The Bride Can't Cook Susan Gee Heino, © 2006 Chapter 1
The dog-eared tabloid lay quietly on the counter but its headline screamed out at her, “J. Easton Smith: Do We
Miss Him or Dis Him?”
Marti smiled. Life in the fast lane sure hadn’t measured up to her old pal’s expectations, had it? He’d fallen
pretty hard, she heard. Other recent headlines she’d read pretty well summed it up: “J. Easton Smith Dropped from
Daytime Drama.” “Seething Ex-Wife Bans Smith from Set.” “Hottie East Gets Cold Shoulder Out West.”
She glanced at those articles last week in the dentist's office. Okay, so she'd gone out later and bought her own
copies of the gossip rags and read them three more times at home. And why not? Her own life wasn’t exactly in the
fast lane right now, either.
Her left eye twitched. The old cowbell on the front door of Granny’s Kitchen clattered for the umpteenth time
today as another batch of eager-eyed busybodies traipsed in to gawk at the damage and whisper back and forth.
Well, let them. They'd be disappointed.
Saturday’s calamity wasn’t nearly as dramatic as this morning’s Gazette made it sound. Hardly noticeable, in
fact. After a full day of scrubbing and scouring, Marti got up every grimy trace of soot and smoke. Now Granny
had the foresight to make bologna and kraut for today's special. That helped cover any lingering, er, aroma.
It didn’t make it any better, of course, but it did cover it. If a person didn't know Marti had practically burned
Granny's diner to the ground over the weekend, they'd never know it. Except that the stupid fire was all anyone in
town talked about today.
Why couldn’t they get keyed up about the developers draining the wetlands out off Beaverbend Road? Or the
recycling plant shutting down? Or the stupid tabloid coverage of the only famous person ever to come out of this
Podunk town?
Yeah, until this weekend little Johnny Smith from next door was big news. Heck, he’d gotten fired from a TV
show and a divorce from a glamour queen and everything! It must have come as quite a shock to the poor guy’s
system.
Success came easily for Johnny Smith. He always got whatever he wanted. Jeez, even when he didn’t want it
he seemed to get it. These last few months must have been really hard on him. Painful… shattering, maybe.
Good. Served him right, taking off like that. He didn’t even say good-bye. How could he do that? After all they’d
done, the way things had been…
No, she was not going down that road again. Her coffee pot was full. Okay, it was a little more than full.
Steaming Coffee was pouring over the sides of it, actually, and making a big steaming puddle on Granny's clean
floor. Shoot.
Marti managed to get the over-boiling stopped and only burned herself a couple times in the process. It was a
lot better than the deviled egg fiasco last week, though, so she couldn't complain. Who’d have thought eggs could
explode like that? At least this time Granny was in the back and didn't see the mess. Marti toweled up the floor
quickly.
No more daydreaming. She'd have to confine her fantasies of Johnny’s pain and suffering to times when she
wasn't at work, which was practically never these days. It wasn’t exactly like there was anywhere else she had to
be. Nope, she'd left her career to come back and help Granny so—by golly—that's what she was doing.
Oops. Her order pad fell into the ice chest. Well, no harm. The ink didn't smear too bad. Huh. Did Lloyd
Schneider order fried eggs, or "dried figs"? Had to be the eggs. She'd better get that turned in.
She dropped off her orders and gathered up drinks for table six. The pot of decaf for Phil and a pitcher of Diet
Coke for Joetta—as if that would counter-act the two pounds of bologna the woman would no doubt end up
packing away. Phil always asked for extra cream, too. Jeez, did the guy actually put it in his coffee or just drink it
straight out of the little ceramic cow? She took a deep breath and headed toward them. Phil and Joetta Townsend.
The enemy.
Grrr. She'd been home over a month now, and still hadn't made a dent in their resolve to go ahead with plans.
Townsend Development Company was the firm responsible for what was about to happen out at Beaverbend Road,
and these people had the nerve to come in here everyday and smile at her! At her, Dr. Marti Snowden! Didn’t they
know she’d just spent the last ten years of her life saving the planet from people just like them?
No, probably not. She was pretty sure no one around here even knew what an environmental biologist was.
Garden Falls wasn't the kind of place people gave much thought to things like that. Wasn't this why Marti’d been in
such a hurry to get the heck out of here ten years ago? Yeah, it was. Mostly.
But here she was, waiting tables in Granny’s Kitchen again. Like it or not, Phil and Joetta were paying
customers and Granny needed all of those she could get. Marti would just have to grit her teeth and play nice. She
took a deep breath, made herself think happy thoughts, and headed to table six. They grinned up at her with cheesy
smiles when she got there.
"Hey, there, darlin'," Phil said, his bug eyes coming to rest on the front of her uniform.
Jerk. She smiled politely and shoved a menu up in front of those wandering eyes. "So, how about trying some
scalding hot coffee while you look at that?" she suggested cheerfully.
"Oh, everything looks so good," Joetta said, fidgeting with her menu in the tight booth. She finally sighed and
propped her breasts on the table, the menu resting on them. “What would you recommend?”
"Bologna and kraut is always a favorite," Marti said, doing her very best to ignore the gratuitous boob propping.
"I just have to say how relieved we were to see Granny had the place open today," Joetta went on, lovingly
running a finger over the deserts page on her menu. "After what happened this weekend, and all."
Ah, here it came. Well, she could take it. Johnny “Easton” Smith wasn't the only actor to come out of Garden
Falls.
"It was just a small fire," Marti said. Granny had prepped her, so she'd been reciting the same line all day. "Just
some wiring in the kitchen. Nothing bad."
