Chapter 17 Mariah
I entered my grandfather’s room at the rehab center. Grandpa’s broad, gapped smile sparked joy in my soul. He looked so much better than he had a few days ago.
“Grandpa,” I sang his name as I walked to his bed.
A rumbling laugh rolled out of his throat. “Mariah, my favorite granddaughter.”
I leaned in for a hug, and Grandpa gave me one with all the strength he had. “You say that to all your granddaughters,” I said, sitting.
“Oona de only ones of dem I see. So you and Beanie be me favorites.”
Beanie was his nickname for Sabrina. He didn’t have one for me, but I didn’t mind. I liked my name as it was. My mother named me after her favorite singer, so that was special to me too.
“You look good, Grandpa.”
“I’m ready to get out of here. I think your grandmother is tired of me. She won’t tell those folks to let me go.”
I chuckled. “You need to behave, sir.”
“I want to see what you’re doing to the restaurant. Your grandmother told me you won’t let her see.”
“We want to surprise her—both of you. Besides, you know how Grandma is. She’ll pick through everything, not knowing that sometimes things don’t look the way you want them to look until it’s all pulled together.”
He grunted. “Well, I trust ya not to turn it into something too trendy.”
“It will continue to have elements of classic Gullah style and culture.” I stood and walked across the room, stopping at the windows and observing his view of a small grassy patio area.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by much. I’ve been trying to get some things in place. It’s been a lot of work getting your books together.” I wasn’t being honest. The truth was I hated to see my grandfather in this weakened state. The thought that I could lose someone else was terrifying. It gripped me and kept me away from hospitals. Watching Vince’s mother in her last days was difficult, and we weren’t even that close. Seeing my grandfather in a weakened state was hard.
Grandpa had always worn his mortality as tightly as he wore his own skin. He was one of those people who stayed busy. It was ridiculous to think he’d live forever, but his father lived to be ninety-seven, so Grandpa should have another twenty-six years in him.
“I’m more cook than manager.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “And definitely not an accountant. Back taxes are the number one thing that takes small family businesses out.” If he had been well, I would seriously expect him to explain how they’d skipped paying taxes for two years.
Grandpa coughed, but it was more embarrassment than anything. He said, “Your grandmother and me... we have some money put up fa de tax. We can pay... I mean me no know what we owe, but oona can tell me, and we can see wa we can do.”
I walked to the edge of his bed. Resting my hands on the metal footboard, I said, “Let’s wait. I expect to get a lump sum from my divorce.”
“That’s oona money for the future,” Grandpa said. I heard the pride in his voice. He didn’t want to take money from me. “How you be with the Vince situation?”
“Waiting. In this state you have to be separated for a year before you can get a divorce. We have seven more months to go.”
“All of who yo da is not who ya be with Vince.”
I nodded but struggled with the idea that my marriage didn’t define me. My career had been tied up in Clark’s from the beginning, but I didn’t argue with him. “Yes, sir.”
“I teach oona young. Change is like cookin’. Te way te meat look from te start is not te way it look in te middle or at te finish. Heat fix it, you know. “
I walked over and gave him another hug. “What if I burn, Grandpa?”
“Oona na burn. Oona know to move from te flame.”
A knock sounded on the door. I walked to it and pulled it open. One of the medical staff sailed in. “I’m here to take you to therapy, Mr. Holland.” He greeted me and reached into Grandpa’s closet for a robe.
I kissed Grandpa on the forehead. “I’ll see you later,” I said.
He took my hand and put it to his lips. “Go be me best gal.”
I blew him a kiss and left the room.
***
Dante called in a favor with a friend to get a last-minute slot for his truck at the annual Georgetown County Fair food court. My initial excitement about it turned to regret because it was so last minute. I hadn’t had time to process the fact that we were doing a soft launch.
I woke with anxiety churning in my gut. I didn’t do anything at the last minute. What if today was a bust? Hours later when Dante’s food truck arrived on the grounds, I was still asking that question.
Dante’s truck was a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors with graphic designs and murals painted on its sides. The artwork was bold and intricate, with cheerful decals and humorous bumper stickers on the back. The graffiti-style lettering was eye-catching, and the whole truck was alive with energy that matched Dante’s. In no time, he had the truck set up.
The buzz of the engine, the condensation coming off the compressor, water dripping underneath, and steam from the vent were all welcome on this Saturday. The banners we’d expedited at the printer hung on the front and sides and read: Tabby’s Meats Sweets featuring Chef Dante.
