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“Who is Liam?”
“Umm, what do you mean, Sam?”
“Oh, please stop it. Don’t, what do you mean me, Carla Keady. I’m your oldest friend and the longest-standing relationship you’ve ever had. If there’s a love interest on your horizon, I deserve to know all the sordid details.”
“There isn’t anything to it.”
“So, who is Liam then? You didn’t shut up about him in your sleep last night.”
“I think you need to move into the spare room from now on, babe. It seems grieving over Paul only lasted a few days.”
We’d both showered and I was dressing for work while Sam sat at my apartment breakfast bar, sipping a cappuccino while contemplating my somewhat direct comment that was designed to throw her off Liam’s scent.
Her resurgence was miraculous. I knew the emotional wounds incurred by Paul’s departure from her life weren’t healed, but they were definitely eased and more than I’d thought possible.
“Has Venice helped you recover a little, Sam?”
“Yes, but also your genuine and loving friends. I haven’t felt that kind of warmth around me for years.”
“I agree, it’s been quite a surprise for me too.”
“Do you mind if I help at the cafe again, Carla?”
“Of course not. Why even ask me?”
“Because this is your gig babe. I don’t want to intrude.”
I shuffled over to where Sam sat at our small breakfast bar, turning so she could help tie off my chef's apron. I was on butchery first thing and didn’t want my whites caked in dried blood, and me stinking like a corpse by noon.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Sam.”
“Sorry. Anyway, about Liam. Will you share or are you keeping on deflecting and distracting?”
I regarded her carefully. I didn’t want to say much because there wasn’t anything going on. The fact Liam was visiting did excite me a bit because his insistence on seeing me was the sort of chasing by a potential suitor I enjoyed.
“He’s just a guy that I met on the flight coming over here. He’s a widower who liked my sandwich. We talked, and now he wants to meet up for a couple of days.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s studying philosophy, mostly. Other than that, I really don’t know him at all.”
“Shall I make myself scarce at night, then?”
Her cheeky grin caught me midway through hunting down my Crocs. When I found the left foot, it was a perfect missile, striking Sam on her shoulder. When I stood up straight and leveled a serious look at my best friend, I realized it might be wise to reveal something or she wouldn’t stop sleuthing.
“I want the next man I sleep with to be my last Sam. This guy is nice, but I don’t know him at all and have no feelings.”
“Seriously? You’re looking to settle down?”
“Yeah. I want Bella Trattoria to work out for me. For you too if you want that, but I really want to avoid any more failed relationships.”
I paused while she examined me, scanning for any facial tell or body language that might suggest there was more to pursue. I moved on, collected my knife roll, a recipe book, and made for the apartment door and my discreet escape.
Sam stepped in between me and the door with both hands planted on her waist. I halted, then nodded, as though mentally ticking off my day while figuring out how to dodge an inquisition.
“There’s more. You’re hiding something, Keady.”
“Umm, no. That reminds me, Sam. I must text Dave. Bye, sweetie.”
I dodged, ducked, and went for it, but she wasn’t letting anything drop.
“What’s the rush? Why are you messaging Dave? Hang on, don’t just leave. No fucking kiss, then?”
I spun around banged to rights and almost free, but I knew missing our ritual goodbye kiss on her cheek would not go unpunished by a cold silence later.
“I’ll explain everything later over a coffee. Shall I come over to the cafe when I get a break?”
“I’ll see you then, Carla, but we aren’t done yet.”
I kissed her on the cheek and hugged my friend, suddenly dreading what I might walk into at the Trattoria.
Downstairs, our kitchen was silent, spotlessly clean, and looking like the perfect culinary engine that I knew it to be. There is something enigmatic about a manic workplace when it’s enjoying the relaxed calm before a storm. It’s difficult to picture what came before and what might pass next when standing amid sparkling stainless steel, beautifully sculpted dough hooks, exacting conical chinois, perfectly honed blades, and pristine ceramic floor tiles.
I imagined the sights, sounds, smells, and passions that flooded our kitchen each day, realizing I’d become part of that rolling story. The people at Bella Trattoria were special and for some imprecise reason, they believed I was too.
My heart rate surged when I thought about the perfectly coordinated response that met each order as Bella shouted its instruction. Luca caught her words out of the air, whispering the few that our chefs had missed in the melee, calming them with his solid presence.
