Chapter 19 – The Supper
The following evening Miranda returned from work to find Dave sitting patiently beside her driveway. When she emerged from her tiny car, Dave jogged to her and sat, looking into her face. He carried a rolled sheet of paper in his teeth.
“Hey, Dave, sweetie,” said Miranda, patting his head and scratching the soft dimple behind his ear. “Is that for me?”
She gently grasped the rolled paper, and Dave released it into her hand. The message, unfurled, read, “Your kitchen is toast. Have dinner with us. Come as you are.” It was signed “P., S., & D.”
Miranda laughed. “I guess you’re my escort?” she said to Dave. “In that case, ‘Lead on, McDuff.’”
“Whupf,” snuffed Dave, and he began padding toward the back hedge.
“Oh, you don’t like Shakespeare. Too pretentious?” said Miranda, following him across the yard.
Moments later the Krausse kitchen door swung open just as Dave and Miranda approached it. “Been listening for you,” said Shepard, gesturing for her to enter.
“I appreciate the invitation,” she said. “To tell the truth, I hadn’t given a thought to what I was going to do about dinner. I keep forgetting I don’t have a kitchen. Ooh, what smells so delectable in here?”
“I’ma make you my grandmother’s especial torta rustica, with super secret ingredient. You gonna love it,” Pietro spoke from his place at the stove. He wore a red apron that covered him from armpits to knees.
Miranda translated the Italian words embroidered on the apron: “ ‘Cooking lasts longer than kissing?’ And what, sir chef, do you mean by that, exactly?”
Pietro looked up from the pot he was stirring and grinned at her. “It means if you smart, you don’t marry the pretty one,” he nodded toward Shepard and winked, “you marry the one who can cook.”
“Watch it, buddy,” snarled Shepard.
“Calm down, Thor,” said Pietro. “We just talkin’ about my apron.”
“Your apron, my a—”
“Shepard!” Miranda interrupted, feigning outrage. “If you intend to propose to me every time you speak to me, you can hardly complain if someone else does it, too, now can you?” She winked at Pietro.
Shepard opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it and pulled back a chair for Miranda. “Have a seat, Castor Bean. What can I get you to drink?”
“Thank you,” she said, taking her place at the table. As Shep settled her chair, she asked, “What are you two drinking?”
“Iced tea,” Shep answered. “We have to leave for work after dinner.”
Pietro announced, “Everybody sit! It’sa perfect right now. In ten minutes will be ruined. Sit! Sit!”
“You sit! I’m getting the tea,” Shepard said.
“Velocemente! I’ma serve the plates!” snapped Pietro.
Shepard said something rude in Italian. Pietro ignored him. Miranda laughed. Dave went to his waiting food dish and sat beside it.
….
As they consumed Pietro’s culinary masterpiece—which indeed it was—they enjoyed talking in first one language, then another. Miranda held her own in four of the languages, though her accent was admittedly imperfect. Pietro and Shepard knew a smattering of Russian, Turkish, even Hebrew, but when they discovered Miranda wasn’t keeping up, they quickly changed to a tongue with which she was familiar.
They were discussing the mysteries of the game of cricket when Shep suddenly raised a hand for silence.
“Hear that?” he said.
“What is it?” asked Pietro.
“That car,” said Shepard. “Listen.”
They stilled their forks and listened. A car was idling somewhere on Orchid Street. The neighborhood was otherwise quiet.
“Whose car is that?” asked Shepard.
“Who knows?” said Pietro, resuming his dinner. “You think I can tell from just hearing a car that it belongs to a certain person?”
“Come on, Pietro. There aren’t that many cars on Orchid Street. There aren’t that many cars in all of Minokee. Nobody around here has a car that sounds like that.”
Pietro shook his head. “You justa showing off in front of the pretty lady.”
“I am not,” Shep turned toward Miranda. “Bean, I am not showing off. Look, your car sounds like a sewing machine with its teeny engine. Martha’s car rattles. Mr. Barren’s car squeaks. Bernice’s old caddy rumbles like a steam locomotive.” He turned toward Pietro. “Our car purrs like a kitten, because you baby it all the time. But that car,” he gestured toward the outside, “that car sounds like a biker gang. It doesn’t belong in this neighborhood.”
