Unbroken, page 2
Cecily’s shoulders slumped, and although she was at least four inches taller and ten years older than Naomi, she seemed to grow smaller. “I disappoint you,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”
Naomi made a dismissive gesture and looked at her watch before she swept through the kitchen to inspect a few of the cooks working on the mise en place, prepping the kitchen for the busy lunch service. Cecily was the one who was supposed to keep the kitchen running like clockwork, but Naomi couldn’t quite let go of her old ways as a head chef and liked to keep an eye on things herself. When she turned to see Cecily scrutinizing her with a wary, annoyed expression, she realized her mistake.
“I’m sorry,” Naomi said softly, and headed for the exit. “I’ll leave you to your work.”
“I’m wondering,” Cecily said as Naomi reached the door. “Perhaps it would be best if you come with me to the market this morning?”
Looking at her watch again, Naomi’s mouth twitched with irritation. She didn’t have time to go to the market and oversee Cecily’s attempts at befriending the owner—even if Cecily did make bad first impressions.
Naomi turned around, taking a deep breath as she prepared herself to tell Cecily she was far too busy with her own work. Then she stopped cold, zipping her mouth shut as she caught sight of her reflection in the polished stainless steel refrigerator. She was standing ramrod straight in her cream-colored pencil skirt and white blouse, her hair pulled back in a knot, her eyes constantly fluttering to her watch.
She may not be a successful, ambitious lawyer like her mother, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t acting just like her.
“Well, shit,” she whispered in English, and shuffled her feet uncomfortably across the clean tiles.
“Excuse me?” Cecily asked, her eyes widening.
Naomi wet her lips and adjusted her stance. “Yes,” she said softly in Italian, “I would love to come to the market with you. Let’s leave in twenty minutes.”
Cecily smiled and nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
IV
Naomi stood near the artichokes as Cecily chatted with the owner of the market over in the corner. The market was outdoors, covered only with a piece of heavy, fraying tarp strung between a few poles. The tarp was damp and water-stained, sunlight filtering through a few holes. It shone in patches on the artichokes as Naomi lifted one to inspect it. Her mind snapped back to a memory of buying artichokes during her stay in Italy with Jesse—the oil pastels she had used to draw one of those artichokes, the way Jesse had lied to her and manipulated her …
Her heart pounded with startled disgust, and she dropped the artichoke back into its spot and walked away. Her mother had warned her something like this might happen, that it was going to be impossible to avoid all those memories from eleven years ago.
But so what?
Naomi chided herself for letting it get to her. It was over. She wasn’t attached to the past anymore. She’d made her peace with it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for what had happened to her, she never would have become a chef. She never would have worked at Alan’s restaurant, and she never would have moved here and landed such an incredible job. It was a dream come true, and as crazy as it all sounded, Jesse and her other kidnappers had made it all possible.
Taking a deep breath, Naomi inched back to the artichoke stand and put a few of them in her basket.
“This is wonderful¸” Cecily said as she came up to Naomi, her face beaming. “Her name is Fina, and she said she would be happy to supply us with the white truffles. She does not do this for everyone, but since she knows Gianni, she will do it for us.”
Belle Fonte was Cecily’s first job as a head chef. Considering the state the restaurant had been in when Naomi started, she thought it was quite possible no one had ever told the woman before that sourcing ingredients was part of her job. Naomi forced a warm smile, realizing she still had a lot to do to whip the restaurant and its employees into shape.
“Don’t rely so much on Michel, Cecily,” she said gently. “You need to make your own connections with local suppliers. This is a good start. Next, find us a butcher who won’t charge us a fortune for quality meat. Truffles aren’t the only things Michel marks up too high.”
Cecily clapped her hands together and nodded. “I will,” she promised. “I know just who to talk to. Shall we pick up a few things while we’re here?”
Naomi nodded.
They made a few rounds through the market, filling their little baskets to overflowing. Naomi picked out some items for herself as well, and hoped she’d have some time to visit the kitchen when it was empty. She wanted to try out a few new dishes she’d been thinking about.
