Page 52 of Finding Yesterday
It has to be.
* * *
TONIGHT WHEN Ido the prep work, Pops is by my side. Time goes a whole lot faster when you have someone to chat with.
As we fold the napkins, I ask, “So, what’s your favorite part about running a restaurant?”
“Well, it was doing it with my wife.”
“Oh.” I swallow hard. That answer catches me off guard, although it shouldn’t. He’s just being honest.
Honest about his feelings. Undoubtedly, he must’ve been shattered. He became a hermit because he lost his wife, and the thought knocks my breath away.
Pops is like this because of what happened.
I’m sure he’s up at night, wondering why they were in that old mine that day.
And as I look at him, I realize that Jack and I were lucky to be young, to be able to move on. Pops couldn’t and didn’t. In eighteen years, he’s never moved on until now, when Jack showed up. At the thought, a lump forms in my throat.
I can’t get like this, not now, not again! I force myself to focus on making perfect edges on the napkins.
I didn’t know what it would be like getting to know Pops, that I would feel this way. But he lives in a nightmare I can’t even begin to imagine, and I can’t stop myself. Usually, I only have to worry about which words are going to fly out of my mouth, never about crying. Until lately. But then again, I’ve never met someone who has to hurt more than I do about what happened.
And now I know Jack shares the pain of that day, his circumstances different, but wretched in their own way. I reply, “I wish I could cook with my mama, too. Even just one more time.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something.” He smiles, but it’s soft, sad. “I tell ya, it’s been awfully nice to get to spend some time with that grandson of mine again. He was gone for a lot of years.”
“That he was.” I rearrange a napkin fan to get it just right. “But he sure did well, making a name for himself.”
Pops shakes his finger. “And I taught that little brat everything he knows about cooking.”
“Roger that.” I salute him, in a teasing way, but I believe it. Pops knows how to run a tight ship.
“So, why haven’t you called Jack?” Pops peers at me over the rim of his glasses.
I hesitate, fumbling around for words. “Is there a problem? I texted him back all the questions he had about work.”
“I wasn’t talking about work.”
“Oh.” What did Jack tell Pops? I don’t know, but I’m definitely not taking the bait. I’m not getting into what happened between Jack and me, what Jack was doing with that woman, or who she is. “I can call him. He just sounded busy in San Francisco.”
“He’d like to hear from you.” Pops gives me this pleading look, one I’ve never seen from him before.
I can’t say no. Pursing my lips, I nod. “Okay.”
“I wish he wanted to stay in Blue Vine,” Pops continues. “I have my selfish reasons of course, but more than that, he’s happy here.”
“He does seem happy here.” I wipe a smudge off a glass.
“He had a rough path growing up.” Pops shakes his head, wiping down the salt and pepper shakers. “I don’t think the big city is good for him. He thinks it is, and I understand that. Everybody needs to get away, try things out, experience the world. I just think when all the dust settles, he’ll want to end up here. It suits him.”
Yes, after what Jack said, I think Pops is right about the big city not being good for Jack. But I’m stuck on Pops saying Jack “had a rough path growing up.” A rough path with what? Who? I know nothing about Jack’s past in San Francisco.
And that woman.
I wonder if Pops wants Jack away from her? Or does Pops even know about her at all? My brain is filled with questions I can’t ask.
“Anyway, a restaurant isn’t enough of a reason to get him to stay here.” A strange look crosses Pops’s face. “But I can think of other reasons that would keep him here.”
