Page 29 of Still Bruised
Mrs. Westbrooke’s daughter-in-law approached and took the chuck roast. “Mom, you asked him for a chuck. Not a brisket. We’ll get a brisket next time if you want.”
Jude sighed with relief.
“Oh,”Mrs. Westbrooke murmured, her gaze going hazy. She refocused on Jude and offered a pale smile. “Sorry. My memory’s not what it used to be.”
Jude winced inwardly but forced a wide smile. “I’d forget my head some days if it wasn’t attached. We’re all too busy these days, hmm?”
Mrs. Westbrooke chuckled, but there was no real humor in her eyes. “See you next week, Gabriel.”
Jude eyed her as she turned toward their register. Gabriel was his father’s name.
“Sorry about that,” Jill Westbrooke said as she eyed her mother-in-law wandering toward the cashier.
“She okay?” Jude asked in a hushed tone. Mrs. Westbrooke had been coming into the butcher shop since before he’d been born. She and his father had been old, old friends.
“No. She’s not,” Jill murmured. She offered a pale smile just like her mother-in-law’s had been. “She’s losing more and more as the weeks go by. I’m sorry she called you… you know.”
“My dad was a good man,” Jude replied. “She can call me Gabriel all she wants.”
Jill leaned against the counter, closer to him. “I hope it won’t be too difficult having her shopping here. I like getting her out of the house every so often—and familiar places seem to make her less agitated.”
Jude swallowed the lump in his throat. “Routines are important right now. You keep bringing her in as long as you can. I’ll be just fine.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” Jill said. She glanced at the register and then back to him. “I better catch up before she leaves me.”
“See you next week,” Jude said. He paused to eye the older woman, his heart aching for the family. He knew exactly what they were going through. Watching his dad slowly lose himself had been one of the worst things he’d ever experienced in his life. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even his worst enemies.
A couple of regulars standing in line waved at him, smiling. He made a little small talk with those he knew before he scanned the cases to see what was getting low. He had three employees taking orders behind the counter, rolling to keep up with the line, so he felt bad wasting too much time with chit-chat, but that was part of doing business, too. Those regulars helped keep the doors open.
Once he had a mental list of what was getting empty, he slipped through the swinging door to the cutting room. Three of his five butchers were working with him to keep the cases filled. “We’re running low on chuck roasts and mince,” he announced. “We have enough trim to cut?”
“Not much,” Paulie, his right hand man, answered. “But I’m about to break down another fore quarter for roasts. I can give you some trim to grind.”
“Good, good,” Jude said. “I’m going to french that lamb rack for the Campbells’ special order while you’re doing that. Then I’ll work on the mince.”
Jude got into the groove, focusing on the work instead of Mrs. Westbrooke. Or rather, what her failing health had reminded him of. The second anniversary of his dad’s passing was looming, and he was still struggling with that loss. Some days were better than others. Work helped. It was always there. He was always needed. He was surrounded by people.
Jude could turn off his brain and stay busy.
Until they closed up shop.
An hour after he’d locked the doors at six, his team had finished prepping for the following morning and cleaned the place from top to bottom.
“See you tomorrow,” Paulie said as he headed out.
“Night, Paulie.”
Jude followed him out before he pulled the security gates down over the front of the butcher shop and the deli. He stepped back and surveyed the street. It had once been the heart of the retail district, but as many of the owners had aged out without someone to take over, more and more of the buildings had fallen empty. A couple had been bought and were already empty a second time after new businesses failed.
Not a single car passed. A couple of the streetlights not too far from the shop had blown out and the township hadn’t replaced them, even after he’d called.
A shiver raced down Jude’s spine from the eerie quiet.
He didn’t like the quiet.
Marching toward the alley, he needed to get out of his head before it went to places he didn’t want it to go. He feared the slow demise of the businesses around him might eventually force him to close his doors. Sales had slipped. Barely, but enough to water a seed of doubt. He didn’t want to lose the business his father had built.
He climbed the stairs to his apartment, a steak wrapped in brown craft paper under one arm. Once up, he showered the dayoff and dragged on a pair of sweatpants before tossing the steak into a sizzling cast iron skillet.
