Bitter Root (6 page)

“I declare, I don’t know what you mean, Grace La Blanc. She’s
right with the Lord. I know it in my heart.”

“She lays with women. That, my dear, is a sin.”

“Hush now! You don’t know what you’re talking about. And it’s
none of our business.”

“It’s what my Charlie says. I believe my boy. If he says she’s
queer, she is. He asked her to prom and she refused him. Said she wasn’t
interested. Hasn’t shown much interest in anyone else, for that matter.”

“And that makes her a sinner? Just because she doesn’t like your
boy? I think not. You go on about your business, hear? This doesn’t concern you
anyway.”

The two women bickered back and forth a while, and Griffith
wondered if Adi’s sexuality might be behind her guardedness. Griffith had been
an out lesbian all her life, but it was probably much harder in a small town
like this, and in the Deep South, than it was for her in LA. She would broach
the subject with her later. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as she predicted.
And that doesn’t make for a
headliner story.
She swallowed her disappointment and returned to
the bickering church ladies.

*

Adi tensed as the car rolled to a stop in front of the Boiling
Pot. She watched as the reporter slid out from behind the wheel. She flipped
her golden curls out of her face and straightened. While not much more than
five feet tall, she moved with a confidence Adi envied. After locking her door,
she turned and surveyed the restaurant. Adi quickly ducked away from the
window.
I’m not ready. I
can’t do this.
She scrambled back into the kitchen, heading for the
back door.

“What you think you’re doing?” Bertie called. “You know you can’t
just run off without meeting this gal. You agreed to sit down and talk with
her. Just hang on, now.”

Adi made herself stop, one hand on the screen door. She hung her
head. “Well, maybe I made a mistake saying that.”

“Too late to run now, girl. You got to at least meet with the
woman. She ain’t going to eat you, you know.”

Adi swung back toward Bertie. “I don’t know. That’s the problem,
Bertie. I don’t know a darn thing about what I’m supposed to be doing. Why do
they want me to do this, anyway? What does anyone care about some Cajun off the
bayou? So what? I can cook, throw stuff into a pot that comes out edible? That
doesn’t make me news, Bertie.”

“What you yelling at me for, you big chicken? Get yourself back
out there and say hello to that gal, you hear me?”

Adi choked back another smart comment and inched toward the front
door. “I’m going, but I’m not happy about it.” Bertie just shook her head and
looked pointedly at the door.

Adi turned and pushed through. She inhaled sharply as she
collided with the reporter. The impact shook her, though she towered above the
smaller woman. It was like running into a brick wall. She thrust her arms out
defensively and managed to unbalance the reporter, causing her to stumble
backward.

“Oof…hey, slow down there. You’re going to hurt someone rushing
around like that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah? That’s odd, because I swear I saw you ogling me from the
front window a second ago.”

Adi felt her face heat and looked away. “Well, um, yeah, but I
didn’t realize you’d come inside yet. I was on my way out to meet you.”

The woman smiled and Adi found herself caught by the play of blue
and green in her eyes. Her smile lit her entire face, and Adi felt an answering
smile of her own.
She’s
beautiful. Her nose is all pushed up and small. And those freckles
.
The warmth of her embarrassment turned into something new, a different kind of
heat that confused her. She shook free of the awkward moment and stuck out her
hand.

“No hard feelings?”

“None taken.”

“So, Ms. McNaulty, how do we do this?”

“My mother is Ms. McNaulty. You can call me Griffith, or Griff.
Let’s grab a table and go over the ground rules. That sound good?”

“Okay, Ms—Griff. Can I get you something to drink first?”

“Coke. No ice.”

“You got it. Pick any table and I’ll meet you there.”

When Adi returned, she noticed that Griffith had placed a small
recording device on the table and had her tablet computer open in front of her
with a flat keyboard attached. The light on the recorder was dark, so she felt
comfortable speaking her mind.

“I’m not really sure what you need from me. Do you want recipes
and stuff? How does this work?”

“Let’s just talk for a bit first. I’d like to get to know you, so
I can help the readers feel a connection with you.”

