When I get to the door, I see a hand-lettered sign taped to it. “Closed for private event. Tickets required.”
I pull open the door and am greeted by a handsome young guy. “Hi,” he says brightly. “Thanks so much for coming. Are you here for the fundraiser or the restaurant?” He gives me a warm smile. “In case you missed the sign, we’re closed for the day. But we’ll open back up tomorrow for regular business.”
“Uh…” I scramble to figure out the right thing to say. I want to get to the bottom of this, but I don’t know if I should be here if there’s a private event. “I was hoping to talk to Audrina Kincade,” I say, looking around as though I might see her just standing around. “Do you know if she’s here?”
“Of course,” he says. “She’s running the event. Are you a friend?” he asks. “I have a short list of people who have complimentary tickets. I can just check…”
Two other people have come up from behind me, so I step aside. “Why don’t you go ahead,” I say, waving them past. “I need to get out my debit card.”
I listen while the people behind me pay for entry to the fundraiser. I luck out because while the younger woman pays, the older woman nods to me. “Do you know John Kincade?” she asks.
I nod, because I do. That’s Audrina’s grandfather. The man who opened Pancake Circus. “Not very well personally,” I admit. “But professionally, yes.”
The woman shakes her head slowly. “It’s such a shame. They’re such wonderful people.” She leans in close to me. “I can’t imagine losing everything like that. And you know how hard it is to deal with insurance companies these days.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod and then step back into line. I hand the young man at the hostess stand my debit card and pay for a ticket. “Can you tell me how the family is doing?” I ask, not sure what I should say. I want to know what happened, but I’m afraid if I just come out and ask it, he won’t sell me the ticket, won’t let me in. That seems ridiculous, though. This is a fundraiser, so they should let in anyone willing to pay for a ticket. “And what really happened?” I add.
The young man runs my card and hands me a paper wristband. I peel the sticky backing and put the thing around my wrist while he explains.
“It’s so sad, but they are so lucky nothing worse happened,” he says, his voice sincerely distraught. “Mr. Kincade’s wife accidentally started a kitchen fire in their home. She was able to get out safely, but they lost everything.” He shakes his head. “They have insurance, but there’s an investigation and a lot of delays and paperwork. And just the emotional side. Jeanine just turned eighty, and John is, I think, eighty-four now. They’ve lived in their home for over fifty years. And everything is gone overnight.”
“Oh my gosh,” I say. “But they are okay? No one was hurt.”
He shakes his head. “No, thank goodness. Jeanine was in the hospital for a day or two being treated for minor burns and to make sure her diabetes was under control, but she’s fine. Their church asked if they would close the restaurant for just one day to let people come and make donations to help the family with small expenses until the insurance money comes in.”
I nod and thank him, then let him get on to checking in other people. Once I get inside the restaurant, the mood is a lot lighter. Food is out on long buffet tables, and people are talking and laughing, sharing memories and snacking on staples from the Pancake Circus menu. I make my way through the crowd and seeJeanine and John Kincade. They are sitting together at a booth, holding hands. They are smiling, but it’s obvious the strain they are under.
People are coming up to them, chatting and leaving cards and envelopes on the table. The whole scene is surreal, and I feel like an intruder in a place I don’t belong. I didn’t bring my checkbook, and I don’t know if there’s another way to make donations, but I don’t have to wait long before the sound of a microphone coming on draws all eyes to the center of the room.
“Hey, everyone.” A young man holds the mic, and his smile lights up the Kincades’ faces. “As most of you here know, I’m Nathan Kincade, John and Jeanine’s great-nephew. I just wanted to thank you all for coming. As you know, my uncle John and aunt Jeanine have been staples of this community for over fifty years. In this time of personal struggle, our family has come together, but I think I speak for all of us when I say the show of support from the community has been overwhelming.”
There are some claps and cheers from the crowd at that.
Nathan continues. “All the food and drinks have been donated for today’s event, and my uncle’s kitchen staff and servers have donated their time off the clock to serve and clean, so every penny of whatever you donate today will go right to John and Jeanine to help them cover any expenses they have until they have help from the insurance company.” Nathan points to a man in the crowd. “No pressure, Don. But, yes, I’m looking at you.”
Don holds his hands over his heart, and the crowd laughs.
“Don’s my uncle’s insurance agent. But we know, Don. You’re not the one who writes the checks.”
“But I would.” Don, much quieter than Nathan without a microphone, still manages to be heard as he says, “I would if I could.”
By the time the laughter dies down, Nathan is pointing to a bunch of unusual artwork that’s hanging on the walls. “And for those of you who don’t know her, talented textile artist Annie Hancock has donated some amazing pieces to be auctioned off. If you want to bid on a piece, just put your name down and the amount you want to bid on the sheet by the artwork itself.” Nathan puts a hand over his heart. “Annie is a longtime customer of Pancake Circus and is just one of the hundreds of people like you all here today who have stepped up and contributed in a show of support for John and Jeanine.”
When the applause dies down, Nathan again encourages everyone to eat and drink and expresses thanks on behalf of the family. As soon as he sets the microphone down, I make my way through the crowd and put a hand on his elbow. He turns to me with a warm smile.
“Hi,” he says. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“I’m so, so sorry that this has happened,” I say. “I wonder if you could tell me if Audrina is here. I was hoping to just say a few words to her and then be on my way.”
“Of course,” he says. “Last I saw her, she was in the kitchen supervising. Let me get her for you.”
To my shock, he doesn’t ask who I am or what I want. I wouldn’t be surprised, though, if this has been happening all day. People showing up wanting to express support and share condolences.
Nathan returns a few minutes later with Audrina close on his heels. The moment she sees me, her nostrils flare and her eyes narrow. “What are you doing here?” she demands.
Nathan looks from her to me, and for a second, I’m afraid she’s going to make a scene. “I’m so sorry about this,” I say. “Can I please have two minutes of your time? Then I promise, I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”
Nathan looks at his cousin, but she just points back toward the kitchen. “Cover for me?” she asks. Then she glares at me. “This won’t take long.”
