44: Book Six Read Online Free PDF

said as she held out a hat. “Cashmere.”
    “It’s so soft,” I said. “I think Erin would love it. I’d go with that one.”
    “Okay then,” she said. “Hey, has David heard anything about the audition?”
    “No. They told him it was only going to be a few days. So now he’s thinking he didn’t make the cut.”
    “Well, sometimes people say one thing and mean another or something comes up. He shouldn’t lose hope.”
    Kate paid for the hat and we walked outside into the cold air blowing off the river and cutting into our faces. The sky looked like snow, but that was nothing new. So far all rumors of snow had been just that, nothing more than a dusting here and there.
    U2 was playing on the outdoor speakers. It seemed that along with all the other things that haunted me, I had this song too. Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home) . It used to be one of my favorite holiday tunes, but now the lyrics clawed at my insides until the sadness came pouring out of me.
    “I’m going in here,” I said a minute later, pointing to the kitchen store.
    I walked in, the warm air bringing my cheeks back to life. I stopped at the first display, looking at some Le Creuset cookware. I picked up a large pan, with both hands. It was heavier than a small boulder.
    “Wow,” Kate said, walking up behind me and turning one over to look at the price on the bottom. “It’s so expensive.”
    “Because it’s the best,” I said. “You buy one of these and you never need to buy another again. Plus it’s engineered for slower cooking methods, for simmering, stewing, and braising. It’s worth it.”
    Kate smiled.
    “If the coffee thing doesn’t work out, you’d make a swell sales rep,” she said. “But seriously, would you like one for Christmas?”
    “No, you’re right, it’s too expensive,” I said, walking away.
    “Yeah, but you’re worth it.”
    Kate had that look in her eye. I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it.
    “Which one?” she asked.
    I pointed to the one I wanted, the deep sauté pan called “Flame.” Kate pulled out a small book from her purse and wrote something down.
    “And you want that color? It’s bright orange, just so you know.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, Kate. That’s really special. I’ll do my best to pay you back. In food.”
    “No pressure. But I wouldn’t mind trying a few more of those dishes you learned about in your class.”
    “Deal.”
    For my 21 st birthday, Kate had bought me cooking classes with a local chef who owned a small Italian restaurant at the foot of Awbrey Butte. He had moved to Bend recently from Florence.  He was friendly but intense at the same time.
    There were six of us in the class and we worked in the kitchen on Wednesday afternoons, learning how to make things like pumpkin gnocchi, zuppa di funghi , pappa al pomodoro , and lemon-infused olive oil. I was planning on taking more classes next year.
    “That gnocchi you made me afterwards was to die for,” Kate said. “I’m hoping you’re still planning on making it again for Christmas dinner.”
    “It’s a strong contender,” I said.
    In fact I was planning an Italian-themed dinner and had invited everyone who came to Thanksgiving. I already had a lot of the recipes picked out.
    “Never mind that crack I made about sales, Abby, you’d make a great chef. Do you ever think about doing that? I mean, for a living? The college has that new culinary school now.”
    I nodded. I had been thinking just that.
    “Maybe so,” I said.
    We walked over to Anthony’s where we sat at a table overlooking the river. I felt like I was back at Les Schwab, happy to be inside. We ordered and I looked out. It had started to rain again, the drops crashing against the window and bouncing off the concrete pathway.
    “Where are we, Portland?” Kate said, getting up. “I’ll be right back.”
    I watched the river gliding by. It was a winter river now, slow and gray and serious. Long gone were the floaters who