"I think you're nuts, Mimi."

"For sure."

"But I like nuts." Aaron moves closer to me. "Walnuts. Pecans. Almonds."

"Those are good nuts." I move closer to him. "How about Mimi nuts?"

"They might be an acquired taste." Aaron frowns. "I'd like to keep the nuts to a minimum, though. No more dramatics."

"I can't promise that. But I can promise to mix the nuts with..."

Aaron raises his eyebrows and smiles.

I shrug. "I'm all out of metaphor. Seriously, I plan on being much more sane. What I can offer is a lot of sane, some fun, and a minimum amount of drama."

"That's a good deal."

"That's a good deal, too." I point at the contracts. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Aaron says. "Now that family business is out of the way, should we seal our deal with a kiss?"

"Absolutely." I kiss him.

"So what are you going to do with yourself?" Aaron asks. "Do you have time to run away with me to a sun-drenched island? Or we could hang in Avalon. You need a vacation. After today, I need a vacation."

"I'm not much for islands. But I miss Europe. Actually, my former boss offered me a temporary a.s.signment. One month, four cities. I could turn it into a working holiday. Do you have a pa.s.sport?"

Jobs, Part Two I dial Peter Exter's phone number at Dine International. "I'll take the European job," I tell him. "Your offer is very generous, but there's something else I need."

"Ever the negotiator," Peter says. "What is it?"

"Instead of one airline ticket, I need two."

The Jeffersons "We're taking the train?" Nelson asks me as we park Sally in the PATCO lot in Camden.

"It's an easier way to get into Philadelphia." I told Nelson that I needed to pick up the last of my things from Nick's. I asked Nelson to help me. I lied.

Grammy Jeff is leaving tomorrow. She's going to North Carolina, where she goes every year for the week Cafe Louis is closed. This time, Grammy is spending two weeks with her family. Or three weeks. "Depends how I feel," she said. "And we'll see what the hurricanes do. But I'll come back sooner or later. Nellie needs me. He's my real family."

I helped Grammy pack up her knives and other kitchen tools. "I was thinking the other day," she says, "about your name. Your real name."

"Luvizpharska?"

Grammy looks at me funny.

"Luvitz?"

"Miriam," she says. "Your real name is Miriam. You know who you're named for?"

"My father's cousin."

"No, child. Miriam in the Bible. You know who she was?"

"She was the sister of Moses and Aaron."

"She was a lot more than that," Grammy says. "It was Miriam who followed baby Moses's basket as it floated down the Nile. When Miriam saw the Pharaoh's daughter take the baby's basket, she was very brave and asked the princess if her mother could be the baby's nurse. 'Then said his sister to the Pharaoh's daughter, "Shall I go and call a nurse of the Hebrew women so she may nurse the child for you?"' The princess agreed. Exodus, two, seven. So, you see? Miriam kept the family together."

Grammy smiled at the perplexed look on my face. She gave me a big, sweet hug and whispered, "I'll be seeing you soon, baby girl."

When we get off the PATCO train at Broad Street, Nelson follows me down the street. I watch him look at the different theaters that line the Avenue of the Arts.

"Here we are." I lead Nelson inside a building.

"We're going into a restaurant?" Nelson asks.

I don't answer, but lead him through the dining room to the kitchen. Nelson's head swivels as he looks at the different cooking stations, the modern equipment, and all the food lying around in different states of readiness. "Nelson," I say. "This is Nicco."

Nelson turns and looks at Nick. Nick smiles. "Nice to meet you, Nelson."

"I've seen you on TV," Nelson says.

Nick nods. "I hear that you're a good cook. Do you want to come work for me?"

Nelson's jaw drops.

"I know you haven't been to culinary school," Nick says. "But you can learn on the job. I'd start you out doing prep work and learning the different terms for cuts. Tour-nade, chiffonade, all that. If you do well there, I'll move you up through the different cooking stations. Salad, fry, grill. Think of it as an apprenticeship."

"For real?"

"For real, man," Nick says.

Nelson clears his throat. "I'll work real hard for you, Chef."

Nick nods, acknowledging the respectful t.i.tle. "Can you work nights?" Nick asks. "What time is the last train?"

"I'll start right now, Chef." Nelson starts to take off his coat.

