Chapter 10 Mariah
Georgetown, South Carolina
Present Day
Grandpa had been moved to the rehabilitation center. Grandma got up early, had a half cup of coffee before putting a full one in an insulated cup, packed her Bible study materials, and left to go be with her husband. That was love. Love transcended marriage. I don’t care what anyone said. I had been devoted. I had been committed to it forever. But my husband and I weren’t friends. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he was in a rehab center and I would want to go every morning and read the Bible with him. We weren’t that close. We were never going to get that close. No matter how long we stayed married.
Shuffling noises came from upstairs. The sound of Sabrina moving about in her bedroom over the kitchen.
Moments later, shoes padded on the steps, and then seconds later, Sabrina entered the kitchen. Still in her pajamas, she grumbled a good morning and went right to the coffee maker, poured a cup, sweetened it, and plopped down in one of the chairs. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The restaurant. I know you’ve got a plan. You always do.” She took a sip of coffee.
I did always have a plan, but this time I did not. It had been three days since I’d arrived, and even with further protest, Grandma was adamant that closing Tabby’s was out of the question.
Sabrina’s voice broke my concentration. “Grandma asked me to help. I want to help.”
“I will find something for you to do. I just have to figure some things out.” I stood. I was ready to let her have the kitchen to herself. I thought better when I was alone.
“Maybe we can figure it out together. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking so we can talk about it?”
“What I’m thinking is what I’ve already said. I wish you would be on my side with this instead of encouraging Grandma to keep dreaming for a magical save.”
Sabrina took a long sip of coffee and frowned. “It’s been in our family for too long to give up on it.”
“I understand it’s a holy artifact, but I care about the grandparents who are here. They’ve worked their whole lives. They deserve a decent retirement.”
“The restaurant is a part of their retirement. Grandpa said he was going to cook until we put him in the ground.”
“Yeah, well that was before he had a stroke,” I said. “I don’t know if you know anything about this, but that rehabilitation home is probably five or six thousand a month. Grandpa has insurance from his retirement, but these things only go so far. Insurance has changed, and Medicare is either a nightmare or a joke. Trust me. I had to deal with my mother-in-law.” I took my last sip of coffee and put the mug in the sink. “They have to think ahead. Grandpa could have health issues for a long time.”
Sabrina looked bothered. “Grandpa could also recover beautifully.”
There it was. She was always so whimsical and hopeful. She was incapable of anything else. That difference between us drove me nuts. “I know he could recover.” I sighed just thinking about the alternative. “I want nothing else but to see Grandpa at his best again, but that’s going to take a long time. Grandma wants it open right away, before she loses her customers. There’s a big problem with that.”
Sabrina frowned. “Okay. What is it?”
“Great-Great-Grandma Tabitha was a cook. Grandma Margaret took after her. She was a cook. Grandma and Grandpa together are cooks. We don’t have a cook.”
Sabrina drank more coffee. I could see she was considering everything that I was saying. “I know managing things is a job, but you cook.”
“I’m a potager, Sabrina.”
Sabrina twisted her lips. “If you’re going to make me google, at least spell the word.”
“It’s a cook who specializes in soups and stews. I don’t cook Gullah food.”
Sabrina grunted. “Well, can we find a cook with an ad or something?”
“Do you think good Gullah cooks grow on muscadine vines?”
Sabrina pursed her lips. “You’re looking for reasons to quit.”
“I’m not.”
“Maybe it’s time to have a conversation with Daddy and ’nem to see if they’re willing to pull some resources together to try to keep it open. I obviously don’t have any money, and I clearly don’t know what you may have, but...” Sabrina hesitated, the wheels in her brain turning. “We can’t just let it close. Not without seeing if we can get the family involved in some way.”
Kenni came running down the stairs. She bounced against her mother, nearly causing her to spill her coffee.
Her mother should have scolded her for that, but Sabrina did nothing but put her cup down because the worst had not happened; therefore there was no need for a conversation about it. She hugged Kenni and gave her a kiss. “Morning to you.”
Kenni scooted in my direction and hooked her arm around my hip. “Good morning, princess,” I said, tilting her head up so I could look in her eyes. “Somebody got all the sleepies out.”
