Chapter 8
TOM
Tom stood at the register with the cash book open and tried to make the day’s takings line up properly while every nerve in his body was distracted by the warm domestic sounds coming from the kitchen behind him.
The soft hiss of bacon meeting hot iron.
The gentle click of the gas burner. The small clatter of a wooden spoon against the side of a pan.
The swoosh of Lila moving from the cold room to the counter to the stove and back again, the small, efficient choreography of a woman who knew her way around a kitchen the way she knew her own breathing.
Tom had stood in this bakery at this hour on every working day for the last five years, missing that sound.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as memories of similar nights with Eleanor swamped him.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds as the loneliness, pain, and grief of the last five years hit him hard.
Tom took a few moments to steady himself, taking some long, deep breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose as he pushed it all away.
Concentrate, Tom. After a few more seconds, and getting his emotions under control, he bent his head over the cash book and forced his eyes to focus on the columns.
The day’s takings had been good. He counted the small piles of bills, ticked the figures into the book in the tidy hand he had learned from his own father, sealed the takings in the small cloth zip bag, and slid the bag into the floor safe beneath the counter.
He turned the dial twice and rose slowly to his feet.
Tom’s back complained. His knees complained. His very tall, seventy-five-year-old body had spent the day on hospital chairs and the floor of a back staircase and was not pleased about either.
Tom crossed to the front sink and washed his hands.
The framed wedding photograph above the sink caught the warm yellow light from the small overhead lamp.
It was Eleanor on the day they had relaunched the bakery after a major revamp.
Tom slowly dried his hands on the small linen towel hanging beside the sink and looked at the photograph for a long moment.
Eleanor’s eyes met his out of the picture, soft and steady. Tom set the towel down and ran his fingers over the photo. “I still miss you so much, my love,” he whispered before turning away from the photograph and going through to the kitchen.
Lila had set the small staff table by the back window with two plates.
There were two thick slices of toasted sourdough on each, a generous heap of crisp bacon, two soft scrambled eggs apiece, and a few slices of the early summer tomato Tom had bought fresh from the farm stand.
A small white teapot sat between the plates with two mugs ready beside it, the steam rising in slow, soft curls from the spout.
Tom stopped in the doorway.
“Lila, this looks wonderful,” Tom said quietly.
“Sit down, Tom.” Lila pulled out the chair on her side of the table. “Eat while it’s hot.”
Tom sat. Lila poured the tea. Tom looked at the plate in front of him and realized he was hungrier than he had let himself know all day.
For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke.
The food was simple and good. The bacon had been cooked exactly the way Tom liked it, crisp at the edges and just yielding through the middle.
The eggs had small, soft folds, cooked low and slow with butter.
The tomato was sweet from the early summer warmth.
The tea was strong and hot, and Tom realized after his second swallow that his hands had stopped trembling for the first time since Rosa’s phone call that morning.
“You’re very thorough at the close-up, Lila.
” Tom set his mug down carefully. “I’ve been meaning to say so for a long time.
Every morning when I come in, everything is exactly where it needs to be.
The ovens are ready. The pie shells have rested.
The shopping list is current. Nothing has ever gone sideways since you started. I should have told you sooner.”
Lila looked up from her plate, and a small, soft smile lifted the corner of her mouth.
“Thank you, Tom,” Lila said. “I know how much everything being in place and ready means in this business.”
They ate. The kitchen light cast its warm yellow circle across the table and the two of them inside it. The bakery beyond the kitchen was hushed and dim. Outside the back window, the soft lavender of dusk had deepened to a warmer blue.
“How did Linda seem?” Lila asked, breaking the silence. “Is she going to buy another house in Miami?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Tom told her. “I’m actually hoping she decides to move back here for good.
” He took a sip of tea, set the cup down, and picked up his knife and fork again.
“It makes sense.” He stopped and shook his head.
“She doesn’t know I know about what her ex-husband did to her.
She is just like George in that way. Hates having to ask for help. ”
“Or like you,” Lila pointed out, her eyes meeting his. “Tom, sorry, I don’t mean to be forward. But in the six months I’ve been here, I’ve noticed that you are just like that too.”
He looked at her for a minute, thinking about that, and then laughed.
“You’re right.” He sighed and shook his head.
“I guess we’re all guilty of that.” He looked pointedly at her but didn’t push and moved the conversation back to Linda.
“I’m trying to figure out a way to gently nudge her to realize she already has a home that she doesn’t have to pay anything for.
So she can keep what’s left of her savings, and I know that George would love for her to take over the running of the hotel. ”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Lila agreed. “I know that you, George, and Maggie have been really concerned for her all alone in Miami.”
“She has her son and his family,” Tom said.
“But they also have their own lives, which still leaves her pretty much on her own.” He finished his food.
“Michael, too. He’s been thinking of retiring soon.
” He broke some of the bread. “He could start a small law firm here and help Linda with the hotel.”
“He’s been alone since his wife passed away, I think you told me,” Lila said.
“Yes,” Tom said. “Linda and I have given him all the support we can.” He sat back in his seat, thinking about his stepson. “But if you think George and Linda are stubborn…” He blew out a breath. “Michael is ten times that.”
Lila gave a soft laugh. “Well, you said he’s coming here in a week or so.” She picked up her teacup. “Who knows, maybe this is all fate’s plan.”
“Maybe,” Tom agreed. “At least then some good will come out of this horrible day.” He turned the teacup in the saucer. “George is going to need a lot of help now. There is a long road ahead for him.”
“And George is not going to like that one little bit,” Lila warned. “He loves his independence.”
“Yeah!” Tom’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “That man does not like being still for too long. He’s always been that way.”
“That’s why he’s in such good shape at eighty-five,” Lila pointed out. “I can only hope that if I get to his age, I’m that fit and capable.”
“Don’t we all,” Tom nodded, stretching out his long legs. “I’ve always hoped that George would find someone to love again. I hate seeing him without a companion.”
“Has he ever married?” Lila asked.
“Yes,” Tom said with a nod. “George was married for about ten years. Then the marriage ended. Anna moved away, and George never remarried.”
“That’s such a shame,” Lila said, finishing her tea. “Did they have kids?”
“No,” Tom answered. “He treated Linda’s kids as his own and doted on them. Now he dotes on their children.”
“Just like you do,” Lila observed. “Didn’t you ever want kids of your own?”
“I had two wonderful kids from Eleanor,” Tom told her.
“I didn’t need any more.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her and realized she now knew a lot about him.
“And you, Lila. What about you? All I know is that your husband passed away two years ago.” He gave her a warm smile.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bring that up. ”
“No, it’s okay,” Lila told him and took a breath. Her eyes clouded over. “Kenny had been sick for a long time before he passed away. It’s like I had already made peace with losing him before he took his last breath.”
“I’m so sorry, Lila.” Tom’s voice dropped, and his heart ached for her. “Your pain is still fresh, and I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“My pain started when Kenny was diagnosed with vascular dementia after a series of strokes. He’d had his first major stroke ten years before he passed.
He recovered well from that one, and even from the second one three years later.
But after that, his memory started becoming glitchy.
In the years that followed, he had several mini-strokes until the doctors finally diagnosed vascular dementia. ”
Her eyes misted, and her voice became gruff with emotion. “From the day of his first stroke, the doctors warned us. After that, Kenny became obsessed with getting his life in order. It’s like we lived every day as if it was our last once he had recovered.”
“Still, it doesn’t matter how much you think you’re prepared for it,” Tom said. “When it happens, you realize just how unprepared you are.”