Kitchens of the Great Midwest (33 page)

 • • • 

“You need a man!” Molly said to her one night when they were staying late, finishing a bottle of 2007 Château La Fleur-Pétrus that some idiot couple only drank one glass out of.

“No, not unless he can . . .” Cindy was going to say,
Move me up the list at The Dinner,
but stopped herself. No one in Michigan knew anything about that yet.

“Not unless he can what?” said Molly. “Refrain from drinking vodka while mowing the lawn? Or refrain from falling asleep in the kitchen?” Molly, conversely, was an oversharer; these were well-known traits of her husband’s.

“I’m sure it’s exciting to stumble over the love of your life during his kitchen nap, but I’d rather just masturbate and go to bed early.”

“Fred and I know a guy who’d be terrific for you, just terrific. Fred met him the last time he was in AA.”

“Not now, Molly,” Cindy said.

“He’s cute, and not just Michigan cute either. How about I have ya both over for eggplant parmigiana sometime?”

Kerensa Dille, the assistant manager whom Cindy liked the most, walked up to the bar holding out her phone. “Oh my God, my friend is giving away the cutest Welsh corgi puppies—look.”

There were four little puppies, eyes closed, curled up in a wicker basket. They were, as Kerensa said, the cutest.

Molly put her hands on her hips. “You’re leaving this room with either a dog or a date. Decide now, or you’re fired.”

 • • • 

Thanks to Molly and Kerensa, Cindy had a lot of dogproofing to do the following morning. A few months back, after Molly’s first visit, she and
Kerensa had told the entire staff that Cindy had lost all of her furniture in a brutal divorce with an abusive man. Since then, she’d become a one-woman Goodwill for every manager, waiter, and busboy with an end table, rug, love seat, art print, lamp, or houseplant to give away. Cindy didn’t even go to Kerensa’s church, but two members of the congregation brought her an old tube television and a DVD player, free of charge. One time, a table of three brothers who spent summers in Charlevoix gave her a Panasonic stereo that was still in the box. She felt so guilty about it all, she told everybody who donated that she’d give them all a free wine class later that summer.

 • • • 

The first day she had the puppy, which she named Brix, was also a ridiculous day at work. Philandering Lions wide receiver Lanchester Cunningham, slutty Grand Rapids meteorologist Diana Vecchio, and lecherous frozen fish magnate Luc Provencher all had made reservations for that evening with large groups, and a representative from a Traverse City winery known for its Riesling was coming at four to do a tasting. She left Brix on a pee pad in his crate with a bowl of water, a chew toy, and some chow—she had only been a dog owner for a few hours, and it was already heartbreaking to leave the little guy alone.

 • • • 

The young man from the Traverse City winery arrived right on time, with branded ballcaps, T-shirts, and a few bottles of Riesling, Chardonnay, Pinot Gris, and Pinot Noir. Kerensa didn’t have to be there, but she showed up anyway.

“How’s it going with the puppy?” Kerensa asked.

The wine guy looked up from opening his Pinot Gris. “You just got a dog?” he asked, and off Cindy’s assent, he continued. “Dogs are the best. I have nine of ’em.”

“You have nine dogs?” Kerensa asked.

“I know, it’s not enough, right?”

Kerensa and Cindy looked at each other again. This was his time-tested line, obviously.

“Well, I live on a farm,” he said, pouring two glasses of the Pinot Gris. “Or it used to be a farm, before my dad killed himself. Now it’s just a house on four acres.”

Kerensa gave Cindy another look. The guy kept talking.

“Last week, my dog Eddie dug up some human bones. They were totally weird. He comes running into the house with like this femur in his mouth. I was like, oh, wow, those are human bones, Eddie. And he’s smilin’. Anyway, here’s our Pinot Gris. It’s got a perfect balance of grapefruit, pear, and minerality, with just a touch of acidity on the finish.”

“So did you call the cops?” Kerensa asked. “When your dog found those bones?”

“What?” the guy seemed genuinely surprised by the follow-up question.

“Did you call the cops?”

“Huh. How do I answer that?”

“Uh, yes or no?”

