Keith (Hathaway House #11) - Dale Mayer Page 0,3

cooks, from the other side of the kitchen island. “However, we’re making fresh pasta, so why don’t we whip up a walnut and cheese pasta dish with cream sauce?”

“That might work,” she said, “but we certainly won’t need four gallons for that.”

“Cream puffs,” one of the other guys called out.

“Panna cotta,” somebody else suggested.

“All good ideas,” she said. “Let’s see if we can work them into the menus.” She turned to Gerard. “We probably don’t need very much of the cream for the pasta. You just want to make it,” she teased. “You love making fresh pasta.”

“Absolutely I do,” he said. “You know fresh pasta is the best anytime, but, if we need to make up for the missing lamb, then let’s make it that one.”

“Good enough,” she said. “We have three other meats anyway, so we can do without the lamb.”

“Exactly. I know the budget here is extensive,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a good idea sometimes to have one less meat a day.”

“I was wondering about that,” she said, “just to see if anybody noticed.”

“Right,” he said. “We could certainly do it for a few days and see what happens.”

“I was wondering about doing it every second day or maybe once every three days,” she said, “and putting in a vegetarian dish. Something even with a little protein that is heavy with vegetables.”

“I like the idea,” Gerard said. He was her number one assistant.

At that, she reached for the manifest Ricky handed her. She checked every item mentally against what recipes she needed it for with this week’s menu plan and then signed the bottom. “Ricky, I think we’ll need more lemons too,” she said.

He nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll add it to tomorrow’s order.”

Acknowledging the response, she turned, just as her phone rang. Pulling it out, she checked her Caller ID, seeing it was one her staff, then answered. “Stefan, how does it look today for you?”

“It is not good,” he said, his soft voice apologetic. “Mom’s having a bad day.”

Ilse pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “When can you come in?” she asked, not even believing that she was asking such a question. But Stefan was the only one looking after his mother, who had stage four breast cancer and was homebound. How did you even begin to ask somebody to come in when his life was falling apart like that?

“The hospice nurse will be coming this afternoon,” he said. “She’ll be here for about an hour, and then I’ve got Rosy coming over to sit with her.”

“So, you can come and help with dinner service then? That would work.”

“The thing is, it can only work if everybody shows up as planned,” he said hesitantly.

“I know,” she said. “Otherwise, maybe tomorrow morning.” After the call, she put away her phone and looked over to see the others quickly glancing away. “All right, you guys. What would you have me do?” she asked. “His mother is dying.”

With that, she turned and walked out, heading to her office. She knew they would talk about it because no kitchen in any of the big companies would allow this behavior. But she wanted to be more than just a company and more than just another commercial kitchen. She wanted to show the heart and the face of what Hathaway House stood for in Dallas and worldwide. For the patients but for the staff as well.

She’d worked here for years and had seen how important it was to set the right tone. She had seen the success and the growth that came with it. She’d seen it in her own staff too, but this was a hard thing to let attendance slide because of the precedent it sent. And she knew that, as the top dog, she would step in to do Stefan’s work. She didn’t have a problem with that and had done it many times before and would do it many times in the future. But it was a whole different deal when it happened over and over again.

As she sat behind her desk with the paperwork to review, Ricky came in and handed off the signed forms that he’d stapled together with the others. “Okay,” he said, “all these orders are clear.”

She nodded, glanced to make sure it was all in order, and popped them into a folder.

“What will you work on now?” he asked, walking back to the doorway.

“Next week’s menu,” she said, standing up and walking over to the