Music played from the food truck’s speakers, intermingling with the rhythm of Dante’s movements as he manned a stove, a grill, and a fryer. Outside, the sound of the other food trucks created a melody of people chatting above their own music. Sizzling noises came from all the kitchens.
My fears were alleviated early because the weather was beautiful. Customers queued up everywhere to order food, while the cooks and their helpers busily prepared the dishes. The traffic was great. By noon we had a line. A local TV news reporter stopped to interview Dante right in front of our banners, giving Tabby’s publicity.
I reached into the cooler and pulled out more plastic-wrapped cake slices to put on the tray in the window.
Dante looked over his shoulder at me and asked, “Where’s Sabrina?”
We’d been there since nine thirty, opening to serve at eleven, and my sister had not appeared. “She texted me this morning and told me she had something to do.”
Dante frowned. “For real?”
“Sabrina changes her mind.” I opened my phone and read a second text she’d sent a few hours ago. Call me if it gets busy and you need me. I’m not far.
Dante’s frown deepened. “She was excited to sell her jar cakes.”
“Well, that wasn’t happening.” I reached into one of the coolers and removed slices of the cakes for our dessert display. “I told her we had a cake vendor.”
Dante turned all the way around, giving me his full attention. “A cake vendor? Why would you get your desserts from someone else when she bakes?”
“My grandparents have been using this baker for years.”
“But this,” he said, pointing his spatula at the tray of slices I was organizing, “is boring. Half the trucks out here have cake like this.”
“And they go with the food just fine.”
He hiked an eyebrow. “Not with my food.” Then he grunted. “Always go for the different and unique, Mariah. You know that.”
“I’ll figure out something unique for next time. You don’t know Sabrina. I can’t count on her.”
“I had a feeling your relationship was complicated, but sometimes people need a purpose to make them move. She’d be here if she could sell the cakes.”
“Well, isn’t that just about her and what she wants? This is our first paid event, and she’s not helping.”
“I don’t need her help, and apparently you don’t either.” Dante’s phone rang, and he tapped the button and took his call through the Bluetooth headset he wore around his neck.
More customers walked up, and I took their orders, but his words and his disappointment hung between us for longer than I would have liked.
I hadn’t known Dante long, but I cared about his opinion. He was the opposite of my husband’s family. They made me fight through every suggestion, and for every change I made at Clark’s. Even after I’d long proven that my ideas worked, they continued to protest. Dante wasn’t like that. Sure, he wasn’t in charge, but I could tell he respected my knowledge and experience.
My phone pinged an alert. I kept it under the counter. I looked down at it. I could see the notification from the online Hendley newspaper with the intro to a story. The title: Hendley’s Own Vince Taylor Hosts…
I removed my glove and tapped it open to read the rest of the title... Cooking Show on ABC Upstate Daily TV. I read the article, skimming it at first, but then reread it to absorb the reality. Vince had stolen my show.
My heart dropped into my stomach, low. Pain lingered there while I recovered from the blow. I looked out. Everyone waiting around the truck had already had their orders taken.
“I’ll be outside for a minute.” I exited the truck and walked around back where neither he nor our customers could see me.
They were continuing the show without me. How? Vince wasn’t a cook. I was doing a show about soups and stews.
I didn’t realize I was crying until a woman stopped in front of me and handed me a wad of tissue.
“Are you okay, honey?”
She had sweet, kind eyes. Kind of like Grandma’s.
I wiped my face. “I will be.”
She smiled. “I like the way you said that. I believe you will.”
“Mariah, you got enough air?” Dante’s voice bellowed out of the door.
I wiped my eyes one more time and reentered the truck, pushing my feelings down into that compartment in my belly where I always placed them until I could process them.
“Sorry,” I said, my voice cracking.
I took orders from the customers who were waiting and clipped them on the clothesline we were using for sales slips.
Dante stole a peek over his shoulder at me. “You all right?”
“I’m good. What can I do to help with the food?” I washed my hands and waited for him to answer. He was looking through me like my “I’m good” wasn’t working for him.
“I could use some onions sliced,” he said.
I slid past him, glad to have them to cut. It would explain the tears I had to fight to mask.
It was almost two o’ clock when Sabrina showed up. She was with some woman I’d never seen.
“Wow,” the woman said, smiling. “This is a great turnout.”
