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“He had a friend take over the restaurant for a little while and went into hiding,” Diana said. “He enjoyed the horror stories people told about his involvement in the Mafia, apparently. He thought it gave him a sort of mystique. When the story died down a little, he traveled all over the world, meditating and speaking to all sorts of people. He even went vegan for a while.”
“An Italian chef went vegan?”
“I know,” Diana said. “And it would sound even crazier if you’d met him.”
Rachelle still wasn’t sure why she was telling her this. What did it have to do with her?
“Arturo followed my career over the years,” Diana explained. “He saw me, Ryan, and I all over television. He says he knew every time Ryan said one of my ideas was his. He could feel how little I was allowed to be myself on-screen. When he said that, I burst into tears. I mean, I was so young when I worked for him. It’s incredible that he saw me better than my husband ever did over the past twenty years.
“In any case, Arturo returned to Rome last year and took back the reins of his restaurant,” Diana said. “But he’s a very old man these days. He’s tired. He wants to cook on occasion, but he mostly wants to sit at home and rekindle his relationships with his children and grandchildren, which is why he called me. He wants me to come to Rome and helm his restaurant. Actually, he wants to give me complete creative control. He said I can do anything I want.”
“That’s fantastic news, Diana! Oh my goodness. Your own restaurant. It’s all you’ve wanted for years. And in Rome! You’ll get out of Los Angeles for good. You’ll start a new life.”
Rachelle fluttered with excitement for her friend.
“I haven’t even told you the best part yet,” Diana said. “I want you to come with me. I want you to be my sous chef all summer long and into autumn if you want that. Heck, you can stay as long as you want.”
Rachelle’s mouth went dry with surprise. Immediately, her mind’s eye filled with images of what she knew of Rome: the whizzing motorbikes, the gorgeous cathedrals, the decadent food, the wine. She thought of handsome Italian men and beautiful red dresses. She thought of becoming the sort of woman who surprised herself.
“Oh my gosh,” Rachelle echoed, unable to say anything else.
“I know. It’s big. Why don’t you mull it over a little bit?”
“When would you need me?”
“Valentina and I are heading there immediately,” Diana said. “She’s finishing school online, and I’ll enroll her in an international high school there. She was set on returning to Los Angeles until she heard this plan. Now, she’s already dreaming in Italian, I swear.”
Rachelle laughed, picturing Valentina walking around their rental home, babbling in Italian. Ryan felt a million miles away.
And maybe, when Ryan’s family stopped “playing the part” he needed them to play on television, they stopped being necessary to Ryan’s story. It made him seem pathetic.
“I have to talk to my family,” Rachelle said.
“Of course. But don’t wait too long. I’ll need a sous chef, and I can’t imagine anyone in my new kitchen except you.”
“I appreciate that, Chef,” Rachelle said. “More than I can possibly say.”
“I’d never lie about that,” Diana assured her. “Can’t wait to hear from you soon.”
Rachelle hung up the phone, pressed it to her chest, and listened as Estelle, Sam, and Darcy chatted happily in the living room. The rhythm of their sentences was so familiar, so beautiful. Just thinking of losing them sent a shiver down Rachelle’s spine.
But then, she remembered the previous year of her life in Nantucket. She remembered how her relationship with her sister had flourished. How remarkable it had been when her mother had moved into The Jessabelle House. How much she’d grown as a cook.
Would all that change and growth stop after a while? Would she stagnate? Would she ever become something more?
All she could do was jump into the abyss. All she could do was try.
When she appeared in the living room, all of Sam’s coloring drained from her face immediately.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, snapping off the television.
Darcy and Estelle gaped at her as Rachelle sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. She felt on full display. They wanted answers from her.
“Diana just invited me to work for her in a restaurant in Rome,” she explained. “And I think I might want to go.”
Full chaos erupted after that. Darcy burst into tears and fell onto the floor to wrap Rachelle in a hug. Estelle put the bowl of cookies down in front of her and ordered her to eat another as she tucked Rachelle’s curls behind her ear. Sam’s eyes glinted as she asked question after question. She was always the mother figure. She always wanted to know the basics; she wanted to get her head around reality.
Even when Rachelle was in her forties, she could imagine her mother being just this way—making sure Rachelle was safe, that she was protected, somebody trustworthy was responsible for driving her home.
