Chapter Three
Chapter Three
T he sun peeked through the curtains around six the next morning. She blinked several times, remembering she was back in her former bedroom. Mr. Meowzer was already sitting on the windowsill, watching the birds swoop down on the feeder below.
“Good morning, baby-boo. Did you have a good night’s sleep?”
The cat turned his head toward her as if to say, Yes, and where is my breakfast?
Natalie patted the bed. “Come here, you little furball.”
He was no dummy, and immediately obliged. She gave him a few noogies, slipped out of bed, and filled his bowl with crunchy dry food. “Here you go.” Mr. Meowzer rubbed against both of her legs before he began to eat his morning meal.
Natalie listened for any movement in the rest of the house. All quiet. She decided to go downstairs and fix a pot of coffee. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said as she secured the door behind her.
The sun was shining brightly into the kitchen. It warmed Natalie physically and emotionally. A fleeting thought about moving back home permanently ran through her head. She could work from anywhere. She no longer had a half-baked boyfriend. Her friends were sparse and made it clear they were his friends in the breakup. But then she considered she may be having a knee-jerk reaction. It’s easy to do when what you thought was your world got tilted on its side. Perhaps this was a good time to go with the flow. At least for the next couple of weeks. There was no rush to make any decisions. Her big challenge would be to avoid the bumblebee guy.
After the coffee finished brewing, she filled a mug and took it outside. The bird feeder was far enough from the outdoor table and chairs so as not to interrupt the bird’s morning and evening feeding times. The yard was meticulously landscaped with a variety of vegetation, rocks, and flowers. To the side of the house was her mother’s vegetable garden, lined with an assortment of fruit trees. There were strawberry plants, plums, blackberries, and figs. She wondered what her mother’s next special pie would be for the fair. Sally Simmons could not be expected to bake the same blue-ribbon pie two years in a row. That would never do. Each year it had to be something different.
About an hour later, both her parents made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Nothing like the aroma of freshly brewed coffee,” her father called out to Natalie. “Thanks, sweetie.”
“My pleasure,” she responded, as she got up and went inside. “I was checking out your garden, Mom. What kind of pie are you going to create this season?”
“Funny you should ask. I was thinking about making a plum cake instead of pie. My grandmother Matilda used to make a delicious cake with fresh plums, a hint of cinnamon, and a yummy streusel topping, but I don’t have the recipe.” Sally sighed. “I’m hoping I can recreate it from memory, but I think I just have to experiment until I get it right.”
“You can certainly experiment on me,” Robert said cheerfully.
“Count me in!” Natalie echoed, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.
“The plums aren’t ripe enough yet, at least not mine.”
“I’ll check out the market next Saturday and see if anyone has some,” Natalie volunteered. She took a sip of her coffee and offered, “Shall I make breakfast?”
“That would be swell,” her father replied.
“Oh, honey, you don’t have to go to any trouble,” her mother said.
“No trouble. French toast? Pancakes? Bacon and eggs?”
“Ooh. All of the above?” Her father chuckled.
“You have to pick one,” Sally scolded. “Just because Natalie is here doesn’t mean you can get all flooey with your diet.”
“There’s that word again,” Robert said, cackling.
Natalie went into the pantry to see what was available. Then she remembered she was in her mother’s house—everything was available. She spotted a loaf of challah bread. Perfect for French toast. And there was that jar of honey with the bumblebee winking at her. She shook her head and turned the jar around so the bee could wink at the wall. She quickly grabbed the bread and returned to the kitchen. “I vote for French toast.” She held up the bag of bread, then set it on the counter. Her mother pulled out a carton of eggs, milk, and cinnamon.
“Nat, can you grab the honey?” her father asked.
Ugh! Honey. “Sure. No problem.” She went back into the pantry, lifted the jar, and stuck out her tongue. “Don’t you wink at me, Mr. Bumble.”
“What did you say?” her mother called from the kitchen.
“Nothing, Mom. Just muttering to myself.” She held the jar of honey as if it were hazardous material. “Okay, now everyone out of the way.” She shooed her mother and father. “I am the captain of this ship right now. Go sit outside. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Natalie, you don’t have to . . .”
“Mom, please. I want to do this, so take Mr. Bionic Hip to the porch. It’s a beautiful day.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Sally grinned. She turned to her husband and said, “Come on, dear. You heard her.” Sally resisted the temptation to help her husband out of his chair. The more he moved around, the quicker he would heal, provided he didn’t overexert himself, which was not about to happen over the twenty feet he had to finesse. Sally opened the door as Robert shuffled his walker over the threshold.
Natalie turned on the radio and moved to the beat of “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This),” by the Eurythmics. The next song was by Marvin Gaye, from 1981. It dawned on her that both songs were recorded before she was born, yet she knew all the lyrics. Contemporary music just couldn’t compete. For someone who collaborated with musicians, she could not think of one song recorded in the last year that stuck with her. None of them were memorable. The radio station continued to play ’80s music, songs you could sing along with, or dance to, or both. She wondered how many of the contemporary hits would have longevity. Time would tell, but that wasn’t her concern. That, too, gave her pause. Was she selling out by taking on work she really didn’t believe in? She twisted her mouth in thought. Nah. Just trying to make a living. She decided to do some homework when she got back to Jacksonville. Check on the contemporary artists she actually liked.
As she flipped the first batch of French toast, it occurred to her she was having more than one revelation. She smiled as she moved on to the next slices of the egg-battered bread. When everything was done, she plated the aromatic bread on a platter, sprinkled a little powdered sugar, and garnished it with sliced strawberries. She stepped back and admired her culinary talent. Another thing for her epiphany list: Cook more .