Sabrina introduced her friend as Tameka Avery. “Tameka rents a booth at the Choppe Farmers Market. We met in the craft store the other day, and she offered to let me share her space this week.”
“I didn’t have much inventory,” Tameka added. “Plus, it was nice to have the company.”
I fought hard to stop my eyes from rolling. My sister had apparently found a new hippie friend. “I didn’t know you were going to the farmers market.”
“I just decided this morning,” Sabrina said. “I baked all those cakes, and I didn’t want them to just sit.”
“You could have told me,” I said through gritted teeth.
“I’m sure I wasn’t missed,” Sabrina replied.
I looked back at Dante who was ignoring the conversation in favor of chatting through his Bluetooth earpiece neck thingy.
“What do you sell?” I asked Tameka.
“I make jams and jellies. Chowchow.”
“It’s so delicious,” Sabrina added.
I cocked an eyebrow at my sister.
“Sabrina had a great sales day. Most of her cakes sold out.” Tameka turned to Sabrina. “How many jars did you sell?”
“Thirty-four,” Sabrina said, cutting her eyes away from me.
Thirty-four. In one morning? At a farmers market? I couldn’t believe it. A sting of resentment settled around my heart. I didn’t know why that bothered me so much.
Tameka looked at my cake tray and said to Sabrina, “The little jars would fit nicely at events like this.”
Once again, my uninventive and un-unique dessert display was dissed. “Now that you’re here, I’m going to run to the restroom right quick.” I pulled my apron over my head and flew down the steps and away from the truck.
So Sabrina had cake allies. Of course Dante was on her side, but now she had a new little friend. I wasn’t going to count on her for anything that would affect this business because no one knew better than I did how quickly she might change her plans.
When I returned from the restroom, Tameka was gone. Sabrina was standing inside, in my spot, and as I got closer, I could see three small jars of cake on the counter. I stepped in and took them down, white-hot anger fueling my movements. “I told you no.”
Sabrina propped her fists on her hips. “Mariah, this isn’t just your—”
I sliced into her protest. The success of Tabby’s would rest with me. “Grandma trusts me with this. Not you.”
“She trusts both of us.”
“Let’s step out so we can talk.”
Sabrina looked at Dante like she wanted him to save her. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and continued to cook. Once she was out the door, Sabrina said, “Grandma asked me to come help with the restaurant the same way she asked you.”
“Do you really think she asked us in the same way?” I shook my head. “Look at today. You showed up when most of the work is done.”
“You didn’t want me here anyway.”
“Which is it, Sabrina? Are you here for Grandma or yourself?”
She didn’t reply. I could see her eyes getting wet from the temper of tears, but I continued. “Our insurance doesn’t cover your willy-nilly food creations. It’s over nearly ninety degrees out here. Those jars should be in a cool space. If someone gets sick, it hurts the whole business, and you... you walk away to your next project while Tabby’s is ruined.”
“I would never hurt the business,” Sabrina said firmly.
“There are health and safety standards.”
“Oh, so I suppose you checked all Dante’s recipes and processes against your standards.”
I rolled my eyes. “Girl, please. Dante is already a brand. He has his own reputation to protect.”
Sabrina threw up her hands. “But I have to start somewhere.”
“Not here. Not today.”
I walked around the front of the truck and put her jars back into her cooler.
I was expecting her to leave, but Sabrina stayed. The atmosphere in the truck was somber.
I offered, “I don’t think all three of us can fit in here cleaning, so if you need to get Kenni, Dante and I can manage.”
“They have an in-house carnival at the daycare, so I’m in no rush to get Kenni. Why don’t you go? You started early. I can finish up.”
Dante coughed uncomfortably. “I need one of you to choose. I’ve had it with the vibe in here.”
Sabrina propped a hand on her hip again. I could see she was thinking about digging in her heels, but then I gave her the death stare, and she snatched off her gloves and tossed them in the garbage. She turned to Dante. “Thanks for trying to help me out.”
He nodded, and she turned and left, rolling her little cake cooler behind her.
Dante continued to spray and wipe the grill. “I’ve got this, Mariah. I’m used to breaking down my truck.”
I was emitting the vibe he didn’t want to be around. “I’m sorry for the cake drama.”
“You created it,” he said without looking at me.
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re right.” Dante gave me his full attention. “I don’t, and I don’t have to. I want to help your grandparents—”
“And we need you,” I said, feeling panic. He couldn’t quit on me.
