July 9, 2010 @ 6:59 am | Filed under: Books,The Writing Life
Chapter One
MELROSE MIRACLE
by Staci Wilder
Chapter Two
Ella pushed into the kitchen, and then leaned against the counter. Her heart felt like it had taken up permanent lodging somewhere in the back of her throat and her legs felt as wobbly as Chloe’s looked when she toddled about the house.
“What’s wrong?” Max turned from his fry stove, concern etched into the worn lines on his face. “You sick?”
“No.” Ella shook her head, then handed him the crumpled order for Table 10. “Two specials, Max.”
The older man nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Maybe you need to rest.” He nodded to a lone chair in the corner of the kitchen. “Have a seat.”
Walking to the ice dispenser, she filled a pitcher with ice, and then poured it full of sweet tea. Table 3 needed refills. “I’m fine, Max. Really.” Ella hoped the smile made it to her mouth. She’d certainly ordered it there.
Of course she was fine. Wasn’t she? Ella shivered in spite of the heat in the kitchen. The tingle that had rippled through her when the stranger at the table—the one wearing a purple LA Lakers cap—smiled at her had shocked her. She hadn’t felt anything like that since—
It seemed that no matter what she did, or where she went, Stephen still eased inside her thoughts and emotions just as though he were still with her. Ella shook off her silliness and set the pitcher of iced tea on a small, round tray. It wasn’t Mr. Blond—she’d caught just a glimpse of closely-cropped blond hair beneath the cap—man who’d caused her heart to flip-flop. It was the memory of what she’d lost.
It had to be.
Anything more than that just wasn’t an option.
“Max, can you brew a fresh pot of coffee? I have a couple of guys who’ve never tried it before.”
“You don’t say!” Max’s hearty chuckle was half-evil, half-glee as he wiped flour from his beefy hands and reached for the canister that housed his special blend. Even Ella didn’t quite know just what the coffee mixture contained. But she did know that folks around here considered it essential, ranked right up there with fresh air and plenty of breathing room.
Soon Ella had loaded two steaming cups of coffee alongside the pitcher of iced tea. With practiced ease, she hoisted the tray and pushed against the swinging door just in time to see Reggie toss several bills on the table and head for the door. Ella knew from experience that her friend was leaving far more than the measly lunch tab and tip. Ella felt a mix of awe and appreciation flood her senses as she watched Reggie slide Dior sunshades over her eyes, toss her a last wave, and step out into the bright Louisiana sunshine.
Ella set the mugs of coffee down on Table 10, grateful that her jittery nerves allowed her to do so without incident. She purposefully avoided the eyes of Mr. Blond and turned her attention, instead, to the chicory-skittish man sitting across from him. Taller, darker, older—forty, if she were to guess—his dark hair had already begun to gray at the temples.
“Your order will be up in just a couple of minutes. Can I get you anything else while you wait?”
He glanced at Mr. Blond, and then smiled. “No, I think we have everything we need.”
“Thanks, Ella.”
Ella’s heart thumped a crazy beat as her name rolled out of Mr. Blond’s mouth. She didn’t remember telling them what it was. Around here—with regular customers and almost zero visitors—it was never necessary so she’d never formed the habit. She knew everyone and they all knew her.
As though they had a mind of their own and were totally oblivious to her wishes, Ella’s eyes traveled back to Mr. Blond. Mischief mingled with the flecks of gray in his deeply blue eyes as he tapped his left shoulder. “It is Ella, isn’t it?”
“Oh!” She reached up and touched the rectangular name tag pinned to her t-shirt. Of course they’d seen her name printed there. “Yes. Ella.” She nodded. “My name’s Ella.”
Why did her heart feel as though it were running a race at the Churchill Downs? She forced herself to meet Mr. Blond’s gaze and willed her words to sound more intelligent than the garbled bunch she’d just released. “Are you just passing through Milltown?”
The dark-headed one nodded. “We’ll be here overnight.” He eyed the cup she’d set down in front of him and lifted it. “Can you recommend a good hotel?” He lowered his mouth and took a hesitant sip.
Ella stifled a smirk. It wasn’t often she got to witness a brawny guy like this squirm over a cup of Max’s coffee. Now he wanted to know about a hotel? Was the guy joking? Not only did Milltown not boast a hotel, the closest motel was a good half-hour’s drive down the highway. “Baton Rouge has several.”
