a double latte. Returned with two, plus a
pain au chocolat
for me and a plain croissant for Fresca. She sat at the counter, recipe binder open and a note pad in front of her. She cooks on Monday and Tuesday, and her first step is always making a list of ingredients. But the pad was blank, and she stared into space. I gave her breakfast and a printout showing our inventory of her sauces and pastas, and pointed out where we were low.
âExactly what I thought, without your fancy programs and anaâwhat do you call it?â
âAnalytics.â Pretty basic, actually, but who could blame her for being in a sour mood? I didnât think Kimâs evidence amounted to much, but Fresca didnât know Chiara and I had eavesdropped on a private conversation, and she hadnât revealed the particulars, so I kept my lips zipped.
But when I told her about the appointments with the lawyers, she was firm. âNo.â
âMom, donât you think you should be prepared?â
Clearly, she did not.
I tried again. âIs there somebody youâd rather call? Someone in Pondera?â Pronounced âPon-duh-rayâ by locals. âOr Missoulaâthat guy from Chiaraâs class is a big-shot lawyer down there.â
âI donât need a lawyer. You may be manager of the Merc, but I am still your mother, and it is my life, and I said no.â
Why so stunningly vehement? Simple denial? Was she hiding something? Protecting someone?
None of that made any sense.
âGotcha, loud and clear.â I couldnât say more without admitting weâd spied on her. Still, we had time. If Kim turned up the heat, we could call the lawyers then.
When I told my boss at SavClub why I was leaving, sheâd given me her blessing, along with a warning about going into business with family. âAll your buttons will get pushed, regularly. Youâll need to set firm boundaries.â
That goes both ways. But when someone you love wonât do what youâre certain is rightâwell, sometimes you have to push back.
*Â *Â *
T racy arrived, dressed appropriately today in a long navy skirt and a cream loose-weave sweater that suited her stocky build. First task: restocking shelves. We had gaps from goods sold and gaps from goods damaged. We were low on several kinds of jam, gnocchi, and pumpkin ravioli. The fresh mozzarella was gone and, of course, the olive tapenade.
Goody, goody.
Fresca hadnât gotten very far on her list of supplies. My heart ached, seeing her dejection. But if an angel with a platinum American Express card came hunting locally sourced groceries for the clanâs family reunion, I was not going to let her walk out thinking we couldnât deliver the goods.
âIâm off to the bank,â I called, waving the zippered vinyl deposit bag. âDonât burn the place down while Iâm gone.â After the last few days, a little humor seemed in order. Alas, no one else thought so.
I strolled up Front Street past Le Panier and Chez Max. Past the Playhouse, which reminded me of the paver. At the corner, I waved at Kathy, out sweeping the Dragonflyâs sidewalk, and headed up Hill Street.
So great to be part of this little town, despite its unimaginative street names. At SavClubâlike any corporate conglomerateâI rarely got to see my plans come to life. You line them out and hand them off to other people, and go on to the next project, hoping someone tells you what worked and what didnât. Here, youâre idea person and trash pickerâI scooped up a stray plastic water bottleârolled into one. And as the Festa demonstrated, the risks might be higher, but so were the rewards.
Jewel Bay Bank and Trust had opened in 1910, the same year as Murphyâs Mercantile. It had long outgrown the original sandstone structure, but managed to keep functioning with a tasteful addition and a branch up on the highway.
While the teller checked my
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