Luca had impressed me enormously. He floated around the kitchen like an eagle soaring silently above its territory. Our head chef never scolded and always encouraged using a generous smile, or nod and a few kind words, helping and teaching those who struggled.
I daydreamed, imagining how perfect my life could be if Bella Trattoria became a permanence in my life. My plan was to find Dad’s path in this great city and follow him, probably going home eventually and back to a restaurant in New York having learned plenty along the way.
The sound of men chuckling outside hauled me out of a pleasant dream. I reluctantly pulled myself away from the scenes of the last few days that had imprinted permanently on me.
My phone buzzed and I checked the message. It was too early for home and I guessed correctly when a name flashed up on my screen.
Hi Carla. See you in two days.
Yes Liam, Good morning. I’m looking forward to it.
I can’t wait either. I have nothing but good thoughts about you.
Liam’s enthusiasm for me felt uplifting. I reflected on our short time together and the possibilities for a moment until the chuckling outside grew louder warranting further investigation.
Who is that?
I stepped outside and saw my teenage colleagues from the prep station. Angelo and Sebastien lurked, sitting atop a low wall beside the canal that serviced our Trattoria and the local neighborhood. It was large enough for gondolas, and most water taxis with light traffic, which made it cleaner than most.
When they saw me, both young men hopped off the wall and approached me, smiling and with hands outstretched.
“Ciao Chef.”
“Ciao guys.”
The teenagers always waited for Luca or my permission to enter our kitchen. The head chef preferred that less experienced staff be accompanied by one of our station heads and since prep didn’t have one, I was theirs.
Luca also insisted they were inspected every morning for their turnout, something they both seemed to enjoy, seizing the moment to impress.
“Did you starch?”
“Yes, chef.”
“Did you remember what I said about the checks on your trousers?”
“The bigger the square, the bigger the asshole, chef.”
“You know it’s just a joke, right?”
“Yes chef, of course. It’s your joke about the last head chef you worked for in New York.”
“And what’s his name? Do you remember?”
“Asshole, chef.”
“That’s right. Now tell me, what’s amusing you two?”
“You’re so funny, Chef. We’re just joking around waiting for our shift.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Are you about done?”
“Yes, chef!”
I couldn’t fault the manner in which Luca trained his brigade. The two young men snapped to attention and were fully focused on me while I inspected them. Once their impeccable turnout was confirmed, I led them both into the kitchen.
“We have fifteen minutes before shift, and I have a project for you guys.”
“Oh, wow.”
I set a tatty blue hardback book with curled-up corners on the table. I’d inserted several colorful tabs inside it to bookmark matters of interest to me. Inside were recipes that Mama had curated. Magazine clippings, beautifully hand-written notes with old instant photographs, slightly jaded by the sun were stuffed inside using paper clips.
I snapped off the thick elastic band that secured everything, letting it roll along my wrist for safekeeping, and opened the book at a special marker. The guys each leaned both elbows on the stainless steel table, pouring over a recipe, seeming excited.
“We’re making something special, chef?”
“Yes.”
“You’re teaching us?”
“If you want me to.”
“Definitely. Yes please, chef.”
“It’s one of Bella’s mother's recipes. You can see what the dish should look like by the old photographs.”
“Beetroot?”
“Yes, with vodka and some herbs, too. You’ll have to ask one of the fish traders to get you a perfect half side of salmon though, then trim the head, tail, and thin belly parts.”
“They ship them in from Scotland, chef.”
“You’ll need a couple of days to gather everything together, so memorize the recipe. There’s a special day coming soon and I’d like you to present this dish for that occasion.”
“Beetroot cured salmon. It says to use vodka or gin, chef. Which shall we use?”
“I want you to make both versions. I’ll give you the money because this isn’t for our customers.”
“The recipe says to cure in the fridge for forty-eight hours, clean off, and use another day to rest afterward. It doesn’t seem difficult, chef.”
“In theory, it isn’t, but if you mess the salt/sugar mix or use too much alcohol, leave it too long in the cure or use too much juniper, boom… It’s destroyed. Curing is all about patience and timing.”
“Okay, chef. You can rely on us.”
“I know.”
Angelo used his phone to snap a photograph of the notes and Mama’s photograph of the dish, handing the recipe book back to me afterward.
I passed them two hundred euros and smiled. I was happy because it felt good to invest something of myself and Mama in them.
The day passed by quickly. I spent my break with Sam at the cafe, avoiding any contact with Bella and Luca who were like two fiery dragons of myth and legend circling the skies, each breathing fire but never meeting.
