Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [169]
At the moment I’m holding Chloe, who is covered with tomato sauce, attempting to remove a piece of ziti from her grasp. As I answer the phone, balancing it in between my shoulder and chin, Chloe loses interest in the piece of ziti and reaches her saucy hands toward the receiver.
“Hello, Mira? It’s Ben. Are you busy? I need a favor.”
“I’m about to give Chloe a bath,” I tell him, as Chloe’s tomatoey hands settle in my hair.
“How’d you feel about flipping some burgers for a couple of hours? A friend of mine had an accident. He burned himself in a small grease fire at his restaurant, and he’s totally freaking out. He just opened this place in Bloomfield, and if he can’t find someone to help him out he’ll have to close for the evening. It’s Saturday night, and he can’t afford to lose the business. I’ll even help. How about that? The best offer you’ve had all evening, right?”
“Ben, I’m sorry. I’ve got Chloe.”
“Not to worry. I already thought of that. I called Aunt Fi, and she said to drop Chloe off at your dad’s on the way over. We can pick her up after we’re done. Come on, what do you say? Please?”
“I didn’t know you had a friend who owns a restaurant,” I say, thinking it funny he hadn’t mentioned it before.
There’s a knock at the door, and when I go to open it, Ben is standing there with his cell phone to his ear.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, still holding the phone. “He’s my buddy Jim’s brother, Dave. Jim is the heating and cooling guy from Bessen’s.” We hang up our respective phones, and Ben makes his way to the kitchen, where he picks absently from the pot of ziti on the stove.
Richard walks into the kitchen and holds out his arms for Chloe. “Hello, Ben,” Richard says, patting Ben on the arm. “You know, I could have watched her, Mira,” Richard says.
He probably could have. Although Richard still isn’t driving, his recuperation is just about complete. He’s taken to going into the shop a few days a week and has hired an assistant to handle the overflow. He’s really ready to go home, but I think he’s staying for me; he’s worried that I’m not ready to be alone. Maybe I’m not.
“Aunt Fi needs Chloe so she can finish Chloe’s Halloween costume anyway,” Ben says. Fiona has been working on Chloe’s costume for weeks, an ear of corn made out of felt.
I put Chloe down, and she makes for the living room. “Richard, would you mind giving her a quick bath and putting her in her pj’s while I change?”
“Done,” says Richard. “Ben, would you mind helping me corral this urchin?”
I’ve changed into a chef’s tunic and a pair of drawstring pants and am in the kitchen packing my good knives into my leather knife case when Richard and Ben emerge from the bathroom with Chloe, pink cheeked and freshly pajamaed.
“What are you doing?” Ben says. “The guy owns a restaurant. He’s got knives.”
“Chefs are picky about their knives. If I’m going to be cooking in a strange kitchen, I should have my own knives. It’s a comfort thing.”
“Nice outfit,” he says, giving me the once over. “Very official. Come on, we better get going,” Ben says, picking up my knife case and the diaper bag.
Chloe and I kiss Richard good night. “Don’t wait up,” I tell him.
Delano’s is a local Bloomfield watering hole sandwiched in between an Italian groceria and a little take-out stand called Paula’s Pierogie Palace. In addition to the worn wooden bar, they’ve got a half dozen tables, most of which are empty, so I’m guessing not too many people come here to eat. Ben walks us through an alleyway to the delivery entrance at the back of the restaurant.
The kitchen is small and the remains of a grease fire over one of the grills still apparent. A kid, with just a wisp of whiskers under his chin and a soiled apron slung low on his hips, is halfheartedly cleaning the fire extinguisher