“That was weird.” Zeke had come up behind her, arms crossed. “Wasn’t that weird? He’s never friendly.”
“Sure was,” said Marianne, shaking her head. “And he never stops by to chat. There’s something going on with him.”
*
“You would have thought we’d have gotten somewhere by now,” Marianne complained to Rana a week later, shuffling papers on the counter as Doris, out of her postal uniform, and her wife Natasha dithered over which pie to buy. “It shouldn’t be this difficult to find a property record.”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Rana doubtfully. “If it’s city property, do we want to have everyone know? We’ll never even get spots for ourselves if that’s the case.”
“I think we’re going to go with the cherry,” said Natasha, and Marianne pulled out a box to package it up. “Are you talking about your parking lot? The one that’s always filled up back there?”
“We’ve been wondering who’s been parking there,” said Doris. “I used to park my truck back there while delivering the area, but I can never get a spot anymore. Commuters?”
Marianne sighed. “Sort of. A new startup has a carpool van that picks up across the street. We want to kick them out, but it’s been harder than we thought.”
Natasha winced in sympathy. “Took us years to get that sign on our corner. Remember, sweetie?”
“We just wanted a sign saying not to block our driveway,” Doris explained. “Cars would park so close we could barely back out.” She handed Marianne a twenty and took the pie. “Good luck with the traffic folks. They’re something else.”
Marianne followed them to the door, locking the deadbolt behind them and flipping the sign to Closed. Then she untied her apron and took a moment to unwind her customer service persona from around her.
Marianne’s favorite time of her workday, clichéd as it sounded, was right after closing time. That’s when she and Zeke cleaned the tables, debriefed, and got a moment out of the public eye. It might seem a little sad to outsiders that her closest companion was a seventeen-year-old kid, but after two years working together, they understood each other. Lately Rana had been stopping by a few days a week to chat while she closed between lunch and dinner, and she’d fit right in once she’d bullied Marianne into letting her help pack up the leftover pastries for Zeke’s house, Marianne’s apartment, and the VA or the shelter. But tonight, Zeke informed them early he had a special surprise for after closing. Marianne hoped she wasn’t going to have to confiscate another Tupperware of “special” brownies from the kid—her patience for teen antics only went so far.
“Ta-da!” Zeke pulled a stiff, laminated piece of board from his oversized bag and brandished it. “Ready to go!”
Marianne laughed with delight, exchanging a glance with Rana, whose smile was slightly more reserved. “Nicely done!”
Zeke beamed, his usual teenage chill gone. “Can we hang it?”
“I don’t see why not!” Marianne pulled out a bottle of construction glue and headed toward the back door, Rana and Zeke close behind her. Together, they held the sign up to the brick and glued the edges down firmly against the wall, where the words were easily visible to anyone entering the parking lot.
Customers Only. No Commuter Parking.
“Not bad,” said Rana. “It looks real.”
Zeke looked offended, running a hand over his springy black twists and gesturing toward the wall. “Looks real? It’s a real sign!”
Marianne stepped back, hands on her hips. “Now it’s just whether anyone will notice it.”
Chapter Seven
Her question was answered in less than a day, with a visit from Officer Michael Blake of the Swanley Police Department.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Windmere,” he said apologetically. “But that’s not an authorized sign.”
“How did you even hear about it?”
The officer paused, looking sheepish. “Well, ma’am, the chief’s daughter started working at CoffeeGuru. There were complaints, and I guess she passed them along to her dad.”
“Are you serious?” Marianne groaned. “Come on, Mickey. They’re using my whole lot, and nobody’s doing anything about it! It’s driving business into the ground! Can’t you give them tickets instead?”
Officer Blake shook his head, voice turning informal, back to the kid Marianne had babysat when she was a teen. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I wish I could help. I do. But you know how the chief is.”
“So, what, we have to take it down?”
He winced. “And I have to fine you.”
“A fine? That’s absurd! The city won’t give me an authorized sign! They won’t even tell me if I’m authorized to get a sign!”
“And that’s why they’re making me fine you,” said Michael. “I guess they told you no, and you did it anyway. That’s what the chief said. He’s not too happy with you.” He shook his head. “It’s actually kind of weird how mad he is. Usually permitting isn’t something he cares about.”
“So, it’s a permit problem?” She pointed at the porch she’d had installed a few years earlier. “I didn’t need a permit to add that on, but for a two-foot sign I do?”
“The porch isn’t the issue here. That’s zoning, not traffic. Besides, Kevin probably eased that along. But any signage needs to be approved by the city.” His voice was firmer, edging on annoyed.
Marianne took a long slow breath. It wouldn’t do her any good to make Michael angry; he’d been a good kid when he was six and when he babysat her youngest back when he was thirteen and wanted to be a veterinarian when he grew up. But he was a cop now, and that was different. Thirty years of genial goodwill would only get her so far. “Okay,” she said. “Give me the ticket. I’ll take the sign down tonight.”
