I always use the best ingredients. There are five kinds of cheese in my macaroni and cheese. My collard greens cook all day on low heat and are so tender they melt in your mouth. Visitors to our little town think Maggie’s Kitchen is so busy because I know how to season the food just right. I do, mind you, but that’s not the only reason everybody in town comes to fill up.
I have secret ways to make my customers lives a little bit better. If you get on my bad side, I can make you wish you never left your house this morning too.
When my mother told me that we were witches, she made me promise not to use my abilities to harm anyone … unless they had it coming. I adhere to the rules she laid out before me.
“Maggie,” Rudy calls from the kitchen. Sweat streaming down his face, he holds a plate of chops and mashed potatoes in the air. His gravy-stained apron is pulled tight around his bulging middle. “Mr. Green’s plates ready.”
I walk to the other side of the narrow kitchen and take the warm white plate from Rudy. Some customers need special attention. I whisk the plate back into my office to give it a little dusting of my secret ingredient and say a quick blessing.
Plate in hand, I look out the round window of the kitchen into the dining room. It’s busy with everyone eating and talking and laughing. Exactly the way I like to see it. Mr. Green is alone at the far table. His gray flat cap is sitting on the table next to his place setting. His narrow face is stern. He drums his fingers impatiently on the table in front of him and bounces his foot up and down as he waits.
I launch out of the kitchen and walk directly to him. “Chops, mashed potatoes, and green beans,” I say as I set the plate in front of him.
“And delivered by the owner. I feel so privileged.” A smile pushes all the sternness out of his face.
“I’m the one who should feel privileged. You haven’t been here in ages.”
He looks down at his plate and straightens his knife and fork. “You know it hasn’t been the same sense… Diane…” His words trail off.
“Have you been getting on okay?”
He nods firmly, but I could tell by the way he averts his eyes that he doesn’t want to talk.
“If you need anything you know where to find me.”
“Sure thing.” He jabs the pork chop with his fork.
“I’ll leave you to your food.” I can’t bring his daughter back to him. My powers don’t run that deep, but I can ease his worries and help him know that she’s alright by giving him the briefest glimpse of the other side.
“A good meal like this is just the thing I need to cheer me up.” He takes a bite of his pork chop.
“I hope it does that and more.”
Mr. Green gasps and slumps over in his seat before I make it back into the kitchen. “Call an ambulance.” I hear someone yell and rush to the phone in dial 911. I’m not worried. He won’t be gone long. When he comes back, he’ll have a new perspective that will carry him peacefully through the rest of his life.
The other customers have moved Mr. Green to the floor. Dr. Crawford jumps up from his meal with his family and begins C.P.R. I join the crowd standing around his unconscious body too. When one of the staff catches my eye, I tell her that 911 is on their way. We won’t need them though. I’m counting down the seconds in my head. 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …
Mr. Green wheezes back to life. He gives a few sputtering coughs and rolls onto his side. A flurry of voices asks him if he’s okay. When he sits up, I notice a glint of hope in his eyes that was missing before.
“I’m fine,” Mr. Green says with a raspy voice.
Some people might say what I do isn’t right. I interfere in lives and bend reality, but everything I do is for their own good. If they didn’t like it, they wouldn’t keep coming back. The fact that the restaurant is packed every evening means something. They get more than good food here; they get to fill up the missing pieces in their lives.