“I just met him briefly a couple days ago. He gave a talk on campus and I snuck in; then I stepped on him and walked downtown with him. I don’t really know him.” I pressed my lips together.Stop babbling.
“Well, Robert liked you, my dear, and he’s a good judge of character.” Mrs. Muir smiled. “And as for Alex, he may drop by later, so perhaps you can get to know him better.”
“Alex?”Gulp.
“He has some signings and a couple events downtown this evening, but he hopes to drop by. He’s got a flight back to New York tomorrow morning.”
“Oh.” I never expected to run into Alex again, and now I felt that I was intruding into his private world.
“Why don’t you wash that for me, and I’ll finish the sauce.” Mrs. Muir pointed to a head of lettuce.
I grabbed it, happy to contribute. There was something about the Muirs—the professor’s intensity and Mrs. Muir’s serenity—that intrigued me and made me feel safe. I wanted to be there. That in itself was highly unusual. Most of the time I want to be anywhere other than where I am.
As I washed the lettuce, I looked around. It was clearly a working kitchen. Some, you can tell, are just for show. You might get a snack out of them, but they’re not fortified to put out great meals every day. This one was the real deal. Cookbooks lined the shelves, spices stood at attention in a rack, knives rested in a huge block next to a massive Viking stove. And the aura of tomatoes, anchovies, and garlic dominated the landscape. I worked in silence for a moment and then decided to ask about Alex and the professor.
“They seemed very close at the café. Have they always been like that?”
“From the moment Alex stepped into Robert’s class. We never had children, and in many ways we regard Alex as a son.”
“Does he come here often?”
“He used to schedule a lot of media work in Chicago so he could stay with us for a few weeks, but with the last book he never left New York. We’ve been out there a few times, but he’s had a hard time the past few years.” She paused for a moment, then added wistfully, “He’s worked nonstop for years now.”
I learned that Alex’s parents are alive and well and living in Washington state—but they don’t mind the time Alex spends with the Muirs. Can you imagine? Another set of parents looking out for you, loving you? Then Mrs. Muir asked if I missed my family. I was tempted to tell her the truth. The kitchen felt warm and safe, and I think Mrs. Muir is trustworthy. I came so close.
“I don’t miss them too much. I’m so busy. Would you like me to chop this as well?” The dodge worked and the moment passed.
We soon sat down toBistecca alla Pizzaiola, the Steak of the Pizza Maker’s Wife. Basically it’s a steak, pan-seared then slow cooked in a thick tomato, garlic, and anchovy sauce. The food was rich, comforting, and delicious, and the conversation felt the same. We talked about literature, writing, movies—all sorts of stuff. I even confessed some of my problems with Johnson.
“Russell’s as tough as they come.” Professor Muir leaned back in his chair.
“Too tough for me. He’s going to fail me.”
“Have you talked to him about how to improve?”
“A little.” The idea of willingly pursuing Johnson for a “talk” was unimaginable.
“Keep at it. I say he’s tough, but he’s also one of the best men I know—a man of incredible skill and incomparable integrity. You keep at it. You’re in good hands.”
I sat there stunned. I knew Johnson was powerful, but this was a peer, not a student or even a journalist, singing his praises. I saw Johnson in a different light, and it didn’t make him any less intimidating.
I let these thoughts dance in my mind while we cleared the table and began washing the dishes. Then Alex arrived . . .
He walked straight in the front door as Mrs. Muir was putting a plate of cookies on the kitchen table. She said it was our reward for a kitchen well cleaned. I turned around to comment and there he was, staring at me.
“Sam? What are you doing here?”
I froze. I thought I might be intruding before; now I knew I was.
“Alex,” Mrs. Muir gently reprimanded him. “We invited Sam for dinner. We’re having a lovely time.”
Alex shook his head as if clearing a thought or rustling up some good manners. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Professor Muir took my number at the café. Then Mrs. Muir called me.”
He waved his hand. “Don’t explain. I told you they were good people. Glad you’re here.” But he didn’t sound glad. He turned away from me, crossed the kitchen, and kissed Mrs. Muir on the cheek. “Where’s Pops?”
“He went to get Sam a book from the study.”
