Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE NEXT MORNING, April is in high spirits, and the stars be praised for that.
Her ongoing high school drama makes for a wonderful distraction and apparently, the Patterson party was a smashing success for her.
Once dinner ended, she and Maria hung out together, since what else was there for them to do? All the adults were busy schmoozing.
“—and you’ll never guess what she told me! It’s perfect,” she crows.
“Oh! Are you two friends now?” I ask, blithely hopeful.
“Who cares about that? I have ammo. She kept asking about Carlos. That’s what started it, remember? She made Gia ask if I was sleeping with Carlos. Well, it turns out Maria has a crush on him. Do you know how much power she’s handed me?”
“April, no—”
“I’ve basically stamped my ticket to her lunch table. I made it clear Carlos and I are just friends. Close friends. And no one’s gonna mess with me if Maria Patterson is trying to earn an invite to my house.”
“You are downright Machiavellian.”
“I’m free. That’s what I am.”
“You still have a week of detentions to serve out, Little Miss Free.”
April only shrugs.
Once the dust has settled, April turns out to be right.
The sad irony is that the girl April slapped—Gia—ends up with nothing.
Whatever increased popularity she might have hoped for by doing the Patterson girl’s dirty work goes to April, who quickly joins their circle.
Maria Patterson even shows up at the acreage a few nights later, under the pretext of helping April study for an upcoming test. They come up into the apartment, giggling madly over something that happened on the way in, only for Maria to draw to a stop as she surveys the room.
“Where’s all your stuff?”
“Right? Sid doesn’t own anything.” April grabs the girl’s hand and drags her to the bedroom we share. “C’mon. We can just sit on the bed.”
“But then we’re going downstairs for dinner, right? Everyone eats together, right?”
“Yeah. Carlos makes most of the food!”
They both burst into laughter, and I decide I don’t need to sit around listening to this. Besides, I’ve got nowhere to read with them in the room. I head downstairs.
Carlos isn’t in the kitchen yet, so I get started mincing carrots, celery and onions into a soffritto by myself.
The next steps come easily, as I render lard in a pan, then tip the vegetables in to sauté.
Next come the shrimp Wendell bought in town this morning.
Once a golden rim forms along each side, I take the aromatics and shrimp off the heat, reserving them in a bowl.
Now for the hard part. I add a little more lard, then whisk in flour, until a golden paste forms at the bottom of the pan.
Gradually, I top it off with cream and grated cheese.
From there, it’s small adjustments. Parsley, basil, oregano. A dash more salt.
Finally, it’s time to grab the pasta that I rolled out earlier in the morning and drop it into a pot of salted water.
A splash of pasta water goes into the sauce, making it glossy and fluid.
With all the components prepped, it’s nothing but assembly.
Pasta. Sauce. Shrimp. It all gets a quick mix over the heat, flavours warming and melding into each other.
By the time Carlos stumbles through the door, all that’s left to do is send him back out to gather everyone else.
James arrives first, guitar over his back. “You did that by yourself?”
“Yeah. Guess I did.”
“Well. I will gladly eat my words and that.”
“Eat your words?”
He shrugs. “Silas and I were taking bets on if you would ever stop burning things.”
I smack him hard in the arm, which only makes him laugh.
As I place the finished pasta on the table, he starts strumming the opening notes of Alice’s Restaurant.
The other guys file in, Carlos and the girls arriving last. Everyone says nice things about the meal, though I think the best compliment is the fact that Maria doesn’t mention it at all. Nor does she look secretly disgusted.
Knowing she might gossip about anything that happens at our house, I purposely sit next to Sid.
It’s been a while since the disastrous Patterson party, and though things are still awkward, we’ve made an effort to chit-chat around the acreage.
We can’t risk another situation like the day Tom caught us unprepared.
Still, Sid stiffens when I run a hand along his shoulders, tracing little circles down his back.
“What are you—”
“Maria, April. How’s the math going?” I say, smiling vaguely in their direction.
The girls give a chorus of “fine,” both far more focused on dinner and talking to Carlos, who looks very confused by whatever it is he’s been caught in.
Sid, however, has wised up. His gaze lingers on Maria for a second; then, he slings an arm around the back of my chair.
I try to ignore the thrill of his touch.
For a while, we eat in silence, letting the comradery of the others wash over us.
“This really is good,” he says, once his bowl is almost empty.
“Thanks.”
