Francesca's Kitchen (8 page)

T
here were moments—and lately, they seemed to arise with increasing frequency—when Loretta was reminded that the framework of her life was constructed with all the stability of a house of cards. Touch it, remove one single card, take away one support, or subject the fragile structure to the faintest puff of wind, and everything would come toppling down into a heap.

It was a state of affairs of which she had grown acutely aware over the years since David had gone, leaving her to raise two children by herself. The pebbles that dropped into the pond in which she lived didn't cause ripples; what they caused was more like a tsunami. And so, Loretta lived in dread of the multitude of common everyday occurrences, with their inevitable cascade of consequences, that could wreak havoc on her life. What if the car broke down? How would she get to work? Who would come to get her? What if Will or Penny had a doctor's appointment or someplace else they needed to be? What if the heat stopped working? It was the middle of winter. She knew nothing about such things. Who would she call to fix it, and when would he come? How much would it cost to repair? Money—or more accurately, the lack of it—always weighed heavily on her mind. What if she should get so far behind in her bills that the telephone company or the cable television company or the electric company disconnected her service? What would she do? Where would she go? Who would she turn to? What if one or both of her children were to get sick, and Loretta, having no one to rely on, was forced to stay home to take care of them? How long would they tolerate her absence at work before they fired her? Or what if any of a million possible other things went wrong? Like on this particular day, what would she do if she called home and discovered that the babysitter she had just hired had not yet shown up to look after the kids when they got home from school? She was at work. Her children were home all alone. What would she do?

“What do you
mean
there's no one there but you and Will?” said Loretta in a panicked whisper when she returned Penny's call. “Brenda should have been there a half hour ago.”

“Well, Brenda's not here, Mom,” replied Penny. “I had to get the key from behind the mailbox to open the door.”

Loretta put her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes closed. Her head was beyond aching now. It felt like it was caught in a vise. She took a deep breath to calm herself down while trying to decide what to do. She opened her eyes in time to see the door to Arnold Grant's office open. Her stomach tightened into a knot. Grant emerged from his office and began to walk her way. Though she felt more like crying, Loretta turned the telephone receiver to her shoulder and forced herself to give him a smile. This she did despite having taken note of the file folder he carried in his hand. She knew what was coming next.

“Loretta, would you be able to take a look at this for me and write it up right away? I need it in an hour for a meeting.” Grant never gave orders; he always asked. To Loretta's knowledge, no one had ever declined one of his requests.

“Of course. I'll get right to it, Mister Grant,” said Loretta, secretly wincing inside, hoping he couldn't hear the muffled voice of her daughter coming from the telephone receiver against her shoulder. When her boss had left, she put the receiver back to her ear. Penny was calling to her.

“Mom? Mom? Are you still there?”

“Yes, Penny, I'm here,” Loretta said wearily. “Sorry about that. Okay, let me think for a minute about what to do.”

“But Mom—”

“Please, Penny, just let me think for a second.”

“Mom, don't worry about it,” her daughter insisted. “Brenda just walked in.”

“She's there?” said Loretta, half in relief, half full of ire.

“Yes. Do you want to talk to her?”

“I most certainly do,” said Loretta. “But I can't do it right now. You and your brother go do your homework. I'll talk to Brenda when I get home.”

Brenda had a plausible excuse for her tardiness when Loretta finally returned home and spoke with her that evening. Something about an important meeting with her academic advisor that had run longer than she had anticipated. Loretta was too tired to attend to all the details. Brenda apologized profusely and assured her that she would not be late again. At moments such as these, Loretta often felt like Blanche Dubois, except in her own case, she relied not just on the kindness of strangers but also on their honesty.

She gave Brenda a second chance.

To Loretta's relief, she found no messages from home on her voice mail the next afternoon at work. Someone was home, of that she was certain. When Loretta tried to call to double-check that Brenda had arrived on time, all she managed to get was a busy signal. It was possible that one of the kids was on the Internet; it was usually the first thing they did when they got home. The way it tied up the telephone line was becoming a problem. Loretta had considered subscribing to a cable or DSL Internet service to free up the line, but it was just one more thing that she could never seem to get around to doing. Besides, God only knew how much extra she would have to pay each month. It always sounded reasonable until you started adding it up from month to month. In any case, she felt certain that everyone was safely home. Just the same, she fretted all afternoon at the persistent busy signal that greeted her every time she called. It wasn't until she returned home that night and let Brenda go on her way that Will informed her that neither he nor Penny had been on the computer. Brenda had spent the entire afternoon talking on the telephone.

Loretta's blood pressure inched up another notch.

