“It’ll all come right back to you, and Doc is a great horse. He’ll treat you right.”
“No doubt about that.” The chicken sizzled in the oil.
“Your old cowboy boots are in the attic if you want to ride in them. All the boxes are marked.”
“Really? I can’t believe you didn’t toss all that stuff a long time ago.”
“Not mine to toss,” she said. “Besides, those were nice boots.”
“If I’d known I wasn’t coming back, I would’ve taken them with me.” He turned the chicken, and then dumped the boiling potatoes in the strainer in the sink.
“That smells so good, and you make it look so easy.”
“Practice,” he said.
“You’ve practiced your clean-up skills too. I used to cringe when you cooked here.”
“Yeah, that won’t fly in a restaurant. That was one of the first things I learned.” He laid the fried chicken strips on a paper sack to drain as he finished the potato salad. He took a plate from the cabinet and made a serving for Mom. Pleased with how it all turned out, and with time to spare, he turned to her. “I’m going to go hunt down those boots.”
“All your stuff should be on the right-hand side in the attic.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He went down the hall and pulled the string to the attic stairs. They creaked and groaned. He went to the hall closet where Dad kept the house tools and got what he needed to oil the hinges. One generous squirt, and the stairs were moving without so much as a moan.
Mom came down the hall. “You’re an angel. Do you know how long I’ve been asking your dad to do that?”
“Since I left?”
She laughed. “Not quite that long. But it’s been a while. Thank you for doing that.”
“You’re welcome. Here, you can put this back for me?” He handed her the can as he ascended the stairs.
Waving his arm in the darkness, he finally made contact with the old pull string that operated the single light in the attic, although it wasn’t much brighter with it on. The space was cold and smelled of dust.
Along the right wall tucked up near the eave were boxes with his name on it. Andrew Trophies. Andrew Clothes. Andrew and Kelly? He paused. Now why on Earth would Mom save that old junk? The box next to that one was labeled Andrew Shoes & Boots.
He grabbed that box and sure enough, his old cowboy boots, ostrich skin, were tucked neatly inside with newspaper stuffed in them to hold their shape. They’d been a Christmas present. He slipped one on. They still fit like a glove.
He folded the corners in on the top of the box and slid it back over where he’d found it.
The box with Kelly’s name on it taunted him.
He glanced at his watch. He still had a little bit of time before Dawn was supposed to be here, and if things hadn’t changed she’d be at least fifteen minutes late.
Walking toward the box, he questioned himself for even being curious. At the fork in the road, he’d made his choice. But rather than turning and going downstairs, he got the box and carried it over under the light. He sat cross-legged beneath it and pulled the tape that secured the top. It had lost its sticky over the years. Inside, his high school yearbooks were on top of a couple of photo albums Mom had made for him. Several spiral notebooks that held some of the first recipes he’d ever created were in the bottom. He flipped through them, impressed by some of the techniques and combinations he’d come up with at such a young age.
He turned to the inside cover of his yearbook. Some of the quotes were so cheesy.
Dude, no one trusts a skinny chef. Eat more junk or you’ll go broke. Your brother from another mother, Michael
I expect a chair in your restaurant with my name on it so I’ll never go hungry after tasting all your homemade lunches. I’m not tipping you though. Jordan.
Remember me when you’re a rich restaurateur. Carla
Andrew, You’d better invite me to the wedding. You’re the luckiest guy to have Kelly. She’s too good for you. Not going to be the same without you around here. Just one more year for me. David
Andrew— Go all Chef Ramsay on the world! Bobby
I kissed a chef, and I liked it! Here’s to our future together. Love, Kelly
Everyone had expected him to marry her, and wished him well on his own restaurant someday. Neither of those things had come true.
How many of them had done what they’d thought they’d do back in high school? Most of them were probably still right here in Bailey’s Fork. Kelly’s senior picture had a red heart around it. The yearbook was creased, as if he’d stared at that picture a hundred times. He probably had. She looked fresh and natural, and her confidence shone through even in that picture. Thinking about her, he could almost smell the fragrance of citrus and apple from the shampoo she used to use back then.
In the very bottom of the box there was another box. He opened it to find pictures of the two of them on their horses. At prom. A faded black-and-white strip of four pictures from the photo booth from the arcade. In the diner. In the kitchen downstairs making something, but mostly a mess from the looks of things. Four small frames held pressed fresh herbs Kelly had grown for him and framed as a gift on his nineteenth birthday. The actual plants had been behind the diner, where he could snip them for his recipes that day. Yellowed paper held more recipes the two of them had worked on together. Some had more scratch-outs than actual ingredients.
He flipped through them until he got to one all written in purple ink. She’d worked on it for weeks and couldn’t get it quite right. He’d thought it was perfect way before this final
