Goddess of Spring (3 page)

And Lina had made them her own, with a talent and a flare that had even impressed her grandmother, who was renowned as an exceptional cook. It had been her grandmother who had bragged so much to her friends that they began asking Lina to bake “something special” for them on the occasion of birthdays or anniversaries. By the time Lina graduated from high school, she had a steady stream of customers, mostly retired widows and widowers who appreciated the taste of quality homemade breads.

When her grandmother had offered to send her to Florence to study at the famous school of baking, Apicius, she had begun shaping the design of her dream—the dream of owning her own bakery. When she was a child, her grandmother had whispered to her that Italy and baking were in her blood. After she graduated from Apicius, Lina followed the whispers of her childhood back to Tulsa. With her she brought a little piece of Italy, its style and its romance—as well as its amazingly rich assortment of breads and pastries. Again her grandmother helped her. Together they discovered a worn-down old building smack in the middle of the artsy area of Tulsa known as Cherry Street. They'd bought it and slowly turned it into a shining sliver of Florence.

Lina shook her head and flipped off the radio. She couldn't let Pani Del Goddess fail. It wouldn't just break her own heart; it would cut her grandmother to the bone. And what about her customers? Her bakery was the meeting place for a delightfully eclectic group of regulars, made up mostly of local eccentrics, celebrities and retirees. It was more than a bakery. It was a unique social hub.

And what would Anton and Dolores do? The two had been working for her for ten and fifteen years. She knew it was a cliché, but they were more than employees; they were family to her, especially since she had no children of her own.

Lina sighed again, and then she inhaled deeply. Despite the horrors of the day, her lips curved up. Pinyon smoke drifted through the BMW's partially rolled down windows. She was passing Grumpy's Garden, the little shop that signaled the beginning of the Cherry Street District, and, as usual, “Grumpy,” who was actually a very nice lady named Shaun and not grumpy at all, had several of her huge chimeneas perpetually burning, perfuming the neighborhood with the distinctive smell of southwest pine.

She felt the knot in her stomach loosen as she downshifted and slowed her car, careful of the pedestrians crossing the streets while they moved back and forth from antique shops, to new-age bookstores, to posh interior design studios and unique restaurants. And finally, in the heart of the street, nestled between a trendy little spa and a vintage jewelry store, sat Pani Del Goddess.

As usual, there were few parking spaces available on the street, and Lina turned into the alley to park in one of the reserved spaces behind her building. She had barely stepped out of her car when she felt an all too familiar tug at her mind. The feeling was always the same, though it varied in degree and intensity. Today it was like someone far away had spoken her name, and the wind had carried the echo of the sound to her mind without having to reach her ears first. She closed her eyes. She really didn't have time for this . . . not today.

Almost instantly Lina regretted the thought. Mentally she shook herself. No, she wouldn't let financial troubles change who she was—and part of who she was, was this. It was her gift.

Glancing around her, Lina peered into the shadows at the edges of the building.

“Where are you, little one?” she coaxed. Then she focused her mind and a vague image came to her. Lina smiled. “Come on, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called. “I know you're there. You don't have to be afraid.”

With a pathetic mew, a skinny orange tabby stepped hesitantly from behind the garbage receptacle.

“Well, look at you. You're nothing more than a delicate flower. Come here, baby girl. Everything will be fine now.”

Mesmerized, the small orange cat walked straight into Lina's outstretched arms. Ignoring what the cat's matted, dirty fur could do to her very clean, very expensive silk suit, Lina cuddled the mangy animal. Staring up at her rescuer, eyes filled with adoration, the cat rewarded Lina with thunderous purring.

Lina could not remember a time when she hadn't felt a special affinity for animals. As a small child, she had only to sit quietly in her back-yard and soon she would be visited by rabbits and squirrels and even nervous little field mice. Dogs and cats loved her. Horses followed her like giant puppies. Even cows, who Lina knew had big, mushy brains, lowed lovingly at her if she got too close to where they pastured. Animals had always adored her, but it hadn't been until Lina had become a teenager that she had really realized the extent of her gift.