He smiled, relieved. “Great. Thanks for cooperating, Ms. Windmere.” He scribbled on his pad and handed her the page. “See you around. And give the kids my best if you talk to them.”
“I will.” She ushered him out and retreated to her office, where she sat heavily in her desk chair.
*
Marianne had just served scones to a nice old couple visiting from Florida when the door slammed open.
“What the hell, Marianne!” Kevin burst through the entry, heedless of the customers all turning to stare at him. “What do you think you’re getting yourself into?”
“Calm down,” said Marianne. “You’re scaring the customers.”
“I—” Kevin paused, took a deep breath through his nose, and glanced around at the half-filled cafe. The elderly couple was staring at him, the woman appalled, the man confused. “Fine. Can I talk to you in private, please?”
Marianne sighed. “Zeke, can you cover the counter for a few minutes?”
“Sure, boss.” Zeke gave Kevin a wide berth. He’d never liked Kevin—of course, he’d been five when they’d divorced, so he’d never known them as a couple. And Kevin seemed to particularly annoy him. She thought perhaps Kevin’s predilection for grandstanding and self-promotion, or maybe his deep-held belief that only he could save the town of Swanley from any problems that came up were the cause. Deep down, Kevin considered himself Swanley’s best and only native son, despite the fact that his roots in the town only went two generations deep to Zeke’s at least five. Marianne wasn’t quite sure what the precise reason was, but she trusted Zeke to make his own choices about who he liked and didn’t like, especially about straight white men.
She kind of wished she’d known somebody like Zeke when she was sixteen. He’d have talked her out of marrying Kevin real quick. Or maybe it was that he’d worked for Marianne part-time for the last few years and, unlike most of the town, knew her side of the story much better than Kevin’s. She appreciated the support from him and his great-grandfather regardless of the cause.
She gestured to Kevin to follow her behind the counter and into the back office where she plopped down into her grandfather’s big leather chair.
“You could have asked me!” Kevin bu
rst out as soon as the door shut behind them. “Why wouldn’t you ask me for help with this? I could have fixed this if you’d let me! I could have gotten it all figured out without getting the whole town government’s panties in a twist!”
Marianne ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Kevin, you’re not on the city council anymore. And besides, it’s none of your business what I do. I don’t recall asking you for help. All I’m trying to do is to get my parking lot reserved for my customers.”
“And you’re pissing off the chief of police as well as the assessor’s office in the process! Do you know how embarrassing it is for me when my ex-wife goes rogue and starts hanging unapproved signs around town?”
“Around town? It was on my building, Kevin! And besides, you don’t need to worry about your reputation anymore! Isn’t that what you said when you retired? That you could wear socks and sandals, and it wouldn’t be front page news?”
“That’s different!”
“And you’re not my husband anymore either. Remember? We’re divorced. And that was your idea, if I recall, after your last conference in Schenectady and that mayor’s aide? You said something about needing the freedom to live your life?” Marianne thought that maybe she was being unfair, but she didn’t care. The words felt too good coming out.
“Well, maybe the divorce was a mistake.”
Marianne stared at him. “Really? Now you want to do this?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, looking uncomfortable, like he might bolt at any minute. “Do what?”
“We didn’t work together, and you know it. We only stayed married as long as we did because of the kids, and because we never saw each other long enough to get on each other’s nerves.”
“I still love you!”
“No, you don’t.” Marianne ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts. She didn’t want to be having this conversation, and she didn’t want to ever have it again. “Kevin, I know you. Okay, maybe you love me. But you don’t want to be married to me any more than I want to be married to you. I want you in my life, but not as a spouse. Not after everything we’ve been through.” She laid a hand on his elbow. “You always want what you can’t have.” She shook her head. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me anymore. And actually, I never did.”
“Anna says you’re seeing someone.”
“I might be.” He didn’t need to know things with Rana probably wouldn’t go anywhere.
“Who? Do I know him? Her? Them?”
Marianne appreciated the correction, but not enough to give him any more information he didn’t need. “That’s none of your business, Kevin.” She reached out and patted his shoulder. “And don’t act like you haven’t dated. I know you’ve made the rounds at the PTA—you’ve dated a few graduating classes worth of moms, at this point.”
At this, Kevin looked even more uncomfortable, not meeting her eyes.
“We’re friends. I like that.” She took his hand, trying to get him to relax a little from his tension. “But there are boundaries.”
“And nepotism in city government is your limit?” He was regaining his composure now; having realized the playacting wasn’t going to work, he made an effort to drop his practiced affect.