Sam was less inclined to probe my personal life while we enjoyed a cappuccino together, and that settled me. Her main point of discussion was around the coffee-roasting perfectionist she’d met a few hours ago.
Honestly, I phased out, deeply troubled by Luca’s awful news. When I left, Sam didn’t appear to notice my distracted state and I escaped unscathed.
The kitchen felt tense and I was certain Luca and Bella’s friction rubbed off on everyone. During a quick leg and back stretch break outside the Trattoria back door, the formidable Trattoria owner finally tracked me down.
“What’s going on?”
“Sorry Bella, I don’t understand.”
“You… him. You’re both avoiding me. Why?”
“There’s nothing going on between us.”
“I know that sweetie but there is something going on. I can tell because I’m not fucking stupid so don’t treat me like I am.”
“I have to go, Bella. Lunch service is about to start.”
“I haven’t opened the restaurant's front door yet, so there’s time for you to be honest with me. I thought we might become friends. Was I so badly mistaken?”
“I have to go, Bella. Please don’t press me.”
I’d vowed not to lie, but if Bella kept pushing me, I’d have a terrible dilemma on my hands. It definitely wasn’t my place to tell a woman already grieving her marriage that a perceived errant husband wasn’t sleeping around, but instead, he might be dying.
“Your fingers are trembling and you can’t look me in the eye. What the fuck is going on, Carla?”
The noise of feet shuffling came from around the corner offering me a tiny chance of distraction. I was panicked and wanted to run, but with nowhere to go my misery was complete.
“Ciao, Bella. Ciao, Carla.”
“Hi, err ciao, Margarita.”
Thank fuck.
Margarita’s expression turned to dread when she read Bella’s thunderous face.
“What’s going on? Why are you angry, Bella?”
Bella’s hands were shaking when she rifled through her apron pockets searching for cigarettes while cursing in Italian. She pointed at me with a furious nod.
“This one is hiding something from me. She’s like the enemy that sneaked into my life.”
“I’m not, I promise you.”
I felt like crying. My emotions overwhelmed me, so Margarita came to my side and held my hand. Bella looked flabbergasted, snapping her head from studying one of us to the other. Her expression spoke of the betrayal she felt and my heart sank further.
“You too? How could you betray me, Margarita?”
“It’s not her fault. It’s my brother. He… he… he… oh fuck!”
“He didn’t do it, Margarita.”
I stopped Margarita before she dropped her brother in the shit. The whole situation was getting out of control rapidly and only one thing might make it worse.
Oh fuck!
“Ciao ladies. Have you finished your break, Carla? I need you inside.”
“No, she fucking hasn’t finished.”
Bella snarled at her husband, baring a full set of dangerous-looking teeth set amid a furious face. Luca held up his hand in an act of surrender, almost tearful.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Luca? If anyone should be crying it's me with the treatment I’ve had at your hands. What have we become? We used to be in love and now, you… y-.”
Luca grabbed Bella by the hand. She tried to shake him off, but his grip wouldn’t be prised off by a crowbar.
“Can we talk inside the restaurant, please? All three of you ladies, together. I must explain.”
Bella looked furious, Margarita was devastated but I knew it was nothing compared with how she’d feel very soon. We marched behind Luca through the kitchen like the naughty line heading for a headmaster's office.
He opened the adjoining door and we trooped inside an empty restaurant. I caught sight of the absolute terror written on Sebastien’s face, shaking my head calmly to him so that he knew there was nothing to worry about.
“Please sit down. All of you.”
Luca wasn’t in a mood to be defied and even his disaffected, furious wife complied, albeit shooting him a poisonous glare.
He knelt beautifully, like a knight before his wife and, were it not for delivering such devastating news I might be witnessing a stunning proposal of marriage.
“I have never cheated on you, Bella.”
“Ha! Fuck off! Liar.”
“I have never cheated on you, Bella. I could not and never would, I swear on my parents' lives.”
Margarita was incensed and stood up screaming, stabbing a finger in her brother’s direction.
“How could you lie about the lives of Mama and Papa? You are vile, brother.”
“Sit down, sis. I’m not lying.”
Luca took both of Bella’s hands in his and stared upward into her eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks and suddenly his wife’s demeanor changed. I thought she must have sensed something was badly wrong and looked afraid.
“I’m sure you have, Luca.”