Kenni smiled. “I slept with Mommy.”
“I know. That must have been nice,” I said, thinking about how she lived with Ellen. Kenni twirled away from me and took a seat at the table.
“I’ll look at the books again this morning. I’m going to dig all the way in... look at the inventory and equipment, look at the tax returns for the last couple of years... pray they don’t have any debt I haven’t seen yet. Once I know all the details, we can have that family meeting.”
Sabrina clapped and gave me a huge smile. “Thank you for considering my idea. If you need me to set the meeting, I can take lead on that.”
“Mommy, I want pancakes,” Kenni interjected.
Sabrina nodded and popped up. She asked, “Did you want pancakes too?”
“I’m not a breakfast person.”
“Some things never change,” Sabrina said, half smiling at me. She’d obviously been remembering how I skipped breakfast in my teens.
I pushed off the counter. “I’m going get over there.”
Sabrina’s next words slowed my exit, caught me as I was walking out the door. “You look great. I’ve been meaning to tell you that. The change in your hair made you over.”
“Thanks. I did it myself.”
Sabrina shrugged. “You can fix anything. Hair, restaurants...” Her words trailed off as she rifled through the cabinet for a griddle.
I left the kitchen. As I climbed the stairs, Sabrina’s words swirled around in my head. You can fix anything. I realized I’d been here before. Looking at a restaurant that was failing. Why did I think Tabby’s was any different from Clark’s?
Running Clark’s was the only plan Vince ever had for himself. He wasn’t big on trying to figure out a new path, so once we found out Clark’s was in trouble, we decided to save it—first with an updated look. We drove to Spartanburg and visited several restaurants in that area. We took pictures of the décor and then came back to Clark’s to implement the changes. With less than a two-thousand-dollar budget, we completely spruced up the place. Paint and lighting went a long way.
Sabrina was an artist. I could put her in charge of figuring out how to refresh the restaurant on a shoestring budget. She’d love that.
I went back down the stairs. Sabrina was flipping pancakes while Kenni played with her phone.
“I had a thought,” I said.
Sabrina waited for me to go on.
“If you’re up for it, we could do some of the work at the restaurant.”
Sabrina frowned. “What part?”
“For one, we can paint. A room that large would cost a few thousand dollars. We can help put in the flooring. I’ve done it before, and we can also do the refresh on the existing space. We don’t need to pay someone for that.”
Sabrina nodded, and I tried to read the meaning. She scrunched up her face. “Legally, aren’t there like code rules or something?”
“Not for cosmetic changes. I was thinking you could come up with some ideas for a new look. We could buy the materials and work on the old space while Abel One works on the new part.
“While you’re coming up with your designs, I’ll switch up the menu. It’s almost the same as it’s always been.”
Sabrina’s questioning tone was back. “People like the menu.”
“People also like variety. Older people like things to stay the same. Younger people like change. We have to do both. We can have weekly specials. We’ll use social media, some local advertising, and with the new look inside, it’ll be nice.”
“That sounds great. Maybe we can get local artists to play on Saturday nights.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think we should be adding line items to the budget until there’s some profit, but we’ll see. I like the idea of maybe incorporating some events that don’t cost money. I had a Tuesday night book club, and we had a Wednesday morning veteran breakfast. The vets love dining together, talking about their days in the military. If you have events, people will come in just to have something to do.” I envisioned the addition. Once it was done, we could do so much with it. “My wheels are turning now.”
“I guess I’d better get my sketch pad and start my wheels to turning too.” Sabrina flew to my side and pulled me into a hug. “Thank you for including me.”
I backed away from her. She’d jarred me. I wasn’t used to us embracing like that, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes. I looked down at Kenni and could see confusion in her eyes. Attempting to release tension, I cleared my throat and said, “The sooner we start fixing it up, the better.” I nodded, and Sabrina nodded back.
I walked back through the kitchen door. I felt bad about the hug thing, but I couldn’t make myself be someone I wasn’t. I couldn’t make myself feel close to her that way. She’d have to accept that.
