Making Chase
Page 8
“The father, um, Bill, yeah that’s right, total drunkard. Lazy fool. Those kids went hungry a lot, I think. We tried to think on ways to get them food but the father…” She shook her head. “Refused any so-called charity. We did manage to get the kids free lunch at school. That Tate, she’s something else.”
“Why do you say that?”
Her very perceptive eyes narrowed, honing in on him. “Why are you asking?”
“She sent me cookies today for helping her after the accident. I met her when I went to thank her. She seemed nice but I realized I didn’t know much about her. Kyle suggested I ask you.”
She harrumphed. “Tate Murphy is a nice girl, Matthew Sebastian Chase. She and her older brother are the ones who raised the rest of those children. Eight in all. The mother, she’s worse than the father. Kept having ‘em and running off again with some new man who blew through town. I saw Tate with babies on her hip when she was in kindergarten. They didn’t have the same kind of child welfare services then. But from what I’ve seen and heard over the years, every single one of those kids went to college if they wanted to or some kind of trade school and they all pooled together to pay for it. Tate and Tim being the oldest have done the lion’s share.”
“How come I never saw any of this?” Matt felt shame that all this happened to people his age and he never knew.
“Oh, they lived over in the trailer park on Ash. Not like you had much call to get out that way. You were lucky children to have your lives free of that sort of thing.” Polly clucked.
The other side of the metaphorical tracks. That part of town was ramshackle and dark. Not the tree-lined stately homes of his neighborhood or even the nice residential flavor of the majority of Petal. That side of town had more burnt out cars and trucks up on blocks than oak trees.
He stayed and visited with his parents for a while longer and went home. But Tate’s wide, friendly smile stayed with him even after he’d turned off the lights.
Chapter Four
Matt saw her everywhere once he’d actually noticed her the first time. That bright shock of white-blonde hair was a beacon along with the vivid, colorful clothes she always wore.
Somehow, it fit and he loved the retro vibe it lent her. Quite often, she wore dresses that made him think of the fifties. Flared skirts and tight bodices in bright red or blue. Always shoes to match. The woman could probably give Cassie a run for her money in the shoe department.
Two weeks after he’d gone into her shop that first time, he saw her sitting on a bench at city hall. It was early May and the day was clear and warm. Her hair gleamed in the sunshine.
He plopped down on the bench next to her and began to unpack his lunch. “Hey there. This seat taken?”
Her surprised jump made him glad she wasn’t eating or drinking anything after the first choking incident. “Hi. No. No, sit down. I was just having my lunch.”
Looking between his sandwich and whatever the heaven-in-a-bowl she was eating, made his stomach growl. “What is that? Looks way better than a turkey sandwich.”
She held out a forkful to him and without thinking he took it. Instantly, his taste buds lit as the flavor rushed into his mouth.
“It’s green curry with tofu.”
“That’s tofu? No way. Tofu tastes like, well, nothing.”
She laughed, that sweet, musical laugh. “Tofu will soak up the flavor of whatever you cook it with. This has garlic, basil, eggplant and tofu in it and I like to add mushrooms just because. The green curry is spicy and the coconut milk is sweet. All together it just works doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’ll never wrinkle my nose at tofu again.”
She curled her lip at his sandwich. “Is that pressed turkey?” Her tone made it seem like he’d been eating dog poop.
“Um, I don’t know?” He shrugged. “I get it at the market, in those baggies where the cheese is. Is it bad?”
“Tell me something, Matt Chase, does your mother ever serve turkey that tastes like that?”
He recoiled in horror. “Never!”
She handed him the curry. “Good Lord, eat this. And go to the deli to get your turkey there next time. You know what a tomato is right?”
Obediently he ate and nodded. “But it makes the sandwich soggy.”
“Keep the slices in a separate baggie until you’re ready to eat the sandwich.” She peeled the bread and looked at him accusingly. “Is this processed cheese? The kind that comes in little individual plastic sleeves?”
“Yeah. Hey, I like that stuff!”
“No you don’t.”
She sounded so sure of it, he started to doubt himself. Instead, he ate the food she’d given him. “What are you going to eat?”
She pulled out another container and two small containers. “I have marinated tomatoes and mozzarella with crostini.”
“Huh?” He leaned over and nearly drooled when she pulled the lid off the container and the scent of olive oil and basil hit him along with the sweet acid of the tomatoes. “No way.”
Grinning, she popped a tiny ball of cheese into his mouth and he groaned. “You can’t have it all but I’ll share some of it. I usually give my leftovers to Beth. If she hunts you down later, don’t blame me.” She pulled several little toasts out of a paper sack. “This is crostini. Just little pieces of toasted bread with olive oil or even plain. You put things on it, olive spread, tomatoes, cheeses, that sort of thing. My brother William works at The Honey Bear. He bakes the bread and tempts me with it even though fresh sourdough bread is the last thing I need every day.”
