She's Up to No Good(81)

“Her bacalhau a bras is on the menu,” Sofia said. “That one I couldn’t bring myself to change.”

I took a bite of one of the pastries, then looked over at Joe. “Saving the best food for last?” I asked quietly after I finished chewing.

“Better than Brewster’s?”

“Might have to go back there for a second taste test. But yeah. I think so.” He touched his leg to mine under the table. No, we hadn’t discussed everything yet. But maybe that was because conversation with him was just so easy. It felt like we already knew each other. Which, apparently, we kind of did.

I asked what he recommended when we turned to the menus, and he deferred to his mother, who recommended her grandmother’s dish for my first experience trying Portuguese food.

“Have you ever been to Portugal?” I asked Joe.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’d like to go someday. Mom has been a few times now.”

“Your great-grandfather insisted I go before I opened the restaurant. He bought my plane ticket.”

I put down the shrimp that had been on its way to my mouth and stared at her. “My great-grandfather?”

She nodded.

“But—” I turned to my grandmother, extremely confused. “Your father?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?” my grandmother asked. I looked at her more carefully—she was enjoying herself, which meant she had deliberately left important information out.

“The last thing you told me was that your parents wouldn’t let you marry Tony.”

“They wouldn’t.”

“Then . . . ?”

Sofia smiled kindly. “My father died when I was just a little girl. Your great-grandfather approached Tony—he wanted to help. I guess he felt bad about . . . all that. Tony said no, of course. Then Joseph caught me stealing from his store one day when I was seven or eight. I was terrified, but he was so kind. He told me I didn’t need to steal; I could just ask. Then he went to my mother, and she accepted his help. I used to go help him in the store—he didn’t need me, of course, but I was curious about him.” She took a sip of her wine, remembering fondly. “He paid for me to go to culinary school—he wanted me to go to college, but that wasn’t the path for me. He was a wonderful man.”

I remembered Joe saying Tony and my great-grandfather forgave each other eventually—this was how apparently, though I knew there had to be more to the story.

But Sofia was still talking.

“I wouldn’t have all of this without him. It’s why I named Joe for him.”

I looked from Sofia to Joe, shaken. “You’re named for my great-grandfather?”

He was amused at my confusion. “I thought you knew. It’s not exactly a Portuguese name.”

I looked to my grandmother, who winked at me and then laughed.





My grandmother was, miraculously, on her best behavior. There were no overt sexual comments or even innuendos. In fact, most of the conversation she dominated with Sofia, reminiscing about the summers she spent here and people I didn’t know. Joe explained what he could, and Sofia was good about filling in holes. My grandmother just enjoyed having an audience.

“Of course, he didn’t give you the ticket,” Sofia said, laughing as my grandmother finished a tale of an escapade from years past. “Tony wouldn’t have allowed it.”

“Your uncle’s moral compass always pointed due north. Even when I was around. He’d have let him.”

Sofia shook her head. “I still believe he joined the force just to make sure you stayed out of trouble.”

Something twitched in my grandmother’s face, but it was gone so quickly I could have imagined it. “What trouble? I swear, the whole town built my reputation around that movie theater eighty years ago.”

“And the boat. You can’t forget the boat.”

Grandma pointed a finger at Sofia. “That one was your fault. You and Anna scared me half to death.”

Sofia turned to me. “Did you know your grandmother was a boat thief?”

I looked at my grandmother. “Honestly, I don’t think anything would surprise me. Did you ride with Butch Cassidy’s gang too?”

She crossed her arms. “Don’t be impudent. They were dead before I was even born.” Then she cocked her head and smiled. “I did meet Paul Newman in the sixties though. Had I not been married, Joanne Woodward might have had some competition.”

I turned to Joe, speaking low. “I’ve heard way too much about her sex life this trip.” He tried to hide his laugh by taking a sip of water. My grandmother may not have been able to hear what I said, but she was watching us shrewdly. She missed nothing. And I wasn’t so sure she needed those hearing aids as much as she pretended to.

After dessert, which Sofia insisted on, Joe excused himself to use the restroom, and my grandmother stood to follow suit. “I’ll take you,” I said, starting to stand.

She fixed me with a withering look. “If you don’t stop hovering over me, you’re going to find the walk home from Massachusetts to be a long one.” And, unsteadily after the wine she shouldn’t have drunk, she tottered into the restaurant.