Feels Like Family

Karen helped Frances spread out a plastic red-checked tablecloth, where she then set down a plate of cookies. “Two for each of you,” Frances said emphatically. “Mack, here’s your sippy cup with milk in it, and Daisy, here’s your glass of milk.”

She flipped on the TV, then handed the control to Daisy. “Find that cartoon channel you both like, okay?”

That was something else the kids loved about visiting Frances. She had cable TV, which gave them a whole range of channels Karen couldn’t afford. At home they had only the three major networks and one local station that carried ancient reruns.

“That should keep them busy for a while,” Frances said. “I’ve made some tea for us to have with our cookies. You sit down at the dining-room table and I’ll bring it right in.”

“Please, let me help,” Karen said.

“The day I can’t carry a plate of cookies and two cups of tea to the table is the day I’ll check myself into that nursing home they built up the street a few years back,” Frances said.

Karen knew better than to argue. Frances was as strong-willed and independent as anyone she’d ever met. It was probably the reason she was still doing so well on her own. Every now and then one of her children would come for a visit and drop in on Karen to see if she thought Frances was getting too feeble to be left alone.

Karen had never felt a need to shade the truth even slightly. Frances still had a sharp mind and plenty of energy for a woman her age. She was active at her church and made a trip to the library at least once a week to pick up something to read. Until a few months ago, she’d even volunteered at the regional hospital, but the long drive had gotten to be too much for her. Now she spent an hour or more a day checking on local shut-ins, calling or visiting them just to chat and to see if they needed anything more than a few minutes of company.

Though Frances’s apartment was the same dimensions as Karen’s, it was cozy and welcoming in a way Karen’s was not. Maybe it was the lifetime of memories on display in pictures and collectibles. Every knickknack crowded onto every surface in the living room had a fascinating story behind it. Surprisingly the kids—even Mack—had learned to look, and not touch. On the one occasion when, to Karen’s chagrin, something had gotten broken, Frances had waved off the incident.

“One less thing to dust,” she’d said, sounding as if she meant it.

Now, as she poured tea into mismatched chintz teacups, she studied Karen intently. “You still have that worried look in your eyes. Did your meeting not go well?”

“Actually it went better than I’d expected,” Karen admitted. “But the real test is going to be tomorrow. The attorney I saw thinks we should sit down with my boss and work out a solution to the problem I’ve been having getting to work lately. She’s optimistic everything will work out. I’m not so sure.”

“Surely you don’t think Dana Sue would fire you,” Frances said, clearly startled. “Is that what this is about?”

Karen nodded. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did.”

“Honey, she’s one of the sweetest gals I’ve ever known. It’s not in her nature to fire someone just because they’ve hit a rough patch. Did you know I taught her back in second grade?” She shook her head, a smile crinkling her face. “Oh, my, she was something back then. She made your Daisy look like a little angel.”

Karen grinned. “I can’t imagine that.”

“I knew her mama and daddy real well because of it,” Frances said. “And Dana Sue spent a lot of time-outs inside during recess, so I knew her real well, too. She reminds me of that every time I go to Sullivan’s for lunch with my group from church. She says I was the last person who ever managed to keep her in check. I could speak to her, if you think it would help.”

“The only thing that’s really going to help is me finding someone to take care of the kids so I can get to work when I’m supposed to be there,” Karen said.

Frances regarded her with regret. “You know I’d help if I could. I might be able to manage Daisy for a few hours, but I’m too old to be chasing after Mack.”

“Believe me, there are days when I think I’m too old to handle Mack,” Karen told her honestly. “I appreciate you taking them for a couple of hours every now and then. I would never ask you to deal with them any longer than that.”

Frances gave her a sympathetic look. “Have you heard from their daddy lately? Has he made any of his child-support back payments?”

Karen shook her head. Just thinking about the way Ray had left her to fend for herself and their kids when he ran off made her head throb again. “I can’t even think about that right now,” she said, not trying to hide her bitterness. “I’ve gotta focus on keeping my job so I don’t lose the roof over our heads.”

“If that happens, you’ll just move in here with me ’til things get straightened out,” Frances said at once. “I will not let you and those babies be on the street, and that’s that, so quit your worrying on that score.”

“I couldn’t,” Karen protested.

“Of course, you could. Friends help each other out. I may not be able to watch those kids for you all day long, but I can certainly see that there’s a roof over your heads.”

Karen just sat there, stunned into silence. Though she prayed she would never have to take Frances up on her offer, that Frances had even made it was the most wonderful, generous thing anyone had ever done for her. Combined with Helen’s willingness to help her fight for her job, a day that had started with nothing but worry was turning into one filled with blessings.

2

It was nearly seven when Helen finished with her last client. Barb had left an hour earlier, so she turned off the lights and closed up the office, relieved to have the workday behind her.