“You keep getting better. If you wanted…” He trails off, no doubt remembering how little good it does to suggest I try something new. Guilt pinches me as I wonder if he was right. Am I just afraid of everything that could make me happy?
“Town hall tomorrow,” I say, trying to keep the small talk going. “You ready?”
“Yeah. I think so. You?”
“Of course. All I’ve got to do is stare at you and tell people you’re wonderful. I can do that.”
He narrows his eyes, and I smirk. Even pissed off, he’s so endearing. The temptation to kiss him dances through me, but Maria isn’t paying us any attention, so it would be wasted effort. I’ll save it for tomorrow, when he needs a wife.
Anticipation and dread colour every bite I take of my meal.
* * *
WE DO NOT get off to a good start the next evening. I put on the same dress I wore to Bradley’s party, only with a cardigan thrown over so I look a bit more conservative. When I step out, ready to go, Sid is waiting for me, nursing a cigarette.
“Oh, come on! You know we’re going to have to kiss tonight.”
“It’s not like it has to last long,” he says, which makes me think this isn’t a stress smoke. He’s being deliberate. Fine. Great. Isn’t he considerate, making himself less appealing?
“Whatever, let’s just go.”
The meeting is in an old community hall not far from Salt Spring’s largest natural harbour. It’s a prime location for anyone who wants to visit from the other gulf islands like Galiano and Pender.
I don’t recognize anyone, which becomes even more distressing when I realize that the chairs set up on the stage are for the candidates. I’m expected to sit in the audience.
Sid moves towards the stage but my grip tightens on his hand.
His face morphs from confusion to empathy when he notices the way I’m eying the crowd.
There must be two hundred chairs set up, including a reserved spot for a newspaper stenographer.
In all our discussions about the town hall, I never considered how daunting it would be to sit alone in public, surrounded by hundreds of people.
Sid squeezes my hand sympathetically, then leads me a few rows back to where an old woman wearing a boiled wool hat is seated.
She is not who I would have picked to approach—her mouth is set in a deep frown and the bags under her eyes give a look of perpetual misery.
Her expression doesn’t improve when Sid’s shadow falls on her. If anything, the scowl intensifies.
Sid nods to her, not that it helps. “Good evening, Mrs. Buckerfield.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Sid Charles—”
“I remember.” She turns to look at the stage.
“Wonderful.” How Sid keeps smiling, I’ll never know. “Forgive me for imposing, but my wife wanted to meet you. She keeps asking who taught Carlos all those wonderful recipes, so I had to introduce you.”
“Oh! You raised Carlos?” I ask.
Her gaze snaps to me. She scans my simple outfit and unruly curls, trying to decide what a girl like me means, standing next to him. “I didn’t realize you got married, Mr. Charles,” she says at last.
“We did.” I put an arm around his waist, both to steady myself and in hopes that it makes us look like a happy couple. “I know I shouldn’t pick favourites out of the boys, but if I’ve got one, it’s Carlos. He taught me your flapjack recipe the other day. They were incredible.”
“That boy had such potential.” She sighs, and I understand why she’s been so frosty with us. It’s impossible not to love Carlos. I can’t blame her for being gutted that he picked his TNS crew over her. “How is he, then? Good to hear he’s still cooking.”
“He’s wonderful.”
“Would it be all right if Kayla sat with you? She’s been meaning to ask about your café,” says Sid.
My head whips round to him. What the hell is he doing? But I can’t make a stink about it right now. Not when the whole point of coming here tonight is to make Sid look good.
On the other hand, arguing with him in front of strangers while sexual tension simmers beneath the surface would make us look very married. But he’s already heading for the stage, so without any other option, I slide into the seat next to Mrs. Buckerfield.
“Your husband isn’t running, is he?”
“He is.”
“Hmmm.” She’s polite enough not to directly insult him in front of me. “And I suppose you’re here supporting him?”
“Of course. We’d be lucky to have him on council.”
She chuckles, eyes still fixed on the stage. “Naturally, you would think that. Not that it’s a bad thing. We all see the good in those we love. It’s very Beauty and the Beast, isn’t it?”
If anyone is beastly, it’s me. But that fairy tale ends happily and has some moral about appearances being deceiving, so I don’t argue.
This is what I’m here for. To humanize him.
I try to play my role and turn an adoring face to where he’s seated on stage.
It at least saves me the trouble of talking to Mrs. Buckerfield.