“Baton Rouge?” He grimaced but swallowed an impressive amount of the strong liquid. Straightening in his chair, he frowned. “We just flew into the Baton Rouge airport this morning. That’s—” he wrinkled his brow in thought—“I don’t know, maybe a hundred miles from here?”
Ella nodded. “That’s right. Of course, there’s a small place down the road a piece.” She shrugged. “More of a boarding house than a motel. It may not have all the amenities you’re used to, but it’s clean and…well, closer.”
Mr. Blond laughed out loud and slapped his palm on his denim-clad thigh as though what she’d said was the funniest thing ever. His eyes matched the merriment in his voice and Ella instinctively knew he laughed with her and not at her.
Still, she looked away—couldn’t help it—when Mr. Blond winked, his eyes growing even bluer with the action. Even after a year at Max’s, Ella wasn’t accustomed to the attention she often garnered from some of the male customers who flowed through the small diner.
Most of them proved harmless—men from around town who were just naturally curious—whether for themselves or their buddies, she was never sure—about her newly single status. They were respectful enough of her loss to keep their distance and it wasn’t that they leered at her; just the fact that they gazed with open curiosity was enough to make her want to bolt at times.
“I’ll go check on your order.”
Ella was thankful for something to do. She was even relieved to see another group of local kids straggle noisily through the diner’s door. Normally this group would make her groan, knowing they would hang around, joking and playing, until the appointed time their mothers had ordered them to be home.
But today she welcomed them. Somehow the sight of something so familiar helped counteract the less familiar fluttering in the pit of her belly.
“Feeling better?” Max’s gruff exterior masked a true softie. She could tell him she was fine until she turned blue in the face, but the man had a sixth sense that seemed to pinpoint her emotions every time. His aim might be a little off. After all, she wasn’t ill, but his feeling that something wasn’t right was dead-on.
“Much.” Ella grinned. “Thanks.”
Table Ten’s orders were up and she accepted the loaded tray of food from Max with gratitude. Another round of questions from him and she might be forced to admit that Mr. Blond had rattled her nerves. The weathered cook added two fresh-baked rolls to the tray with a final hmphh. Ella grabbed the moment and backed out of the kitchen. Mr. Blond stared at the heaping pile of chicken and homemade steak fries like it was a long-lost treasure. Letting out a long, low whistle, he pulled his plate close.
“Enjoy.” Ella tugged a couple of straws from the pocket of her apron and laid them on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, nothing.” The dark-headed one pointed to the empty chair at the table. “Unless you have time to join us.”
“Sorry.” Ella swallowed the momentary panic clutching the base of her throat and took a halted step backward. Tapping the face of her watch, she cast a quick, nervous glance around the diner. “Still have lots of customers, and only a little while left on my shift.” Turning on her heel, she moved away.
“Ma’am, it’s not what you think—”
Ella heard Mr. Blond’s words, but pretended she didn’t. Moving toward the noisy group of teens gathered in the back corner booth, she tried to sweep Mr. Blond’s wink from her mind. That was difficult though when, seconds later, she looked back in time to see him bow his head in a silent prayer. Ella felt a nibble of something close to conviction. It wasn’t uncommon here deep in the Bible belt to see folks bow their heads in prayer over a meal, but Ella certainly hadn’t expected it from these two.
The teens in the back booth were obviously more interested in slurping down vanilla shakes and catching up on the latest hot topics than hitting the school books they’d pulled from their backpacks. They seemed oblivious to her presence. Funny how comforting she found that…
Ella caught a glimpse of Max out of the corner of her eye. The sight of the stout, pot-bellied owner of the diner caused Ella to breathe a little easier. No way would anyone get away with hassling her—not that these guys had been doing that—with Maxwell Durham around.
She cleared her throat and leaned her arms on the kids’ table. A petite girl with slender shoulders and long auburn braids glanced up. “I’m so sorry!” Large blue eyes rounded with dismay, and she tapped the arm of the beefy jock-type guy next to her, trying to quiet him.
“We’ve been too loud, haven’t we?” Her expression begged forgiveness and Ella felt her heart give way. To be this young again… Minimal problems, controllable conflicts, and time to chug vanilla shakes. What a life.
“We’ll tone it down, we promise. Right, guys?” The girl glanced around the table for confirmation. A polite chorus of yeah, no problem and for sure! ringed its way around the small table and the girl smiled with satisfaction. “See? We’ll be quieter now.”
