Page 18 of When Lemons Give You Life

Rob clocks the tart. “Is that what I think it is?!” he shouts, with the enthusiasm of a lotto winner.

I nod.

“Sorry, you look awfully familiar, but I can’t quite place you.” Mabel looks my uniform up and down, then wipes her glasses.

“I’m . . . the new chef,” I say, placing the plate on his untouched brekkie tray.

Mabel frowns. “Oh! Usually the orderlies deliver the food, and it’s never anything this fancy.” She pauses, taking in Rob’s amazed expression.

I get it: she’s hesitant to let her brother eat food from a rando. God forbid it contains arsenic or, even worse, butter and flavor.

“They were short-staffed, so they asked me to deliver it as I was coming this way.”

“A new chef, hey! Wow. It looks so good! Rob is actually on a low-sugar diet though, you know.”

I keep a straight face. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her giving him jelly beans, though he’s lost a toe to diabetes.

Rob looks expectantly at his sister. “Mind if I eat it with my hands?”

“Yes, go on then.” She shoots me a sheepish glance.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Lifting the generous slice to his lips, he sinks his teeth in, crumbs scattering over his toothpaste-stained shirt. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mum!” he declares, pointing to me with a full mouth.

Mabel glances between Rob and me, her hand pressed to her lips. “He hasn’t spoken about our mother in years.”

“Here, try some, Mum and Mabel.” He breaks what’s remaining of the slice in two and holds them out.

The old woman tilts her head, studying me. “He’s mistaken you for our mother. Sorry. But please do have some!” She gives me a piece, then hesitantly brings the other to her lips. “No wonder he thinks you’re Mum. This . . .” She stares at the yellow slice in her hand. “This lemon tart, it’s exactly like she used to make. We always fought over the last slice, didn’t we, Robbie?”

He watches her. “That’s my sister,” he says, as if recognizing her for the first time. Then he crooks a single arthritic finger, beckoning me closer.

I lean in.

“She’s a stinker sometimes,” he stage-whispers in my ear, “but I love her to pieces. Don’t tell her that, though—it’s too soppy.” He winks.

Mabel meets my eyes with a wobbly smile.

A pang of something deep and unspoken settles in my chest. It’s the kind of relationship Lisa and I might have had in another life.

“She’s the best mum in the whole world, isn’t she, Mabel?” Rob says.

Mabel’s voice cracks. “She sure is, Robbie.” She squeezes his hand, then looks up at me, dabbing at a tear. “I’m sorry, I’m getting ridiculous. It’s just . . . he’s never talked about Mum since his diagnosis almost five years ago. She died that same Christmas, and I felt so alone in my grief. I didn’t realize how much I needed this—to be reminded how much he loved her too.” She swallows hard. “It helps, doesn’t it? To talk about the ones we’ve lost?”

My throat tightens. I hadn’t talked to anyone about Beau. Or Dad, for that matter. When had I last said my father’s name aloud? My grief has lived in silence, locked away where no one can touch it. Mum and Beau told me it wasn’t my fault, and I let them think I believed it. But at night, when the world went quiet, the truth came swinging, merciless and unrelenting. Blow after blow, Brent’s words were harder than any punch he could throw.

Mabel lets out a watery laugh. “Look at me. What a goose. I’m sorry, you’re a total stranger, and here I am pouring my heart out . . .”

A better man might’ve said, No, please go on, or at least offered her a tissue. I just give her a small nod. It’s all I’ve got left. My heart is already lifting its maximum weight. All this talk of family is bringing up too many images of my own.

I head back and remove the uniform. My room is empty, but I’m never truly alone. My demons are always there, ready to keep me company.

11

Griff (age 14)

September 1974

The fresh scent of the coriander plant fills the small kitchen as I flip through the Thai cookbook from the library, mentally editing the recipes because, of course, I know better. I break off a leaf and pop it in my mouth, savoring the delicate taste.