Home of the Braised (2 page)

ON THE RIDE HOME ON THE METRO THAT EVENING
, I thought about how my life would change once Gav and I were actually married. We hadn’t had much chance to talk about it—seeing as how we’d only made the decision the day before—and I looked forward to making future plans with him. For the first time in my life I’d met someone who understood my curious tendencies and who loved me for who I was.

I stared out the window at nothing as my train trundled through one of many dark tunnels on its trip to Crystal City. Another thing Gav and I hadn’t discussed yet was where we’d live. Gav had a tiny apartment with a gorgeous view of Washington, D.C. My apartment was a little farther out, but it was larger and my neighbors were nice.

My knee bounced with impatience, both because I’d been thrown by this wedding delay and because of the upcoming Durasi dinner. Bucky, Cyan, and I had pulled major events together in the past, but nothing quite like this.

As much as I hated to admit it, this eight-week delay could prove to be a godsend. How could I even imagine getting married in the midst of organizing and executing a major White House dinner? I sighed and reminded myself that things work out for the best sometimes, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. This might be one of those times.

I clapped my hand to my forehead, remembering that I hadn’t even called my mother yet. I’d planned to do so as soon as we’d filed the marriage application, but the news of the unexpected delay had thrown me. Gav and I had been so disappointed that I’d decided to wait until I was cheerier again. This afternoon would have worked, but the day had gotten away from me. I’d call her tonight as soon as I got home. For sure.

My train pulled into my station and as I disembarked and made my way up into the warm evening air, my cell phone rang. Gav.

“Hey,” he said when I answered, “you busy?”

“Never too busy for you.”

He laughed. “That’s a lie. You’re going to be far too busy for me over the next week, I’m sure of it.”

“This Durasi dinner
will
keep us flying, no question about it.”

“That’s all anyone is talking about. Lots of interesting fallout from that decision.”

“Fallout?” I asked. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“I’ll tell you about it later. But for now, are you up for an adventure?”

“Always,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll meet you at your apartment and explain on the way.”

“Almost home right now.”

“Good. See you in twenty. Meet you out front.”

“Wow. You’re not wasting any time,” I said.

“Not a second more than necessary. I can’t wait to tell you my idea. I hope you’re as excited about this as I am.”

• • •

I SPEED-WALKED TO MY BUILDING AND MADE
it upstairs to my apartment without being waylaid by the elderly doorman who was busy signing for a package and didn’t notice me scurry by. I changed clothes, brushed my hair, and made it back down to the lobby in less than fifteen. James’s eyes lit up when he spied me. “Ollie,” he said. “You got a minute? What’s the read among the staff at the White House on these peace negotiations?”

James was a sweet man and a kind soul. I hated to brush him off, but at that very moment I noticed Gav pulling up outside.

“Sorry,” I said. “Gotta run.”

“That’s all right, honey. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Of course he would. James knew that I was privy to a lot of secrets working at the White House. He also knew that I never shared anything that wasn’t already public knowledge. But that didn’t stop him from trying.

Gav was just starting to get out of the car when I pushed through the apartment building’s glass doors. “Where are we going?” I asked. “And what’s with all the mystery?”

“I’ll explain when you get in.”

As he and I settled ourselves and buckled up, I stole a glance to the backseat to make sure Gav had brought his cane. Even though he was walking much better now than he had been immediately after a recent skirmish, there was no mistaking how much he hated assistance getting around. We both knew that his dependence on the cane was temporary, but the angry set of his jaw whenever he used the device told me how much this infirmity taxed his patience.

He didn’t seem bothered in the least at this moment, though. Behind the wheel, with a sly grin on his face, Gav was more animated than usual. He restarted the car and set off, making me wait for enlightenment. I could tell he was enjoying this.

“I got a call from a friend of mine this afternoon. His name’s Evan Bonder.”

“You’ve never mentioned him before,” I said. “At least not that I remember. Did you?”

“Probably not. I only hear from him occasionally.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, in an effort to prompt him for more.

“Evan Bonder used to be in the Secret Service,” he began. “We were good friends and, as I mentioned, still keep in touch from time to time. He called me today for a favor and I didn’t think anything of it until after we’d hung up. When I remembered, I called him back.” He took one hand off the wheel to gesture vaguely into the air. “It’s not like that was the first thing that came to mind. I mean, neither you nor I expected there would be an eight-week backlog on marriage ceremonies.”

“And with that, you have officially lost me,” I said. I was more amused than angry. Whatever thoughts were careering through Gav’s head, they’d lifted his spirits exponentially since yesterday.

He reached to grab my hand, the lines in his usually serious face creasing into a deep, genuine smile. “Evan,” he said taking his eyes off the road long enough to give me a pointed look, “is a minister. And he said he would be delighted to perform our ceremony. Assuming you’re willing, of course.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Wow. What a change from yesterday, huh?” Though not displeased, I was unprepared for this news. Questions raced through my brain so fast it took me a moment to latch on to one. “What kind of minister is he?”

Gav gave a sheepish shrug. “I don’t remember. Nondenominational, maybe? He left the Secret Service because he had a profound calling to serve others. He said he wanted to help those on the fringes of society’s fabric to find a way to weave themselves back in.”

“Poetic.”

“Evan is different. Always was. He’s a decent guy. What do you say?”

“Are you kidding? This is great news. I’m all for it.” I’d been willing to say “I do,” three days from now if the court had been able to provide a presider. There was no need to think twice. But I did have one requirement. “I’d like to meet him first. I assume that’s where we’re going?”

“Your deductive skills do you well.” Gav pointed at me. “This is why you should have been a Secret Service agent instead of a chef.”

