A vague memory of a Berkeley school bus bound for Strawberry Canyon buzzed around me like a fly. I swatted at it unsuccessfully.
So Bob flew away for the winter, far across the farthest pond, and laughed and drank Bordeaux and met new people and learned to speak fluently in a language I almost didn’t understand. When he came home, he was a newer, deeper, shinier, more joyful Bob than ever, one that I would love even more than I had before.
When we had pulled ourselves together and walked into the apartment, Graham was at the kitchen counter, pouring the filling into the pie shell for the pumpkin pie. He turned, and he and Bob were eye to eye.
So two days later I started as the deli girl at Lighthouse Market, and Jean was beside herself - but not in a good way. Still, even though she was the owner, whatever Ray said went, so she had to live with me, and my recipes, for the time being. We would make up the whole week’s hot dishes during the nights when I was free to work and then store them in the walk-in, and she would put them up the next morning.
Bruno looked at me a minute more, and then he began talking gently to me, while I smiled back a Mona Lisa smile, except with the eyes a little more down at the corners than usual.