Slices of Life (6 page)

“Well, as you can see,” she said, waving a hand at her very nearly empty plate, “it was awful. Horrendous, really. The chef should be ashamed.”

The woman nodded, feigning a grave expression. “I’m so sorry for your dissatisfaction. Though it does seem that you ate all of it.”

“Of course I ate all of it. I had to be absolutely sure of its awfulness, didn’t I?”

“I see. Well, the chef happens to be me and an unhappy customer is very bad for business. I hope you’ll allow me to make it up to you.”

Never one for such open, obvious flirtation, Cassidy was surprised to realize how much she was enjoying this little game and she loved that this intriguing woman was playing along. She propped her chin in her hand and her elbow on the bar. “An interesting offer. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I thought maybe I could recover my reputation by making you brunch on Sunday morning.”

“Brunch?”

“Yes. Right here.”

Cassidy narrowed her eyes in playful suspicion. “This restaurant isn’t open for brunch.”

“That’s true.”

“Do you own it?”

“I do.”

God, what was it about her? Cassidy had never felt such a pull before, but somehow, it didn’t frighten her. She knew without a doubt that she could very well go home with this woman right now without thinking twice and that realization didn’t freak her out at all.

“You want to make brunch for me on Sunday? Here? Just you and me?”

“I do.” The chef was completely relaxed, which Cassidy would normally find cocky. Normally, she’d wonder what kind of reputation this woman had, assume she was probably some kind of womanizer. But again, there was something…different. And Cassidy wanted to be around her.

“I have one request.”

The chef arched an eyebrow, waiting.

“Your name?”

The delicate smile widened, and dimples appeared. Cassidy nearly swooned. “Kate Martindale. Pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand.

“Cassidy Freeman. A pleasure.” Kate’s hand was warm and strong and Cassidy had a sudden feeling of safety, of contentment, of comfort. She almost didn’t let go.

“I should get back to the kitchen,” Kate said, her eyes never leaving Cassidy’s and their hands still linked. “Can’t afford any more dissatisfied customers.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassidy agreed. “I don’t want to show up for brunch and find a dozen other people.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from smiling.

“Oh, no. That will not be the case, I assure you. Just come to the front door on Sunday at eleven and I’ll be waiting for you. Yes?”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me too.”

They stayed for a few moments more until Kate finally let Cassidy’s hand slide out of her grasp. With a small wave, she headed back through the swinging door to the kitchen.

Cassidy let out her breath. “Oh, wow.” She felt a giggle bubbling up from her chest and worked hard to keep it tamped down; this was not the place to act like a schoolgirl. Instead, she gestured to Jason for her tab.

He brought it to her. As she signed, he leaned forward on his forearms and said, “Hope your night wasn’t a total bust.”

She lifted her gaze to his, noted his mischievous grin. “Nope. In fact, it turned out better than I expected.” Stretching toward him, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

He flushed a light pink and took his leave.

Cassidy picked up her stuff and headed out into the night. As she breathed in the crisp autumn air, she said aloud, “Deb? Deb who?”

“I cannot
believe
I just did that. Oh, my god.”

Kate Martindale walked back into the kitchen of her restaurant in somewhat of a daze, feeling both energized and horrified by what had taken place at the bar just minutes ago. She’d asked a woman out. A woman she’d never met. A woman about whom she knew squat. A woman whose very presence in her restaurant caused Kate to feel warm and soft inside. It was the weirdest thing she’d ever experienced. Jason had come in and told her about this hot chick at the bar who had been stood up by her blind date. Her female blind date. Kate had peeked out at her and felt an instant, inexplicable stab of desire to know her better.

“Did what?” Jason asked as he breezed in to fill his five-gallon pail with ice from the icemaker. One glance at Kate and his eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you asked her out, didn’t you?
That’s
what she meant!” He set the bucket down, wrapped his arms around Kate, and twirled her in a circle. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Oh, for god’s sake. Put me down.” Kate smacked his shoulder. “And what do you mean, ‘that’s what she meant?’”

“She said her night had turned out better than she’d expected. I wasn’t sure what she meant, but now I know.”

Kate blinked at him.