At the register, Fina smiled widely at her as she swiped Naomi’s business credit card. “You run Bella Fonte?” she asked. “Why did you never tell me? Gianni used to come every morning. He must be too busy now. Or is he not there anymore?”
“No, he’s there,” Naomi laughed. “But yes, he’s expanded to several other locations, so he’s very busy.”
Fina gave a big, dramatic nod. “Success is lovely!” She leaned forward, her energy wrapping around Naomi like a warm blanket. “Tell him hello for me, and of course you may purchase truffles from me. I can only get so many, and they go quickly. Come on Tuesday mornings. I will give you a discount.”
Naomi nodded, grateful. “Whatever price you set will be fine.”
“Excuse me?” a dainty voice rang out behind Naomi. “Did you say you have truffles? I’ve been looking everywhere for those.”
Fina’s face crumpled, and Naomi turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who had spoken. She was beautiful, with dark curly hair and red lips.
And then Naomi froze, every cell in her body turning to ice.
It was Evelyn.
Evelyn, who was supposed to still be in prison.
Wait, no.
Naomi squeezed her eyes shut for a second, recalling a conversation with her mother a few years ago about Evelyn’s fifteen-year prison term being shortened. Naomi hadn’t paid much attention then. She hadn’t really cared. She had moved on and thought she would never see Evelyn again, even after she was released.
She was wrong.
“I am so sorry,” Fina said to Evelyn from the counter, “but the stock is limited. I can only sell them to select customers.”
Evelyn nodded kindly at Fina. “Of course, of course.” She then moved her attention to Naomi, who was staring at her in complete and utter shock. “Can I help you?” Evelyn asked, looking at Naomi in confusion.
Naomi opened her mouth, but nothing would come out. If Evelyn didn’t recognize her, was that a bad thing? Should she simply shut her mouth and walk away?
All of a sudden, she felt two inches tall. Her entire sense of self shrank until all she could feel was pressure against her lungs, stopping them from taking in air as memories flooded her. She was in a bedroom and the door was locked from the outside. She was in Evelyn’s kitchen chopping garlic and laughing. Evelyn dressed in a red gown, her eyes full of hope and gratitude as she smiled at Naomi.
And now Evelyn was right in front of her, fourteen years later. She still had the same scar on the left side of her face, from her ear all the way to the edge of her mouth. Her father had given it to her as a child when he’d tried to kill her.
“No,” Naomi said, taking a step back. Her hip hit the counter behind her, and she slid out of the line.
Cecily followed her with their grocery bags. Her eyes darted from Evelyn to Naomi several times. “Is something the matter, Miss Chapman?”
Naomi didn’t answer. Evelyn studied her face for a full fifteen seconds before recognition sparked in her eyes. “Oh,” she whispered, the basket in her arms nearly falling to the ground. She caught it just in time. “Naomi, is it really you? What are you doing here?” She was speaking English now, and balanced the basket in one arm as her free hand fluttered to her mouth. Her eyes glistened. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. “It’s been so long …”
Silence swelled between them. Naomi’s head filled with questions, but she couldn’t manage to get any of them out. Finally, Cecily put a hand on her shoulder and brought her out of her stupor. “Should we get back to the restaurant?” she asked. “Or would you like me to go ahead?”
“You go ahead,” Naomi said, waving her hand weakly in the direction of Bella Fonte. Cecily’s eyebrows knotted, but she left the market, looking over her broad shoulders at Naomi before disappearing around the corner.
“How did you end up in Italy?” Evelyn asked, her voice stronger now. The awkwardness of the moment was clearly not as long-lasting for her as it was for Naomi.
Naomi swallowed a lump in her throat. “I work here,” she answered, backing away farther from the line at the counter. Evelyn followed her, and they were soon standing by the artichokes. Naomi automatically reached out to feel the thick, tender leaves of the closest one. She had to feel something real and familiar to ground herself.
