A Second Helping (2 page)

She glanced over at Crystal, who was fast asleep in a seat across the aisle. Crys could be a handful. Having been a ward of the state since the age of seven, it was a wonder she wasn't more so. In the world of social work, Crystal Chambers was a survivor. Tough on the outside, gentle as a newborn kitten on the inside. In spite of the horrid blond extensions she insisted
on wearing, she'd stolen Bernadine's heart. The two of them had been family almost nine months now, and Bernadine couldn't imagine life without her hip-hop princess.

In a seat behind Crystal, Lily Fontaine was asleep too. Divorced in her early twenties, she was now a forty-something single mom of a son who'd recently graduated from college. Lily had grown up in Henry Adams, but had lived most of her adult life in Atlanta. Last summer she'd come back to town for her godmother's birthday and wound up being hired by Bernadine to help with the Henry Adams revitalization, becoming a foster parent to eight-year-old Devon Watkins, and finding love again with her old sweetheart, the town's mayor, Trent July. Bernadine loved Lily Fontaine like a sister and couldn't imagine life without her either.

Thinking about home made Bernadine wonder how things had gone in the week they'd been away on vacation. She hoped the new cook, Florene Maxwell, was getting along okay at the Dog and Cow. In its heyday, the town's diner had been a hub of the community. Now that it had been razed and rebuilt, Bernadine wanted it to reclaim its place and she wanted it to be run well. Thoughts of the diner inevitably led to its owner, devilishly handsome Malachi July. There was a definite attraction between her and Malachi, but she was choosing not to go there for myriad reasons, mostly because her ex-husband, Leo, had broken her heart and she was not in the mood to have it happen again, but Malachi was as tempting as a hot fudge sundae.

Turning her thoughts away from Malachi, she wondered about the town's other foster children and their parents. They'd all taken off for spring vacation too, and were due to
return over the next couple days, undoubtedly filled with tales of all the fun they'd had. Maybe not thirteen-year-old Preston Mays, though. He and his foster parents, Barrett and Sheila Payne, had flown to Florida to a reunion of Barrett's old marine regiment. She hoped Preston had a chance to see something besides uniformed men and women saluting each other all day.

“We've been given clearance to land, Ms. Brown.” The lyrical Jamaican voice coming through the jet's speakers and interrupting her musings belonged to the pilot, Katie Skye.

“Okay, babe,” Bernadine replied. “Take us down.”

The voices roused Lily and Crystal from their sleep and they looked over at Bernadine with smiles. Moments later they were on the ground.

It was midnight when Nathan, the driver of the hired Town Car, turned into their small subdivision. The street-lights acted as beacons in the cold April darkness, softly illuminating the sub's five houses and the last of the winter's snow.

“So glad to be home,” Lily said, stretching her tired arms and shoulders as the car stopped in front of her house.

“Me too,” Crystal added, yawning. “But it's cold.” Hugging herself and shivering, she whined playfully, “I want to go back to Spain, Ms. Bernadine.”

“Tell me about it,” Bernadine replied. When they walked out of the airport, the cold air had been like a slap in the face. Since the end of March folks around town kept assuring her that spring was on the way, but she didn't believe them.

“Cold or not, I'm still glad to be home,” Lily said. “Can't wait to see my Devon tomorrow.”

“What time are they due in?” Bernadine asked as the driver got out and went around to the trunk to unload Lily's luggage.

“Roni said around noon.” Roni was Grammy Award–winning singer Veronica Moore Garland. She and her husband, Reggie, had taken their foster daughter, Zoey, and Lily's Devon to New York for the vacation week.

The driver carried Lily's suitcases to the porch, then returned to open the car's door so she could step out.

Once she did, she leaned back in to ask, “Are we working tomorrow?”

Bernadine drew back from the cold air swirling into the car's warm interior. “I am, but you go ahead and take the day off if you want.”

“Okay, but Crystal, don't let her leave the house in the morning unless she gets a full night's sleep. You hear?”

Crys grinned. “Yes, ma'am.”

Lily looked her boss in the eyes. “I know you, Bernadine Brown.”

