“Sweet Erielle, it’s so good to have you back in town.”
His mom shoved the reusable shopping bag full of plastic containers at Sam, who caught it so his mom could grab Erielle and bring her in for a hug.
Erielle stiffened. “I’ve been working all morning and I’m a mess—” she protested, but that didn’t deter his mom, and after a moment, Erielle leaned into the hug, closing her eyes as she returned it.
Feeling like he was intruding, he moved through the narrow path into the house and to the kitchen. The women joined him as he opened the refrigerator and started loading the containers inside.
“This is working okay?” he asked Erielle.
She nodded, then knocked on the top of the table. “Like a trooper. Excuse the mess.”
“You don’t have anything to excuse,” his mom told her sincerely, having a seat at the table. “Tell me everything.”
“Ah.” Erielle pulled out a chair, too. “Samson, would you mind getting the pitcher of water out of there?”
He obliged, and palmed some glasses from the dish drainer on the counter to carry to the table. Erielle gave him a look he couldn’t read, and he poured a glass for each of them.
“Well water pretty good?”
“Yes, Daisy had it inspected, but I splurged and bought a filter anyway.” She motioned to the faucet.
“Should be fine. Your grandfather had it checked annually, even when he was in the home,” his mom said. She took a sip of the water. “But I will say, the filter helps. Maybe I should get one. Now, tell me everything that’s happened since the last time I saw you.”
Erielle laughed, a sound Sam hadn’t heard since she’d gotten here.
“That’s a tall order. I’m sure you know the highlights—I went to cooking school, got on the television show, opened a restaurant, opened another restaurant, went bankrupt, now I’m back here.”
His mom laughed. “Well, that certainly is just hitting the highlights. Tell me more. Did you love cooking school? Being on the show? Owning your own restaurant?”
Erielle considered a moment. Sam, who’d been planning to go empty those boxes in the dumpster, paused to hear her response.
“I did enjoy it,” she said, like it was a surprise to her. “I enjoyed the challenge, and the creativeness. I didn’t love the pressure, but I liked the challenge to improve, to be better, to get the critics on my side.” She sighed. “I miss cooking for people.”
“Why didn’t you get a job at the diner, then? Sam said you’re working at Rumrunners. That doesn’t seem to fit your skill set.”
“Oh, I’m fine, but no, the diner isn’t hiring, and I don’t think Hattie is a particular fan.”
“Oh, she just has to warm up to you. I know!” His mother snapped her fingers. “You can help her with the community cooking.”
“The what, now?” Interest sharpened Erielle’s tone.
“You know, we live in kind of a depressed area, especially since the factory closed. And Hattie does some cooking for people who might not otherwise be able to afford much. I mean, some people pay what they can, but others, especially the older people, they might just be eating canned soup and beans if not for Hattie. I’ve always wanted to help her, but I’ve kind of got my hands full with Mr. Guillory right now.”
Sam strained his ears, wishing he hadn’t left the room because he wanted to see Erielle’s expression. What would her reaction be? Would she want to be part of the town? Contribute? Or did she prefer to stay here, hidden?
He supposed if she wanted to stay here, he couldn’t blame her. The place was a mess and needed a lot of work. But she was a chef, and a talented one, according to the internet. Why wouldn’t she put those skills to good use?
“I’ll go talk to her,” Erielle said finally. “If she’ll let me.”
“Just tell her I sent you,” his mom said, her tone confident.
Sam wasn’t sure that would make much of a difference. Hattie had her favorites, and he didn’t think his family was among them.
“What about you?” Erielle asked. “Are you holding up okay, taking care of Mr. G? How long has it been since his accident?”
Sam took that as a sign he needed to get to work. He didn’t need to hear his mom complaining about his dad. He knew the toll her role was taking. His dad was feeling well enough to want to do things around the house, but still wasn’t capable. That disparity frustrated both of them. The frustration and constant companionship led to shortened tempers, which led to fights. Sam had had to move to the cabin in the bayou because he triggered far too many arguments, especially when he took his mother’s side.
He pushed that out of his head as he started tossing the boxes of books into the dumpster, the noise as the bindings hit the metal deafening.
