A Rare Find. Tracy Kelleher

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       Nick held his bloated stomach. “As far as I’m concerned, anyone who makes pasta this good can be blind as a bat. The woman’s a genius in the kitchen, that’s for sure.”

       “Well, she actually happens to be a genius,” Lilah said. “And please, have some more.” She indicated the large ceramic bowl.

       “I know this is the wrong thing to do, but since when have I ever turned down an opportunity to eat myself silly?” Nick reached across the table and grabbed the serving utensils. “So your sister’s become a chef?”

       “No, it’s more a…a…” Justin searched for the correct word. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a hobby, but a…a…”

       “It’s more a passion,” Lilah finished his sentence. “When Penelope takes an interest in something, it’s total immersion.”

       “She’s into southern Italy. You know, Calabria?”

       Nick started on his second portion. “Not personally, but I know the region you’re referring to.”

       “Anyway, somebody left her a house there, in this dot-on-the-map town called Capo Vaticano. It’s all a bit of a mystery, especially for someone on her salary. Though I guess she rents the place out.”

       Lilah rested her chin on her hands. “Well, I for one am not complaining. She let us stay there for our honeymoon. The house is in the private garden on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean.”

       “And don’t forget the infinity pool.” Justin’s eyes clouded over. “When I die and go to heaven, I hope it looks like that infinity pool.”

       Nick set his fork down—for him, a real concession. “From what you’re all saying, Penelope’s passions have led to some pretty good things—the house, this food…” He pointed it out. “That type of passion I can deal with. In my experience, indifference is a lot harder to cope with, believe me.”

       He didn’t elaborate, nor did they ask. If they had, Nick supposed he could have made some snide remark about his ex-wife. Heaven knows, for years after their divorce he hadn’t had any problems commenting on her faults. Now, those faults had become dimmer with time, and mostly what he felt was moderate disdain or worse, nothing, when he thought about her. Which, granted, he tried to do as little as possible.

       He quickly forked down another mouthful and gulped. There was definitely something about the pasta that was incredible. “So why is your sister doing whatever she’s doing instead of cooking professionally?” He looked up. “It’s gotta be another passion, right?”

       “I hope so.” Justin ripped his hunk of bread into smaller pieces. “Penelope had been groomed by our father to be another Classics professor, and…well…that didn’t quite work out.” He munched thoughtfully. “For the past year, she’s been a rare-book librarian.”

       “Here at the university,” Lilah added. “Which means we get lucky sometimes and get some of her cooking.”

       “Well, if this pasta’s any indication of her culinary prowess, all I can say is wow.” Nick pointed at his empty plate. “Take the sausage she used. Only someone truly into cooking would take the pains to track down something that good.”

       “Actually she makes it herself,” Lilah said. “But if you liked this, you should taste this other spreadable kind she makes. I can’t remember the name exactly, but it’s smoky and hot.”

       “I think it’s called N-something,” Justin said. “It’s some unpronounceable word in a Calabrian dialect.”

       “You don’t mean ’nduja?” Nick pronounced it instead like “endooya.” “My accent sucks, but you get the drift.”

       Justin nodded. “That’s it!”

       “That stuff’s legendary in southern Italy, you know. Supposedly the Calabrians concocted it in the eighteenth century while the French kings were ruling over that part of Italy. It’s essentially their version of the French andouille—you know, smoked pork sausage?”

       “I learn something new every day. I guess it pays to invite a food expert to your place,” Lilah remarked. “In all sincerity, I’m glad you could come over tonight. Having said all that, can I get you to sign a copy of your book? I’ve got it right here.” She pointed to the wall of shelves and rose to get it. “And I want you to know I paid full price—no discounts.” She walked in her bare feet to the front of the room, all of five paces.

       “I’d be happy to. This is what an author lives for—that, and the royalty checks.” Nick opened to the title page and began writing. “So, tell me, if I want to get in contact with your sister, Justin, what do I need to do? I presume she lives nearby.”

       “Right here in Grantham,” Justin answered.

       “So you think she’d be interested?” Nick handed the signed book to Lilah. “I mean, I’ve never heard of anyone being able to get ’nduja in the States, let alone make it.”

       “Interested in what?” Lilah smiled as she read the message written in her book.

       “You mean you want to meet her?” Justin asked. He pushed back his chair and beckoned his wife over.

       “Well, that—”

       “You mean for your show, don’t you?” Lilah said. She sat on Justin’s lap, squirming to get comfortable.

       “Of course.”

       Justin shook his head. “I’m not sure that would work. Penelope isn’t exactly a people person. Listen, I’m no professional, but from my experience teaching kindergarten, she seems to show a lot of the symptoms of Asperger’s—the mild form of autism. Not that she’s ever been diagnosed.”

       Nick leaned on his elbows and opened his palms to the air. “I may not know your sister, but anyone who spends this kind of time and effort cooking a masterpiece like this—” he waved at his empty dish “—and then gives it to you no questions asked? You want my view?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “That person is definitely interacting with you on a fundamental basis. So she likes to be by herself. Hey, I’ve met a lot of people, and frankly, I can understand that. And that she doesn’t make chitchat in the normal superficial ways that, say, you or I do? In my case, that’s probably a good thing.”

       He rose. “I tell you what. Why don’t you both think more about how I can get her to meet with me, and in the meantime I’ll clear and wash up. I may not be trusted to cook in a fine restaurant anymore, but I can still be counted on for my busboy and dishwasher abilities.”

       Justin watched as Nick expertly lined multiple plates along the length of his arm without stacking. “Are you trying to show up my KP skills?”

       “You’re just jealous,” Nick spoke over his shoulder as he turned toward the kitchen.

       His cell phone started to chime in the back pocket of his jeans. He looked down. “Damn.” He juggled the dishes.

       “Here, let me,” Lilah volunteered, hopping off Justin’s lap. “It’s not every day I get to come into close contact with a celebrity.”

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