who really loves you and wants to take care of you?” said Francesca. “That's no way to live.”

“Well, it works for now,” said Joey. With that, he brought the subject to a close by turning back toward the window. In so doing, he noticed the message light blinking on the telephone answering machine. “Looks like you have some messages. You wanna hear them?”

“No, leave them,” said Francesca, perhaps a little more sharply than she had intended, for Joey looked back at her in surprise. “I'll listen to them later,” she added quickly.

“Whatever,” he answered with a shrug. Then, giving her a quizzical look, “You know, I didn't leave a message, but I tried to call you myself this afternoon, and yesterday too. You've been out and about a lot lately. Anything up?”

“What, are you writing a book?” snipped Francesca, intending to cut off this line of inquiry before it went very far.

“Nope,” said Joey, ever placid. “Just asking.”

“Well, don't ask me about my business, and I won't ask you about yours,” she told him.

“But you ask me about my business all the time,” Joey pointed out.

“That's because I'm your mother and it's my right! Now shut up and let me finish what I'm doing here.”

“You're the boss.”

Francesca waited until later on, after she had seen Joey off at the door, before checking the answering machine. As she had suspected, there were messages from Alice and Rosie. The two had both called earlier in the week, and Francesca had yet to get around to calling either back. It happened all the time, but her daughters inevitably went into a tizzy if they couldn't track her down right away when they wanted to talk. Listening to their voices, she could detect the telltale sound of unease that pointed to trouble in the near future if they didn't hear
her
voice. Now that she was certain that Joey would be occupied on Saturday night, she was anxious to let the Simmons woman know that she would be available to babysit. First, however, she had to call Florida and Oregon.

Francesca picked up the telephone and dialed Rosie's number first. To her relief, she heard her daughter's answering machine come on.

“Hi, everybody,” Francesca said after the beep. “It's Nonna, returning Mommy's call. Where are you guys? I just got back from the library…”

It was barely a white lie—she really
had
just returned from the library—nonetheless, Francesca felt a little guilty about it, especially since she would have to spin the same tale to Alice. But it was, she decided, the best approach, even if it wasn't exactly the truth. For the time being, she pushed the nagging thought to the back of her mind. If her conscience bothered her too much, she could always take it up with Father Buontempo next time at confession.