Bitter Root (11 page)

Griffith rang the bell and waited. Bertie opened the door in a
quilted robe covered in small pink roses.

“Hi, Griffith. Come on in and make yourself at home.”

“Hi, Bertie. I really appreciate your invitation to wait here for
Adi. I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Not a bit. How about a little something to wet your whistle? I’m
having my little sip o’ hooch. Puts me right to sleep.”

“That sounds great. What exactly is hooch?”

“Heh, heh, it’s called a Dark ’N Stormy. Just a little rum and a
little ginger beer.”

“Yum. I’d love to try one.”

“Coming right up. You sit yourself down on the couch and put your
feet up. Don’t tell me your feet are fine. Everybody puts their feet up after
ten in this house. It’s a rule.”

“Got it. Couch. Feet.”

“You learn quick for a foreigner. I might get used to you hanging
’round here.”

“I do my best to assimilate. You make it pretty easy.”

Bertie returned, drinks in hand, and sat beside Griffith on the
comfy couch.

“Ooh Lord, I’m telling ya, my feet need this time. It’s harder on
the feet than anything else to work the restaurant all day.”

“I’m sure it is. How old are you, Bertie? If you don’t mind me
asking.”

“Girl, just when I thought you were about civilized, you going to
go and ask an old woman her age? Didn’t your mamma teach you better than that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I’m just pulling your leg. It’s no secret around here. I’m going
to be seventy-five on my next birthday. Which, if you were wondering, is coming
up next month.”

“That young, huh? I’m just amazed you’re still working every day.
Are you ever planning to retire?”

“Retire for what? I’ll retire when the good Lord sees fit to
retire me. We were put here on this earth to do, not to sit. I take my day of
rest on Monday. What am I gonna do if I’m not working? Sit around here and grow
mold? No, that’s not for me. I’m pretty happy with my life. You sound like Adi
with that talk.”

“So Adi has talked to you about retiring?”

“Oh yes. She has made it her personal mission to get me to quit.
Ain’t going to happen. Not for her, not for anyone. Besides, who’s gonna look
after her if I’m not up at the Pot every day?”

“Does she need someone to look after her?”

“Don’t we all?”

Griffith thought about it. She hadn’t had anyone looking after
her since she left home at eighteen to attend the University of Southern
California. She hadn’t thought she was missing anything by being independent.
In fact, she had always felt it made her better at her job. Nothing tying her
down. She was able to go where the stories were at a moment’s notice. She had
built quite a reputation as a freelance journalist precisely because she had no
one looking out for her.

“I plead the fifth. I’m here to find out about you all, not to
fill your time with my life story.”

“Aw, now. We Southerners love to hear people’s stories. Makes you
look suspicious if you don’t share.”

“Well, what’s Adi’s excuse then? She’s a Southerner. Why does she
get a pass on sharing her life story?”

Bertie stared at Griffith for a long while before answering. “You
trying to trip me up, huh? She has her reasons, and they’re good enough for me.
I’m not going to be the one who tells you what she’s put behind her. She has to
do that herself. I expect if she comes to trust you enough, she’ll tell you.”

“I hope you’re right. God knows I’m doing my best.”

“That’s all you can do, then. Come on. You have got to see what
happened on
General
Hospital
. You’re not going to believe it.”

Adi slid out of the truck and kicked the door closed behind
her, cradling her injured hand. She couldn’t believe how stupid she had been.
She knew better than anyone to avoid the sharp end of a knife. She could’ve
lost her finger. As it was, she wouldn’t be cooking for the next few days.
Thank goodness T’Claude had stopped by at the end of the night. He had arrived
just in time to rush Adi to the emergency room.

She had been deboning chicken for tomorrow’s special when she
lost her focus. She couldn’t get Griffith out of her head. It surprised her
that it wasn’t fear of being discovered she was thinking about, but the way
Griffith looked sitting in front of her in the canoe. The sound of her happy
laughter over the water. The kiss of sunlight on her cheek as she turned to ask
about the gators. The play of the muscles in her arms as she pulled on her oar.
So beautiful
.
The sharp sting of the knife pulled her back into the present.

