Chapter 13 #2
The kitchen went quiet as he entered. Looking around, Tomas saw smiles disappear and spines straighten at his presence.
“Relax, it’s nobody important,” the head cook called out from her position by the big stove. The tiny woman grinned as Tomas wound his way toward her, stopping next to the stool from which she could see the entire kitchen as well as parts of the dining room through the pass-through.
“Hey, Stevie.” He nudged her shoulder before peering into the large stockpot on the stove. “Mom says you’re making a new soup.”
“Hey yourself, hot stuff. Try this.” She ladled a serving into a bowl and presented it to him. At his appreciative smile, she crossed her arms and smirked. “Right? Not bad for vegan. We’re catering some dinner where they want all vegetarian and vegan. What the hell is wrong with people?”
It was a rhetorical question. Stevie Swan had been reigning over the kitchen for ten years.
A distant cousin of Carlos, she and Louisa were thick as thieves, brainstorming new recipes in their downtime, unafraid to stray from the traditional path.
Tomas often wondered what role his stepfather played in the business other than as a peacemaker.
It was loud when Stevie and Louisa disagreed, but it generally didn’t last long.
Pulling a bandanna from an apron pocket, Stevie swiped it across her forehead. Another bandanna held back spiked gray hair. Unlike Louisa, who was always stylish, Stevie never wore makeup, cut her own hair, and lived in baggy jeans and Converse high-top sneakers.
Tomas finished the bowl of soup during Stevie’s diatribe, then held it out for more. “I’ll take another for me and a bowl for Mom.”
Filling the two bowls and handing them to him, Stevie said, “Go. Eat. Your mother doesn’t see you enough.”
Accepting the scolding with grace, Tomas joined Louisa in the dining room. He ate the second bowl more slowly while his mother fired questions at him. He explained about the delay and the job for old man Gardiner, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“You’ve always hated looking incompetent.”
Tomas grunted.
“Ernest Gardiner owned the auto shop over on Woodbine. Remember the place?”
Tomas nodded. Woodbine Automotive was the place to buy parts for cars built before computers were installed.
If they didn’t have it, they knew where to get it, whether salvaged from a junkyard or ordered from an obscure source across the country.
Carlos bought most of his parts there for the custom low-riders that were his passion and lucrative side business.
“Ernest stopped working on cars when his rheumatoid arthritis got too bad. Then he broke a hip last year and can’t drive. He’s probably unhappy to lose his independence. It must kill him to have others do the work around his home.”
Watching his mother deftly wrap cutlery in paper napkins, Tomas listened as she went on, thinking about the gnarled knuckles and how hard it must be to hold a tool.
“His kids aren’t interested in taking over the shop and it’s up for sale.”
“Is Carlos going to buy it?” he asked.
“Hopefully.” Lousia wagged her head back and forth. “Stevie has the kitchen under control. I handle the front of the house, and the food truck is doing well. Carlos doesn’t have to be so hands-on anymore, he’s getting restless.”
That wasn’t news to Tomas. His stepfather wasn’t lazy and was at his best when he had a project to complete.
“Do you want to take some food back to Ernest?”
“Nah. He was expecting a lunch delivery.”
Louisa waved away his answer. “Bring him some tamales. If he doesn’t eat them today, he can have them tomorrow.”
Tomas grinned. His mother thought food was always the answer. “I’ll do that.” Kissing Louisa on the cheek again, he stopped in the kitchen before heading out to his truck, feeling much better for the food.
He returned to the Gardiner house carrying two bags.
Ernest stood in the doorway. “It’s about time,” he said, eyeing the bags. “You planning to eat your lunch here? I ain’t paying you for that.”
Tomas rolled his eyes, placing the bag of food on the walker. He withdrew the hardware from the other, which he placed on the stairs and a small power drill. “Here. The food is from my mother, Louisa Santiago. She says hi.”
Ernest sniffed appreciatively. “Good. That lunch was crap.” He tipped his chin at the drill. “What’s that for?”
“These were sent to KBS by a tool company that wants us to be a test market. To see if people are interested in buying them. The box was broken on this one, and we can’t sell it. Thought you could use it.” Other than the color, it was an exact replica of the one he gave Fiona.
Ernest closed the front door and leaned against it for support before releasing the walker and picking up the tool.
The handle fit snugly in one hand, and he raised the drill to examine the buttons.
They were large and bright, and the lettering was easy to read.
Ernest pressed the power button, and the drill came to life with a whine.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with it?”
Waving at the banisters lying on the floor, Tomas said, “This will go faster with another set of hands. Can you sit on the stairs and install the lower hardware while I do the ones at the top?” He was lying through his teeth.
By himself he’d be able to have both banisters installed in less than half an hour.
A gleam entered the old man’s eye, but he snuffed it quickly before glaring at Tomas. “Fine. If it gets you out of my house faster. Take the food to the fridge while I get settled.”
Picking up the bag of food, Tomas complied. When he returned from the kitchen, the old man was seated on the stairs, powering the drill on and off, a look of glee on his face. Tomas ignored it. Instead, he stepped around the old man to carry the banisters, hardware, and his own drill up the stairs.
Having spent his life around cars, Ernest was no stranger to tools. But he required a little instruction. An hour later, the job was done. Tomas bent over his toolbox, placing the extra hardware and his drill inside.
“Here.”
He twisted to look up. Ernest thrust the drill out at him.
Tomas waved it away as he stood. “You keep it. Ali was gonna toss it, anyway.”
The old man didn’t protest. A small smile quirked up his lips, and he stood a little taller as he shuffled to the front door. Shouldering past him, Tomas started for his truck when Ernest cleared his throat.
“There’s a bunch of floorboards on this porch that need nailing down. This drill will come in mighty handy. I think I’ll get to it after I have a nap.”
The two men exchanged silent nods before Tomas walked off. He stowed his toolbox in the truck bed and climbed into the cab. On the passenger seat lay the open box of the power drill, the receipt tucked inside. Even with his employee discount, it hadn’t been cheap.
He considered the differences between working with the students in Keeney Builds and working with the old man.
Unlike the younger people, Ernest Gardiner didn’t think Tomas was a contracting god, hanging on his every word.
But the experience was satisfying. He still didn’t want to work with individual customers, but he’d been given a lot to think about.