“Alex—”
“I can,” he protested. “I’ve spent a ton of time at the restaurant with you, I know my way around the kitchen. Besides, you already did the tough part—planned the menus, ordered the food and everything.”
“Alex, you are very sweet and yes, very capable. But feeding that many people is a huge undertaking. You can’t take it on by yourself.”
“Well, he wouldn’t be by himself,” Nan said. “I know my way around a kitchen. I can help.”
“So can I,” Bob said. “I don’t know if I told you, but I barbeque a mean steak.”
“I can help too,” Luke said. “You don’t spend three years in France without picking up a few things.”
One by one, they chimed in, offering to help. It was really touching. However, I drew the line at Grace.
“No,” I said. “Nothing personal, Grace, but you’re a terrible cook. You can set the tables.”
For a second it looked like Grace was going to argue with me, but then she shrugged and said, “Fine. I can set the tables. And arrange the flowers.”
“Oh, can I help with that?” Zoe chirped, raising her hand.
“Sure,” Grace said.
“Well, then,” Dr. Pringle said, looking at the assembly, “if that’s all settled, all we need to do now is discuss the procedure.”
I reached out and clutched Bob’s hand.
“Procedure?”
Chapter 39
Grace
I didn’t blame Monica for looking alarmed when the doctor explained the procedure. If somebody said they wanted to stop my heart and start it again, I’d have been alarmed too. But Dr. Pringle assured her it was a straightforward procedure, describing it, in layman’s terms, as “a kind of cardiac reboot,” the hope being when Monica’s heart started beating again it would return to a normal rhythm.
Monica was hesitant, but with Bob’s encouragement and the doctor’s promise that they would absolutely, definitely, without question be able to restart her heart, she agreed to undergo the procedure.
It worked! Monica was under anesthesia for less than ten minutes and when she woke, her heart was beating normally and she already felt much better, so much so that she felt sure she could handle the catering for the Dogmother’s Ball. But Dr. Pringle was having none of that and neither were we.
“Monica,” I said, “you heard the doctor. If you want to prevent another episode, you’ve got to rest!”
“And I promise I will,” Monica said. “After the ball.”
Bob leaned down and stopped her protests with a kiss. “We’ve got this,” he said firmly.
After much moaning and groaning, Monica agreed to close the restaurant for ten days, and then allow Bob to drive her, the kids, and Desmond to Lincoln City the day after the ball. Bob would stay for the whole week to make sure Monica really was resting. Once that was settled, we all got to work.
Nan and I immediately got on the phone to call customers with current reservations at Café Allegro, then explain what happened and help them either reschedule or make reservations at other good restaurants. The outpouring of concern and good wishes they asked us to convey was really touching. We only had two complaints out of sixty-six customers, and so many people sent flowers to the hospital that when Monica went home on Friday the nurse had to find a cart to get all her presents down to Bob’s car.
Ben’s abrupt departure had definitely complicated things, but the response of the remaining staff made their devotion to Monica obvious. As soon as Monica woke up and Alex knew the procedure was a success, he asked Luke to drive him to the restaurant so he could speak to the staff.
“You should have seen him,” Luke reported when he came over to Nan’s house a few hours later, filling me in while Zoe and I dipped dog biscuits in glue and silver glitter, creating decorations for the flower arrangements. “Alex was calm, and mature, explaining the situation and asking for everybody’s help while making it clear that he was running the show. That boy is a real leader.
“When he finished talking, the whole team sat down together and came up with a plan. They’re going to make it a buffet instead of sit-down service, serve cold poached salmon instead of hot, carve a beef tenderloin in the line, and serve an eggplant parmesan casserole instead of preparing individual portions, and replace the hot vegetables and potatoes with salads they can make ahead and serve cold.
“Oh, and instead of chocolate lava cake, they’re going to set up a make your own sundae bar. Nan said she knows a great new ice-cream shop in Southeast that wants to get the word out and will give us a discount.”
“That sounds like it will make everything a lot simpler,” I said. “I just checked the weather report—should be clear, sunny, and in the low eighties on Saturday—so cold foods will be nicer anyway. And what’s not to love about making your own ice-cream sundae? Where’s Alex now?”
“I left him at the restaurant,” Luke said. “He and Angie, one of the line cooks, wanted to get to work right away. When I left they were making a cold sesame noodle salad and Angie was calling Alex ‘chef.’ ” Luke grinned. “They’ve got things under control. Now, what can I do to help?”
For the next forty-eight hours that pretty much summed up the attitude of everyone in our group—what can I do to help?
Nan, who had finally been released from her sling, finished up the last of the trimming and gardening, planted four flats of beautiful purple and yellow pansies along the front walk, and filled two hundred white paper bags with kitty litter and votive candles to make luminarias. Zoe and I made twenty flower arrangements for the tables, spraying twenty plastic Halloween pumpkins with silver spray paint, then filling them with white daisies, pink carnations, and the silver glittered dog biscuits we’d wired