She was lucky she had missed any major tendons in her index
finger. The doctor washed the incision thoroughly before stitching it up and
sending her home with a prescription and warnings to keep the wound dry and
clean.

“You know, Adi, you could’ve just told me you wanted some time
off. You didn’t have to cut your finger off,” T’Claude said as they walked back
to his car. “At least you didn’t bleed on my leather seats.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I could pretty much
debone a chicken in my sleep.”

“You think? I don’t agree. Clearly, you need to be a little more
awake to work with a sharp blade. I guess we can shut down for a couple of
days. I don’t want Bertie trying to handle the place on her own.”

Adi felt terrible. Jose was learning the ropes of the kitchen,
but he sure wasn’t ready to run the place yet. “I’m really sorry, T.”

“Aw heck, it will be the perfect opportunity to repaint the
bathrooms. Lord knows they need it. Don’t worry about it. Let’s reopen on
Friday. You can sit back in the kitchen and talk Jose through the meal prep.
Bertie can help out, but she won’t be overwhelmed.”

“You know she isn’t going to be happy about us closing down.”

“I know, but that’s tough. She’ll get over it. And like I said,
we can do some work on the place.”

They pulled into the dark parking lot. T’Claude parked next to
Adi’s truck. “You going to be okay to drive?”

“Sure. No problem. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

T nodded as she climbed out of his car and got behind the wheel
of the Ford.

The drive to the house was uneventful, if a little challenging.
Suddenly wiped out, she couldn’t wait to lie down. She unlocked the door and
opened it as quietly as possible. She knew Bertie would’ve waited up and was
probably asleep in her chair. She should have called her so she could’ve gone
to bed.

She stopped short after gently closing the door. Yes, Bertie was
sound asleep in her chair, but Griffith was asleep on the couch. She looked so
adorable, one hand curled under her chin, an errant strand of golden brown hair
fluttering with each breath. Adi stood frozen, watching the almost-stranger
sleep. A warm tenderness swept through her and the desire to walk over and tuck
that strand of hair behind Griffith’s ear was almost too strong to resist.

What the
hell is the matter with me?
Why did seeing Griffith, or even
thinking about her, make her feel this way? She had done serious damage to
herself as a result of this distraction tonight. It had to stop. Adi didn’t
appreciate the way Griffith’s being here was interfering with her life. She
liked her life, loved it, in fact. She didn’t want this. She hadn’t asked for
it, and it was time for it to end.

Adi reached back and pulled the door open, then closed it with a
little more force than needed to wake the sleepers. Griffith sat up quickly, on
guard almost immediately. Bertie opened her eyes and grimaced.

“What in the world is wrong with you, Adi? That ain’t the way to
come in the door after midnight and you know it. You’re not too big for me to
take over my knee, now. You best be apologizing for that rude awakening.”

“What happened to your hand? Are you okay?” Griffith said.

“Lord. What happened?” Bertie got up and moved over to inspect
her hand.

“It’s nothing. Knife just slipped. It’ll be okay in a few days.”

“The knife just slipped? How did that happen? You haven’t cut
yourself in the kitchen since you were fifteen.”

“Well, I have now. I’m sorry I woke you both. I’m pretty tired. I
think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Griffith has been here waiting to see you since ten thirty. You
be polite now and sit here and talk for a while. I’m going to bed. Griffith, I
don’t want you driving around this late. It’s not safe. Adi will show you the
guest room after your visit. I expect you at the breakfast table in the
morning. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, ma’am. Have a good sleep.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Bertie”

“I’ll look forward to the story of your hand in the morning.
Sleep well.”

Tension filled the room as Bertie left. Adi didn’t know what she
should do. She knew what Bertie expected. But Griffith felt more like an
intruder than a guest. She didn’t want to make nice right now.

Griffith broke the ice. “I’m sorry to surprise you by being here.
It wasn’t my intention to impose myself.”

“It’s okay. I’m just really tired. Was there something important
you needed to talk to me about tonight?”

“It doesn’t seem important now. It can wait. Why don’t we just
call it a night?”