She could understand animals. Sort of. She wasn't Dr. Doolittle or anything ridiculous like that; she couldn't carry on conversations with animals. She liked to think of herself as if she were a horse whisperer, only her abilities weren't limited to horses. And she had an extra “thing” that most people didn't have. Sometimes the “thing” told her that there was a cat that needed her help. The “thing” was something that went off in her mind, like a connection she could plug into.

She knew it was weird.

For a brief time in high school she had considered becoming a veterinarian. She'd even volunteered at a veterinary clinic during the summer between her sophomore and junior years—a summer that had taught her that while blood and parasites were definitely not a part of her special animal “thing,” they certainly were two things that were a consistent part of veterinarian work. Just remembering it made Lina shudder in revulsion and want to scratch her scalp.

“In a bakery, you never, ever have to deal with blood
or
parasites,” she told the little orange cat as she stepped out of the alley, turned left and inhaled deeply.

“Magnifico,”
she murmured in her grandmother's voice.

The enticing aroma of freshly baked bread soothed her senses. She sniffed appreciatively, expertly identifying the subtle differences in the fragrance of olives, rosemary and cheese, wedded to the sweet smells of the butter, cinnamon, nuts, raisins and the liqueurs that went into the creation of the bakery's specialty bread, gubana, which was the sweet-bread of Friuli, a small region east of Venice.

Lina paused in front of the large glass window that fronted her bakery. She nodded appreciatively at the beautifully arranged crystal platters that were displayed on tiers and filled with a fresh assortment of Italian pastries and cookies. Pride filled Lina. As always, everything was perfect.

She glanced beyond the window display to see that about half of the dozen little mosaic-topped café tables were occupied. Not bad, she thought, for late Friday afternoon. She shifted the cat in her arms and checked her watch. It was almost 4:00 P.M. and they closed at 5:00 P.M.; usually the hour or so before closing was a quiet, winding-down time.

Maybe that was one answer. Maybe she should extend her hours. But wouldn't she have to hire more help then? Anton and Dolores already worked full-time shifts, and Lina herself was rarely absent from the bakery. Wouldn't the additional cost of another employee cancel out any revenue generated by staying open longer?

Lina could feel the beginnings of a serious tension headache.

Forcing herself to relax, Lina squinted past the glare of the highly polished picture window. She could see the newly painted frescoes that decorated the walls—part of the expensive renovation that had just been completed. But the price had been worth it. Lina had commissioned Kimberlei Doner, a well-known local artist and illustrator, to fill the walls of Pani Del Goddess with authentic scenes from ancient Florence. The paintings, coupled with the vintage light fixtures and café tables, created an atmosphere that made her patrons feel like they had stepped off the streets of Tulsa and had been temporarily transported to magical, earthy Italy.

“Let's go in and see what we can do about you,” she told the cat, who was still purring contentedly in her arms. “First I'll take care of you, then I'll figure out what to do about the money,” she said, wishing desperately that money was as easy to come by as cats.

The wind chime over the door tinkled happily as Lina entered Pani Del Goddess. She stood there for a moment, basking in the familiar scene. Anton was fiddling with the cappuccino machine and humming the chorus of the song “All That Jazz” from
Chicago.
Dolores was explaining the difference between panettones and colombe to a middle-aged couple Lina didn't recognize. They were the only people in the shop that she didn't recognize.

Anton glanced up as several customers called hellos to her. His full lips began a grin when he saw Lina, but then they pursed into a resigned pout when he noticed the cat in her arms.

“Oh, look, it's our fearless leader—the Cat Savior.” Anton fluttered his fingers in Lina's direction.

“Don't start with me, Anton, or I'll take back the DVD of
Chicago
that I got you for your birthday,” Lina said with mock severity.

Anton's pout turned into a gasp, and he clasped his hands over his heart as if she had just stabbed him. “You're wounding me!”

