A Daughter's Homecoming. Ginny Aiken

you just close down the place, if it’s in such bad shape?”

      “Because Mama and Papa—”

      “I just love how you say their names, with that Italian accent. It’s so...I don’t know. Old Country...Tuscan...cultured European.”

      “Oh, stop.”

      That was all she needed. For even Allie to see her as Old Country. That was her family, not her.

      Still, Gabi couldn’t deny she’d always thought of her parents by the old-fashioned names. She doubted she could change, since it happened spontaneously, even now. The best thing for her to do was change the subject.

      “Anyway,” she said, her voice firm, her tone deliberate, “my parents can’t pay insurance premiums or co-pays if money doesn’t come in. The bills from Dad’s stroke could clear the national debt.”

      With her usual lack of tact, Allie plowed on. “Then put your years of experience to good use and find yourself a chef and a manager, so you can hustle back here to Cleveland. Damon’s not happy about your absence.”

      Damon Schuler, Gabi’s boss, wasn’t endowed with patience. “I have four weeks of saved vacation plus another three of personal time. He can handle the office. For goodness’ sake, he’s the one who started the business.”

      Allie snickered. “When I stopped there for the files you asked me to get, he had his tie flipped over a shoulder, glasses at the tip of his nose, and his hair looked like a bird’s nest.”

      Gabi managed the Cleveland office of Damon’s Executive Placements firm, and before leaving, she’d been converting the hard-copy files of the office’s most high-powered executive clients to digital format. She’d asked Allie to ship those files to Lyndon Point, and planned to catch up in the evenings after she’d finished at Tony’s.

      “Oh, please,” she said, using more oomph than she felt. “Did he forget he used to run things before the business grew so big he had to open satellite offices in other states? Of course, he can do it. If not, he can get his wife to help. Irene managed the office before they married.”

      “Great minds think alike! When he complained about you abandoning him to all your work, I suggested a temp, but he countered with something about Irene claiming she’s forgotten everything in the twenty years since she left.” She hesitated. “Then he mentioned a Wilma and Florida, and ushered me out of his office. He did sound upset. And who’s Wilma?”

      Guilt fought Gabi’s common sense. “Wilma took over after Irene. She retired to Florida when I started. Besides, whose side are you on—Damon’s or mine?”

      “I’m on mine. I want my roomie back.”

      “Believe me, I’m not crazy about being back in my hometown, but I can’t leave. Papa’s stroke was serious, and Mama won’t leave him for a second. He’s not debilitated enough for a nursing home, but he has to learn to use the wheelchair, and can’t care for himself yet. Therapy should get him there, but it’s been only a month since...”

      “I know.” Allie’s voice softened. “I’m just being a brat—sorry. I do understand and would do the same if it was Dad.”

      Allie’s mother had died of complications from diabetes their junior year in college. Father and daughter had grown closer than ever in the ensuing years.

      Gabi stood and grasped the doorknob. “I should have come home as soon as Mama called that first night, but I foolishly let her talk me into postponing my return. If only I’d been here sooner, I could have kept Tony’s from becoming such a mess.”

      “And if wishes were fishes—what is that cliché? I know there is one.”

      “Beats me. I’m just a business major—you’re the teacher.” She sighed. “Anyway, gotta go. This place needs me more right now than you need me back there. Or Damon.”

      Her parents needed her. She was there for them, no matter what. No matter how much her memories of growing up in Lyndon Point rattled her. No matter what the great-looking guy at the animal shelter might think of her.

      * * *

      At nine forty-five that night, Gabi walked into the house, more exhausted than she’d felt in years, But she didn’t have the luxury of taking time off, since she had to keep the restaurant afloat for her parents’ sakes. She went to her room, grabbed clean shorts and a T-shirt and hit the shower to wash off the grime of the day. Clean again, she walked down the stairs and to the kitchen. She made a beeline to the refrigerator for an icy can of root beer. Mama always stocked up when she knew Gabi was coming home. As she popped the tab, a note on the table caught her attention.

      Her parents had gone to bed already, her mother wrote, and would see her in the morning. The translated message spoke of her mother’s expectation of Gabi’s detailed account of things at Tony’s. But how could she do that? If either of her parents knew how she’d found the place, they’d insist on running it themselves again. That would be devastating for her father. He was in no condition to work. Not yet.

      Maybe never again—

      No! She couldn’t think that way. His doctors had said Antonio Carlini would recover, and they expected him to return to work soon enough. True, he might never put in twelve hours a day like he had in the past, but they believed he should be able to spend a decent amount of time making the pizzas, calzones and pastas he loved to serve his faithful customers.

      If he gave his body the chance to recover.

      “Oh, Lord,” she said on a sigh. “Bless him with Your strength, cradle him in the palm of Your healing hand.”

      Of course, she couldn’t tell Mama or Papa what she’d found in that kitchen. Besides, while cleaning out the fridge, a germ of an idea had popped into her thoughts and found fertile soil in her imagination. Soon she’d seen the restaurant in a different light.

      Now she was sure that with her business know-how, she could help her parents upgrade Tony’s. If, instead of the kitschy pizza place it always had been, she were to turn it into a chic and elegant Italian bistro, surely they’d see reason. She felt certain positive change would inspire them to leave behind some of their more outdated ways. Then, if her parents led by example, maybe some of her other relatives would follow. Maybe the whole famiglia would see that toning things down a notch was the way to go. Never mind that Tony’s would make a lot more money in the process, with an upscale menu and an upmarket appeal. Those medical bills loomed enormous in Gabi’s mind, just as they did in her parents’ minds.

      She pulled out a chair, kicked off her flip-flops and sat down to enjoy her root beer. As always, Mama had dimmed the lights in the kitchen, leaving enough illumination so no one would trip if they came down for a midnight snack or something to drink. Still, the low light let Gabi look around and appreciate the warmth and cozy appeal of the efficient space.

      Her parents had bought their home when she was small, before property in the coastal areas just outside of Seattle, like nearby Edmonds and in Lyndon Point, had grown prohibitive. True, the house had been practically a wreck back then, but with equal amounts of elbow grease and love, the large Cape Cod–style white cottage had become a jewel. Even the kitchen.

      These days, the cabinets were a glossy white, easy to clean and bright even on the Pacific Northwest’s dreariest days. Red-and-white-checked curtains framed the windows, a cheery echo of the red-and-white checkerboard-tile floor. A sprinkling of Mama’s red tchotchkes, her red apron, four sassy red canisters and Papa’s outrageous cookie jar—an enormous white rooster with a scarlet comb—turned the place into the whimsical family hub it had always been.

      She smiled. This was the room that came to mind whenever she thought of home. Even though she’d tried, she’d been unable to replicate its feeling in the kitchen of the bungalow she and Allie shared in Cleveland, and that failure drove her crazy at times, since she’d tried so hard to get it right. The cabinets were almost identical in style and color, the curtains yellow-and-white checked, and she and her roommate