“Okay.”

“So, tell me a little about yourself. What kind of things do you
spend your off time doing?”

Adi tried to think of an answer. She felt all tangled up inside,
like she used to when her mom was in a mood. She grabbed her soda to hide her
discomfort, and in her haste to drink, ended up coughing and choking as it went
down the wrong pipe.

“Are you okay? Here, take this.” Griffith held out her napkin.

Tears running down her cheeks and still coughing, Adi gratefully
took it and wiped her face.

“Thank you. I’m sorry.” She fell back into a coughing fit.

“No problem. Let’s start over. My job is to capture who you are
and how cooking has influenced your life. We want to draw people in with the
human side of you, you know, your backstory. I’m only here to help you tell
your story, so relax.”

Adi nodded, her throat spasms finally clearing. The words were a
comfort. She could do this. She just had to avoid talking about anything before
landing at the Pot.

“There isn’t much to tell, really,” Adi said.

“What? No hobbies? You know, knitting, carpentry? Video gaming?”

“No. None of that.”

Adi sensed Griffith’s frustration and knew she needed to get the
ball rolling. Glancing around the brightly lit room, she saw the old child’s
pedal car hanging from a ceiling beam.

“See that pedal car? Want to know why it’s hanging there? That’s
a good story for sure. You see, the owner of this place is T’Claude Michaud—”

“T. Claude? What does the T stand for?”

“Oh no, not like that. T stands for little. You know, petite?
T’Claude is for little Claude, since his daddy was Big Claude Michaud.”

“Got it. So, the car?”

“Yeah, well as I heard it, when T’Claude’s daddy was a congressman,
he bought T’Claude that little car to make up for being away from home so much.
When he was in town, Big Claude was out pressing the flesh, always sitting over
at the gazebo in the town square. One afternoon as he was about to get a
commitment for a campaign donation, up rides little T’Claude. He had pedaled
his little car nearly half a mile to find his daddy. They say he climbed out of
that car and walked over to his dad and said, “You said you was going to take
me fishing. So, come on. Get in the car and let’s go.

“The donor thought that was so funny he ended up giving Big
Claude twice as much as he expected. So when he went back to Baton Rouge he
took T’s little car and kept it in his office. It stayed there until he died.
It was the first thing T’Claude put in the restaurant. He says it’s his daddy’s
good luck charm.”

“That’s a great story. So do you think it’s brought good luck to
the Boiling Pot?”

“I guess. Seems like things have gone well for him.”

“And how about things for you? Do you feel lucky to be at the
Boiling Pot?”

“I sure do. This place is my home, you know? I feel like myself
here. If it weren’t for Bertie and T, I don’t know where I’d be.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“I started about eight years ago. Bertie taught me everything she
knows about cooking. I learned some from reading old cookbooks too. I love to
cook. When I cook, I lose myself. I only connect with what my hands are doing
and how everything I put into my dish is going to marry. I love the way one
little pinch can change a whole dish. It gives me freedom, you know?”

“It sounds very spiritual for you. I know that the end result is
divine. So when you’re cooking you feel free? How does cooking free you?”

“Oh, it’s like, I’m there, but I’m not at the same time. I feel
free to be all I am and nothing less. When I’m cooking, I don’t have to worry
about anything. Well, nothing but the food in front of me. I can let go of
everything else, not worry about anything or anyone. I love that.”

“It sounds amazing. How did you end up here? Does your family
like your cooking?”

Adi went on alert and her breathing tightened. “Bertie is my
family. I suppose she likes my cooking, but probably because it’s really her,
cooking through me.”

“Her cooking through you?”

“Yeah, because she’s the one who taught me to cook. When I cook,
I hear her in my head, reminding me of what to add and how much. She’s always a
part of my cooking.”

“So you say Bertie is your family. How are you related? Is she
your mother?”

“Well, no. Bertie’s…she’s my foster mom, I guess. We aren’t blood
kin, but we are soul kin, if you know what I mean.”

“So not truly family, then?”

“Yes, we’re family. Just a different sort family. She raised me.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“I don’t want to talk about that. It’s personal.”

