“You miss the restaurant?” she asked.
Looking over, I cocked my head. “I miss the people. But I like our little operation. Plus, I get to cook whatever I want now.”
“Do you miss home?”
Looking ahead, I tapped my fingers on my thigh. “At first, yes. I missed it very much.”
“And now?”
“This is my home now.” Papa loved me and took care of me, and I did miss the people at the restaurant, but I had something more now. I finally felt like my purpose was being fulfilled. I loved Mama’s restaurant, but it was hers. Even though Mama Hen was still the First Lady, I would be someday, and she was preparing me for that. And the members and the ladies weren’t employees, they were family.
“You bet your ass it is,” she said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. Something was in hers, so I pulled mine away to reveal a necklace. It wasn’t overly fancy, just a thin piece of leather with a small motorcycle pendant, but there was a black gemstone where the headlight should be.
“Is this for me?” I asked.
“Yep. You put that on and don’t let anything happen to it.”
I put it over my head, then looked down at it, holding the motorcycle between my thumb and fingers. “I’ll treasure it forever.”
She took my hand again, and didn’t let go until we arrived at our destination.
After a lovely ride through the highway riddled with the shades of autumn from the rows and rows of trees, we turned onto a smaller road lined with quaint houses, spaced fairly far apart but still visible to the neighbors.
“She lives here?” I asked. “These homes are quite small compared to where her family lives.
“Well, if we’re right, it’s probably just a front.”
After pulling into a driveway of a cute home with a small porch and planters on either side of the door, we both climbed out.
Looking around, it was calm and peaceful. “Nice little neighborhood,” I said as we walked to the porch.
“Something isn’t right,” Mama Hen said. “It’s too quiet for a weekend morning.”
“Church, maybe?”
“Maybe. But the weather is still nice enough I’d expect some folks to be outside.”
Her suspicions put me on alert. “Well, let’s see if she’s home.”
I took a deep breath, unsure of what I even planned to say. Do I just outright accuse her of being someone else, or ease into it?
I knocked on the door and Mama Hen stood close, looking around the yard.
It wasn’t long before the door cracked open. Jeannie, or Gianna, paused and scanned us both up and down. “Come to apologize?”
My head jerked at her suggestion but Mama Hen grabbed my arm. “Can we chat?”
She rolled her eyes, then opened the door wider. “Come in.”
We stepped inside and walked down the short hall.
“You can have a seat there on the sofa. Can I get yousome coffee or a diet soda?”
“We’re good,” Mama Hen said as we stepped into the living room.
“Suit yourself. I’ll be right back,” she said as she walked past a dining table and through a door, probably the kitchen, based on the layout.
It was a very modest but adorable home. Certainly not what you’d expect from a Martinelli.