“Why do you say that?”
Her very perceptive eyes narrowed, honing in on him. “Why are you asking?”
“She sent me cookies today for helping her after the accident. I met her when I went to thank her. She seemed nice but I realized I didn’t know much about her. Kyle suggested I ask you.”
She harrumphed. “Tate Murphy is a nice girl, Matthew Sebastian Chase. She and her older brother are the ones who raised the rest of those children. Eight in all. The mother, she’s worse than the father. Kept having ‘em and running off again with some new man who blew through town. I saw Tate with babies on her hip when she was in kindergarten. They didn’t have the same kind of child welfare services then. But from what I’ve seen and heard over the years, every single one of those kids went to college if they wanted to or some kind of trade school and they all pooled together to pay for it. Tate and Tim being the oldest have done the lion’s share.”
“How come I never saw any of this?” Matt felt shame that all this happened to people his age and he never knew.
“Oh, they lived over in the trailer park on Ash. Not like you had much call to get out that way. You were lucky children to have your lives free of that sort of thing.” Polly clucked.
The other side of the metaphorical tracks. That part of town was ramshackle and dark. Not the tree-lined stately homes of his neighborhood or even the nice residential flavor of the majority of Petal. That side of town had more burnt out cars and trucks up on blocks than oak trees.
He stayed and visited with his parents for a while longer and went home. But Tate’s wide, friendly smile stayed with him even after he’d turned off the lights.
Chapter Four
Matt saw her everywhere once he’d actually noticed her the first time. That bright shock of white-blonde hair was a beacon along with the vivid, colorful clothes she always wore.
Somehow, it fit and he loved the retro vibe it lent her. Quite often, she wore dresses that made him think of the fifties. Flared skirts and tight bodices in bright red or blue. Always shoes to match. The woman could probably give Cassie a run for her money in the shoe department.
Two weeks after he’d gone into her shop that first time, he saw her sitting on a bench at city hall. It was early May and the day was clear and warm. Her hair gleamed in the sunshine.
He plopped down on the bench next to her and began to unpack his lunch. “Hey there. This seat taken?”
Her surprised jump made him glad she wasn’t eating or drinking anything after the first choking incident. “Hi. No. No, sit down. I was just having my lunch.”
Looking between his sandwich and whatever the heaven-in-a-bowl she was eating, made his stomach growl. “What is that? Looks way better than a turkey sandwich.”
She held out a forkful to him and without thinking he took it. Instantly, his taste buds lit as the flavor rushed into his mouth.
“It’s green curry with tofu.”
“That’s tofu? No way. Tofu tastes like, well, nothing.”
She laughed, that sweet, musical laugh. “Tofu will soak up the flavor of whatever you cook it with. This has garlic, basil, eggplant and tofu in it and I like to add mushrooms just because. The green curry is spicy and the coconut milk is sweet. All together it just works doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’ll never wrinkle my nose at tofu again.”
She curled her lip at his sandwich. “Is that pressed turkey?” Her tone made it seem like he’d been eating dog poop.
“Um, I don’t know?” He shrugged. “I get it at the market, in those baggies where the cheese is. Is it bad?”
“Tell me something, Matt Chase, does your mother ever serve turkey that tastes like that?”
He recoiled in horror. “Never!”
She handed him the curry. “Good Lord, eat this. And go to the deli to get your turkey there next time. You know what a tomato is right?”
Obediently he ate and nodded. “But it makes the sandwich soggy.”
“Keep the slices in a separate baggie until you’re ready to eat the sandwich.” She peeled the bread and looked at him accusingly. “Is this processed cheese? The kind that comes in little individual plastic sleeves?”
“Yeah. Hey, I like that stuff!”
“No you don’t.”
She sounded so sure of it, he started to doubt himself. Instead, he ate the food she’d given him. “What are you going to eat?”
She pulled out another container and two small containers. “I have marinated tomatoes and mozzarella with crostini.”
“Huh?” He leaned over and nearly drooled when she pulled the lid off the container and the scent of olive oil and basil hit him along with the sweet acid of the tomatoes. “No way.”
Grinning, she popped a tiny ball of cheese into his mouth and he groaned. “You can’t have it all but I’ll share some of it. I usually give my leftovers to Beth. If she hunts you down later, don’t blame me.” She pulled several little toasts out of a paper sack. “This is crostini. Just little pieces of toasted bread with olive oil or even plain. You put things on it, olive spread, tomatoes, cheeses, that sort of thing. My brother William works at The Honey Bear. He bakes the bread and tempts me with it even though fresh sourdough bread is the last thing I need every day.”
