Lou took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of just-cut flowers, fresh tamales from the food stands, and sunshine. She preferred the West Allis farmers’ market to all others in the area, with its open sides, wide walkways, and rows of stalls. More recently, small tents serving hot sandwiches and fresh Mexican food had popped up outside the brick walls. It all looked so good, she’d learned long ago to come with limited funds or she would buy more produce than she could possibly use. She relished talking to the farmers, learning about what they grew and where. She liked to search for farmers growing something new and interesting she could use at Luella’s.
But today’s visit was personal, not business. Sue had dragged her out to West Allis for a little lunch and some girl time with fall squash and Honeycrisp apples.
Lou tilted her head into the September sunshine. “It feels good to get outside.”
“It was either this or drug you.”
Lou looked at Sue, trying to determine whether she was serious. She wasn’t sure. “What do you mean?”
“For the past few days you’ve been a twitchy, nervous wreck. Each day worse than the one before. I figured I’d let you talk about it before forcing Valium down your throat.”
Lou picked up an apple and held it under her nose. The sweet scent made her mouth water. “Have I been that bad?”
“Worse. Just call him.”
Lou paid for a bag of apples and they moved down the walkway, past tables laden with cucumbers, local honey, and giant stalks of brussels sprouts.
“I want to, but he’s on a business trip. He said he’d call when he got back. I don’t want to be pushy.” Lou stopped and looked at all the stalls around them and added, “Ugh, I can’t decide what I want.”
Sue smiled and pulled Lou over to a booth full of baskets brimming with root vegetables.
“Yes, you do. How do you think a farmer decided when to harvest these? He couldn’t see the size of the potato, or know if the carrot would taste sweet. He used his experience. He studied what he could see aboveground. He learned from the past, but he could still only guess what happened underground. Eventually, he had to just pull. It was a risk, and sometimes it might backfire, but he’d never make it as a farmer if he didn’t chance it. It’s time you gave a yank.”
Sue nudged Lou with her elbow as they stood staring at the tubers and added, “Call him.”
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN •
Mum, please,” Al said, banging his head silently on his desk. John watched with his arms and legs crossed, enjoying his friend’s torment. Every few minutes he would reach for his mug of coffee, lest he become dehydrated watching Al’s growing distress. Al had avoided Lou for over a week while working out a solution to the my-review-destroyed-her-dream-but-I-might-love-her problem. He didn’t need parents making things more difficult.
“Darling, it’s been months. Just come for a weekend.”
“I know you want me to come home, but I’m a bit busy here.”
“Then perhaps your father and I will visit you.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“Your articles talk so much about the wonderful places to eat, we want to come.”
“You’ve been reading my articles?”
“Of course. We read everything you publish. At least this time we don’t have to subscribe. The Internet makes things ever so much easier.”
“It’s just not a good ti—”
“Bodkins, it’s never a good time when mothers are concerned. That’s why we don’t wait for invitations. Your father wants to take a trip after fall term. Plus, it’s clear you’re smitten with her. We want to see why.”
“Wh-what? I didn’t say anything about her.” Al sat up, replaying what he just said in his head. His hand immediately went to his hair as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front as if he’d been knocked out.
“Aha, so there is a girl! Alastair, who is she?”
“I’ve got work to do, Mum.”
“I want to hear all about her.”
“Bye, Mum.”
Al tossed the phone on his desk, closed his eyes, and shook his head.
John, smiling from ear to ear, said, “So the ’rents are coming. Excellent.”
“Ugh, I just fell for the oldest mom trick in the book. She’s bloody brilliant. I bet she was working on that setup for weeks. Bloody effing hell.”
“Where are we taking them?”
“You aren’t taking them anywhere. . . .”
“Now wait a sec; I’m an excellent tour guide. Charming. I know all the good bars and stores.”
“True. That might not be a bad idea.” Al tapped his fingers, thinking about how much his mom would love John, assuming he could deal with her fussing. He could take Dad on a historical tour. Al had started writing a list of all the places to eat with his parents when his phone rang. He picked it up without lifting pen from paper.
“Al speaking.”
A soft voice answered his. “Hi, Al. It’s Lou.”
Al sat up straight. “Lou, sorry I haven’t called. Been really busy. How’ve you been?”
“Pretty good. Where are you now?”
“The office.”
“You’re back. Wonderful.” Lou’s voice got much brighter.
Panicked, Al looked at John and held his hands in prayer position in front of him. John fake coughed, exaggerating the motions.
“Yeb. Early this mornig.” Al coughed a few times into the phone to bring the point home.
“You okay? You sound awful.”
“I feel worse. I picked ub somethig nasty.” Al’s stomach did feel awful, but from the deception.
“Then you should go home. I’ll make something yummy to make you feel better.”
“No, too contagious.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll bring something over later. Now go to bed!”
Lou hung up and Al stared blankly at the phone.
“She buy it?” John asked.
“That bloody backfired. She wants to cook for me to make me feel better.”
“Now that is ironic.”
“What do I do now?”
“You go home and pull a Ferris Bueller.”
“A who?”
“You know, Ferris Bueller. Eighties movie. High school kid, fakes being sick, has an amazing day playing hooky in Chicago. You know. Bueller . . . Bueller . . . Bueller.”
Al spread his hands and shook his head no. “I spent my teenage years trying not to get kicked out of Eton and bring shame on my family. I didn’t watch a lot of eighties American cinema.”
“We’ll fix that. In the meantime, go home, get a hot water bottle, and put it on your forehead so you feel hot. Then climb under all the covers to work up a nice, clammy sweat.”
“Done this before, have you?”
“I told you my high school wasn’t a real joy for boys who enjoyed haute couture. Now, don’t you have a sickbed to occupy?”
Al locked his computer and grabbed his bag. He took ten steps out of the cubicles and backtracked. John had already returned to his latest article on fall fashion trends.
Al said, “Thanks, mate. I appreciate the support.”
Without looking up, John waved with one hand.
“Go forth and incubate fake germs.”
• • • • •
“I’m really nervous,” Lou said. “There should be a law against not seeing a person for ten days after you sleep together the first time.” Lou had called Sue to help make some British comfort food. She, in turn, had called Harley. Al would soon be the luckiest sick person in the world. If Lou ever needed proof of their loyalty, this was it. The restaurant wasn’t open on Tuesdays, yet all three chefs busily chopped, stirred, and baked a feast fabulous enough to impress the Queen.