Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr Page 0,28
think it was gradual but I felt like I looked up one day and here was this Goth creature with felonious tendencies.”
“And you decided to come here?”
“Not fast enough,” he said. “I got advice from everyone I knew—friends and family. The names of counselors, grief groups, child-raising experts from Tough Love to Dr. Spock. I floundered and Courtney got in trouble. This was a pretty desperate move to help her. Us. To help us.”
She leaned on the work island and asked, “Who helped you?”
“Oh, I managed. I had a support group through a Unitarian church and a couple of good friends who hung in there with me long after I’m sure I’d become a huge, depressing downer.”
She smiled at him. “In spite of the harsh realities of what you’ve been through, you’re not a downer now.”
“Thanks, Kelly. I’m ready for the next phase of my life. I just have lots of things to work out before that’s my only priority.”
Sometimes they walked around the property, of which there was plenty. Lief and Kelly were kicking around the pumpkin patch in back of the house when he asked her, “What really happened in the restaurant to make you run away to Virgin River?”
She took a breath. “There’s a long answer and a short answer to that one. The long answer involves years of education, culinary training and apprenticeships in several different countries, including the U.S., with the single primary goal of rising to the position of chef de cuisine or head chef in a major restaurant and then being a partner in a very well known, five-star restaurant. Every institute I studied in or kitchen I worked in was crazy. The competition was always brutal, the personal relationships were complex and often destructive and dysfunctional…”
“Hollywood can be like that,” he said.
She stopped walking. “Yeah. I bet. We should compare notes…”
“Your notes first, Kelly,” he urged. “Go on.”
“Hm. It takes a certain kind of person to make it in that life—a person with nerves of steel, confidence that’s immune to constant criticism, single-minded goals, a profound determination and belief that you will ultimately not only survive but win the war—and it is a war. On top of that you’d better have a very strong support team to watch your back. Of course at the same time it’s a jealous, competitive business and no one trusts anyone. Everyone is trying to rise to the top. I didn’t realize it was taking its toll until I crashed on the job—passed out and had to be taken to the hospital. Scared me to death.” She stopped walking through the beautiful big orange pumpkins and said, “I’m a great chef.”
“I know,” he said with a smile. “I’m a witness.”
“I’m so organized, it would scare you. I have good instincts about the use of food. And, I truly and honestly believe I could run a big kitchen without all that insanity. In fact, if I had the chance and could hire the manager, I could run the whole house without craziness!”
“I believe you.”
“But I bet I’m kidding myself if I think I’m going to get the chance. My biggest chance on the horizon was Luca. One of the first things I loved about him was that he was not insane. When he came to the kitchen, the whole place fell into order. No one dared raise a voice or argue with him. He was more than a mentor, he was a role model. He promised me a shot at leading one of his five-star restaurants. And you know what happened there.”
“That might not be the only route to your success, Kelly,” he said.
“Maybe not. But right now the economy is down, big fancy restaurants are struggling. When I find my next job, it’s not going to be as classy as La Touche.”
“I’ve actually eaten there, you know,” he told her.
“Not really!”
“Really. Might’ve been before your time.”
“Do you remember what you thought of it?”
“I thought it was arrogant and nouveau. Making people who have had reservations for weeks or months wait two hours for a table? Stupid arbitrary move—trying to make the establishment rather than the fare appear high-end. The waitstaff was good but the management should get people to their tables. A really good restaurant relies on their food. As I recall, the food was good, but I’d never go back.”
“That’s what I think, exactly. I bet you hardly remember the meal because you were pissed at the treatment!”
“So in a word, what would you say was