Ella smiled, this time an honest-to-goodness real one. Her heart gave an unexpected lurch, and she fought the urge to reach out and touch the girl’s neat braid, wanting to somehow embrace this visible evidence of youthful exuberance. This unadulterated view of the world and all its vast possibilities. Why not indulge them their rowdy chatter? Soon enough these kids would learn firsthand, as she had, the struggles life would throw their way.
“Don’t worry about it.” Ella reached into her apron pocket and pulled out another stack of fresh, white napkins, passing them to a boy who’d just managed to spill half a glass of soda down the front of his shirt.
Let them be loud, have their fun. They were kids, passing through the last of their innocence. She touched the girl’s shoulder. “Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”
“Thanks!” The braids bobbed with the movement as the girl turned her attention back to her friends.
Ella would have loved nothing more than to continue standing next to them. Listening to the nonsensical chatter, and grinning at the cheesy jokes cracked by the boys, obviously meant to entertain the girls of the group.
But she was a grown-up, dealing with adult issues and heavy-handed dilemmas. Hanging out with the kids wasn’t going to pay the bills, or care for Chloe, or even begin to fill the vacancy left in her heart by Stephen.
When would she learn? Hiding out—whether in her run-down apartment or here in the diner with a bunch of kids—did nothing but prolong the pain. She could run, sure, but she knew now she’d never be able to hide.
Ella roused herself, pushing against the heaviness that always tried to take over whenever she allowed her thoughts to stray toward Stephen. No time for that right now. In thirty short minutes she’d be free to pick up Chloe from the sitter’s. Then the best part of the day would begin.
Now anxious to finish her duties and clock off her eight-hour shift, Ella spun around, bumping forehead-first into the polo-clad chest of Mr. Blond. Before she had time to recover, the tray that had, just seconds ago, been carefully tucked against her hip, went flying, sending a mixture of coffee cups, soiled napkins, and chewed-up straws in various directions.
“Oh!” Ella gasped. Humiliation and anger tangled madly in her belly as she dropped to the floor in a desperate effort to halt a rolling cup. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and Ella knew her face now matched the red stripe on Mr. Blond’s expensive-looking shirt. The same shirt, Ella noticed, as she finally risked a glance upward, that now boasted a spattering of cold coffee dregs and bits of paper napkin.
“Oh, no,” she groaned and snatched another handful of clean napkins from her pocket. “Here,” she thrust them toward Mr. Blond, “I think I ruined your shirt.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was my fault anyway. I should’ve warned you that I was right behind you.” Mr. Blond waved away her concern.
Trying to regain some modicum of dignity, Ella struggled to stand. Just when she thought she was steady, her right foot slipped on the spilled coffee, and she felt herself going down again. Only this time it was involuntary, and the impact of her backside against the tiled floor was anything but pleasant. Please, God, get me out of this.
Ella knew she had no right to ask God for anything—serious or frivolous—and the idea that she’d done so after this embarrassing fiasco would have struck her as borderline sacrilegious. That is, if she actually had the luxury of time to dwell on it. Ella knew she didn’t pray enough these days. Okay, she didn’t pray at all. Hadn’t, in fact, since Stephen’s death. But here, on the floor, in the middle of broken glass, cold coffee, and a roomful of prying eyes, Ella sent up a silent plea. Get me outta here…
Where were those proverbial trap doors when you needed them, anyway?
“Ma’am? You okay?”
Ella hadn’t noticed Mr. Blond kneeling beside her on the floor, but now his voice, husky and low, practically tickled her ear. Against her will, and only because it was the polite thing to do, she lifted her head to look at him. The intensity of his gaze, and the concern etched in his eyes—and wow, what blue eyes—was enough to knock her off balance again. He reached out and grasped her elbow, steadying her just in time.
“Thanks,” Ella managed to mumble something she hoped resembled appreciation. Was there to be no end to this round of humiliation?
“Ella, girl?”
She jumped as Max lumbered up, his booming voice conveying loud concern. “You hurt? Can you stand?”
Oh, boy. Ella felt her skin deepen another shade of red. If anyone in the diner had missed the original escapade—however remote that possibility might be—they had, without doubt, been alerted to the situation by Max’s boisterous pronouncement.