The following morning, before driving to work, Loretta left a note by the telephone, asking Brenda to please leave the line free unless it was for something urgent. To her relief, the line rang when she called home that afternoon. Brenda answered it right away and let her know that Will and Penny were home. Everything was fine. That night, however, her son and daughter had little to say as they sat in front of the television, eating the pizza Loretta had just had delivered. There was something odd about the way they ignored her when she asked them about how their days had gone. She suspected that something was wrong, but try as she might, she could pry nothing out of them. It troubled her all that night, until she collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep. It was there again when she rose the next morning, made the kids breakfast, and saw them off to school before getting herself ready for work.

A nagging worry persisted inside her throughout the rest of the morning, until she finally decided to do something about it. Loretta worked through her lunch break and later asked for permission to leave work early that afternoon. When the time came, she pulled on her coat, grabbed her purse, and hurried out to her car.

Loretta was alarmed to see a second car in addition to Brenda's parked out front when she arrived home. She drove up behind it and turned the engine off. She stared at the house for a moment. It was nearing four o'clock, and the sun was falling away fast. The lights in the upstairs bedrooms were lit. Will and Penny, she guessed, were in their rooms. As she stepped out of the car and began to walk up the driveway, Loretta happened to look up in time to see Will gazing down at her from between the curtains of his bedroom window. At seeing her look up at him, Will stepped back quickly from sight. Something was definitely going on, and she was going to get to the bottom of it right away. She strode up the front steps with the key to the door ready in her hand. Before opening the door, though, she leaned over the railing to get a look in through the front window.

Then she understood.

There on the living room couch lay Brenda with a young man, another grad student, Loretta could only surmise. Thankfully, though well on the way, the two had not fully disrobed, but they were obviously giving each other a very extensive anatomy lesson. Oddly enough, when she finally threw open the front door and walked in on them, Loretta did not give in to the urge to scream or carry on in outrage. Instead, she stared at the young man with icy malice, until he hastily managed to collect all his belongings and escape out the door. Then she turned her glare to Brenda, who was red-faced, as one might expect of a young woman caught in such circumstances.

“I can explain, Mrs. Simmons,” Brenda said anxiously as she tried to straighten herself up.

“I'm sure you can,” replied Loretta. “But don't bother.”

“Um…I'm…sorry,” Brenda stammered. “I promise, this will never happen again.”

“You're right,” Loretta answered coolly. “It won't happen again, Brenda. Let me tell you why…”

Later, after she had written Brenda a check for the days she owed her and sent the young woman packing, Loretta sat on the bottom of the stairs and stared forlornly at the floor. She wanted to cry out from frustration, but long experience had taught her that it never helped. She let out a sigh, rested her elbows atop her knees, and propped her chin up on her hand.

Will and Penny came down and sat side by side on the stairs above her. They had been hiding out upstairs until Brenda had gone.

“We didn't want to have to tell you, Mom,” said Penny, putting her hand on her mother's shoulder. “We know how hard you tried to find somebody.”

“I know,” said Loretta. “I'm sorry about all this.”

“We don't need anybody,” said Will, trying to cheer her up. “We're old enough to stay by ourselves.”

“He's right, Mom,” his sister agreed. “We can do it.”

Loretta reached back for their hands and pulled them down closer to her. She gave each of them a kiss on the head and squeezed them tight.

“Thanks, guys,” she told them. “But I'm never going to leave you all alone. Never.” She took a deep breath and stood.

“What are you going to do?” asked Will as his mother walked away to the kitchen.

“The same thing I always do,” she told them. “Go to plan B.”

“What's plan B?” he said.

“I'll tell you when I know for sure,” Loretta answered. Then she walked into the kitchen and sifted through the papers on the counter until she found the one she was looking for. She picked up the telephone and dialed the number she had scribbled on the paper. It rang only twice before the person she was calling answered.

“Hello, Mrs. Campanile,” she said. “Sorry to bother you. This is Loretta Simmons…”

O
ne Sunday afternoon many years ago, just after Francesca and Leo had become engaged to be married, Leo decided that it would be a good thing if his future spouse learned how to drive an automobile. In those days, Leo worked as a mechanic at a local service station. He was a whiz at repairing cars and had dreams of one day soon owning a station of his own. It seemed only reasonable to him that he should want his bride-to-be to know at least a little about how to handle a car.

Up to that point, despite her fiercely independent spirit, Francesca had never summoned up the nerve to get behind the wheel of a car. It wasn't so much that she was afraid to drive, but she had always been content to simply walk wherever she had to go or, if necessary, take a bus. Besides, if she ever needed a ride, she knew she could depend on her father or one of her brothers or Leo himself. And so, learning to drive became one of those things that Francesca was just as happy to keep putting off for some other time; it hardly seemed worth the trouble to her. And what of it, she often said, if she never got her driver's license? She knew plenty of women who left the driving to the men in their lives. Until that Sunday afternoon, Francesca would have been content to let herself be one of them if her fiancé had not finally pestered her into giving it a try.

