Part 12 (2/2)
Ian slid his finger along the edge of the tiramisu, bringing it to his mouth. The texture was warm, creamy and soft, like lips parting beneath his own, the taste utterly lacking in precision, luxurious and urgent, mysterious and comforting. Ian stood in the kitchen, waiting for Antonia, every sense in his body awake and completely alive, and thought that if the stars were suddenly to fall in a great, glorious burst into his kitchen, he would hardly be surprised.
Epilogue.
The front door of the restaurant stood open, light spilling across the front porch and into the garden. Outside the gate, the world hustled by, running to the bank before closing time, getting off the bus from work. Inside, the garden was hushed and quiet. The Adirondack chairs sat empty in the cool evening air of early April; the branches of the cherry trees hung heavy with pink and white blossoms, their petals drifting like a spring snow onto the yellow daffodils below.
In the dining room the table was set for ten. The students had been arriving, walking up the path, calling greetings to one another, naturally gravitating in the direction of the kitchen door at the back, only to redirect their steps with a laugh of pleasure toward the front of the restaurant, where the smell of fresh bread and citrus beckoned them inside.
”We certainly are fancy tonight,” Carl said as he entered. He handed Lillian a bouquet of cream-colored roses, intermixed with lavender and rosemary. ”These are for you.”
”How beautiful,” Lillian answered, her voice lit with surprise.
”Essential.” Helen kissed her on the cheek.
”I'll just get water for these,” Lillian said softly, and went to the kitchen for a pitcher to put them in.
Isabelle approached the couple, her eyes dancing, her hand on Chloe's shoulder. ”Helen and Carl, I'd like to introduce you to my new housemate.”
”I'm like the puppy who showed up at the front door.” Chloe grinned.
”And got a whole lot more than she bargained for,” Isabelle added, chuckling.
”That's perfect,” Helen replied, nodding in satisfaction. ”And Chloe, you look simply beautiful tonight.” Chloe dipped her chin, a small smile on her face.
”I think you might not be the only one getting a new roommate, Isabelle,” Carl remarked, raising an eyebrow in the direction of Antonia and Ian, who were talking together by the bay window, their fingers intertwined.
”Well, it's about time,” Chloe said, returning to form. ”Now, where's Claire?”
”I'm here, I'm here-the babysitter was late.” Claire arrived laughing, bringing with her a tall man with curling blond hair. ”I wanted you all to meet my husband, James. He's heard so much about you; it seemed only right he should come, and Lillian said it was okay.
”James,” Claire said, leading him to the door near the kitchen, ”this is Lillian.”
While Lillian reached out a hand to greet him, Chloe ran up and pulled Claire away.
”Claire, I need your help with the salad,” she insisted.
Lillian turned to James. ”You have a lovely wife.”
”Thank you,” James said. His eyes traveled around the room, taking in the wooden wainscoting, the long table, the garden outside the windows s.h.i.+mmering in the twilight. ”Did she tell you we got engaged here?”
”Yes,” Lillian replied, smiling. ”It makes me happy to know that.”
”It's made her happy to be here.” James looked over at his wife, laughing in the kitchen with Chloe. ”Thank you.”
”All we did was cook.” Lillian reached up to brush at the rice cereal clinging to James's shoulder. ”You did the hard work.”
Tom entered the front door and Isabelle turned to greet him. ”Tom, my white knight,” she said, walking up to him, her hand outstretched. ”Would you care to escort me to dinner?”
”I THOUGHT THOUGHT for our last session we should celebrate spring,” Lillian said, coming out of the kitchen with a large blue bowl in her hands. ”The first green things coming up through soft earth. I've always thought the year begins in the spring rather than January, anyway. I like the idea of taking the first asparagus of the year, picked right that day, and putting it in a warm, creamy risotto. It celebrates both seasons and takes you from one to the next in just a few bites.” for our last session we should celebrate spring,” Lillian said, coming out of the kitchen with a large blue bowl in her hands. ”The first green things coming up through soft earth. I've always thought the year begins in the spring rather than January, anyway. I like the idea of taking the first asparagus of the year, picked right that day, and putting it in a warm, creamy risotto. It celebrates both seasons and takes you from one to the next in just a few bites.”
They pa.s.sed the bowl around the table, using the large silver spoon to serve generous helpings. The salad bowl came next, fresh Bibb lettuce and purple onions and orange slices, touched with oil and lemon and orange juice. Then a bread basket, heaped high with slices of fragrant, warm bread.
”I am eating spring,” Chloe mused, taking a bite of asparagus. ”I can't believe I've never liked vegetables.”