“Well . . . you know, I thought about it, and then I thought, these bones are pretty old. Whoever killed this guy probably got away with it. Whoever the survivors are got over it and moved on with their lives a long time ago. If the killer is still alive, he’s probably out there, thinking about it every day, about how he killed a man. The guilt hanging over him. And isn’t that enough? Why go shake up everyone’s life over some bones?”

The phone rang behind the bar. It was the extension for reservations. “I’ll get it,” Kerensa said, and took her wineglass with her.

“Well anyway, the Riesling. Sixteen months neutral oak. No malo. Eddie’s a good dog, though. If he knew that beef came from cows, he’d get depressed. Now Hecky, that one I can see killing a man and burying the body. If a murderer does walk my crooked patch of earth, ten will get you one that’s it’s Heckerdoodle the killer poodle. But that’s the kind of dog you want guarding your weed.”

“It’s for you,” Kerensa called out.

“Excuse me,” Cindy said, and sipped the Riesling as she walked behind the bar. “You’re right about the acidity. Bodes well for its aging potential.” She took the receiver from Kerensa. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Reynaldo said. “How’s it going?”

“Reynaldo?” The blood rushed to Cindy’s head. She turned her back to Kerensa and the wine guy, who were only about ten feet away and could hear everything. “How’d you get this number?”

“You’re a hard woman to find these days.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my cell number. So what’s this about?”

“Wow,” Reynaldo said. He seemed startled by her tone. “Well, I’m sorry to bother you, I know things didn’t end super well between us.”

“No, they did not.”

“But, I got remarried, and have a baby daughter, and everything.”

“Oh, nice. I appreciate hearing that you actually followed through with that. Is that all, then?”

“Well, as it turns out, I owe you a hundred and twenty dollars and I wanted to make sure you get it. That’s the main thing I’m calling about.”

“What do you owe me a hundred and twenty dollars for?”

“You know that restaurant reservation you made, like, three years ago? They called me and said I’m invited, and I’m going with my wife. So I figured I’d better pay you back the deposit just to make sure we’re square.”

That stupid bastard. She could feel both Kerensa and the wine guy looking at her, but now she didn’t give a shit—this situation called for some volume.

“No, no, that’s my reservation,” Cindy said, raising her voice.

“Well, they called me. On my house phone.”

“Look. We were still married then. That used to be
my
home number too. I was trying to save two spots so we had a better chance.” At the time, she thought she was being clever by putting their shared house phone down as his number.

“Yeah, and they called my spot. And I didn’t know it, but it’s like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Cassandra’s just over the moon about it.
You know, it was her that suggested we pay you back your deposit? That’s how grateful she is.”

“No,
I’m going
. I made the reservation.”

“It’s not in your name. Why can’t you just wait until your name comes up?”

“Because she’s my daughter and I need to see her.”

“Because who’s your daughter?”

“Eva Thorvald.”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

“I’m not.”

“I thought you never had a kid, and never wanted one. That’s what you always told me. For five years. For six years, actually, six years, counting the year before we were married.”

“Well, I had one.”

“And you what, gave her up for adoption?”

“No, I left her and her dad.”

“Oh,” Reynaldo said. “Oh. Oh! So her dad was your ex-husband from Minnesota. The one you never talk to. Right. OK.”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you just go up to where she lives and knock on her door?”

“I can’t do that, I can’t do that. I’m too scared to do that. I just want to see her at a distance.”

“And she’s never looked for you, never searched you out.”

“If she did, I never knew it. So when’s the next dinner?”

“Tomorrow. Right in the middle of South Dakota. We’re flying into Pierre.”

“Tomorrow? And you’re just calling me now?”

“It was hard to find you.”

“Well, I’ll be there.”

“Let me talk to my wife.”

“I’ll be there.”

She hung up, and copied his number from the phone’s caller ID display onto her hand. She turned to see Kerensa and the wine guy staring at her.

“What,” Kerensa said, “was all that about?”

 • • • 

Cindy found it hard to look Kerensa in the face when she told her whole story and chose instead to stare out the dining room window at the boats on the lake.

“I am so sorry,” Cindy said to her friend.

“What for?” Kerensa said. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about it. You wanted us to get to know you as you, not as the mom of some famous person.”

Cindy exhaled. After decades away from the Midwest, she’d forgotten that bewildering generosity was a common regional tic. First the free home furnishings, now this. It was all lovely and weird. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s way more kindness than I deserve.”

