“The Al I thought I knew couldn’t have written that article.”
Gertrude took several short breaths and pointed to her water. Lou gave her a sip. Seeing her dear friend struggle with a simple task frightened Lou. It seemed another bit of joy was getting sucked out of the world. She took a deep breath and returned the cup to the table.
“Maybe you didn’t know the Al who wrote it. Maybe you knew a different Al, one who knew and loved you. People change. You are worth changing for.” Gertrude pointed her finger at Lou.
“It’s too soon. I can’t even think about him without getting so angry I want to . . . pry his teeth out with a dinner fork.”
Gertrude’s eyes crinkled and her shoulders moved a little, trying to express the laugh she didn’t have energy to make.
“Little savage. Just don’t let your heart get too hard. He made you happy. That was not an act. Try to forgive him— promise me.”
Lou looked into Gertrude’s watery eyes and pale face, her wispy hair floating away, the first part of her escaping toward heaven. She couldn’t deny Gertrude.
“I promise.”
“Good, now where is my Otto? I need to rest.”
Lou stood and moved the chair so she could push Otto’s bed closer to Gertrude’s. Gertrude’s eyes still sparkled in response. Lou bent over to kiss Gertrude on the cheek, then did the same to Otto.
“I’ll be in the chair if you need anything.”
Gertrude’s lips twitched, but her eyes were already closed, her breathing slow and sleepy.
Lou settled into the chair to watch over her favorite customers and think about Gertrude’s request. She had been happy, even amid her restaurant failing, but with her emotions rubbed raw from too many assaults, Lou needed a distraction. Being trapped in the hospice bubble isolated her, leaving her in close quarters with her troubles and amplifying the solitude. The more time alone, the more she worried about Otto and Gertrude, her stalled career, and whether her heart would ever heal.
The subdued quiet was only broken when nurses came in and out, checking vital signs and replacing IV bags. One suggested she take a shower, handing her a towel and soap. Afterward, she scrounged up a notepad and pen from the nurses’ station.
Over the next day, Lou sat vigil as Gertrude’s breathing became more labored, her skin more purple. She scribbled ideas in the notepad. New recipes, table settings, and a plan. Sometime in the night a nurse brought her some bland chicken noodle soup and stale crackers. Lou kept writing. A new restaurant was being born even as Gertrude’s breathing became more ragged.
Action in the hospice picked up as the sun rose, and visitors came and went. Midmorning Gertrude opened her eyes and beckoned Lou over. She bent close to Gertrude so she could hear her whisper.
“What are you writing?”
“A business plan. For a new restaurant.”
“Good. Second chances are good.”
Lou tilted her head in confusion. Gertrude waved at the notepad.
“You deserve a second chance at your dreams. Otto was my second chance at love.”
“It will take some work, but I have a plan. Do you want to hear about it?”
Gertrude nodded and listened as Lou poured out all her ideas.
“It is a good plan.” Her breathing became short and quick. “Liebchen, you must take my advice and find your happiness.”
“I will.”
Lou rubbed Gertrude’s icy hand, more purple than not.
“Keep my Otto company until he is ready?”
Lou nodded.
“Of course.”
Gertrude took a deep, wet breath, patted Lou’s hand, and closed her eyes again, reaching for Otto’s hand. Lou helped her find it, linking the two together, as it should be. She walked to the coffee station, trying to control her breath. The nurses she passed nodded and let her have some privacy.
When Lou returned to Otto and Gertrude’s room, Otto’s breathing was loud and heavy, but the two still held hands. Gertrude’s covers had slipped off her legs. Lou pulled them up and noticed Gertrude wasn’t breathing. She watched for a few minutes to make sure, as a mother would watch her newborn baby, then sigh in relief as the chest rose and fell. But Gertrude’s chest did not rise and fall. A tear plopped on the blankets. Lou covered Gertrude up, made sure Otto still slept, and went to tell the nurses.
• • • • •
Otto stayed unconscious while Gertrude’s body was wheeled away. Lou knew because she held his hand the entire time, feeling it grow colder. She pulled the chair next to his bed and continued to plan. It kept her mind from dwelling on the remarkable people the world was losing.
Otto moved his sheets and opened his eyes.
Lou’s stomach twisted. She had to tell him. She reached for his hand and looked into his shiny blue eyes.
“Otto, Gertrude passed earlier today.”
Otto smiled and nodded his head. Of course, he knew already. He tilted his head toward the door.
“I’m not leaving you alone. I promised Gertrude.”
He worked his mouth until he could manage a crackled whisper.
“When you love someone, Schätzchen, you are never alone.”
Lou kissed his forehead.
“Thank you for everything.” Lou’s voice choked. “Give Gertrude a hug when you see her.”
Lou picked up her notebook and settled into her chair. She looked back at Otto’s shining head and peaceful face, thinking about second chances.
Otto died in the early morning, Lou keeping vigil.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX •
Lou swirled a spoonful of browned butter on a plate, set a preserved lemon in the center, then topped it with a small piece of sautéed Lake Michigan whitefish. She sprinkled parsley over the top like confetti and stepped back to admire the new dish. Otto and Gertrude would have loved it.
Since she’d started at The Good Land a few days ago, Chef Tom had been letting her play with new ideas before her shift. She enjoyed working in a busy restaurant, feeling the heat of a dinner rush and the rhythm of a well-run kitchen. While his restaurant was much bigger than Luella’s, it didn’t take long for her to fit in. She would enjoy the steady income, too. But these weren’t her recipes, they weren’t her ideas feeding the hungry diners. That’s why the few hours when she got to play in Chef Tom’s sandbox were her favorite of the day.
“When’s the funeral?” said Chef Tom as he walked up beside her.
Lou gave him a small smile.
“Wednesday.”
Tom put his arm around her and squeezed. Lou sniffed and slid the plate toward him.
“What’s today’s invention?” He already had a fork in hand.
“Deconstructed Lake Michigan whitefish meunière.”
“Bit tiny, isn’t it?” Tom winked.
“It’s meant to be a small plate.” Lou rolled her eyes.
“May I?” Chef pointed his fork at the dish.
“You’re the boss.”
“Yes. I am.” He sliced into the fish, making sure to get some of the lemon and butter. He set it on his tongue and chewed thoughtfully. If she’d done it right, he would experience the browned butter first; then it would be cut with the tart and tangy lemon, followed by the barely crisp, flaky fish. As he chewed, the flavors would meld together to replicate the classic dish, but in an entirely new way. Lou held her breath as Tom swallowed, then grinned.
“That is the best one yet, Lou.” He studied her as he took another bite. “While I love having you here, you’re wasting your talent on my line.”
“You could always let me add some dishes to the menu.”