One Year in Coal Harbor Read Online Free PDF Page B

demeanor, polka-dotted dress or no.
    “Are you upset? Why are you upset?” asked Uncle Jack, putting down his knife and fork and looking stunned. “I’m doing high end. You’re doing low end. Different markets altogether.”
    “LOW end?” squawked Miss Bowzer.
    “I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just mean cheap, well, more
affordable
meals.”
    “
Cheap
food?” said Miss Bowzer.
    It amazed me that Uncle Jack, who was the most clever and tactful person I knew, seemed to lose all these skills the second he came in contact with Miss Bowzer. It never failed.
    My mother got the floating islands on the table very quickly after that. The one she slung on the table in front of my father practically skidded into his lap. You would think that would take everyone’s mind off of things—the anticipation of custard on his pants—but Miss Bowzer, who had been turning what looked to me a dangerous shade of red, didn’t seem to notice and excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she returned it was as if she had Krazy Glued her lips together in there, because she hardly said a word the rest of the night. Ten minutes after her last sip of coffee she thanked my mother for her fine meal and hospitality and left.
    I was deflated. You know exactly how bad a time someone has had by how soon after dinner they leave and how formal they are about it. Jack stayed on long enough to help us clear the table and wash the dishes. He and my parents talked about other things and never mentioned the restaurant once. I think my mother was afraid that if she did, she would hit him over the head with whatever pan was handiest. When he finally left I went up to bed. As I climbed the stairs I heard my father’s voice below saying cheerily, “Well, that was a pleasant evening.”

    I didn’t see much of Miss Bowzer after that. I was a little embarrassed that it was my family that had upset her with its version of
The Dating Game
. I knew Uncle Jack hadn’t intended his restaurant announcement to meanand-by-the-way-I’m-putting-you-out-of-business-pass-the-salt, but that’s what it must have sounded like to her.
    I didn’t see Uncle Jack much after that, either, because he was very busy getting his restaurant built.
    “She’ll see,” he explained to me one day when I ran into him on the street. “She’s an excellent chef but she doesn’t understand the first thing about business. My business will be, if anything,
good
for her business.”
    I didn’t see how this would be so. I followed him back to his restaurant on the pretext of helping him carry his purchases but really so that he could explain his reasoning to me. Then I, in turn, could explain it to Miss Bowzer.
    “Listen, people get tired of the same old thing. They’ll come to my restaurant for special occasions and Miss Bowzer’s for everyday fare. Choice just makes eating out all the more enticing. There was a study, Primrose, that said people eat more when they have more choices. If it’s just two things in the fridge they won’t eat so much. If there’s twenty things, they’ll graze from taste to taste. We’re just giving people more choices, which will inspire more grazing.”
    “But she has a lot of stuff on her menu already. People already
have
choices,” I argued. Then a chunk of ceiling fell right in front of us and Uncle Jack moved me over a few feet and started up the stairs to see “what the heck they were doing up there.”
    “Maybe you’d better go, Primrose,” he called down, sounding all distracted, so I left.
    If this was the way they were going to court, each waiting for the other to make a move, both being proud and independent, they would never connect. I couldn’t arrange another dinner. That would be too obvious, but there must be some way I could help them along.
    I took a bike ride out Jackson Road. Jackson Road is a good thinking road. There is nothing but treed mountains until you come to Miss Clarice’s farm and B and B. There is a