“I like you and your sister, but I don’t do drama, Mariah. Don’t make me walk away.” He turned his back, and the conversation was over.
I peeled off my gloves too. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I was talking to his back. He didn’t accept my apology; he just kept working. I opened the refrigerator and took out the container I’d packed for Grandma and left the truck.
My phone rang. It was Hope. I had no doubt Hope knew about the show. That’s why she was calling.
“How was the food truck?” she asked after we greeted each other.
“Great. Fantastic. I’m leaving now.” I slipped into my car and placed the bag of food on the seat next to me. “I saw about Vince.” I figured I’d go ahead and get it out there so she didn’t have to feel me out.
“I figured you might have. Are you okay?”
“I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to really think about it, but I’m...” My emotions burst through. A tear flew from my eyes. I suppose the dam holding back my feelings broke. On a hitched sob, I said, “How am I here, Hope? What did I do so wrong to deserve this?”
“Honey, I don’t know.”
“I just... is it me? I’m never happy. Nothing is ever good enough for me.”
Hope was silent. She knew my story. All of it.
“Vince can’t even cook. How’s he going to do the show?”
Hope was quiet. Way too quiet for my liking. She had bad news. “Hope?”
“His girlfriend is a chef. She’s going to do the cooking with him.”
“He’s dating a chef? Is it someone I know?”
Hope sighed. “She cooked for you guys three years ago. Jess Daley.”
Vince was such trash. “She’s a kid. She can’t be more than twenty-two.”
“It’s her.”
I nodded. “I fired her. She told me it was what she needed to get her motivated to apply to culinary school. Now she has my husband and my diner and my TV show. Great.” I should scream, but I wouldn’t let myself.
Hope said, “Don’t focus on her. She’ll get what’s coming to her soon enough, and so will Vince.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve so seen life play out that way. People reaping what they’ve sown. I don’t care what the Bible says. That’s not how life works. What did I sow to deserve this?”
“I don’t know. All I know is God is still good. He has good things for you, but you can’t let this make you so bitter that you never get what God has planned.”
“Are you about to tell me to forgive him? I know that’s not where you’re going.”
“No,” Hope said firmly, although I know she wished she could, because as a counselor in her church’s mental health ministry, she believed that forgiving people was the answer to every conflict in her life. “I’m telling you, don’t let it make your heart hard.”
I nodded. “I need to get out of this parking lot. We’ll talk later.” I ended the call and dropped my phone on the seat next to me.
I wrapped my hands around the steering wheel and leaned forward, pressing my forehead into the wheel, holding on to it as if it were a life raft while the tears burst through again. I saw Sabrina’s cakes in my mind, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and strawberries wafted through my memory.
“You have to trim back the cake so you have a perfect square to work with.”
I saw my mother’s hands slicing the top and sides of the cake, pushing the parts aside that she wasn’t going to use. The baked hard parts she called them. Caramelized is the technical term I knew now.
“Can I have the scraps, Mama?”
I always asked for them when she got finished shaving the cake. I could taste the pieces of cake mixed in with my salty tears. I wiped my eyes.
“All I have now is scraps, Mama,” I cried, reaching into my bag for a tissue.
A knock on the window startled me. I looked out to see Dante, turned the key, and let the window down.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I’m good.” How I got that lie out I didn’t know.
“I’m sorry I was hard on you a little bit ago.”
I shook my head. “You were right, but these tears...” I blew my nose and wiped it. “This has nothing to do with you.” I rolled my lip in and bit it. The image of those jars came back to me. The taste of the cake was barely out of my mouth and memory. I shook my head. “I’m going through a divorce.”
Dante nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you? I didn’t tell you. I haven’t told anyone but my grandparents and my best friend.”
“Sabrina?”
I didn’t respond, just answered with my eyes.
“You should,” he said.
“She has her own problems.”
Dante ground out the words. “And one of her problems is your attitude.”
I rolled my head back. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged. “Maybe she’ll be more... I don’t know... understanding if she knows you’re going through something.”
I released a long breath, a cleansing one that blew away my frustration with Dante’s advice. “Like I said, I’m sorry for the drama.”
Dante stood to his full height. “You have a bank bag full of cash. Go home.” He rapped his knuckles on the roof of the car twice and walked back to his truck.
I turned on the engine and pulled out of the lot. Dante was good people, and I needed him. I was going to have to figure out how not to let my emotions get the better of me again or I’d lose him too.