Dolores giggled as she rang up the couple's order. “He's been tapping to ‘All That Jazz' all day. It's worse than his
Moulin Rouge
phase.”

“Musicals are not a phase with me; they're my passion,” Anton said.

“Then you should understand me perfectly. Helping animals is my passion,” Lina said.

Anton rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “I think it's more than slightly disturbing that I have the number to the Street Cats Rescue Line memorized.”

“Just make the call,” Lina told him, but Anton was already dialing the number. She winked her thanks to him.

“Well, Lina! I was hoping to see you today.”

Lina smiled and walked over to the table closest to the picture window. But instead of speaking to the dark-haired woman who had waved her over, first she greeted the miniature schnauzer who sat ramrod stiff on a scarlet-colored cushion at his mistress's feet.

“Dash, you are certainly looking handsome today.” The cat stirred in her arms, but Lina soothed it with an absentminded caress.

“He should. He just came from the groomers.”

Lina grinned at the well-mannered little dog. “A day of beauty, huh? Honey, it's what we all need.” She turned her attention to Dash's mistress. “How is the olive bread today, Tess?”

“Excellent. Simply excellent as usual.” Tess's distinctive Tahlequah drawl was lazy and melodic. “And this San Angelo Pinot Grigio that Anton recommended is absolutely perfect with it.”

“I'm glad you think so. We aim to please.”

“Which is why I wanted to talk with you. The Poets and Writers Association has chosen their Oklahoma Author of the Year, and we'll be having several functions to honor her next week. I want to make sure we have a selection of your excellent breads for the dinner.”

Lina's mind raced ahead. Tess Miller was director of Oklahoma's Poets and Writers Association, as well as the host of a very popular regional talk show—and one of Pani Del Goddess's most loyal customers. For years she and Dash had been stopping in the bakery during their daily walks, Lina had even had a doggie cushion made for the little schnauzer, which she kept in a special cubby underneath the cash register. There would certainly be no one better with which to begin her expansion. Even if she wasn't sure exactly what that expansion was yet.

“Uh, Tess,” Lina cleared her throat. “Of course I would be happy to provide any breads you might need, but I would also like to talk with you about our new expanded menu. Perhaps we could cater the whole meal for you.”

“Well, that would be just splendid! I'm sure anything you come up with will be perfect. Why don't I call you Monday? You can give me my menu choices and I'll fill you in on the details?”

Lina felt herself nodding and smiling as she turned away from the table. She kept the tight smile plastered on her face while she made her way to the counter, speaking to each of her patrons as she passed them. It was only when she reached the counter and ran into the blank expressions of shock that had taken up residence on Anton's and Dolores's faces that she faltered.

“Did I hear you say the word
cater
?” Anton whispered.

“And
whole meal
?” Dolores squeaked.

Lina jerked her head toward the back of the bakery before stepping through the cream-colored swinging doors that divided the kitchen, the storeroom and her office from the rest of the bakery. Her two employees scurried after her. Lina spoke quickly as she pushed the startled orange cat into the carrier she retrieved from the coat closet.

“You know the appointment I had with my accountant today? It wasn't good news. I owe money. Big money. To the IRS.”

Anton blanched and sucked in air.

“Oh, Lina. Is it really bad?” Dolores sounded twelve years old.

“Yes.” She looked carefully at each of them. “It is really bad. We're going to have to make some changes.” Lina registered the twin looks of horror on their faces. Instantly Anton's eyes began to fill with tears. Dolores's already pale face drained of even the pretense of color. “No, no, no! Not that! There will be none of that—you'll be keeping your jobs. We'll all be keeping our jobs.”

“Oh, God. I need to sit down.” Anton fanned himself with his fingers.

“My office. Quickly. And there will be absolutely no fainting.” She picked up the cat carrier and clucked at the ruffled tabby as she headed to her office. Over her shoulder she said, “And no crying either. Remember—”