It was a beautiful October day, that Sunday afternoon. When she stepped outside, Francesca was greeted by a sparkling blue sky and brilliant sunshine. The air had just a hint of that pleasant autumn crispness in it, just enough to make her pull on a light sweater as she descended the steps to Leo's car. It was the kind of day on which Francesca would have enjoyed just being a passenger if Leo had suggested a ride out to the country to take in the colorful spectacle of the changing foliage. She loved taking Sunday rides in the fall. Still, if she had to learn how to drive, this was a perfect day to start. Though quite uneasy about the whole thing, Francesca could not help being a little excited as well, like a child on the first day of school. As Leo hurried ahead to open the driver's side door for her, she smiled despite the nervous pang in her stomach. He seemed as excited as she.

When she slipped in behind the steering wheel, the first thing Francesca did was turn the rearview mirror toward her so that she could assess her appearance before they got started. For a moment, she scrutinized her shoulder-length hair, which in those days was a warm amber color. She decided to tie it back with a ribbon before her driving lesson commenced.

“Come on, beautiful,” Leo playfully chided her. “Let's get a move on before the sun goes down.”

“Hey, do you mind? I want to look good on my first day driving a car,” she told him, straightening the collar of her sweater before turning the mirror back to its original position.

“You always look good,” said Leo, kissing her hand. “Now can we please get started?”

And so the lesson began. As Francesca sat there, doing her best to listen to Leo's instructions, she was struck by the difference sitting just two feet to the left of where she normally sat in the car made in her view of the world. There was something thrilling about being behind the wheel of the car, something that gave her a sense of power and freedom. The nervous tension of just a few moments earlier suddenly vanished, and she couldn't wait to get started. Francesca tried to pay close attention while Leo explained all the details on where the brake pedal was, and how the clutch worked, and when to shift, and how much gas to give it when stepping on the accelerator. Try as she might, though, she found herself simply staring at the key to the ignition, wishing all the while that her fiancé would just stop yacking and let her get on with starting the engine. After all, how hard could it be?

Francesca's first impression, after Leo's dissertation finally ended and at long last he allowed her to start the engine and attempt to put the car in gear, was that there was not an engine beneath the front hood of the car, but some sort of wild beast that was straining to break out. She let loose a scream after her first attempt to let out the clutch succeeded in advancing the car all of three feet. The engine gave a mighty roar, and the car lurched forward, stalled, and then screeched to an abrupt halt, tossing the two forward. Each ensuing attempt to put the car in gear brought the same result. The beast would rear up like a bucking bronco, bouncing them up in the air like rodeo cowboys. Such was the ferocity of the jolting that the ribbon in Francesca's hair came undone and her hair fell wildly about her face.

“What's the matter with this thing?” she screamed at Leo. “What am I doing wrong?”

Fortunately, her future husband had been born with the patience of a saint.

“It's okay,” he told her gently. “Don't get nervous. Let's just try again, letting the clutch out a little bit slower and giving it just a little gas. You'll get the hang of it….”

And so it went for the next several minutes, before Francesca finally began to understand the subtleties of coordinating the clutch and the accelerator. It wasn't long before she finally managed to find first gear and set the car in motion. The car lurched fitfully but steadily down the road, and the two were on their way.

“Relax,” Leo laughed at seeing the death grip with which she held the steering wheel. “There's no point in choking the wheel. Trust me, you're doing great.”

Francesca let out a nervous laugh. She tried to relax, but as the car gained momentum, she became aware of the growing roar of the engine.

“Don't worry about that,” said Leo. “It's just time to put it into second.”

The thought of changing gears sent a stab of fear through Francesca. To her surprise, though, the car shifted easily into second gear as it rolled along. Emboldened, she stepped slightly harder on the gas pedal and was thrilled to feel the car accelerate.

“Now you're getting it!” enthused Leo.

Everything was going swimmingly, until an uphill section of road presented itself to her. Francesca navigated the car toward the top of the hill and came to a halt at the stoplight just before its crest. It was a busy intersection, and within moments, there were several cars lined up behind her. Francesca gave the rearview mirror a nervous glance.

“Don't worry about them,” Leo assured her. “Just remember what I told you to do when the light changes, and everything will be fine.”

But everything wasn't fine when the light changed. Francesca depressed the clutch, as Leo had instructed, but the instant she let her foot off the brake, she was alarmed to find that the car began to roll backward before she had a chance to step on the gas. Panicked, she slammed her foot on the brake to keep from rolling into the car behind her. She tried again, but with the same result. As the line of cars on the opposite side of the intersection began to pass by, the line of cars behind Francesca began to grow longer. Suddenly horns were blaring and motorists behind were yelling at her out their car windows.