“You work here?” Evelyn gasped. “Well, that’s wonderful. What are you doing?”
An unbidden smile lifted Naomi’s lips as she looked into Evelyn’s eyes. This was the woman who had initially inspired her love for food and cooking. “I manage a restaurant,” she answered softly but proudly. “Bella Fonte, just around the corner.”
Evelyn eyes lit up. “How lovely,” she sighed. “And I heard you speaking Italian so well!” She nodded toward the checkout counter. She set down her basket on top of a mound of artichokes and then pressed her hands to her chest. “This is unbelievable. I never would have thought in a million years I’d find you here.”
Confusion swirled Naomi’s thoughts around. “I thought your sentence was for fifteen years. It’s only been thirteen. I mean, I heard you might be released early, but … how?”
Evelyn nodded enthusiastically. “I was released early, yes, and then Steve was released six months after—this past January. We were only just able to move here to Italy, though. It was a nightmare getting the right paperwork approved, especially for Steve. He doesn’t have dual citizenship like I do.”
Naomi nodded. “So you and Steve are still married?” she asked, her curiosity overcoming any awkwardness she had felt a moment ago.
Evelyn smiled. “Yes, amazingly enough. That’s not an easy thing to do when you’re separated for twelve-and-a-half years, but we knew it would be worth it. We stayed committed to each other.” Her eyes grew distant for a moment. “Although sometimes I thought I would never get out of there.”
Guilt squeezed Naomi’s lungs so tightly she couldn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “That sounds—”
“Don’t be,” Evelyn interrupted, reaching out for a second before she pulled her hand back. “Steve and I are happy … wonderfully happy here.” Her smile spread into a beaming grin, and Naomi could tell there were hours and hours of explanation behind Evelyn’s words. A part of her wanted to sit down and squeeze it all out of her, but the other part wanted to walk away and forget any of this had happened. It was strange standing in the middle of an Italian market, speaking with her former kidnapper as if she was an old friend.
Then again, Naomi felt as if Evelyn had always been a friend of sorts. Almost a fellow captive. The hardest thing she had ever had to do was testify against her in court and put her behind bars. The conflicting emotions that came with knowing what was right and not being able to convince her heart of that knowledge still haunted her, even now.
“Naomi?” Evelyn asked, her expression softening into concern. “Do you think we can meet up sometime? You can’t imagine how I’ve wanted to talk to you over the years, to apologize for everything—how much I’ve regretted what we did to you. But I wasn’t allowed to contact you when I was in prison, and then when I was released I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.” She put a hand to her forehead, and for the first time Naomi noticed how she had aged. She was still beautiful, but there were some faint age spots on her skin now, and a lot more wrinkles. She looked weary. She had to be getting close to fifty now. At the sentencing, Naomi had figured out that Eric would be sixty-five by the time his twenty-five year sentence was over, and Evelyn had been in her mid-thirties when she was convicted—close to Naomi’s age now.
That was a strange feeling, as if something had flipped upside down in her head. “I didn’t think I would want to see you,” she said softly, and pulled her hand away from the artichoke when her thumb brushed over the prickly edge of a leaf. “I’m still not sure, actually. It’s … this is …”
“… surreal,” Evelyn finished for her with an awkward laugh.
“Yeah, that’s the right word.” Naomi backed away a few inches. This was too strange. Too unsettling. “Are you allowed to see me?” she asked with a slight squeak in her voice.
Evelyn’s eyes widened. “That’s really up to you,” she said softly. “Steve and I have served our time and been through the treatment programs. We’ve changed, Naomi.”
Naomi noted the hurt clouding Evelyn’s eyes. “I’m sure you have,” she whispered.
Nodding, Evelyn cleared her throat as she watched Naomi continue to back away. “I’m going to talk to that woman about the truffles. I hope she’ll sell me some.”
Naomi stopped. “If she doesn’t, I’ll sell some to you third-party. I know how much you love them.”