Suddenly, Adi felt bad. Griffith was such a puzzle. She made her
feel things she didn’t want to feel. She wanted to hear things Adi didn’t want
to say. But really, she was a nice person and didn’t deserve to be treated
rudely. Griffith didn’t know she was throwing Adi into chaos. She sighed and
dropped onto the couch next to Griffith.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that. I think you said it twice, even. Don’t sweat it.
I’m not that thin-skinned. I ambushed you by showing up at your house. You have
every right to be a little peeved. We can talk in the morning.”

“No, it’s okay. What can I help you with?”

“We’re friends, right?”

“I guess. I mean, I hardly know you. So, I don’t know…”

“Okay, well we have the potential to be friends, then? I mean, I
really enjoyed our time together on Monday. I feel comfortable around you. I
think we could be good friends.”

“So you came over here at ten thirty to ask me if we could be
friends? I have to admit, I think that’s kind of weird.” Griffith laughed that
darn laugh, the one that made Adi feel like a school of mullet were swimming
around in her belly.

“It sounds strange now, but when the idea hit me, it made perfect
sense.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“I wanted to say, let’s get to know each other. I want to spend
time with you, off the record. You hardly know me. I hardly know you. Let’s
change that. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Look, you’re here for a reason. You’re here to write a story, of
which I am the subject. That kind of limits the scope of our association.
You’ll be wheels up back to LA once your work is done, right? Why would you
want to invest in a friendship with me? It’s not like you’re sticking around.”

“Because I like you, Adi. I really like you. I want to be your
friend…and maybe, something more?”

“Huh?”

“Come on. You get that I’m attracted to you, right?”

“Uh—”

“Wait. You do like women, don’t you?”

Adi felt her face go hot and knew she was bright red. She knew
she was a lesbian; she just didn’t think anyone else knew. She certainly hadn’t
advertised it. She had known since she was eleven years old and kissed Rachel
Comeaux, but she hadn’t kissed anyone since then. She had educated herself
about her sexuality thanks to the Internet, and the youth group at the
community center. But she had never acted on her desire. She just felt she
wasn’t ready, and it wasn’t like the little town she lived in was crawling with
options. Her plan had been to move to New Orleans when Bertie was finally ready
to retire. To find a job cooking and to explore her sexuality in a larger,
safer place. Granted, Bertie didn’t seem to be in any hurry to retire, and it
was getting harder not to break out, but Adi had learned patience at an early
age. How did Griffith know?

“It’s okay, you know? To be gay. It’s perfectly natural,”
Griffith said. “I mean, if you are a lesbian, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Are you a lesbian?”

“I am. Have been all my life.”

“So…you’ve kissed women before?”

“I have. Have you ever kissed a woman?”

“No. I mean, not a woman.”

“No?”

“Well, not a woman. I kissed a girl when I was a kid.”

“Okay. Have you ever kissed a guy?”

“Yeah. I kissed Josh Babin. When I was fifteen. Or really, he
kissed me.”

“And who did you like kissing more?”

“Aw heck, Griffith. I know I’m a lesbian. I just didn’t know you
knew that. How exactly did you know? I haven’t even talked to Bertie about it,
not really.”

“I guess it takes one to know one. I hope I haven’t made you
uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m just surprised. Is it that obvious? I mean, do you think
other folks might guess?”

“Some might wonder, but if you haven’t talked about it, it’s all
speculation at this point.”

Adi’s chest tightened and she felt light-headed. The prospect of
something that personal being talked about by other folks made her feel sicker
than when she’d sliced her finger. “You’re not going to write this in your
article, are you? I’m not sure I want that out there just yet.”

“Heavens no. Adi, what I write about will focus on your cooking,
what inspired you to be a chef and, I hope, the story of how you ended up at
the Boiling Pot. That’s it. Nothing about your sexuality needs to be included.
I was just curious for myself.”

The relief was almost overwhelming, and she wondered if the pain
medication was giving her the light-headed feeling, or if it was Griffith’s
proximity.
Both
.
“Good, thank you. If they heard about it back home…I mean if they knew. Oh, I
don’t know what I mean. I’m not a part of my past any more. I never belonged
there. This is my home, for now. When Bertie is ready to retire, I’ll move
somewhere even bigger, New Orleans or Houston, somewhere I can be myself. The
small minds of Dulac won’t matter a bit.”