”Something tells me you wouldn't get away with that at Isabelle's house,” commented Claire.
”Lillian,” Antonia called down the table, ”I wanted to tell you-I have two new students for your next session. They just got married.”
”And I bet they just happen to have a beautiful new kitchen to cook in,” Helen remarked. Antonia nodded, blus.h.i.+ng.
”Here's to kitchens,” Carl proclaimed.
”And here's to what comes out of them,” Antonia added, raising her gla.s.s to Lillian.
THE DINNER PLATES were empty, the last bites taken with sighs of satisfaction. Chairs were pushed back, and the conversations around the table meandered like tributaries of a great green river. Lillian stood at one end of the table and raised her gla.s.s, clinking it gently with her knife. were empty, the last bites taken with sighs of satisfaction. Chairs were pushed back, and the conversations around the table meandered like tributaries of a great green river. Lillian stood at one end of the table and raised her gla.s.s, clinking it gently with her knife.
”I have an announcement to make,” she said. The table quieted. ”I'm going to have a new apprentice in my kitchen. I hope you all will come often and taste her cooking.” Lillian reached into the corner of the room behind her and pulled out a set of chef's whites, which she placed in front of Chloe, who looked up, pride spilling across her face, while the cla.s.s applauded.
”Oh, the sweet dear,” Isabelle murmured to Tom, ”I think she is going to cry.”
”Now then, who is ready for dessert?” Antonia asked. ”Ian has made something really special.”
THE LAST DISH was washed; the kitchen floor was s.h.i.+ning. Claire and James, who had offered to help with the last of the cleaning up, had put their ap.r.o.ns in the laundry basket and were walking down the path, Claire leaning in sleepily toward her husband's shoulder. Lillian stood by the wooden prep counter. The kitchen smelled of water and soap, the air vibrating with companions.h.i.+p and an undercurrent of desire as subtle as saffron, dusty-sweet as tarragon. was washed; the kitchen floor was s.h.i.+ning. Claire and James, who had offered to help with the last of the cleaning up, had put their ap.r.o.ns in the laundry basket and were walking down the path, Claire leaning in sleepily toward her husband's shoulder. Lillian stood by the wooden prep counter. The kitchen smelled of water and soap, the air vibrating with companions.h.i.+p and an undercurrent of desire as subtle as saffron, dusty-sweet as tarragon.
It had been a good cla.s.s, Lillian thought, and spring was already in the trees. A new cla.s.s would start soon. Lillian always felt a bit of sadness at this point, expected it even. This time, however, Lillian felt more regret than usual. She had always loved being the teacher, the one who knew the spices that would wake up a memory, heal a heart. She enjoyed holding the knowledge in her mind like a secret, figuring out which student needed which gift. But this cla.s.s was different. These students gave to each other, reaching out among themselves with such grace. She saw how connected their lives had become and would remain. Where did a teacher fit in the picture, she wondered, when there was no longer a cla.s.s? Lillian touched the tips of the roses softly and put them on the deep window shelf.
The teacher fit in the kitchen, of course. Shaking her head at herself, Lillian walked to the back door.
”Lillian?”
Tom was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his collar pulled up against the cool of the evening air. In a garden full of cherry trees, she smelled apples.
”It's still early yet,” Tom said, his voice reaching across the s.p.a.ce toward her. ”Would you like to take a walk? I have a story I'd like to tell you.”
Lillian gazed back into the room behind her, its counters clean, the walk-in ready for the Tuesday deliveries. She listened to the quiet hum of the refrigerator for a moment, the whispers of the flowers in the vase. Then she turned off the light, and left the kitchen.
Acknowledgments.
This book was a gift, given to me by many people. Marjorie Osterhout's generosity of time and spirit touched every page. Gloria Attoun asked perfect questions and created beautiful ill.u.s.trations. Rebecca Sullivan proved, yet again, her skill and patience as a friend, reader, and photographer. Sydney and David Oliver gave me Paris in December. The Blue Ribbon Cooking School, Julie Logue-Riordon, Jeff McLean and Dian Campbell, Lisa Cooke and Mark Rechtin, Val and Simon Griffith, were sources of delightful culinary inspiration. Mark Craemer, Nina Meierding, Michael Bauermeister, Deedee Rechtin, Peggy St.u.r.divant, and Holly Smith read with open hearts and clear minds. MJ Rose opened doors for someone she barely knew. Josh Getzler was my fierce advocate; Amy Berkower, an extraordinary agent; and Rachel Kahan, an insightful and ever supportive editor. And always there are Caitlin, Rylan, and Ben-I love you.
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