Chapter 41
Henry’s hands got into a rhythm, and although he worried he would cut himself with the super sharp knife, he never did.
It seemed the time evaporated in the steam from Vito’s pans. Henry had never toiled so ceaselessly and was amazed when the work—the chopping, the scattering of herbs on plate edges, the spoon slides to artful effect—was done, that the evening was almost over. He glanced up at the clock, and his jaw dropped. It was almost midnight. It felt like only minutes had passed.
“Wipe down the counters with bleach and water and take out the garbage.” Vito took off his black apron and hung it on the usual hook.
“Hey. I know the drill.” Henry dipped a rag into a bucket of bleach solution and began wiping down all the surfaces. Vito had said maybe three sentences to him throughout the hours they had worked side by side, and each of those was to command him to do something faster or to inform him he was doing something wrong.