her plate before anyone else did. Cal’s grandmother noticed, wordlessly serving her a second helping. When she finally looked up from eating they were all staring at her, and again, she flushed a bright pink from her neck up to her cheeks.
“I like a gal that can eat!” Cal’s grandfather said, nodding his approval.
They all laughed, and Caledonia timidly asked if they knew they had truffles growing in their meadow, showing them the one she’d found. She asked if she could harvest them, offering to split the proceeds if she could sell them.
“Honey, they’re all yours,” Grandma Costa said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“But I can sell them for a lot of money,” she protested.
“Take all you want sweetheart,” Grandpa Costa said with a wink.
“Okay… Thanks,” she said meekly. “Do you have a paper bag I can put them in?”
She spent the afternoon single-mindedly hunting under the oak trees while Calvin threw a stick for the dogs. The retrievers competed to get to it first, while Rufus just circled, barking with excitement. The dog looked happier than Cal had ever seen him, and it was hard to imagine that just a day ago he was doomed to a certain death.
Caledonia had changed everything.
He thought she was crazy, but he stood back and watched her work, admiring her swift grace and limber body. He liked the way she smiled up at him when she found a cache of the golf ball sized knobs.
“These are really good ones,” she said.
The sun was low in the sky when she finished. They said their goodbyes to his grandparents and Rufus, and he watched as she bound her hair into a braid for the ride.
“Can you take me to the fanciest restaurant in town?” she asked him.
“Are you still hungry?” he asked with surprise.
She laughed at him, holding up the paper sack she’d filled with the ugly brown knobs. “Not to eat! I want to sell these.”
“No one’s gonna want to buy those dirt clods,” he said.
“Oh, I beg to differ,” she slipped on the bike behind him. “Humor me,” she said in his ear.
Wrapped up in his thick coat, with a full belly for the first time in weeks, she was comfortably drowsy. She leaned against his warm back, her arms wrapped around him. He didn’t go too fast, and she wasn’t even afraid.
Without the dog between them he could feel her body up against his, and when she rested her chin between his shoulder blades it sent a shiver down his spine. He drove her to the nicest area he knew, a little downtown section with elaborate wrought iron benches and trees strung with lights that sparkled in the dusky twilight.
A well-dressed couple walked hand in hand into the restaurant, and a uniformed valet parked an expensive sports car. Another pricey car was waiting in line, and a woman wearing spike heels and a fur coat stood out front making a phone call.
He pulled up across the street, “Are you sure you wanna go in there?”
“Go around to the back,” she said in his ear, tickling it.
He wheeled past the dumpsters, coming to a stop where a dishwasher in a dirty white apron was smoking a cigarette. She got off the bike and handed Cal the helmet.
“I’ll just be a minute.”
He was worried, watching her heading out on a fool’s errand.
She approached the man, pulling the paper bag out of her coat.
“Excuse me… Can you get me the Chef de cuisine? El cocinero?”
He looked startled, and ducked into the kitchen. A formidable looking man came out a minute later, and she stepped up to him boldly.
“Good evening chef, I was wondering if I could interest you in some fresh black truffles… I just dug them today.”
She opened up the paper bag and handed him one. Calvin watched in amazement as the man inspected the ugly little lump and sniffed, his eyes widening with delight. He ducked his head back in the door and called out something in French.
Another man came outside, taking a paring knife and slicing a thin shaving from the truffle, inhaling deeply.