“I can respect that, for now. I’m not saying we won’t revisit it
later, but for now, I understand.”

“Good. Thank you.”

“So how about your life outside of the restaurant? Do you have a
special someone to spend your off hours with?”

“No, just Bertie. We’re here from around eight in the morning
till about eleven most nights. We just drag ourselves home at the day’s end and
rest until we get up and come back the next morning.”

“That sounds like a grueling schedule. Does the restaurant ever
close?”

“Oh sure. We’re closed on Mondays, and we take off for Christmas
and New Year’s, along with the other major holidays.”

“But no vacation time other than that?”

“Not really. Well, Jose takes two weeks every August to go see
his family in Guatemala. And Bertie goes to see her brother around his birthday
in April.”

“And you? Do you take any time other than those holidays?”

“No, not me. I have to be here to cook. Besides, Bertie is here
almost all the time and she’s my family.”

“Okay. Well, I think that’s enough for now. I want to talk with
Bertie next, and then Jose. Could I get back with you later this week for a
follow-up?”

“I guess so.”

“I do have one last question.”

“Shoot.”

“Where can I go to have a drink and you know, a little company,
in this town?”

Adi considered the question. She hadn’t taken Griffith for the
fun night type. “Well, there’s Boudreaux Icehouse. It’s pretty much a beer and
pool hall. I guess there’s guys there for company.”

“Oh, no. I’m not into guys, if you know what I mean. I’d rather
have the company of a friendly woman.”

Adi swallowed hard. “Um. I’m not sure. I mean… I, uh. I don’t
know.”

“You don’t huh? Would you like to help me find out?”

Adi’s throat was suddenly drier than a stale saltine. Her abdomen
tensed, but she didn’t know if it was from fear or excitement.
This is crazy. How can she know?
She’d always been careful not to let on that she liked women. It wasn’t safe to
feel that way here. She cleared her throat. “No. Thank you. No.”

“You’re sure?”

Griffith looked sincere, but Adi couldn’t afford to let that part
of herself out just yet. She didn’t need another reason to be afraid. One day,
she’d be in a place where she could be herself, but for now, until Bertie was
ready to retire, she lived here, and she wasn’t about to go making waves.

“Yes.”

Griffith reached out and rested her hand on Adi’s forearm. She
felt the touch all the way through her. It was like an electrical shock.
It’s just because I know she
knows. That’s all.

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

She picked up her bag and walked to the door. Before she pushed
it open, she looked back at Adi.

“You’re sure? Really sure?”

Adi felt her whole body heat with the glance. She wanted to
change her mind. Take a wild chance and feel, but her answer was out of her
mouth before her body had time to catch up. She’d been hiding so long it was
automatic.

“I’m sure.”

“I sure am happy you got our Adi to talk to you a bit,”
Bertie said.

Griffith looked into Bertie’s warm, honey-colored eyes. A smile
creased her ginger brown face, welcoming and open.
This is a strong woman.
She needed to be
tactful asking about Adi. It was evident that the fierce loyalty Adi had for
her was equally returned.

“Me too. It wasn’t easy. She doesn’t like talking about herself.”

“I know that’s right. Adi can hold on to words tighter than a
gator to a snapping turtle. But you got her to talk, so you should feel mighty
happy about that. Now, what do you want me to talk about?”

Griffith considered how to continue. What she wanted was to know
everything she could about Adi, but the other members of the Boiling Pot crew
were also important. She needed to flesh out all of the characters here.

“Well, let’s see. First, tell me about how you came to work at
the Boiling Pot. How long have you been here?” Griffith said.

Bertie shook her head and laughed. “Lord, I been here so long! I
was here the day T’Claude looked at this shop and decided he wanted to buy it
and make it a restaurant. I been here since day one.”

“So how did you meet Mr. Michaud? What made you want to work for
him?”

“Heavens now, I been knowing T since he was in diapers. My mamma
used to work for his folks. I would help her out when I was home from school.
Mr. Big Claude, he paid my tuition. I got my degree in education from Grambling
thanks to that man.”