“No. I never did. I needed to get away for some nights because I’m sick.”
“What do you mean, sick?”
There was a jaw-dropping moment when both women changed their attitudes instantly. Margarita looked terrified and Bella’s bottom lip trembled.
“I have leukemia. I’ve been treated for some time.”
I watched Bella’s face collapse in the most tragic way. Her facial muscles tore each other apart while some tried expressing disbelief, and others spasmed in and out of various forms of horror.
“No!”
“Yes, it's true. I’ve been treated at the Ignacio clinic when you believed I was sleeping with other women. I deliberately made you think I was unfaithful because the alternative felt worse.”
“No! Please no. God no!”
She wailed like a mourning widow at her husband’s fresh graveside. My heart sank further than at any time since I’d lost Dad. I felt a deep, aching compassion for her, and a desperate need to assuage Bella’s unbearable pain.
“I’m sorry, Bella. Forgive me.”
She slid off the chair into Luca’s arms, burying her face in his chest, sobbing like a child with nobody to love them. Margarita collapsed onto the pile as Luca tilted over, then fell flat on the wooden floor with both women clawing their way into his arms.
They all cried pitifully and I joined them, devastated by their sadness.
“No, Luca, no, it can’t be.”
“I might live. I have hope, at least. The treatment went well they said.”
Bella couldn’t get up from the floor and Margarita barely made it back to her chair, rubbing both eyes as though she could wipe away her brother’s illness.
“How long ago did you know about this, brother?”
“About eighteen months. I started having fortnightly treatment but it wasn’t working, so recently it became weekly, and finally, every few days. I’ve had my final session and now we must wait for the results.”
Bella wiped the tears from her eyes, almost straddling her husband, still sobbing hard.
“Why did you hide this from me, husband?”
“I can’t bear to think of you alone and I don’t want to be taken away from you, my Bella.”
“You’ll live. You fucking owe me that much after this torture. Has there really been nobody else?”
“None. Never!”
“You’re fucking lucky then.”
“Why?”
“I had a Tinder date booked for Friday. There was someone to replace you already lined up.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Of course I am you fool.”
I helped Bella to her feet while Margarita hauled her brother up. My head chef turned to me, nodding his silent appreciation.
“Can you take over lunchtime, please? I must talk with my wife.”
“No problem.”
I turned towards Margarita knowing she wouldn’t leave the restaurant until talking things over with her brother. In the meantime, she needed to be active or tear herself apart with melancholy.
“Margarita, can you get Sam over here, and you two run the front of house? I’ll get around all stations and Simone can run the pass.”
I watched Bella lean her shoulder under her husband’s armpit to support him and the two walked proudly out of the restaurant and through a kitchen filled with terrified chefs. Margarita looked devastated, so I stepped closer and hugged her tightly.
“He’ll be okay. I really believe in him.”
“Are you sure?”
“If anyone can pull through, he can, and now, with everyone supporting Luca, he’s going to beat this.”
“Yes, he will. Thank you, Carla.”
Her tear-drenched eyes expressed an indescribable sorrow, so I held her a few minutes longer until a light tapping at the door signaled the starting gun for our lunchtime rush.
When I walked into the kitchen my relief looked palpable. Luca had turned the page, everything was well with him and Bella and we had a service. That’s what my face and body language said to our brigade, but my heart played a very different tune.
“What happened to our head chef, please?”
Angelo looked worried and when he asked me the question, everyone else’s ears pricked up.
“Nothing to worry about. We do what our head chef taught and we serve the customers. Everyone understands?”
“Yes, chef.”
“Understand?”
“YES, CHEF!”
“That’s better.”
Sam crossed the piazza to help and knew something was wrong. I still didn’t want to tell her about Luca, so I kept myself busier than I needed to be.
Once the lunchtime diners left, our front of house had no problem dealing with the afternoon beer and cocktail crowd who ebbed and flowed through the piazza like the tide on a shingle beach.
Sam tracked me down while I rested on a bench in the center of the piazza. Dinner service was two hours away, and I needed peace to calm my frayed nerves. Margarita had joined Luca and Bella in their apartment because she couldn’t stand being sidelined any longer.
My best friend slipped her hand into mine, squeezing tightly.
“There will be an announcement soon, Sam.”
“I figured as much.”
Next Chapter:
Riveting stuff Kate. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, your writing is simply sublime, and I’m glad you’re reworking and continuing this masterpiece of a series.