“This is good, Katie. This is very good.”

“What’s good?” Charlotte Becker, Kate’s sous chef, asked as she reached into the refrigerator.

“Kate asked her out.” Jason’s face beamed like a proud father.

“The hottie at the bar?” Charlotte mimicked Jason’s earlier wide-eyed expression. “Oh, my god. Did she say yes?”

“She did.” Kate still felt a little dazed. “I’m making her brunch on Sunday.”

“Ooo, brunch. Very good call.” Jason nodded his approval. “Not as intimate as dinner, but not as casual as coffee. Nicely done.”

Kate looked at him, her eyes beseeching. “What the hell was I thinking, Jay?”

Jason tilted his head in a gesture of fondness and sympathy and reached out to touch her cheek. “Oh, Katie, you deserve this. You deserve to be happy. Who knows if this will go anywhere? It’s way too soon to know that. But maybe you’ll have some fun for a few hours. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it’s nothing for you to feel guilty about. Okay?”

Kate nodded. “Okay.”

She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

She hoped she wasn’t a disappointment to Cassidy Freeman.

***

“Cassidy Freeman. Cassidy Freeman.” Kate rolled the name around on her tongue as she pulled into her driveway. “What a great name.” Saying it aloud conjured up the oval face of creamy skin, the enormous brown eyes, and the short hair the color and richness of dark melted chocolate. “And let’s not pretend you didn’t notice the rest of the package,” she muttered to herself, distinctly remembering how hard it was to keep her eyes on Cassidy’s face and not travel over her breasts, her hips, her thighs. God, she was pretty.

And young.

Kate didn’t really notice until she approached her. Cassidy couldn’t be older than thirty-five, almost twenty years younger than Kate. She almost chickened out right then, but Cassidy didn’t seem to be the least bit put off. Kate liked to think she looked a bit younger than she was, but she didn’t look forty. Cassidy not only accepted Kate’s flirtatious comments, but she flirted back. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?

She unlocked the side door and dropped her stuff on the small, round kitchen table, then wandered into the living room.

“Hi, Cammie,” she said to the heavyset, African-American woman sitting in the La-Z-y Boy and knitting.

“Hello there, Kate. How was your night?”

Kate crossed to the hospital bed and kissed her brother on his pale, cool forehead. “Hi, Handsome.”

Keith didn’t acknowledge her. He didn’t blink. His watery blue eyes stared straight up, and Kate was never sure if he saw the swirls in the ceiling or something in his own mind; sometimes his gaze was incredibly intense and others, it was just vague.

“My night was pretty good,” Kate said honestly. “How about his?”

“Calm.” Cammie stood and packed up her yarn and needles. “He had a little bit of Gatorade and kept it down. I gave him a sponge bath and washed his hair, so he smells better.”

“Oh, good. He needed that.”

“He’s due for his next dose in about a half hour.” Cammie hefted her tote bag over her shoulder.

“Got it.” Kate pulled a wheeled stool across the hardwood floor and sat next to the bed.

“Mike will be here tomorrow at eleven,” Cammie told her. “I’ll take over at six.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Cammie.”

“You have a good night, honey.”

The door clicked shut as Kate set her chin on her forearms on top of the metal bed rail. She tried hard not compare this Keith—withered, painfully thin, helpless—with the strong, capable man her little brother had grown into over the years. He was only forty-seven, but he looked decades older. His hair—what was left of it—had gone almost completely gray and looked flat and lifeless most of the time. His cheeks were sunken into his face, his skin had a gray pallor, and all his muscle tone had melted away until he was six feet three inches of nothing but skin and bones. She reached out to touch his stubbly face.

“I met a girl tonight, K-Two,” she said to him, using the childhood nickname she’d given him when he was ten. “You’d have been proud of me. I went right up to her and asked her if I could make her brunch. Can you believe that? That’s something you would’ve done. Not me.” She wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw the corner of Keith’s mouth quirk up just a little. “She’s so pretty. And a lot younger than me, I think. I’m kind of nervous about that, but there was just something about her. I couldn’t resist. I made her up an appetizer plate and sent it to her on the house. Can you believe
that
?” If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Keith chuckling, teasing,
What? You actually gave something away? For free?
He loved to mock her serious business side, the side that kept track of every extra drink, every order of steak fries that was larger than it should have been, every loaf of Italian bread that got tossed at the end of the night. He called her Scrooge. With great love and affection, of course.