Miranda put a hand on Shepard’s wrist. “Somebody has company, that’s all. You have a dinner guest. They have one, too. Don’t let it worry you.”
Shepard smiled and patted her hand. “I’m not worried. I just noticed, is all.”
“You justa showing off, is all,” muttered Pietro.
“Stop it,” Miranda said with a chuckle. “You were explaining to me about cricket.”
With that, Pietro resumed the conversation they had interrupted. Their pleasant dinner continued without further distractions.
After the meal, Miranda sipped coffee at the table while Pietro and Shep cleaned up the kitchen. Dinner had been extraordinary. In fact, Miranda thought she had never enjoyed such superb food in such marvelous company in her life. If this was an everyday meal at the Krausse household, these friends were very special indeed.
“You have this down to a science,” she said, watching them wash, dry, and put away the dishes and utensils.
“Years of practice,” said Shep.
“I teach him how to run a kitchen,” said Pietro.
Shep elbowed Pietro. “Liar! Your grandmother taught me,” he turned toward Miranda. “His grandmother taught me.”
“Hah! You forget that I teach my grandmother!” Pietro quipped, elbowing Shep in return.
Miranda laughed. “Clearly, you’ve known each other for a very long time. What was Shepard like in high school?”
“Perfect!” said Shepard.
“Tall,” said Pietro. “And skinny and insecure and a poor student. Everything I was not, that’s what he was.”
“No,” inserted Shep.
“And he had no, how can I say, ... skills, no ... finesse with the girls,” Pietro continued.
“What girls? There were no girls!” Shep turned to Miranda. “There were no girls. It was an all-boys boarding school. No girls.”
“There are girls in the town,” Pietro insisted. “Plenty of girls, who admire the dark, handsome Italian with the hypnotizing charm.”
“Oh, right, hypnotizing charm. I suppose you’re referring to yourself, Harry Houdini?”
“Houdini? Houdini was an escape artist. I no want to escape from pretty girls.”
“Spare me,” muttered Shep.
“Fortunately, I take pity on this pathetic oaf—”
“Pathetic oaf!”
“—and I give him lessons in romance,” Pietro boasted.
“Do you realize how awful that sounds?!” Shep said. He turned toward Miranda, “He did not teach me. Nobody had to teach me.” He turned toward Pietro. “You did not teach me, you self-proclaimed little Wop Romeo.”
“You Norse Neanderthal,” said Pietro.
Through it all they washed and rinsed, dried and stacked, and never missed a beat. Miranda laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Dave dozed under the table with his head on Miranda’s feet. He had heard it all before.
“So, that’s our story,” Shep said. “What was school like for you, Castor Bean?”
Miranda was quiet a moment, looking into her coffee cup.
“Oh, you know. Good grades. Teachers liked me; students not so much. People couldn’t remember my name. Nobody mistreated me or bullied me. Mostly people were unaware of me. Never had my picture in the yearbook. But it was all good. School was fine.” She looked down at her feet. “What was school like for you,
Dave?”
“Whupf,” Dave snuffled.
“He’s too modest,” said Shepard. “Dave graduated first in his class, was captain of the Frisbee team, and dated the most beautiful poodle babe on campus.”
Pietro chimed in, “Dave is so smart, when he graduate they hire him as a professor for two semesters.”
Miranda laughed. She finished her coffee and rose to hand her empty cup to Pietro. He added it to his dishwater.
“Thank you for a wonderful meal and for the, um, unusual conversation,” she said. “I need to get home and get to bed early, and you two need to get off to work soon.”
Shep put down his drying towel and walked her to the kitchen door. “Will you stay with Martha again tonight?” he asked.
“Oh, no, I’m fine at my place,” she assured him. “Martha spent the day getting doors and windows secured and some of the kitchen mess swept away. She’s kept me on the phone all day with progress reports. We have wonderful neighbors here, don’t we?”
“I certainly have a wonderful neighbor,” he agreed. He opened the door for her and kissed her on the forehead. “Be safe. Sleep well.”
“You, too. Thanks again,” she said, and she began walking homeward.
“Oh, Bean?” he called after her.
“Yes?”
“Will you marry me?” he called.
She laughed. “Not tonight, Shepard.” She kept walking.
“Okay. G’night,” he called, and shut the door.
Minokee exploded twenty minutes later.