“What's happening?” she yelled at Leo. “Why can't I do this?”

“Stay calm,” Leo told her in that same gentle voice, which at that particular moment Francesca suddenly found very annoying. “Just let the clutch out a little bit before you give it the gas.”

Francesca did as he told her, but the beast beneath the hood would have none of it. The car bucked forward into the middle of the intersection and stalled. Fortunately, it went far enough over the crest of the hill so that it no longer rolled backward. By this time, though, Francesca was so rattled that she couldn't remember how to get the car into first gear without stalling again. They were stuck in the middle of the intersection. Cars swerved around them to either side, their drivers making unkind remarks about Francesca's driving abilities as they passed. To make matters worse, the light changed once again, so that now she was blocking traffic coming from the left and right. Francesca tried frantically to get the car going, but each attempt ended with the car stalling and more horns blaring.

“This is all your fault!” she screamed at Leo, furious at the spectacle she was making of herself.

Leo, who by now was wearing an expression that suggested that he was doing his best to not burst out laughing, threw open his door and stepped out into the street. For a fleeting moment, Francesca thought that he was so embarrassed that he meant to abandon her right there on the spot. How, she wondered in anguish, would she explain to her family and friends that her fiancé had called off the wedding because he didn't want to be married to someone who couldn't find first gear? This ridiculous notion vanished when she saw Leo gesturing to the surrounding motorists to just stay calm and be patient as he hurried around to her side of the car. He opened the door and nonchalantly advised her to move over. This heroic rescue made the situation all the more humiliating for Francesca.

“We'll practice some more tomorrow,” Leo promised her, giving her hand another quick kiss. Then, with insulting ease, he put the car in gear and cruised away from the intersection. He assumed a nice drive out into the country to look at the trees in all their autumn splendor would be just the thing to make her feel better. He was right, but several miles would pass before Francesca's ire finally abated enough for her to see the humor in her first adventure behind the wheel.

Now, so many years later, Francesca was not quite sure why the memory of that particular day should come to mind at just that moment. She sat there at the kitchen table and dwelled on it for a time after she hung up the telephone. The call from Loretta Simmons had taken her by surprise. It was a Thursday evening, and over a week without any word from the young woman had passed since their interview. Francesca had assumed, quite reasonably, that the position had gone to someone else. Not that she had expected things to be otherwise. Francesca and the woman had not exactly hit it off when they had first met. There was much Francesca had wanted to say about herself, and many questions she had wanted to ask about the mother and her children, but she had been afraid of being too nosy right off the bat. So, instead of prying, she had tried to answer the woman's questions as succinctly and politely as possible without saying or asking too much. It had made for an awkward conversation, and afterward, Francesca knew that she had not come across very well.

As the days went by and it became obvious that the woman must have chosen someone else to look after her children, Francesca had finally decided that perhaps it was all for the best. Peg and the others were right; she probably wasn't ready for this sort of thing. Besides, she told herself, there were plenty of other things she could find to fill up her time. She would just have to accept things as they were and make the best of it. Something about coming to that resolution had made her feel better. Just that night, while she had sat at the table eating a bowl of minestrone, Francesca had decided to forget all about it, to put the whole matter out of her mind—and then the telephone had rung.

To say that she had been caught off guard when the Simmons woman had asked her if she were still interested in the position would have been a great understatement. More startling, though, was when she had asked Francesca if she would be able to start Friday, the very next day! Asking for a day or two to prepare herself would have been a sensible idea, but Francesca had been so astonished by the whole turn of events and the woman's request that she couldn't bring herself to say no. Yes, of course she could come tomorrow, Francesca had told her.

As Francesca mulled the whole thing over, she regretted replying so hastily. She ought to have said that she could not possibly start until Monday. At least that would have given her the weekend to get her thoughts together. An odd feeling of dread mixed with anticipation filled her as she stood to take her empty bowl to the sink. There was something familiar about it that puzzled Francesca, until she understood why the memory of that day in Leo's car had come to mind. Thinking back on it, she realized that she was now filled with that same odd blend of nervous excitement as on that day when she had first gotten behind the wheel of the car. At the same time, though, she recognized that same feeling of helpless panic that had overtaken her when she had become stuck at the intersection and the car had begun to roll backward, that sinking feeling in her gut that she had gotten herself in way over her head. The difference this time was that she was all alone. There would be no one to rescue her if things went wrong.

“What did I just get myself into, Leo?” she said aloud as she washed the bowl and deposited it into the dish drainer. “Am I crazy, or what?”

With that thought in mind, she went upstairs to get an early night's rest. A big day lay ahead of her, and she wanted to be ready. Francesca fretted about the whole thing while she changed into her pajamas, but when she finally put her head on the pillow, she was comforted by one thought: At least now her car was an automatic.