No, not bad at all. Just a big, blazing inferno that melted a wall and fried their big refrigerator unit. Heck, with
all Granny's medical bills and other problems, this trauma was hardly noticeable.
"Well, I'm just glad no one was hurt," Joetta sighed. "And the building is intact."
Yeah, that’s what you really want, isn’t it? Well, it’ll be a cold day in Borneo when Granny lets you get your mits on
this place. She didn't say that, either.
Instead, she simply topped off their drinks—still smiling—and let them pretend they were going to order salads
from Granny's "lite-side" menu. In the end, of course, they went with the Special. Never had a Townsend turned
down baked bologna and sauerkraut.
Marti turned their orders in, made the rounds with the coffee pot, and delivered Lloyd Schneider's noodle soup
and fried eggs. He asked about his dried figs. Really? Another oops.
Granny stuck her salt-and-peppered head out of the kitchen and wiggled her eyebrows in Marti's direction.
Odd, but at least she wasn't scowling at her like she'd been doing since Saturday. Must be the Townsend's order
ready. Maybe Granny got a kick out of watching her grovel in front of them when she knew how she really felt
about their plans to destroy the environment.
"Marti, I just got off the phone and I think I ought to warn you—" Granny began when Marti got over to her.
"No, I know what you're going to say," Marti stopped her, taking up the two plates of today's special. "It's
okay. I won't let my personal feelings get in the way of my job."
"So, you know who I was—"
"I know who you were going to warn me about,” Marti sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be polite and subtle. We’ll
try to work things out amicably."
Granny’s gray eyes were full of questions, but she smiled. It was a nice, warm, grandmotherly smile. Marti
liked to see her smile. She hadn’t done that enough lately.
"That’s a girl, Marti. I was hoping you’d say that. There's nothing I'd like better than for you kids to work
things out."
Well, Marti wouldn’t exactly call Phil and Joetta “kids”, but maybe that’s how Granny thought of them.
Whatever. At least Granny wasn’t telling her to agree with their stupid plans just for agreement’s sake. Maybe
Granny really did understand how important it was to put a stop to that development. Maybe all Marti’s sermons
weren’t wasted. She was smiling for real when she headed back to the Townsend's table with their lunches.
"Smells as good as it looks, darlin'," Phil said.
Marti couldn't figure how this was high praise.
"I'm sure you'll enjoy it, Mr. Townsend," she said, emphasis on the Mr. Townsend part. See? She could be
professional.
She refilled their drinks and was actually very neat about it. No splashing or ice cubes landing where they
shouldn't or anything like that. Granny would be proud. She was watching; Marti could feel her gaze on her back.
Nosey old lady. Sweet, but nosey.
Marti made small talk about the Townsend's youngest child, a girl who—oddly enough—defied her sedentary
heritage and was making a name for herself as a track star on the varsity team. Go figure. Joetta fairly beamed with
maternal pride. Marti beamed back. She may indeed be a menace in the kitchen, but she wasn’t stupid. Flattery was
always a good way to lull the customer into leaving a decent tip. Or to soften them up before slamming their
environmentally irresponsible business venture.
"So, you’ve been keeping up with the gossip on your old next-door-neighbor?" Phil asked, catching her off
guard.
Her eye twitched again, but she tacked on the expected smile and shrugged. There was no use pretending not
to know who he was talking about.
"Johnny and I sort of lost touch when I went off to college."
"That's understandable," Joetta said. She patted Marti's hand and Marti waited for the other shoe to drop. Her
wait was not long. "You took up with plenty of other young men off at that school, we heard. First that nice Arv
Koch boy, then on to someone else."
What? Now just why was she supposed to be nice to these people?
"Didn't stay at that school very long, though, as I recall," Phil added around the mouthful of bologna.
Joetta went back to her food but didn't have the good sense to quit talking. "Well, you know how it is with girls
off on their own for the first time. They get a little wild. Boy troubles get in the way of schooling and they have to
start over somewhere else. Happens all the time, Marti. I'm glad you never let it slow you down."
Boy troubles? Had the woman just said boy troubles? Oh, Marti so, so, soooo wanted to accidentally dump the
decaf on Joetta and her shelf-o-breasts.
"Actually, I didn't have a lot of time for 'boys' in college, Mrs. Townsend,” she began through clenched
teeth.
“My freshman year was focused on keeping up my scholarship, then I earned a spot on a research team in the
Galapagos Islands for my sophomore year, and after that I transferred out to the east coast for some special studies
in—"
"And that's where you met your doctor friend, right?" Joetta injected. "Granny was so proud when you linked
up with him—some big PhD with political ties, wasn’t he? But whatever happened? We haven't heard any more
about him lately. Hmm?"
The coffee pot weighed heavily in her hand. Or maybe the pitcher of Diet Coke would be more appropriate.
Surely it would look like an accident if she…. Marti caught a glimpse of Granny at the pick-up window. Was she
still watching? No, this time her gaze was fixed on the front door. Good. She wouldn't notice if Marti was a little
more clumsy than usual. Just one little pitcher of Coke wouldn’t be missed, would it?
But the cowbell interrupted her plans. She instinctively glanced over to see who the newcomer was—it didn't
seem possible there was anyone left in town who hadn't already ventured this way at some point today.
It took a couple seconds for the face on the body in the doorway to register.
Holy past-life regression! It was HIM, flesh and blood and all grown up and a thousand miles away from
Hollywood. Talk about your boy troubles! Johnny Smith.
The Diet Coke really did slip out of her hand.