Last Bite: A Novel of Culinary Romance by Nancy Verde Barr

stationery and included a little chitchat.”
    “Well, there was definitely no chitchat. Not even ‘Remember to floss.’”
    “It’s this high-tech generation.” I knew she wasn’t criticizing technology in general, because she herself was very much into the latest in hard- and software. “People are just not ascourteous as they used to be. But Richard’s in the past and you have to move on to something other than a gerbil.” I gave her a sarcastic smile. “Do you know what you want?” she asked, taking another forkful of my spring roll.
    I thought for a minute before saying, “I’d love to have what you and Peter had.”
    Before he died three years ago, Peter Woods was a brilliant government scientist whom Sally had met when she was a sophomore at Goucher in Maryland. He was eight years older than she was, but according to both of them, it was love at first sight and they married the day after Sally graduated from college. Peter was amazing—brilliant and charming. It was Peter who introduced Sally to good food and encouraged her to take cooking classes whenever she could. They went everywhere together. He was in his early seventies when he died of a heart attack. I know Sally misses him, but she loves to talk about him and their times together. At least, she usually does.
    When I mentioned his name, she said nothing for a minute and then sighed and said, “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
    I was stunned. “What do you mean? Weren’t you happy together?”
    “We were very happy; it’s just that recently I’ve learned . . . ” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Things I didn’t know when we were together.”
    A number of ugly thoughts raced into my head, and I said the only nonugly one that came to mind. “Oh, Sally. Peter loved—no, adored—you. It was so obvious.”
    “I know that, but it doesn’t change everything.”
    I waited for her to tell me more, and when she didn’t say anything I asked if she wanted to talk about it.
    “I’d rather not, Casey. Forget I said anything. I’d rather talk about how you are handling this breakup with Richard.”
    Or not handling it, I thought, looking at the beautiful food Jean-Georges had sent to the table. It deserved better conversation. “Screw it, Sally. Let’s not talk about either of them.”
    “Good idea. Pass that one over here.”
    Somewhere between devouring the entrées we had ordered and doing our best with the gratis ones, we began to talk about Italy. “I understand that George Davis is going with us?” I said.
    “He’s not going
with
us. He’ll be there when we are. We have some business there.” Sally’s tone said that was all there was to discuss, but I couldn’t stop myself.
    “What are you going to be doing?” My tone was light and inquisitive, not pressing.
    “It’s personal. Not anything you need to know.”
    Whoa. This was as close as she had ever come to telling me to mind my own business, and I felt shamefully out of order.
    “I didn’t mean to sound short with you, honey, but George is, well, a temporary situation.” That was sure good news. “I have some business with him and when it’s over, I don’t expect he’ll be around anymore.” That made sense to me. Maybe her new lawyer had arranged the deal with George and Sally was too honorable to back out of it.
    “When does your contract with him expire?”
    “We don’t have a contract per se. It’s an agreement.”
    I looked up from my forkful of braised duck. “Can you get out of it?”
    She shook her head. “No. I can’t now.” She put her fork down and looked straight at me. “
I
know he’s a sleazeball, Casey . . .” In spite of the unpleasant topic of conversation, I had to smile at her choice of words. Sally has such a charming way of blending words from all the eras she has lived in. She didn’t try to imitate contemporary slang, but every now and then threw in a word or two that would seem out of place with her age,