***
I put my boots on the ground in Georgetown. I visited the actual vendor locations my grandparents shopped at and the ones they didn’t. I went to the county office to get a copy of the county codes for restaurants to make sure I was right about Sabrina and me being able to make changes ourselves. Then I did a drive-by quickie tour of all the restaurants within a five-mile radius of Tabby’s to size up the competition. There weren’t many.
I spent a good part of the day looking at all the records, and my initial assessment was wrong. Things were worse than they appeared because my grandparents owed back taxes.
We weren’t rich people. There was no way we were going to be able to convince our relatives to dig this restaurant out when they weren’t invested in it. Like me, they would take Grandpa’s being sick into consideration. It was time for him and Grandma to retire.
The telephone on the desk rang. The setting was so loud, it banged against my heart. I picked up the receiver and answered, “Tabby’s Meats and Sweets. How may I help you?”
“Hello,” a gentleman’s voice said. On the end I could hear even in the hello the slight twang of a Gullah accent. “This is Dante Kershaw. Mrs. Gail asked me to call. She said her granddaughter would be there.”
“This is her granddaughter, Mariah Holland. What can I do for you Mr. Kershaw?”
“Mrs. Gail says you need a cook.”
Grandma must have been anticipating my reservations. Either that or the house was bugged. “When did you talk to my grandmother?”
“Just this past weekend,” he replied. “She said that she was going to be getting some help to open the place again.”
“I’m not sure that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“You’re not sure you need a cook, or you’re not sure you’re going to open?”
“Both.”
“You can’t just not open. It’s been in your family for over eighty years, right?”
I pitched an eyebrow. Okay, so now a stranger is telling me what I have to do? “My grandmother didn’t mention that anyone would be calling.”
“Check with her. Tell her that Dante called.”
“I’ll do that. Let me have your telephone number. Once I confirm what you’re saying, I’ll be back in touch directly.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said. He gave me his number. “I’d like to take a look at the kitchen this afternoon, so if you go ahead and talk to your grandmother and get back to me, I would appreciate it.”
I pitched an eyebrow again. Bossy. Good cooks often were, and they were hard to find. I didn’t need to run him off if he was a potential employee and certainly not before I talked to my family about what we were going to do.
I sent Grandma Gail a text, and sure enough she confirmed that Dante Kershaw was the person they wanted to work at the restaurant. She added that he had an excellent reputation. He was a great cook, and he would be flexible. Whatever that meant.
At two o’clock, Dante was at the door.
“Thanks for letting me come by. I’m headed out on a flight to Atlanta for my cousin’s wedding. I’ll be gone until next week. If we’re going to get things going, I wanted to get my head around it prior to leaving.”
“I’m not sure when we’ll be ready to open,” I said. “I still have to have a talk with my grandparents about some things.”
He said, “Sounds like money business. Did your grandmother tell you that you don’t have to pay me?”
I reared back my neck. “Why wouldn’t we have to pay you?”
“Because I don’t need the money. I’m looking for something to do with my time.”
Now I was even more curious. Work for no pay. “Don’t need the money? Looking for something to do with your time? What are you—independently wealthy and bored?”
He chuckled, his eyes sweeping the kitchen’s interior again before landing back on mine. “Something like that.”
I was joking, but he was serious, and now I wondered which that was he referring to. The elderly were victims of con artists all the time. For all I knew, this guy was planning to walk out the back door with all the equipment. “Where do you know my grandparents from?”
“My parents attend their church. I visit when my mother begs me. I prefer a service that doesn’t take three hours.” He chuckled again. “I’m willing to help them out. Your grandmother said the restaurant would open back up for the same hours that it had, Thursday through Saturday.”
He walked through the kitchen, making an exhaustive mental inventory of everything that was there. Every pot. Every pan. He went into the pantry and inspected all the seasonings and the supplies. He looked in the freezer at the foods that were stored there. He did exactly what any cook would do if they were taking over a kitchen. I knew because I’d seen it several times at the diner. This man was ready to work.
“Well, I don’t know if you have time before you go to Atlanta, but one thing I need before I can hire you is to see you in action. When can you cook for me?”