Why? Why had she said that?
“You would?” Evelyn’s eyes lit up again. “I may take you up on that.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a cell phone. “What’s your restaurant’s number? Would that be the best way to contact you? I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing myself on you …”
“It’s okay,” Naomi stuttered, smiling nervously as she reached into her purse to pull out one of Bella Fonte’s business cards. She stepped forward to hand it to Evelyn, and then backed away again. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, and looked over her shoulder. “I should probably go. It was nice seeing you.”
But was it? Was it really nice? Or simply bizarre?
Evelyn gave her a sad, wistful smile before Naomi turned around and left the market as fast as she could without actually running. She felt sick inside, but relieved at the same time. Halfway back to the restaurant, she realized she probably should have asked Evelyn if Eric had a shortened sentence too. Probably not, and that would be a good thing. Naomi was sure if she ever saw him again she’d have much more than a slight stomachache.
V
Midnight was the best time for Naomi to get the kitchen to herself. By then, the staff had finished wiping down their stations, cleaned the dining room, and gone home or upstairs to bed. Naomi held a frying pan over a gas burner, her wrist loose as she swirled some olive oil around and around. The oil began to shimmer, and she set down the pan and tossed in a half cup of finely diced onions. They sizzled and her eyes stung. A tear rolled down her cheek.
She couldn’t get Evelyn’s face out of her mind.
Evelyn had aged.
Evelyn was still … Evelyn.
Evelyn still existed, which meant Steve existed, and Eric existed, and Jesse existed. Naomi had tried so hard to push them all away. So hard, and yet here she was dealing with them again, unable to escape.
It was as if she had never truly overcome anything.
“Those onions smell ready to me,” a voice said, snapping Naomi out of her thoughts.
She turned to see Gianni in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a pair of jeans and a black dress shirt. His appearance at this time of night was unexpected. He didn’t even live near the restaurant.
“What are you doing here so late?” Naomi gasped, ripping the pan off the heat. She swirled the onions around and set the pan back down before grabbing a bowl of shelled shrimp and dumping them into the pan. They were one of the only types of seafood she had been able to get herself to like over the years.
“I was getting some paperwork from the office,” Gianni said, stepping into the kitchen, his arms folded as he approached her. “I smelled something cooking, and here you are.”
Naomi grabbed a wooden spoon to stir the shrimp, realizing she had thrown in the onions first when she had meant to cook the shrimp by itself. Now they were mixed together and it was all ruined. “I have to experiment at some point during the week,” she mumbled, heaving a sigh as she stared at the disaster in her pan. “I may be your manager here, but I can’t suppress the chef in me.”
Chuckling, Gianni came even closer to inspect Naomi’s workstation lined neatly with glass bowls full of different ingredients. “Hmmm,” he said, rubbing his chin for a moment, “I would say a variation of arrabbiata? That seems pretty simple for you, though.”
Naomi shrugged. “Sometimes I have to get back to the simple things to bring out my best, but now I have to start over. I don’t know where my brain is.” She waved her hand at a bowl of small red chili peppers. “I want to try those. I could never find the exact ones I wanted in the States. These seem perfect, nice and hot.”
“Ah, I see.” Gianni lifted a small pepper out of the bowl and held it to his nose as he ran a thumb over the firm, shiny skin. “Did Michel bring these in today?”
Naomi shook her head. “Cecily and I found them at the market around the corner.”
And that’s not all we found …
“They will make a delicious sauce,” Gianni said, setting the pepper back in the bowl. He looked up at Naomi and frowned. “Oh, mia cara!” he sighed. “Why are there tears in your eyes? The onions are not that strong.”
Naomi turned away and brushed at her damp eyes with the back of her hand. Damn Evelyn. Why had she shown up in the market of all places? Why at that exact moment? But Naomi knew why. It was fate. Inevitable.
And it would probably kill her in the end. It was already making her cry, and she hadn’t shed tears over her kidnapping in at least seven years.