Outside she weighed the prospect of going home to her empty house against dropping in at Sullivan’s for a decent meal and a few snatched minutes of Dana Sue’s time. Anytime she could see one of the Sweet Magnolias, as they had once called themselves, she grabbed it. Maybe she could lay some groundwork before she and Karen met with her formally tomorrow at the restaurant. Barb had already set up that appointment for two o’clock, after the lunch crowd thinned out.

The restaurant, which specialized in what Dana Sue called new Southern cuisine, was packed, as it was most nights. Though Serenity’s population was only 3500 or so, the restaurant’s reputation had spread through the entire region thanks to excellent reviews in the Charleston and Columbia newspapers.

Helen was greeted at the door by Brenda, the harried waitress. “I should have a table opening up in a few minutes,” she told Helen. “Do you mind waiting?”

“Not at all. Do you think I’ll be risking life and limb if I stick my head in the kitchen to say hello to Dana Sue?”

Brenda grinned. “I’d say that depends on whether you’re prepared to pitch in and help. She and Erik have their hands full tonight. It’s been crazy ever since that review in the Columbia paper. If it’s going to stay this busy, she needs to hire some additional prep staff for the kitchen and some more waitstaff. Paul and I have just about run ourselves to death tonight, even with the busboys pitching in. And just so you know, we ran out of all the specials an hour ago.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Helen said, then headed for the kitchen.

When she pushed open the door and stepped in, she saw Dana Sue at the huge gas stove. Face flushed from the heat, Dana Sue juggled half a dozen different sauté pans, then slid the contents onto waiting plates, added the decorative sauces and spicy salsas, and moved them to a pickup area for the waitstaff.

Her expression filled with relief when she spotted Helen. “Grab an apron,” she ordered. “We need you. It’s nuts in here.”

“Looks to me like what you need is more trained help. Where’s Erik?” Helen asked as she whipped off her suit jacket, hung it on a peg in the pantry, then found an apron and put it on over her two-hundred-dollar designer silk blouse.

“Right behind you,” a deep voice rumbled. “Watch your step. I’m loaded down.”

She turned and found him carrying a tray laden with pies fresh from the oven. She could smell the heady aromas of peaches, cinnamon and vanilla.

“If you’ll give me a slice of that, I’ll be your slave for the rest of the night,” she said.

Erik grinned at her. “I’ll save you a whole pie, but you don’t have time to eat it now. I need you to mix up another batch of the mango-papaya chutney for the fish.” His gaze skimmed her outfit and he shook his head. “You realize that blouse is heading straight for the dry cleaner’s after this, don’t you?”

Helen shrugged. She had a dozen more in her closet. It wouldn’t be a huge loss. “Not a problem.”

His dark eyes warmed. “That’s what I love about you. No pretensions. Underneath that icy courtroom demeanor that I hear you possess lies the soul of a woman ruled by a passion for food and a willingness to help out a friend in distress, no matter the personal cost.”

The compliment caught her off guard. When the usually taciturn Erik popped out with something unexpected or insightful, as he occasionally did, it made her wonder what his story was. She winked at him. “I’m only this cavalier because I figure with the size of tonight’s crowd, Dana Sue’s good for the cost of another blouse.”

“Don’t,” he protested. “You’re ruining my illusions. Do you remember how to make the chutney?”

Helen shook her head. “But don’t worry. I know where the recipes are. I’ll get that one and find the supplies in the storeroom. I’ll have another batch whipped up in no time. You don’t need to supervise.”

“As if,” Dana Sue called out from her station by the stove. “Erik is so thrilled to have someone to supervise for once, he’s not going to pass up the chance.”

Within moments, Helen had fallen into the frantic rhythm of the kitchen. When she could, she snatched glances at Erik, admiring the efficiency with which he moved almost as much as she craved the desserts which he excelled at making. Though he’d been hired primarily as a pastry chef right after graduating from the Atlanta Culinary Institute—which he’d attended after apparently leaving some other career he never mentioned—his role in Sullivan’s kitchen had been expanded over time. Dana Sue relied on him as her backup and had officially named him as assistant manager just a few weeks earlier.

In his late 30s or early 40s, he had a wry wit, a gentle demeanor and was fiercely loyal to and protective of Dana Sue. Helen liked that about him, almost as much as she liked his pastries and occasionally lusted after his six-pack abs and competent hands. That she lusted after him at all was a surprise, because she’d always preferred polished executives over the strong, silent, athletic types.

Helen was relegated to the most basic duties for the next two hours, but she liked being part of the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. The aromas were delectable, the excitement and stress palpable. If cooking at home were half this much fun, she might do it more often. Instead her culinary endeavors ran to scrambled eggs, when she remembered to buy any, and the occasional baked potato. She did make a damn fine margarita, though, if she did say so herself. That was the result of a few summers in Hilton Head working as a bartender during law school. She’d made great tips, great contacts and learned a lot about human nature.