Dante smiled, and I wasn’t sure what it was about, but it almost looked like he thought I was kidding. He crossed his arms over his chest. I couldn’t help but notice what a nice chest it was. He was nice-looking, period, in the most clichéd way ever. Tall, dark as ebony, with short locs and a big smile that was framed by dimples. He was thick muscled. Kind of like I liked a man’s physique. “What do you say?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. I hadn’t heard the man. I was too busy checking him out. “Say about what?” I asked, embarrassed.
He smiled like he knew my secret, and I blushed as red as burgundy wine. “When I come back from Atlanta.”
“Sure,” I said.
A reminder pinged on my phone. I’d forgotten my meeting. I was glad to have a way to transition out of this embarrassing moment with the hot chef. Dante left. Although I had a feeling this was a waste of time, I got on a video call with my father and my aunt and uncle. Aunt Deborah was willing to pitch in some money to help lower the line of credit, but only if they sold the restaurant. My uncle David was a hard no on everything. He was off the call right away. Neither had children to pass it down to, so I think they felt like it was my father’s issue.
“Dad,” I said, continuing to talk with him and my aunt, “even if keeping it is a bad idea, I think the timing is horrible. It would break Grandpa’s heart if he knew we were letting it go.”
“Sometimes I think Daddy is more invested in this than Mama,” Aunt Deborah said. “This is Cooper business. Can we see if more family members are willing to help keep it in the family?”
“I’ve done that,” Dad said. “I put feelers out and didn’t get anything positive back.”
Disappointment enveloped me. We weren’t a large family, but most of my relatives were successful. There was enough money in this family to keep Tabby’s. “Help or no help, I’m going to abide by their wishes.”
“You’re a good girl, Mariah,” Aunt Deborah said. “Good luck with it, and give Sabrina my love.”
We said goodbyes, and she left the call.
“How are you doing?” Dad asked.
With a hand at the back of my neck, I demonstrated my answer before I spoke it. “Stressed.”
“What about the situation with Vince?”
I’d called my father after Vince asked for the divorce and filled him in on everything that was happening. I also swore him to secrecy. I wasn’t ready for everyone to know what I was going through. People loved giving advice. I wasn’t in the mood to stomach a bunch of well-meaning Christianese about God hating divorce, praying through our issues, and the like, when Vince put me out. I couldn’t save our marriage by myself, but making people understand that would require me to tell what the issues were.
I shrugged. “We have attorneys.”
“Have you told your sister?”
“No.”
“Mariah, you’re under the same roof. You—”
“Whatever you’re about to say about Sabrina, I don’t want to hear.” I sighed heavily, and I wasn’t being dramatic. My father was always riding hard for Sabrina. He knew our issues, and he knew how his issues had exacerbated our problems. He was in no position to tell me how to navigate our relationship, and I never let him do it.
Dad looked regretful, as if he’d just read my mind. When he spoke, his voice belied disappointment. “Your grandmother asked Sabrina to be there for a reason. Let her be a part of this process.”
“I already have.”
“And your sister is still grieving, you know. She could really use a friend.”
Now he was concerned about someone grieving? I counted to ten in my head. “I’m not good at the friend stuff.”
“Just care. Caring goes a long way.”
I nodded.
“I love you,” he said. “We’ll talk soon.”
We ended the call. I signed out of the app and gathered my things and walked outside. My phone rang in a call from Hope. I realized I hadn’t replied to the text she’d sent me. The one about therapy. Again.
After we got our greetings out of the way, I told her I was in Georgetown and why. We talked for a few more minutes before we ended the call. I walked around to the front of the restaurant and stood there staring at the building for a few minutes. Established in 1937 was etched into a plank of wood below Tabby’s Meats Sweets. My great-great-grandmother risked a lot to open this place. Jim Crow laws and all the oppression that came with them were in full effect, and they’d opened on the back end of the Great Depression. Everything was a risk then, especially a restaurant.
If they could do all they’d done, I could save it.
I walked back to my car and slipped behind the wheel. Georgetown needed to get ready for the new and improved Tabby’s, because once I was invested, there was no stopping me from succeeding.