Syndi Powell - Healing Hearts

He helped her lie back on the bed and covered her with the quilt Nonna had made. “I know.” He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you take a nap? You always feel better after.”

She snuggled into the covers and closed her eyes. “Wake me when Robert gets home.”

“I will, Mother.” He watched her for a moment, then left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. He paused before continuing down the hallway. “She’s taken her meds, Dolores, so she’ll sleep for you.” He shrugged into his coat. “Text me if you need anything.”

“You can always calm her down. That’s a gift.”

He gave a nod, wishing he had the gift of restoring his mother’s memory. That would have much more worth. From his car, he stared up at the house. He’d had to move in last year when his mother’s condition had worsened. No longer able to care for her from a distance, he’d given up his apartment and most of his personal life to be the dutiful son.

And most days, he didn’t regret it.

* * *

IN THE LARGE commercial kitchen, Page and April took their places at a stainless steel table where cooking utensils and fresh ingredients waited to be transformed into something edible. April wrinkled her nose as she picked up the recipe card. “Homemade pasta? Maybe we’re not ready for this class.”

“I got the night off to come here, so we’re not chickening out.” Page glanced around the kitchen as more students started to filter in. “Besides, I want to make this pasta so we can eat it. I’m starving.”

“I told you to eat something before we came.”

Page brushed off the suggestion. “I was feeling nauseous at the time, but I’m fine now.”

April frowned at her friend. She’d been complaining more often about feeling sick lately. Considering it was Page, this wasn’t unusual. The fact that she tried to downplay it was a concern, however. “Have you seen your oncologist lately?”

“Stop worrying about me. We’re here to mark another item off your list.”

Mrs. Rossi entered the kitchen, and the din of conversations among the students died down. She smiled at each of them. “I’m glad to see so many new faces mixed among my seasoned students. If you saw the recipe cards, you’ll know we’re making pasta tonight. It’s an ambitious task for the first class, but you’ll find that fresh pasta will make a big difference to your cooking.” She picked up an apron and held it up in front of the students. “You’ll find aprons below the table for your use, unless you’d rather go home sprinkled in flour.”

April squatted down and found a stack of white aprons on the shelf. She grabbed two and handed one to Page. “You might want to get one more.”

When April straightened, she found Mr. Harrison standing next to her. “You’re taking the class?”

“My nonna thinks it will help me.” He leaned down, got an apron and put it on over his head, covering the shirt and tie he wore. He wrapped the apron strings around him once and tied them together in the front. He looked natural with it on, and she found herself staring at him, her own apron still in her hand. He took it from her and slipped it on her, looking into her eyes as he secured the ties in front. “There. Now you look like a cook.”

“Mr. Harrison—”

“It’s Zach. And you’re April.”

Page waved her hand between them. “And I’m Page. You’re the sports agent April has been talking about?”

April instantly glared at her. She hadn’t been talking about him. Okay, so she’d mentioned him once or twice. And maybe she’d thought about him more than she should, but it wasn’t like she was obsessed with him. “I told her how you subdued Harley in the ER.”

“And how she saw you when she went dancing. And again when she signed up for this class.” Page shrugged as April stared at her openmouthed. “What? Like it’s any big secret?”

April gestured to Zach. “She makes it sound worse than it is. You’ll find she’s very good at that.”

Mrs. Rossi came around and dropped a sifter on their table before tapping Zach’s cheek. “I’d hoped you would come.” She glanced at April. “But then I see you found a purpose to be here.”

He glanced at April, then at his grandmother. “Thanks for that, Nonna.”

Conversation stopped as they sifted together the all-purpose flour, semolina flour and salt into a large pile in front of the three of them. Zach used a fork to create a deep well in the center of the combined flours, and Page cracked open and added the eggs. Zach handed April the fork, and she started to mix the eggs together while Page put the olive oil into the mixture. When it came time to knead the dough, Zach rolled up his shirtsleeves and did it like an expert. “My nonna had me knead a lot of dough as a kid. I’ve got this part down pat.”

April watched the muscles of his arms as he pushed the dough away, then pulled it toward him, mixing it and forming it into a ball. She admired how his fingers deftly massaged the dough. Why was she thinking about his hands and arms? She didn’t need Mr. Harrison...Zach to become a distraction for her. She was making her life better, and learning to cook was only the beginning.

Zach wrapped the dough in clear plastic wrap so that it could rest for a half hour. Attention returned to Mrs. Rossi as she explained how to prepare a basic pesto sauce. When she called for volunteers, April glanced around the kitchen rather than making eye contact. There was no way she was going to go up to the front of the class and show how inept she was at this. “Why don’t we have April and Zach demonstrate what I’m talking about?”

Rats. Page sniggered behind one hand, and she gave her friend a look. Page shrugged and nudged her toward the front of the kitchen. April followed Zach to where two mortars and pestles sat on the kitchen counter alongside some ingredients: a leafy herb, bulbs of garlic and some kind of seed or nut. Mrs. Rossi had Zach peel and press the garlic while she roughly chopped the herb that turned out to be basil. “You don’t want to shred it. Just chop it into smaller bunches to fit into the mortar and discard the stems.”

Once they were done with that, Mrs. Rossi added some garlic and basil into each mortar, then had Zach and April pound the ingredients with the pestle. Mrs. Rossi tossed pine nuts into their mixture and had them keep pounding. Mrs. Rossi took the pestle from April and showed her a better technique to mix the ingredients into a paste. She wasn’t surprised the older woman had such developed arms with the workout she was getting.

After the pounding, they spooned the paste into a bowl and included shredded Parmesan and olive oil to make a sauce. April leaned closer to the bowl and took an appreciative sniff. It smelled green and clean. Her tummy growled at the thought.

Mrs. Rossi dismissed April and Zach and demonstrated how to roll out the pasta dough and cut it into shapes. Page nudged April. “You looked good up there.”

“Like I knew what I was doing?”

“Well, no. But you didn’t completely embarrass yourself.”

Page dusted the table with semolina flour and unwrapped the ball of dough. She placed it on the table, and April picked up the rolling pin. She moved the pin back and forth, frowning as the dough stuck to the pin. “What am I doing wrong?”

Zach put a hand on hers to stop her from tearing the dough. She almost dropped the rolling pin from the heat of his touch. “You want to move in several directions, not just back and forth. Let me show you.” He put his hands on hers and directed them forward right, then backward left. Forward. Backward right. Diagonals and straight lines. The dough thinned and became smooth, stretching out in front of them in an oval. He sprinkled some semolina on the rolling pin, and together they stretched the dough out even farther.