“Just close the door before you freeze us to death,” Bernadine scolded with a laugh. “I'll see you later.”

Lily waved and hurried up the steps. After sticking her key in the door, she waved once more before disappearing inside. As she closed the door behind her and turned on a lamp, the cordless phone in the living room rang. The illuminated number on the caller ID was a familiar one and caused her to smile. She picked up and asked, “What are you doing up so late?”

Trent replied softly, “Waiting for you. Saw your light. Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” Feeling like a teenager, she dropped onto the couch. “How are you?”

“Better now that I know you're back.”

“That is such an old line, but it's working.”

“Good.”

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

For a moment there was silence. Basking in the deep feelings they had for each other, no words were necessary.

“You must be tired,” he told her, “so I won't keep you. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Thanks for checking on me.”

“Always. Get some sleep and I'll see you later.”

“Night, Trenton,” she whispered.

“Night, Lily Flower.”

Lily held the phone against her heart and sighed like a woman in love. After replacing the phone in its cradle, she turned off the lamp and floated upstairs to her bedroom.

 

Next door, Bernadine climbed the steps to the porch and found a small yellow sticky note pressed to the door. Shivering in the cold, she pulled it free. Once she and Crys were inside, she dropped her purse in a chair and read the note. The wording made her shake her head.

“What's it say?” Crystal asked.

“‘First thing. Fire the cook.'”

“Huh? Who's it from?”

“Amari.”

Crystal rolled her eyes as only a teenage girl can. “No telling what that means. Boy's crazy.”

Bernadine wouldn't call him crazy, but Amari did have a way about him that was uniquely his own. While she wondered if this meant something catastrophic had occurred between him and Florene, Crys declared, “Me, I'm going to my room. I'll see you when I get up.”

She walked halfway to the staircase, then stopped and looked back. “Thanks for taking me to Spain, Ms. Bernadine. I'll never forget it.”

The sincerity in her eyes and voice filled Bernadine's heart. “You're welcome, Crys. Sleep tight.”

After her departure, Bernadine set the note down. As the silence echoed gently, she looked around at the familiar space that was her home. There was a sense of peace here; a sense of place that seemed to welcome her spirit and reaffirm that this was where she was supposed to be. It felt good to be back. At the moment, she was way too tired to investigate whatever Amari's note meant, and besides, he and Trent were probably asleep, so she turned out the lamps and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. His cryptic request would have to wait until the sun came up.

 

Leo Brown was tired too—tired of knocking around in his Bel Air mansion all alone. His latest, and soon to be ex-wife, number three, had stormed out a week ago, taking with her her parrots, her dogs, and the new Lexus he'd given her last fall, in hopes the fully pimped-out ride would entice her away from the pool boy she'd met in Boca Raton. Leo was fifty-seven years old, and had a potbellied, out-of-shape body to prove it. At his age, he couldn't hope to compete with the tanned and buffed
Stefan, or whatever the hell his name was. The Stefans of the world didn't need little blue pills to get it up either; they had youth on their side. James Brown once sang, “If it's all night, it's all right,” but Leo hadn't been able to pull an all-nighter for over a decade now, and he was finding middle age very depressing.

The divorce from his first wife, Bernadine, should have gelded him financially, but her hotshot lawyers hadn't found all his income. There'd been more than enough millions hidden away to pamper wife number two, and after she left him, wife number three. Now, with the economy tight, and divorce number three staring him in the face, his money was in need of its own little blue pills.

Bernadine's pretty brown face floated across his mind's eye. Truthfully, messing around on her had been the dumbest thing he'd ever done, but back then, all he could think about was the excitement of it. Cheating on his marriage had made him feel more alive than he had in years, and now…? Unlike the wives who followed her, Bernadine had loved him for himself, not his money, and he'd rewarded her by being unfaithful. He still remembered the day she walked into his office and found him bumping his secretary on the desk. The hurt reflected in her eyes was as clear to him now as it had been then. She'd looked devastated, shattered. He'd thrown away a good woman for a silly, weave-wearing tramp with fake nails and a tight body, who willingly accommodated his lust anytime, anywhere. At the time, he'd thought himself in heaven until he learned he wasn't the only man she was accommodating. Then heaven turned into hell.

