seen.
Of course, the only priests I'd ever seen were the ones on television, so my experience was, you could say, rather narrow.
“Would either of you like coffee?” I asked, wondering how one was supposed to behave around a priest. Considering the fact
that I'd messed up so royally with Leslie's family, I figured I'd better walk the line.
Cor pushed his cup toward me. “Where did you come from? I've never seen you around town before.”
“Actually, I hitched a ride in,” I said as I topped off his coffee.
His eyebrows crawled closer together, two fuzzy caterpillars of disapproval. “That's dangerous, you know. A single girl like
you shouldn't be doing that. You are single, aren't you?”
Like I was going to answer that question. I reached over to fill Father Sam's cup, but he laid his hand over his cup. “I'll
have some tea instead, please. Earl Grey.”
“I'm sorry. I forgot.” First slipup. “I was also supposed to tell you that there's no banana cream pie, but there is lemon.”
“Hmm. I'm not sure I want tea, then,” Father Sam said.
“Oh, c'mon.” Cor turned his attention to Father Sam. “You can at least have tea.”
“Not without pie.”
“Then have lemon pie.”
Father Sam seemed to consider, then shook his head.
Cor slapped the table with a large, meaty hand. “Don't be such a hidebound traditionalist. You can't beat lemon pie for freshness.”
Father Sam lifted his shoulder in a vague shrug. “You'd like lemon pie. Its tart flavor is very symbolic of your Calvinistic
world and life views.”
“What? Lemon pie is sweet. Like us Calvinists,” Cor said.
“Only because Mathilde redeems the flavor by adding copious amounts of sugar. Which you shouldn't be having.”
Theology and pie? These two were a little on the strange side.
Cor harrumphed, then turned to me. “Two pieces of lemon pie. I'll eat his if he doesn't want it.”
“And I'll have Earl Grey tea after all,” Father Sam said.
“Hey, Terra,” Cor called out just as I was about to hurry off to fill the order, “what do you get when you cross an elephant
and a kangaroo?”
Oh, brother. One of those kinds of customers.
“I give up.”
Cor snickered. “Great big holes all over Australia.”
I laughed politely, then rushed off to fill the order. I was aiming for a cross between efficiency and politeness—pleasing
the customer and keeping the boss happy.
I almost collided with Helen on the way into the kitchen.
“You're back quick,” she said, ringing her order in. “Cor didn't try to pull you in on his biweekly theological discussion
with Father Sam?” She pointed to a large glass cooler beside the cash desk. “Pie's in there.”
“I did get to hear something about Calvinistic something or other,” I said as I slid a magazine-ad-worthy piece of pie onto
a plate. The meringue was picture-perfect, lightly browned, artfully swirled. The flaky crust and creamy smooth lemon filling
made saliva pool in my mouth. “He told me an elephant joke.”
Helen groaned. “He must have gotten a new joke book.”
“Is there any chance I can grab a bite to eat?” I asked.
Helen pulled me behind the partition dividing the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant. A little table holding a sugar
container, cream cups, ketchup, and napkins was pushed against the wall.
“You can keep your coffee here and any food or snacks you manage to scam when Mathilde isn't looking.”
“Who?”
“The cook.”
“I thought Lennie was the cook.” Light flashed off Lennie's flailing knife as he cut and sliced. His assistant walked a wide
circle around him en route to the large walk-in cooler at the back of the kitchen.
Helen rolled her eyes. “He does the morning shift and maybe, when we're stretched, flips burgers at noon, but that's about
all the General will let him touch. He thinks he's the best line cook that ever whipped on a hairnet, but every time he works
the grill, he drags the side orders.
Of course, the only priests I'd ever seen were the ones on television, so my experience was, you could say, rather narrow.
“Would either of you like coffee?” I asked, wondering how one was supposed to behave around a priest. Considering the fact
that I'd messed up so royally with Leslie's family, I figured I'd better walk the line.
Cor pushed his cup toward me. “Where did you come from? I've never seen you around town before.”
“Actually, I hitched a ride in,” I said as I topped off his coffee.
His eyebrows crawled closer together, two fuzzy caterpillars of disapproval. “That's dangerous, you know. A single girl like
you shouldn't be doing that. You are single, aren't you?”
Like I was going to answer that question. I reached over to fill Father Sam's cup, but he laid his hand over his cup. “I'll
have some tea instead, please. Earl Grey.”
“I'm sorry. I forgot.” First slipup. “I was also supposed to tell you that there's no banana cream pie, but there is lemon.”
“Hmm. I'm not sure I want tea, then,” Father Sam said.
“Oh, c'mon.” Cor turned his attention to Father Sam. “You can at least have tea.”
“Not without pie.”
“Then have lemon pie.”
Father Sam seemed to consider, then shook his head.
Cor slapped the table with a large, meaty hand. “Don't be such a hidebound traditionalist. You can't beat lemon pie for freshness.”
Father Sam lifted his shoulder in a vague shrug. “You'd like lemon pie. Its tart flavor is very symbolic of your Calvinistic
world and life views.”
“What? Lemon pie is sweet. Like us Calvinists,” Cor said.
“Only because Mathilde redeems the flavor by adding copious amounts of sugar. Which you shouldn't be having.”
Theology and pie? These two were a little on the strange side.
Cor harrumphed, then turned to me. “Two pieces of lemon pie. I'll eat his if he doesn't want it.”
“And I'll have Earl Grey tea after all,” Father Sam said.
“Hey, Terra,” Cor called out just as I was about to hurry off to fill the order, “what do you get when you cross an elephant
and a kangaroo?”
Oh, brother. One of those kinds of customers.
“I give up.”
Cor snickered. “Great big holes all over Australia.”
I laughed politely, then rushed off to fill the order. I was aiming for a cross between efficiency and politeness—pleasing
the customer and keeping the boss happy.
I almost collided with Helen on the way into the kitchen.
“You're back quick,” she said, ringing her order in. “Cor didn't try to pull you in on his biweekly theological discussion
with Father Sam?” She pointed to a large glass cooler beside the cash desk. “Pie's in there.”
“I did get to hear something about Calvinistic something or other,” I said as I slid a magazine-ad-worthy piece of pie onto
a plate. The meringue was picture-perfect, lightly browned, artfully swirled. The flaky crust and creamy smooth lemon filling
made saliva pool in my mouth. “He told me an elephant joke.”
Helen groaned. “He must have gotten a new joke book.”
“Is there any chance I can grab a bite to eat?” I asked.
Helen pulled me behind the partition dividing the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant. A little table holding a sugar
container, cream cups, ketchup, and napkins was pushed against the wall.
“You can keep your coffee here and any food or snacks you manage to scam when Mathilde isn't looking.”
“Who?”
“The cook.”
“I thought Lennie was the cook.” Light flashed off Lennie's flailing knife as he cut and sliced. His assistant walked a wide
circle around him en route to the large walk-in cooler at the back of the kitchen.
Helen rolled her eyes. “He does the morning shift and maybe, when we're stretched, flips burgers at noon, but that's about
all the General will let him touch. He thinks he's the best line cook that ever whipped on a hairnet, but every time he works
the grill, he drags the side orders.
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