Natalie carried the breakfast fixings on a tray, purposely leaving Mr. Bee on the counter. “That looks delicious,” her father beamed. “I had no idea you were an ace in the kitchen.”
“I’m full of surprises,” Natalie said and smiled, although she wasn’t sure what kind.
They were halfway through their meal when someone finally noticed the missing nectar.
“Honey, can you get the honey?” her mother asked.
Natalie couldn’t help but laugh, and her parents joined in with her.
Natalie retrieved the jar from the kitchen counter and handed it to her mother.
“You know, I never told you about my brief encounter with the bee guy.”
“I thought you said you almost ran into each other?” her mother asked curiously.
“That’s the point. The jerk pulled in front of me while I was trying to park, completely blocking the space, left his truck running for almost ten minutes.”
“You waited?” her mother asked casually.
“Well, yes. I was expecting an apology, but nooo. He was so rude.”
“So, what happened when he got back?” her father asked as he wiped powdered sugar off his chin.
“That’s just it! Nothing!”
“Did you say anything to him?” her mother asked.
“Yeah. I said, ‘Where’d you get your license? A Cracker Jack box?’ ”
Her father let out a guffaw. “That’s my girl.”
“Oh, but he just grinned, winked, and gave me a little salute. Ugh!”
“Sounds rather harmless,” her father noted, still grinning.
“I suppose.” Natalie shrugged. “His only saving grace is that he has a beautiful dog, Mr. Bumbles.”
“Don’t sell him short. He’s doing something important with his apiary.”
“Whatever.” Natalie plunged her fork into a chunk of the sugary carbs in front of her. She had to admit, she made an impressive French toast.
When everyone had their fill, Natalie began to clear the table. “Honey, you don’t have to do that,” her mother said, rising.
“Mom, can you please let me feel useful?” she pleaded, tilting her head. “Please?”
“Of course, dear. But you’re our guest.”
Natalie frowned. “I don’t want to be treated like a guest. I want to be treated like, like I live here. I mean, I used to live here.”
“Oh, dear, this will always be your home, and you are welcome to stay as long as you want,” her father said, as he placed his hand on her platter-filled arm.
“Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it.” Natalie piled the dishes on the counter and called back outside, “I’m going to check on Mr. Meowzer and get ready to go to the food pantry.”
“I think you can let your cat out when you get back. Your father and I are planning on going for a drive this afternoon.”
“I don’t want to go stir crazy,” her father added.
“You can go out, but we’re going to keep you on a tight leash this week.” Natalie chuckled and winked at her mother. “Oh, by the way, I was thinking about cooking dinner next Saturday when I get back from the farmers market.”
“What did you have in mind?” her mother asked.
“I thought I’d cook something Italian. Maybe make a primavera pasta. There are a lot of great-looking veggies at the market.”
“When did you become Julie Child?” her father teased.
“It’s Julia, Dad. And she was known for her French cooking, not Italian. I want to make pasta. I found a simple recipe by Giada De Laurentiis.”
“You are going to spoil us,” her mother said as she brought the remaining plates inside.
“Is that a problem?” Natalie raised her eyebrows in mocked skepticism.
Her mother chuckled. “Not for me, honey.”
Now if Natalie could only get her parents to stop calling her that. “Then it’s settled. Mr. Giambelli is supposed to be back this week. I’ll grab some of his Parmigiano Reggiano, and a loaf of bread. He may have fresh pasta, too.”
“You are going to make us fat if you keep this up,” her father teased, as he dragged his walker through the door.
“It’s healthy, Dad. Fresh food. You’ve heard of it, correct?” she said over her shoulder as she began to climb the stairs.
“Yes, your mother keeps reminding me every time I mention Chick-fil-A.”
Natalie went into her room and found Mr. Meowzer sitting on the windowsill, enjoying the comings and goings of the birds.
“Good thing you can’t get out there. I’m sure you’d make quite a ruckus.”
Natalie could have sworn he winked at her. “Oh, don’t you start doing that, too.”
She gave him a few rubs behind his ears. “Are you enjoying your vacation so far?”
He nudged his head against her arm.
“I know you’re used to me being around twenty-four-seven, but you seem to be doing okay.” She picked him up and set him on her lap. “I am going out to work at the food pantry, but when I come back, we are going to take a tour of the house. Would you like that?” He nudged her arm again. She wondered if he was content in his little hideaway. It was a comfortable space. Big windows. His feathered friends to watch. Food. Water. Bathroom. He had his own hotel suite.
Natalie went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and make herself presentable. But for whom? “You never know,” she said to her reflection in the mirror.
The weather was going to be sunny and hot, so she decided on a sleeveless tank, cargo pants, and a straw porkpie hat. She slathered herself with sunblock, tucked her hair behind her ears, and let it fall to her collarbone. She added some blush and pale lipstick as a final addition. Today she was only half a tomboy. She gave her fur baby a hug. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she promised, and then headed down the stairs.
“Well don’t you look bright and perky,” her father noted.
“And yet, no dress,” she said, and grinned.
“Enjoy the day, sweetheart,” her mother said, as she finished making sandwiches for her and Robert’s outing.
“Going any place special?” Natalie asked, as she plucked her keys from the console in the entry hall.
“We have to mind the terrain, so we’re going to a park where they have a concrete path and picnic tables.”
“Be careful out there . . .” Natalie gave each of them a peck on the cheek.
“Don’t let any bees get in your bonnet today,” her father teased.
Natalie rolled her eyes and headed toward the food pantry a few miles away.
The work was gratifying, and she met a ton of new people from the town. The bee man was notably absent, and Natalie was glad for it. The more she could avoid running into him, the better.