Nick laughs. "Tomorrow is fine. Be here at three o'clock."

"Yes, sir." Nelson offers his hand. "Thank you, Chef."

Nick shakes his hand. "You're welcome."

I turn to Nick. "Thank you, Chef Nicco."

"Thank you, Mimi. For everything."

Accounts Payable "Knock, knock," I say as I enter the office at Hunter Farm. It's a wildly hot Sat.u.r.day afternoon. I step into the office's air-conditioning and shut the door behind me.

"You're not big on calling ahead, are you?" Joe says from his desk.

"I didn't want you to tell me not to come. Or give you a chance to hide."

Joe sorts papers on his desk. "What can I do for you?"

From my purse, I take a Cafe Louis business check. "I need to settle the restaurant's account."

Joe frowns. "You're not going to order from the farm anymore?"

"No. I'm closing Cafe Louis."

Joe looks at me from under his baseball cap. He looks surprised, which I antic.i.p.ated. He also looks sympathetic, which I didn't antic.i.p.ate. I offer him a small smile.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says. "Tough decision?"

"Yes. But it's what is best for my family."

Joe nods, then turns to a filing cabinet. He removes a stack of invoices, then punches numbers into a calculator. "Three hundred dollars and twenty-three cents."

"Okay. Do you have a pen?"

Joe gestures to a pile on his desk. I walk to the desk and take hold of a pen, then gesture to the chair opposite the desk. "Is it okay if I..."

"Sure." Joe watches me sit. I lean on the desk and fill out the check. I'm close enough to smell Joe's sweat. Which means he can smell the perfume I just happen to be wearing.

"You could have done this over the phone," he says.

"Yes." I hand him the check. "But I came to apologize. My charming works better in person."

Joe smiles. "Thanks. For the check and the apology."

"I enjoyed spending time with you this summer," I say. "I liked talking to you. And singing with you. Dancing on the beach with you. And kissing you."

"You're right." Joe takes off his hat, and his hair falls into his face. "Your charming works well in person."

"Well, could I interest you in the other parts of my personality? Or did my cranky scare you off?"

"I thought I wasn't a man for all seasons."

"Farmer Joe, I'd like to see how you hold up in autumn."

"I think you'll find that I'm not perishable," Joe says.

"That's good." Should I...

Yes, says the diva.

I agree.

I stand and walk around Joe's desk. He looks up at me, and I lean forward. I kiss his mouth. The stubble of his beard grazes my cheek. It feels good. I stand straight.

"Was that okay?" I ask.

Joe frowns. Then he puts his hands on my hips and pulls me onto his lap. "This would work better." He kisses me. He tastes orange.

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"When was the last time you were in Europe?"

The Harder Choice Bette meets me at Cafe Louis on the morning of the restaurant auction. I haven't seen her since I blew out of the restaurant after the Asbury Park incident.

"Thanks for coming," I say as I look at her. Bette looks the same as she always does, although her eyes are sad.

"I didn't think you'd want to watch the auction," she says.

"I don't," I say. "But I'd like to know where the pieces find homes. Maybe, one day, I can walk into a restaurant, look to an iced tea vat, and know that it was Dad's."

Bette smiles. "I guess he's really gone."

"Bette, is there anything you would like to take? As a memento? Anything you want. Just take it. Before the auction starts."

She looks around the restaurant and walks to the counter. Bette runs her hands along the counter. She looks at me. "I have my memories. That's enough."

And I have my memories.

"I've tried to do right by everyone who worked with us for so long," I say. "I don't have a pension to give you. But I think my father would want you to have something." Whatever Bette did or didn't do with my father, she has been loyal to Cafe Louis.

I reach into the pocket of my jeans and walk to the counter. "These are for you," I say. On the counter, I put the keys to Sally.

"She's your car," Bette says. "What will you drive?"

"I'm going away for a while," I say. "I won't need a car. When I get back, I'm going to buy my own car."

"But Sally was your father's," Bette says.

"And now, she's yours." I take the ownership papers from my purse. "Take care of Sally."

"Thank you," Bette says. She comes from around the counter, toward me. Bette smiles at me. Here she stands, this woman who has answers about my father. This is my chance to ask the question. It would be so easy.