She told him she’d be right back, then went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of decaf. When it was ready, she returned to the living room to find her little brother trying to sit up. Kate set down her mug and went to him.

“Hey, what’s going on, buddy?” she asked, hating that she now talked to him like he was a child.

“Gotta go,” he told her, his voice raspy from lack of use, but matter-of-fact in tone.

“Oh, okay. Where are we going?” In the three weeks he’d been here, she’d learned to stay calm, to go with his delusions and hallucinations rather than try to correct him. It wasn’t always easy; she missed him so.

“Gotta pick up firewood.” Keith tugged his blanket so it was around his shoulders. “Jack and Ricky are meeting me.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember you telling me that.” Kate helped wrap the blanket around him. “Let’s make sure we put your jacket on, though. It’s chilly.”

“Okay.”

Kate made the pretense of bundling him up. After a minute, he turned to look at her, blinked once, and asked, “You coming?”

She only hesitated for a second. “Absolutely,” she replied, and climbed into the bed next to him. It was a tight fit, but they worked and shifted until they were both comfortable, her with her arm around him just like when they were little kids and Keith had a bad dream. He’d climb into her twin bed with her, certain that she’d protect him. The memory made her eyes well up. He sighed contentedly and rested his head on her shoulder.

“Comfy?” she asked.

He nodded, then said quietly, “Thank you.”

It was amazing how quickly he could go from delusional to perfectly coherent. It was also amazing how two one-syllable words could put such a lump in her throat. “No thanks necessary, little brother. No thanks necessary.”

As she tightened her hold on him and felt him drifting off to sleep, she thought about one of the regulars at the restaurant, an older woman in her seventies, very nice, and very religious. When she learned about Keith’s diagnosis, she said to Kate, “Well, it’s God’s will. He’s calling your brother home. It’s a wonderful honor to be summoned by Him.” Kate had been able to bite her tongue and simply nod at the woman, but inside, she was seething. Now, as she held the shell of what once was a strapping, athletic man, she felt that old familiar anger bubbling up like lava.

A wonderful honor? Really? I beg to differ. Look at him. He’s been whittled down to nothing. He can’t eat. He’s in constant pain. He’s on so many drugs, he’s like a junkie. He needs his big sister to help him take a crap and to wipe his ass. Where’s this honor you talk about? What is the point of so much suffering? What did my brother ever do to deserve this fate? God can go fuck himself as far as I’m concerned.

Keith whimpered in his fitful sleep and Kate pulled him closer. She kissed his head, which smelled like the baby shampoo Cammie must have used on him earlier. “It’s okay, K-Two. I’ve got you. Don’t you worry. Nothing’s going to get you. I’m right here and I’ve got you.”

***

A couple gentle knocks on the side door jerked Kate awake to late morning sunlight streaming through the windows of the living room. She stretched, her back protesting the hour she’d spent in Keith’s bed. Unfortunately, the living room couch wasn’t a whole lot more comfortable; at this point, it’s where she slept most often, not wanting to be far in case Keith needed something during the night. Plus, he was now getting his morphine every two-to-three hours as needed.

She tried not to think about what that meant.

“Morning, Kate.”

Mike was not at all what Kate expected in a Hospice worker when she first met him. First of all, he was huge. Not fat, just huge, probably six four, with shoulders almost the width of Kate’s arm span. He was completely bald, with large gages in his earlobes and—according to him—seventeen tattoos, all covered by his clothing, as required by his employer.

“God, is it eleven already?”

“Almost. Rough night?” He walked to Keith’s bed and rubbed an enormous hand over her brother’s head. “Hey, buddy. How’re you doing today?”

The dichotomy of his imposing size and his gentle demeanor always surprised Kate. She was reminded daily by Mike that looks can be deceiving.

“I crawled in bed with him for a little while, and my body is now reminding me that I’m not twenty-five.”