So here he sat, getting ready to be served with divorce papers once again, and if the truth be told, he didn't really care. Since the day Bernadine divorced him, his life had been in the toilet. He'd heard she'd bought herself a town, of all things, and wondered how she was doing with that, but the real question was: If he begged her hard enough, would she take him back?

B
ernadine's alarm usually went off at 6:00 a.m. Rising early was a necessity with all the things she had to do every day, but this morning, she'd slept in until eight and it felt so good, she vowed to sleep in more often. Of course, she had no intentions of following through on that but liked thinking about it.

Downstairs, she put the coffeemaker to work and pulled open the door of the stainless steel fridge, then remembered she had emptied the interior before taking off for Barcelona, but to her surprise and delight, it had been refilled. Tamar probably. Grabbing a carton of eggs, she thought,
Yet another bonus of small-town living.
Where else but in a place like Henry Adams would your neighbors restock your fridge in anticipation of your return from vacation? Certainly not in any big city she'd ever lived in, and she'd lived in them all over the world.

She cracked eggs for omelets, put the carton back, and wondered if Crystal was still asleep. Just as she began
debating whether to go upstairs and check, her BlackBerry went off. She picked it up. Looking at the familiar number made her shake her head with muted amusement. “Morning, Malachi.”

“Welcome home. Did you enjoy Barcelona?”

She tried to tell herself that hearing his low-toned chocolate voice didn't do things to her, but she was lying. “I did, but it's good to be back. What's up with you?”

“Want to talk to you about the Dog. Lots of complaints.”

“About what?”

“Florene, the new cook.”

She sighed. “Amari left me a note about her.”

“What's it say?”

“‘First thing. Fire the cook.'”

Malachi's laugh filled her ear. “That's my boy.”

“When do you want to get together?”

“Bit early to be asking me loaded questions, don't you think?” he tossed back in a humor-laden voice.

His flirting put heat in her cheeks. “I'm talking about the cook at the Dog and Cow.”

“Pity,” he replied softly. “But how about we get together anyway. I'm outside on your porch. Brought you breakfast.”

Surprised, she walked to the front door and opened it. There he stood, holding a plate wrapped in foil, and her heart pounded like she was seventeen.

He inclined his head. “Your breakfast, ma'am.” His dark eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and temptation.

“Thank you.” Taking the warm plate from his hand, she discreetly drew in a calming breath and stepped back so he could enter.

In the kitchen, he took a seat at the counter while she undid the foil and fought hard not to be affected by his silent scrutiny, but upon seeing three whole green beans sprinkled with almonds, balanced on what appeared to be risotto, nestled against four baby carrots, she turned to him and asked with confusion, “This is breakfast?”

“Welcome to the new culinary delights being served at the D&C.”

She stared.

“We hired a bad imitation of Julia Child and the paying customers are ready to throw her into a pot of boiling grits.”

Bernadine got herself a fork and dipped in. She took a few bites. “The green beans aren't bad. Risotto is great.”

“But who eats green beans and almonds for breakfast?” he asked pointedly.

“You have a point. This is good, though.”

He sighed.

“Okay, but I wouldn't mind having this for dinner.”

He eyed her critically.

“I wouldn't,” she told him as she tasted another small bite. “The girl can cook.”

But she could tell Malachi wasn't buying when he said, “Tell that to the people who wanted pancakes and waffles Saturday morning and were served some kind of spinach instead.”

“Spinach?” she asked dubiously.

“At least it looked like spinach. Nobody's real sure what it was.”

“Did you ask her?”

“Yep. Told me if I had to ask, maybe I should sell the
place to somebody who did know. Almost fired her on the spot, but decided to see if you could get through to her. She also told folks that if they didn't like what was on the menu, to eat someplace else, because it was her kitchen.”

“Really?”

“If I'm lying, I'm flying.”

“Okay, we'll talk to her. I was just cracking some eggs. You want an omelet?”

