The Lost Recipe for Happiness - By Barbara O'Neal Page 0,109

arm. “I’m so proud of you, girl. You’re my hero.”

Portia smiled wanly.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Elena said to the others, and they trooped through the upstairs kitchen and into the bar area. The music played and the servers and bartenders scurried around, stripping tables, cleaning coffeepots. “Marta, bring us some beer, will you?” she called, setting her platter on the table. “And some things to eat with.”

They all collapsed around the long table, Tansy and Ivan, Peter next to Portia, the two boys, and the busser who had got stuck in the kitchen. Elena just avoided groaning, but her entire body cried out in relief when she took the weight off her spine. For a moment, the absence of pain was almost like a pain of its own, and she wanted to weep, but didn’t dare. Marta brought over a tray full of bottled beer, and a couple of margaritas, one for Tansy, one for Elena. Elena lifted her drink, saying “Salud!”

Julian emerged from the front somewhere. “Good work,” he said, carrying a piece of paper. “You managed to get out one hundred seventy-three covers tonight.”

Peter whistled.

Ivan, arched around his food as protectively as a dog defending his dish, growled, “How many comps?”

“Not that many,” Julian said, waving a hand.

Elena’s gut dropped. “How many?”

He met her eyes. “Twenty-six.”

A bomb of silence dropped on the table. “Fifteen percent,” Ivan said, shaking his head grimly. “In-fucking-credible.” Violently, he stood up and knocked his chair back and carried his plate into the kitchen.

Elena glared after him, but then looked at the rest of the table. She raised her glass again. “Considering six people did the work of eleven with a full house, that’s not too bad, huh?”

Their faces eased as they toasted her.

The phone rang and Marta called Julian. He hurried over to the bar.

“I’m proud of you guys,” Elena said. “Cheers to Tansy, who proved herself tonight!”

Tansy gave her torn, ragged chuckle. “Thank you, thank you.”

“And cheers to Portia, too! Did she do a great job?”

“I think we should hire her,” Peter suggested.

“Thanks but no thanks,” Portia said. “I wouldn’t mind learning to cook a little, but that dishwashing is for the birds.”

“To our missing amigos,” Tansy said. “We might have been miserable tonight, but they’re all in a world of hurt by now, I can tell you.”

Slowly, Elena raised her glass, feeling furiously emotional. “Juan should really have been here tonight. He thought up half the menu.”

It was only then that she realized she had no home, either, and her back spasmed. She would have to stay with Julian tonight at least.

As if called, he returned to the table with a glass of scotch. “Cheers and thanks to all of you,” he said. “You’ll all have bonuses for your dedication. Now, I think we need to toast your chef. Who lost her house today and still managed to pull off what amounted to a miracle tonight. Good job, Chef.”

She nodded, suddenly and completely demolished.

It took another solid hour to get the kitchen cleaned. Breaking her rule, Elena drank two shots of tequila, letting the alcohol do its magic. Once she got back to Julian’s, she could take some pain meds, soak in the hot tub, and it would be all right again.

But it bloody burned like fire tonight. A sudden turn could send swirls of bright popping red through her body, making her dizzy. She discovered she couldn’t lift much of anything at all. She couldn’t find it in herself to care that she limped like Quasimodo.

Ivan worked in sullen silence, as if he blamed her for the comps. She ignored him.

Portia finished the dishes. Peter helped her polish all the stainless steel. They looked like brother and sister, both so blond and fair. She heard them talking about skiing at one point. Obviously, Portia was too young for the nineteen-year-old. She would warn him to mind his manners, but tonight, his crush had served a good purpose.

Finally, finally, the work was done, the night was over, and Elena let Julian drive the three of them home. She didn’t have much to say, except, “I’d like to get in the hot tub at your house, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.”

Alvin tapped toward them happily when the door opened, crocodile in teeth, his feathery tail high, his lips curled up in a grin. He flung himself into Elena, who grunted over the starburst of pain it lit in her body, and grabbed for Julian to steady herself. Alvin turned his head down and