“I’m fine. Really. Just fine.” She stood up, held in an awkward stance, with Max pulling on one arm, and Mr. Blond still grasping the elbow of her other one. “See?” She nodded at Max. “I’m great. No broken bones, just broken…dishes—”
Ella eyed the mess on the floor, regret all but sucking the breath from her lungs. From the looks of things, it would take the biggest chunk of her next paycheck to pay for the damage. Money she needed for the utility payment and groceries. Not to mention she still owed Chloe’s sitter for last week’s work. Why did she have to be so clumsy, this week of all weeks?
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Ella girl.” Max’s voice came as close to tenderness as Ella figured it could. “I’ll go grab a broom and some towels and have this cleaned up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Ella nodded, not trusting her voice. She would rather incur the wrath of Max than endure this kindness. If he ranted about the broken mugs or the complained with his usual gruffness over the mess she’d made, then she’d feel some anger. That she could deal with.
She’d learned over the past couple of years that anger could propel her through a lot of things, including a humiliating incident like this one. She’d used the emotion more times than she cared to recall in the months after Stephen’s death. It had effectively distanced her from everything that even vaguely resembled the life she’d shared with her husband. Just as she’d wanted it to.
Finally there had been nothing to hold her there any longer, except the pain and the memories, and she’d loaded up her and Chloe’s belongings and made the move to the small town Reggie called her second home. It had taken her a bit longer to learn about the flip side of the anger. It might have given her the needed unction to get moving, but the pain and memories had made the move with them. She’d changed her locale, but not her life. Oh, yeah, Ella knew about anger all right. She squeezed her eyes shut now and summoned it with all her strength, to no avail.
Instead she had to contend with kindness. The kindness that now fluttered around her with helpful concern. Kindness like Max’s rarely seen soft side. Kindness in the graciousness of a tourist she’d been all but rude to minutes before. And now the kindness of the sweet, auburn braid girl, who’d jumped from her chair to retrieve flying napkins and silverware.
Ella couldn’t fight against the kindness. In spite of how hard she tried, she couldn’t conjure up one thread of anger. And without the anger, there was just one thing left to do.
I will not cry. I will not cry. The mantra chanted its way through Ella’s conscience and she willed her body to obey. I will not cry. She’d never been one to cry in public, not even during Stephen’s memorial and burial. This unexpected humiliating tumble was no excuse for her to start now.
“Here’s a tissue.” Mr. Blond pressed a napkin into her hand as the disobedient hot tears made their wild escape. He turned and called out to his buddy. “Hey, Kurt, scoot that chair over here, will you?”
His voice was soft, and close to her ear. “Let me help you into the chair. Let’s make sure you haven’t injured anything.”
Max cleared his throat with more gusto than necessary. “Uh, yeah. You have a seat, Ella, and I’ll go grab those towels. Nothing to worry about.” He hurried toward the kitchen as fast as his heavy frame would allow. Ella felt sure he was relieved to have a temporary break from the female saga of tears. Even Max had his limits.
I have limits too, Ella thought, fairly certain she’d reached hers.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as Mr. Blond helped her into the chair Kurt had kindly pulled up for her. “You know, for earlier. I was—” she shrugged, and then raised her chin in resignation. “Well, I was rude. And I apologize.”
Mr. Blond waited until she’d settled into the chair, and then he knelt in front of her. “This may not be the best time to do this,” he glanced over at his buddy again, arching his eyebrows in question. Ella noticed—for the second time in mere minutes—the intensity of his blue eyes.
What was going on? Ella’s confusion grew as—was his name Kurt?—nodded his approval and grinned at her.
“Ella Paglia,” Mr. Blond picked up her hand and gave it a gentle shake. “My name is Luke Abney.” He nodded in Kurt’s direction. “And that guy over there is Kurt Finley, a producer from the The Cooking Channel.”
Oh, no… This couldn’t be for real. Ella glanced around, half-expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump from the shadows and yell, “Punked!” Even that shock seemed more probable than the one Mr. Blond was suggesting. But all around her the diners began to clap and soon a steady chant of “El-la! El-la! El-la!” began to circle the cafe.
This wasn’t how she’d imagined it. Just wait till Reggie heard about this. She’d bust a gut laughing—
“Ella, you’ve been chosen as one of the eight finalists for Restaurant 101!”
Want your own gravatar? Get one here.