“As long as it's made out of something I can pronounce.”

Grinning, she went back to the fridge to get more eggs.

 

Like everyone else on the plains, Bernadine drove a pickup truck. A blue Ford F–150 she named Baby. Being a truck owner wasn't something she'd ever envisioned, but becoming a resident of Henry Adams had altered her thinking on a number of things. Take the lifestyle, for example. She was finding she enjoyed the slow life. The lack of pace encouraged a person to breathe and relax. Slowing down appeared to be helping her health as well. The checkup she'd had at her doctor's office before flying to Barcelona showed her blood pressure had dropped. All the walking she'd been doing with Lily on the rec center's outdoor track had decreased her sugar levels as well, which according to the doc made her less likely to contract the diabetes that killed her mother. Another blessing of small-town living: good health.

But what wasn't good for her health were what passed for roads in the rural community. She held on tightly to the steering wheel in response to all the potholes. The early spring's changeable weather made the dirt and gravel track freeze one minute and thaw the next, leaving behind
a muddy, crater-filled mess. As she bumped along behind Malachi driving ahead of her in his '57 red Ford pickup, she gave thanks for the inventor of seat belts and prayed her teeth wouldn't rattle loose before they reached the D&C.

As they entered town proper the ride leveled off, and she sighed gratefully as they turned onto Main Street. She slowed as she drove past the new recreation center. It was a state-of-the-art, sand-colored beauty built low to the ground because they lived in Tornado Alley. It housed a movie theater, kitchen, exercise facilities, and rooms for groups to meet. She spotted a few familiar cars and dusty pickups in the lot. Pleased that things at the center seemed normal at least, she drove on.

Next up, and on the same side of the street, sat the new school. Schools gave small towns a sense of community, but Henry Adams hadn't had one in decades, so this one was going to be very special. It hadn't been named yet, but she hoped it would be in time for next Monday's grand opening and the arrival of the newly hired teacher, a man named Jack James.

They rolled past the old Henry Adams Hotel that had once been a town gem, and pulled into the newly paved parking lot of the D&C. Last summer when Bernadine got her first look at the diner, it had been a listing, tarp-covered dive. Its red leather booths had been patched with silver duct tape, the ceiling had holes, and only a few of the bare bulbs hanging from the rafters worked. Now it was new again and the interior had a sleek retro design. Its custom-made jukebox, refurbished red booths, and dark wood dining counter gave the place style again. The kitchen was top-of-the-line, chef-
certified, and the diner had its own router, thus allowing the D&C to function as a wi-fi café as well.

Because it had once served as the hub of the community, everyone wanted it to become that again, but it wouldn't happen if folks had issues with the new chef and the chef with them. Oh, to be back in Barcelona with its warm weather and no problems, she thought wistfully. Bringing her mind back to the present, she focused on the empty interior of the D&C. It was Monday, ten in the morning. The place should have been bustling with locals and the workers from the town's various construction sites, but there wasn't a soul inside. She didn't even see the waitstaff.

“Where's everybody?”

Mal shrugged. “Probably taking her suggestion to eat somewhere else.”

“That's not going to work.”

“No kidding.” She and Malachi also envisioned the diner as a profit-making establishment, but that wouldn't happen either if they couldn't put fannies in the booths. Although Malachi was the owner, she was the one paying the freight, including the salaries of the help until the place could pay for itself. With that in mind, she headed for the kitchen, hoping they could talk some sense into Florene so she wouldn't have to be replaced.

Florene was seated on a tall stool at one of the counters, writing on a pad. She was dressed in chef whites. Her light brown face appeared younger than her nineteen years and she had her auburn-tinted hair pulled back in a tail that she'd twisted into a bun. At their entrance she glanced up and set the pen aside.

“Welcome back, Ms. Brown. Did you have a good time in Spain?”

“I did. How are you?”

“I'd be better if the people around here wanted to eat something besides grits and pork chops,” she declared, and glared at Malachi.

Bernadine ignored the bad attitude, for the moment. “I hear there's been a few bumps.”

“Not from me. It's him and the rest of these country-time folk.”