I laughed. “I’ll stick to the kitchen, thanks.” A moment later, I asked, “Why did he call you? You said you remembered that he was a minister after you hung up. You mentioned he needed a favor?”

For the first time since I’d gotten in the car, Gav’s mood shifted. “That part has me concerned. Even though Evan chose a vastly different path than the rest of us did, he maintains a connection with a few others in the service. There are men and women who have had problems with one or more aspects of the job. Beside counseling the fringe folk, he tries to help his former comrades-in-arms as well.”

“Sounds like a great guy.”

“He is.” Gav’s lips were tight for a moment, then he went on. “Evan called me because he’s run into a problem that he thinks is too big to handle on his own. He wants some advice, and he suggested we meet tomorrow morning. At first I agreed and we planned to meet around ten. Then, when I thought of him as a possible officiant, I suggested we stop by tonight.”

“Isn’t he going to mind my being there? If this problem involves members of the Secret Service, or is otherwise confidential, he may not be comfortable confiding in you with me hanging around.”

Gav took my hand again. “I may never have mentioned Evan to you, but I definitely mentioned you to him. From the start, actually.” He laughed. “I complained to him mightily about this little upstart chef who was giving me all kinds of grief. It was Evan who first called me out on it, accusing me of protesting too much.”

“You mean, back when you first came to the White House for those bomb classes?”

Gav nodded, smiling as though he was reliving those first days. “When I’d heard that you’d broken up with Tom MacKenzie, I told Evan. He warned me that I’d better make my move or be eternally sorry I’d hesitated.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Even if he hadn’t pushed, there was no way I wasn’t going to try. I think having his blessing—no pun intended—made it easier, though. Evan knows about you, knows you’re in my life, and knows that you can be trusted. It’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t know that you talked about me with your friends.”

“Only with friends who matter.”

I had a feeling I was going to like this Evan Bonder.

The sun was beginning to set as the quiet settled over us. We traveled a few more miles before I broke the silence. “I haven’t yet told anyone—beyond my staff, of course—about our plans. I’ve been meaning to, but nothing’s gone right. Not until now, at least.”

“You still haven’t called your mother, you mean?”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I meant to yesterday, but after we heard about the delay, I was too disappointed to pick up the phone. I’m dying to call her right this minute—she’ll be so happy for us, you know—but I also think it may be better to wait until I get home tonight.”

He kept his eyes on the road. “When you’re alone and I’m not around to overhear? Is that it?”

I acknowledged his observation with a mischievous grin. “I’m liable to get mushy and sappy. I’m not sure I want you to see that side of me.”

He made eye contact. “I want to know every side of you, Olivia Paras,” he said. “Not just today. Forever.” Returning his attention to driving, he added, “But I understand. You’ll let me know if she disapproves, right?”

“She won’t,” I said, “but why? Will that change your mind?”

“Not a chance. I’d work that much harder to win her over.”

“Don’t worry. You already have.”

We made it to DuPont Circle and entered the roundabout. Halfway through, we took a right then traveled awhile longer, making several more turns, bringing us to a section of the neighborhood that was congested with tight, battered buildings. Where parts of Washington, D.C., were gorgeous this time of year—fragrant with flowers and energetic with busy, bustling crowds—this area was the exact opposite.

There were more abandoned storefronts than there were viable businesses. A barber shop and a consignment/resale store were closed for the night, secured behind accordion-style metal grates fastened shut with padlocks the size of my hand. Two liquor stores were open for business, their neon beer signs blinking plaintively in the approaching dusk. Five young men loitered outside one of them, while an old man shouted from across the street, demanding that the youths get out of his sight.

“It doesn’t seem like the best of neighborhoods,” I said.

“Rent is less expensive here. And this is where many of those fringe folk live. It’s where Evan needs to be.”

As we cruised up the block, there were fewer pedestrians on the street. It seemed the farther north we went, the quieter it became.

“Ainsley Street,” I said aloud. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been up this way before.”

“Parking might be a challenge,” Gav said. He wasn’t kidding.

As he found and then maneuvered into a tight spot, I caught sight of a tall, bare-chested man heading our way. Even in the waning light, I could tell that he carried a very large wooden staff, which he used as a walking stick. With his scraggly white beard and white dreadlocks that bounced in the wind, he kept up a pace I’d consider brisk for a man his age. I put him at sixty-five, maybe seventy. His expression was one of manic determination. If he’d been wearing flowing robes rather than ragged jeans and shabby sandals, he could have auditioned for the role of vengeful God.

“How far does Evan live?” I asked.

Gav pointed up the block. “See that two-story tucked in between the apartment buildings? He’s in there. Calls it the Ainsley Street Ministry. Clever name, huh? The first floor is his meeting area and where people can hang out if they want to. It used to be a dry cleaner, and I swear you can still smell the chemicals. Evan lives in the apartment directly above.”

The bare-chested man slowed as he spotted us, watching and giving us a wide berth as Gav put the car into Park and shut it off.

“Let’s let him go on ahead before you get out.” Gav spoke quietly, even though there was no way the guy outside could hear us.

I didn’t need the warning, but I appreciated it nonetheless. I smiled at the man as he passed, hoping he’d perceive me as nonthreatening. His eyes met mine and for a brief flash, lost their distracted wildness. Without warning, he stopped. He turned to face us, then took a step closer. I got a better look at him. Long and lean, he had a narrow nose that had likely been broken once and never reset properly.

He waved his free hand at me, making a motion as though to move us along, as though telling us we’d taken the wrong parking spot. A second later he started jumping up and down in place. He never got more than an inch off the ground, owing to his age maybe, but the man was clearly intent on making a spectacle of himself. Still jumping, he stared at me, shaking his head and mouthing, “No, no, no, no.”