The Secret Letters (17 page)

“Star loved that fake turkey stuff,” Pam said. “Did you see how much she ate?”

“That baby's going to be 500 pounds of pure vegan,” I said. I was cleaning my new copper pot with lemon juice and salt the way its directions said to do before using it, making sure not to scratch it.

“The real turkey was spectacular,” Milo said. He was washing the dishes and Pam was drying them. The dishwasher had finally conked out and we hadn't bought a new one yet.

“Yeah, it turned out pretty good,” I admitted.

“It was
incredible
,” Pam said.

“Yeah?”

“Even Tim liked it.” Milo handed Pam a plate.

“He's such an asshole. Thank God you're buying him out,” Pam said to Milo.

I set my pot carefully on the Formica counter and stared at her. “He's what?”

She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh shit. We were going to tell you. We were just waiting for the right time.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. Done deal. Tim said yes.”

“Wow.” I tried to wrap my mind around this information. “But Milo, why would you do that? This house is worthless.”

“I think it will be a good investment.” He smiled a twinkly smile.

“I get it,” I said. I did get it. And I was okay with it.

Maybe he would have elaborated, but Julia Fallingwater came in carrying a platter flecked with the last pink dregs of ham. She hadn't said much since the brouhaha
at the dinner table. She handed me the platter and said, “Julie, I need to get going. Thanks so much for everything. It meant a lot to me. I loved being around your family.”

“Ha. That makes one of us.”

“I know, hon. Families are like that. But for me it was really special, being around the people she loved, who loved her.” In a breezier tone, she said, “Well, I better hit the road.”

As I walked her to the front door, I said, “I'm so sorry about all the drama.”

“I'm the one who should apologize. I shouldn't have said anything. I just couldn't stand to hear anyone talk like that about her. ”

“I understand.” I didn't, really.

She gave me a hug, and we promised to keep in touch, but I had a feeling we wouldn't. As I stared at the empty space where her car had been, I wondered what my mother would think if she could see her old lover driving away from our house. Would she be glad we had finally met? Mom had lived and died without ever telling anyone about Julia, but she had named me after her. She had kept her letters like she just couldn't let go of her. That sure looked like real love to me. But then again, what did I know about love? Nothing.

When I got back to the kitchen, Pam was wiping down the stove while Milo swept the floor. I picked up a dishrag and cleaned things that were already clean. Then we sat at the kitchen table drinking some of Star's raspberry leaf pregnancy tea.

Milo and Pam raised their cups. “To Julie.”

“Stop it,” I said.

“Seriously, Jools, dinner was wonderful.
You
are wonderful,” Pam said.

“Am not. Shut up.”

“You know, back in high school, no one would have predicted you'd be a chef,” she pressed on as if I hadn't spoken.

I pictured myself in high school, sitting around on my fat ass watching reruns of
The Brady Bunch
. “Yeah, it didn't say that in the yearbook.”

She drained her tea, then poured some red wine into her and Milo's cups. “How did you learn to cook like that?” she continued.

“I don't know. From Mom, I guess?”

“Mom was a great cook, but you're in a whole different league.”

“Julie, seriously, don't you think you should consider opening another restaurant?” Milo asked. His voice was gentle, like he was trying not to scare away a baby bird. “You have the insurance money, and you own the property. You could build another building.”

I opened my mouth to say no fucking way, I could never put myself through that again, no matter how much he and Pam hounded me, but found myself saying, “You never know.” It might not have been the answer they wanted, but it was the best I could do for now.

After everyone had gone to bed, I went to my room. I set my new pot back on the dresser, lay back on the bed, and stared at it. It was large and round and beautiful like a big copper UFO. “Beam me up,” I said to the pot. I stared at it until I started getting sleepy, and maybe I fell asleep then, I don't know, but suddenly the pot seemed to change, and shadowy figures started moving around on the side. I sat up in bed so I could see better. It was golden and filmy, like a cloudy crystal ball, but I could make out some of the shapes. It was all of us together somewhere, but I couldn't tell where: Pam and Milo with their arms around each other, Ricky and Star and their cute baby, Norma and her kids, maybe even Tim and Alex, and we were smiling and clinking our glasses, and on the table in front of us were plates and plates full of beautiful food, like a banquet in a dream world. Everyone was laughing, everyone seemed happy, and suddenly I was filled with happiness, too, and Ricky was walking and his face had
healed, and the baby really did have dreadlocks. It was so real I could have reached out my hand and grabbed a colorful plate with sauces swirled in patterns, and edible flowers, and everything cooked to perfection with all the flavors I had loved in my restaurant, of Asia and the southwest, the taste of that one moment when the food comes up perfect on the plate, like a painting.

Then the vision dissolved. In real life, I didn't know what would happen next, but instead of scaring me, it felt good not to know. Maybe Norma would change her mind and insist on putting our house back on the market. Maybe Pam and Milo would get married in Las Vegas by an Elvis impersonator. Maybe Ricky really would get better, and he and Star would buy a van and drive to California, or Bermuda, the way they had always talked about. Maybe I would open another restaurant in town, or on the moon. All I knew was that somehow, I didn't know where or when, I would cook again because that was what I loved, and for now, we were in our house, sharing it happily with our ghosts, and the creek ran under us on its way to the Chesapeake Bay.

A number of people contributed to the shaping of this book. I'd like to thank the burn unit at Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center for giving me a guided tour and medical information, and the Ellicott City Fire Department for talking to me about fires. I'd like to thank the people who read earlier drafts of the novel and offered invaluable advice: Molly Friedrich, Jenny Bent, Rachel Carpenter, Jody Jaffe, Len Kruger, Vickie Baily, Barbara Bass, Andie DiMarco, Gila Lewis, Christina Van Norman, Beth Baldwin, and especially, Gina Schuchman, whose insightful comments while we were riding the bus at Disney World were a game-changer. I want to thank the people who live across the street from me, whose houses I stare at from my porch, imagining what goes on there. I want to thank Gary Kissick for telling me about HarperCollins Australia Impulse, and I want to thank my wonderful editors there, Rochelle Fernandez and Anna Valdinger, as well as Vanessa Williams and Stephanie Smith. And most of all, I want to thank my family members for living every day what “family” means.

ABBY BARDI
is the author of
The Book of Fred
(Atria 2001). She
grew up in Chicago, went to college in California, then spent a decade teaching
English in Japan and England. Currently, she teaches at a college in Maryland and
lives in historic Ellicott City with her husband and dog.

Impulse

An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers

First published in Australia in 2015

by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited

ABN 36 009 913 517

harpercollins.com.au

Copyright © Abby Bardi 2015

The right of Abby Bardi to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

HarperCollins
Publishers

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street, Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

A 53, Sector 57, Noida, UP, India

1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF, United Kingdom

2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M4W 1A8, Canada

195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007, USA

ISBN 9 781 460 705 858 (ePub)

Cover design by Michelle Payne, HarperCollins Design Studio

Images by
shutterstock.com