“Why are you serving green beans for breakfast?” Bernadine asked pleasantly.

“It's novel. Anybody can cook eggs. I want to be known as adventurous, eclectic—a chef that doesn't follow the trends.”

“And there's nothing wrong with that,” Bernadine explained as gently as she could. “But this is a diner in Kansas, Florene, not a bistro in L.A.”

“So I should waste my skills?”

Bernadine sighed. Lord knew she didn't want to break the young woman's spirit. “Honey, there will be a time and a place for you and your skills. Right now you're in a community college culinary program and we need you to prepare what your diners want to eat. I don't mind you introducing new dishes. In fact, I'm encouraging you to do so. But on a Saturday morning, folks here want waffles, pancakes, and eggs.”

“Then they want another chef.”

Bernadine studied her for a moment. “Then you're quitting?”

“No. I want to be allowed to run
my
kitchen as I see fit.”

“Then you're quitting,” Mal said. “I'll send an e-mail to
your professor. You're a good cook and I'll tell her that, but you can't be hardheaded and work for me.”

“But—”

“When you get
your
kitchen you can deal the deck,” he added pointedly. “I'll put your last check in the mail. Thank you for your service to Henry Adams, Florene.”

“You can't just fire me!”

But Bernadine wasn't about to spend the morning listening to a child whose opinion of herself was off the charts, so she said to Malachi, “Will you see to it that Florene gets all of her personal belongings?”

“Yep. Make sure she hands over my keys too,” he added.

“Good.” And with that said, Bernadine made her exit and added
Help find a new cook
to her mental list of things to do.

 

The locals called the short, squat, fire-red building where Bernadine worked the Power Plant. Although it had nothing to do with physical power like electricity or wind, it had everything to do with the fact that her office was housed inside. She was the town's engine, the conduit. Nothing happened in town she didn't have a hand in, and because she was the owner with the money to back it up, very few people stood in her way.

She pulled open the heavy metal door and went inside. Shaking off the shivers left by the cold April morning, she walked down the silent hall toward her office. Sunlight poured through the glass atrium roof overhead and through the sparkling clear windows that were partially submerged below ground. The light filled her path to her office and the
large leaves of the healthy green plants lining the way.

Much of the flat-topped, circular building was underground. The design made the facility green and would hopefully keep it from becoming a tornado snack.

The mayor's office was across the hall from her own. It had been almost finished when she left for Barcelona. She wondered if the work had been completed. Walking over, she stuck her master key into the lock and stepped inside.

The carpet was covered by a tarp and there were large, shrink-wrapped boxes stacked throughout the expansive, white-walled suite. When Bernadine first came to Henry Adams, she hadn't known a wall-bearing beam from a sump pump, but now, after a year of rubbing elbows with contractors and the like, she viewed the interior with knowledgeable eyes. Wall plates for the electrical plugs were on. The covers for the air and heat ducts were in place as well. She took note of small details like the caulking on the windows, and that there were knobs on the doors. She hit a light switch. On came the recessed lighting above her head and a ceiling fan. Turning them off, she looked around the space again. Unless there was a problem she couldn't see, the place looked ready to be occupied.

On the other hand, Bernadine's suite of offices had been the first one completed. The stylishly furnished outer office, done in the earth colors she preferred, held chairs and a few loveseats to accommodate folks waiting to see her. The inner sanctum was where she worked.

Entering it now, she took one look at the mountain of mail covering her desk and wanted to call Katie Skye, have her refuel the jet and fly her back to Barcelona. She couldn't
believe how much mail there was. She was still eyeing the pile when her BlackBerry sounded. It was Lily.

“How much mail do you have?” Lily asked.

“Enough to start my own country.”

Lily laughed softly. “You want me to come in and help?”

“No. One of us should get to enjoy the day. You wait for Devon and I'll get this mess sorted out.”

“You sure? You're making me feel guilty.”

“Good, then my work is done.”

They both laughed, and Bernadine said, “I'll see you later. Let me know when everyone gets home.”

“Okay. I—”

“Did you fire her?”