“Yes, of course.” High beams had nothing on Carmen’s smile. “He told me he was going.”
“I didn’t connect your name with him before. We weren’t close in school, but man, can Hector ever dance. I have no idea how to officially dance salsa, and he made me feel like I’d been doing it for years. Best dance I’ve ever had.”
“That’s Hector’s passion, but he’s a chef, too, you know.”
“Really?”
“He went to culinary school instead of college. He’s worked a few places, but now he has a food truck at the harbor.”
“Awesome. I’ll have to check it out this week.” I pointed to the cat. “What’s his name?”
“Pajarito.” She pronounced it pa-ha-REE-toh, trilling the r like the native Spanish speaker she was.
“Little bird?”
“Yes.”
“I have his twin, and his name is Birdy. Does yours have six toes?
“He does. That’s amazing.”
“Right?” I glanced around the room. “I love the decor here, Carmen.”
“Thanks. I do, too.” She set one fist on her waist and smiled. “It was Jeanine who suggested decorating the restaurant like this after I bought the building.”
My eyes widened. “You knew my mom?”
“I sure did. We were in the Unitarian women’s book group together. I still miss her a lot, and you must miss her even more.”
My throat thickened. I swallowed away the emotion. “I do.”
Carmen touched my shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up her death.”
“It’s okay. It’s just that out here there are so many reminders of her and what we used to do together.” I cleared my throat and gestured at the menu. “So what do you recommend? Everything sounds yummy.”
“The avocado huevos are popular. I grow the avocados out back, the eggs are from a local farmer, and my mom makes the tortillas. Mamá!” she called toward the kitchen. “Diga hola a Robbie.”
A woman’s face appeared in the kitchen window. “Hola, Robbie.” So short her head barely made the window, she wore the same braid as her daughter but hers was whiter than a flour tortilla. She smiled from ear to ear and waved a strong working woman’s hand.
I waved back. “You’re so lucky to have her working with you,” I said to Carmen. “What’s her name, or should I call her Mamá?”
Carmen let out a hearty laugh. “Luisa Sandoval, but everybody calls her Mamá. She taught me everything I know about cooking.”
“I can’t wait to taste it. I’ll have the avocado huevos rancheros, please, and an orange scone, too.”
“You got it. The oranges are also my own. You want a mimosa or a bloody Mary with your meal? You’re on vacation, right?”
I gave it a two-second consideration. “You’re right, I am.” I’d closed my restaurant so my two employees and I could have a much-needed break. Since I was already paying to fly west, I’d decided to stay a week and warm up my feet while I was here. Replenish my soul on views of ocean and mountains, and feed my body on fresh, delicious, creative meals, picking up recipes to take back in the process. “I’d love a bloody Mary.” Heck, I didn’t have anywhere in particular to go. And I could nurse it after I ate.
“Bueno.” She looked around, then lowered her voice. “Robbie, I heard something was fishy about your mom’s death.”
What? “What do you mean, ‘fishy’? She died of an aneurysm. Didn’t she?”
“That’s what they said. But—” A diner on the patio hailed her, and Mamá rang their version of a “food’s ready” bell. “I’ll tell you later. I need to get working.”
“I know how it is. I’ll be around until Saturday. Plenty of time to talk.”
I sipped my dark roast coffee and watched her hurry off. What could she possibly mean by “fishy”? Sure, Mom died alone, but the death certificate had listed “aneurysm” as the cause. The medical examiner’s office couldn’t have gotten it wrong. Could they?
Chapter 4
Before I took the first bite, I snapped a picture of my died-and-gone-to-heaven breakfast—two fried eggs on refried black beans atop a corn tortilla covered with slices of a perfectly ripe avocado and chunky homemade salsa, with a dollop of sour cream on top and more warm tortillas on the side. I posted it to the Pans ’N Pancakes Instagram account with a message reading, “March breakfast special? Could happen.” I added a hashtag of #NotInIndianaAnymoreDorothy, which made me smile. I had a pretty healthy number of followers, and they weren’t all Hoosiers, either. I imagined them smiling, too. I’d thought of keeping a little notebook for meal ideas, but the pictures would jog my memory about the ingredients.
I sniffed, loving the toasty smell of the tortillas, one of my favorite things to eat. I’d savored the first bite of the dish when my phone dinged with a text. I’d been trying to reach my mom’s good friend Liz Stover. Her daughter and I had been friends growing up, and the two mothers had kept up their friendship in the years since graduation. Zoe and me? Not so much. We’d drifted apart during high school, and neither of us had made an effort to stay in touch. Before I’d come downstairs this morning I’d texted Liz where I was going to eat breakfast and asked about a walk on the beach later.
Liz now replied,
On my way to NAC. Walk after sounds good.
NAC? After a second, I realized NAC was Nacho Average Café. Cool. Maybe she would know something about Mom’s death. Or maybe not. What I really wanted was to simply be with Liz, reminisce about my mother, and find out what she’d been up to.
Another text dinged in. I smiled when I read Abe’s message.
Got six inches of white overnight. Heading out to snowshoe. Wish you were here.
I tapped a message back.
Wearing flip-flops and shorts. Walking on the beach later. Wish you were here.
I did wish he was here to enjoy my birthplace with me, and I had invited him to come