“Hey, we all got secrets,” the wine guy said.

“I can’t imagine,” Kerensa said to him, and then looked at Cindy. “Let us know what she’s like.”

Cindy couldn’t believe these people.

 • • • 

Later that night, when she was attempting to answer a question at Diana Vecchio’s table about which Moscato on their wine list was the one that some rapper named Qwazey sang about, Molly came up behind Cindy and hugged her. It felt like it did when her mother used to do that to her as a child, come up behind her and hug her for no reason. It always puzzled Cindy when her mom did this.

“Call for you on the reservations line. Your ex-husband.”

Cindy left the table immediately, without even saying “Excuse me,” and ran to the phone in the office.

 • • • 

“Can’t do it,” Reynaldo said. “I’m sorry. We already bought our plane tickets and everything.”

“What? I’ll pay you back for the ticket!”

“I gotta prioritize my current wife over my ex-wife, that’s all there is to it,” he said. In the background, Cindy heard a woman say, “Tell her she has a slot, and she’ll just have to wait,” and Reynaldo repeated, “You have a slot, you’ll just have to wait.”

“Fuck you, Reynaldo,” she said, “I’ll see you there,” and hung up.

 • • • 

The last-second flight from Traverse City, Michigan, to Pierre, South Dakota, was going to cost her close to two months’ rent, and the 6:00 a.m. departure meant she’d have to be up by four in the morning after working until midnight. Also, she checked flights from SFO, and both her flight and Reynaldo’s flight had the same connection in Denver; they’d be on the same plane to Pierre.

 • • • 

Cindy spotted Reynaldo from a hundred feet away at the Denver airport, standing in line at the gate. It was weird to see him in person after three years of trying to forget about him, but it also felt a bit like only a month had passed. He was wearing a gray suit that she didn’t recognize, had more gray in his beard, and looked as if he’d lost weight. He’d heard her coming up behind him and turned around. She was wearing an outfit she thought might make an impression on him, culled from her past life of means and expensive tastes: slate gray Donna Karan pencil skirt, white poplin shirt, closed-toe ivory pumps, fitted peplum blazer, and big black Prada sunglasses, looking damn good for someone on three hours of sleep, and she could tell from his expression that he thought she looked good too. Not that she wanted anything to happen; she just wanted him to realize what he’d been missing out on, and to keep realizing it every time he looked at her.

“You owe me for my wife’s plane ticket,” he said, not smiling. Whatever remote, lukewarm simmerings still lingered in her heart for him
instantly vanished when he spoke. After all they’d been through,
that
was how he greeted her?

“Where is she?” Cindy asked.

“She decided to sit this one out,” Reynaldo said. “She’s extremely averse to confrontation.”

“It was her call, not yours?”

“Correct.”

“Just seeing where you stand.”

Reynaldo looked at his ticket. “What seat are you?”

Cindy said, “16B.”

“I’ve got 4A,” Reynaldo said.

“Okay, then.” She saw his mouth open, and Cindy hoped that he wouldn’t offer to switch with somebody to move closer to her; at this point, she’d already had enough from him. “See you in South Dakota,” she said, and walked to the end of the line, pulling a copy of the
Economist
from her carry-on.

 • • • 

The next time Cindy saw Reynaldo was at the baggage claim in the tiny Pierre airport. He had a larger suitcase than she did, which wasn’t typical for him. His new wife was apparently making him fancy.

“So, where to now?” Cindy asked him. She hated depending on him for all of the information.

“I have no idea,” he said. “It’s one-forty. I might just go check into my hotel.”

“Which hotel are you staying at?”

“ClubHouse Hotel and Suites. You?”

“Budget 5.”

Just then, a young man in horn-rimmed glasses and a tuxedo walked past them, pivoted around on his shiny heels to face them, and asked if they were Reynaldo Reyna and his plus one. It pained Cindy to be “plus one” to her ex, but she nodded.

“Two forms of ID, please,” the young man said, holding out an iPad, which had a credit card scanner attached to the side. “And that will be ten grand.”

“You’re with The Dinner?” Reynaldo asked. “I guess I could assume, but I’d better be safe.”

“Of course. I’m Yonas Awate.”

They each handed him everything he asked for.