These were the moments she still loved him, a little: the moments when she saw the man he could have been underneath all the posturing and grandstanding. She hadn’t seen much of that man while they were married, just enough to keep her hoping for more. She’d never been able to coax that Kevin to the surface for long, and in the last few years, watching her kids struggle to find people to spend their lives with she’d realized her mistake. She would never have been able to fix the damage an upbringing as a man in the 1960s had done to a guy more interested in rom-coms and debate club than football and fights. Years of his parents telling him to act like a man and push down the feelings that sometimes overwhelmed him could only be fixed by Kevin himself, ideally with the professional help of a therapist. Marianne wondered if he’d ever talked to one. She hoped so. But aging seemed to be doing what a lifetime of people telling him he could have his way—and what that way should be—hadn’t. It was teaching him humility, and maybe making the whole act more tiring than being honest.
“Pretty much.” She shook her head. “I appreciate that you want to help. But this is my problem, and I’ll figure it out.”
He sighed, the annoyance draining from his shoulders, and squeezed her hand. “You’ve changed, you know that? You’re tougher than you used to be. I need to get used to that.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” she observed. “But yes, you need to.”
“And I’ll step back. But you had better believe I’ll be watching out for you if you have to fight for whatever you’re trying to do. And anything you need that I can do, I’ll do.”
“I’d expect no less from an old friend and neighbor.”
“And that’s all I am to you?”
“That’s worth quite a bit, don’t you think?”
Kevin smiled, and it was genuine this time, sweet, and a little tired. “I guess it is.”
Marianne, seeing that real familiar smile, considered for a moment giving in and asking him to intercede on her behalf at city hall. He’d say yes in an instant, thrilled to have a chance to flex his connections and waning power in the town and maybe gain back a little of her goodwill. But that would bring him inside the neat little space she’d carved out with Rana, the delicate balance of the project that had brought them together after pushing them apart. And even though he probably could help, she didn’t want him to. She didn’t want to involve anyone else. She and Rana would solve this together, and then who knows what would happen. They didn’t need help. “I do appreciate the offer,” she said because she really did. “I have to figure this out on my own.”
He gave in. “I know. But just know—there might be more going on here than you think. Just be careful.”
“I’m always careful, Kevin.” She opened the office door. “Let me handle this. After all, it’s a sign. How hard can getting a sign be?”
He gave her a long look before striding back out of the office and through the store.
“Everything all right?” asked Zeke.
Marianne nodded, watching the door swing closed behind Kevin. “He doesn’t like when stuff goes on in Swanley that he’s not in charge of; that’s all. I told him we had it covered.”
Zeke snorted. “He must have been insufferable as a teenager.”
Marianne raised an eyebrow. “You know I married him when he was nineteen, right?”
“Hey, everybody makes mistakes.”
Marianne snorted. “You’ve got that right, Zeke.”
*
The bell over the door sounded as Marianne finished a spiral of whipped cream on the caramel soy latte for the older man at the corner table. The espresso machine had been acting up lately, and she kept one eye on it for leaks and drips as she drizzled chocolate syrup over the top. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone making their way up to the register. “Just a minute,” she sang over her shoulder and then hustled to the counter to call out the drink. By the time she’d turned back around, Rana had set a plate of tiny cheese turnovers—the ones Marianne had loved so much the first time she’d met Rana—next to Marianne’s own coffee on the counter and was smiling at her from in front of the register. “Oh! Hi,” said Marianne, hurrying back to the counter. “I didn’t expect to see you!”
“It’s Tuesday,” Rana explained. “I close early, but I stay a bit later to prep for the week sometimes. I need to catch up from my Monday off.” That dimple appeared back in her cheek, and Marianne felt her own cheeks redden.
I’m fifty-eight years old! She scolded herself as she smiled apologetically and handed the drink to its rightful owner. I cannot be blushing like a schoolgirl in the middle of my bakery!
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Rana hesitantly, the dimple fading. “I though
t you liked these last time.”
“I did!” said Marianne hurriedly, automatically reaching out to grab Rana’s wrist to stop her leaving. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. Thank you so much.” She glanced at the display case. “I’ve got one almond croissant left, and I think this was a particularly good batch. Do you have a moment for a quick snack?”
Rana’s smile returned full force. “I always have time for a snack.” She glanced around. “But don’t you need to attend to your customers?”
“Zeke should be back from his break in a few minutes,” said Marianne. “And besides, everybody knows me. If anyone comes in, they’ll pester me until I serve them. Here.” She set the plate with the croissant beside Rana’s, admiring the contrast between her pink-and-white-flowered china and Rana’s blue-and-red-patterned ones. They looked good together. She swallowed hard, fighting the smitten grin that was trying to claw its way out. “Would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Rana settled in the chair, a few tendrils of hair escaping the heavy bun at the nape of her neck to frame her face. She glanced up at Marianne, meeting her eyes. “Thank you for the croissant.” Her low even voice and light accent cut through the chatter of the bakery easily. “I had an odd encounter this morning, and I wanted your opinion on it.”
Marianne paused with a sambousik halfway to her mouth. She set it back down. “What kind of encounter?”
Rana shook her head. “My landlord came by.”
“Is that unusual?” Marianne gave in and bit into the sambousik. The warm cheese had exactly the right balance of spice and salt, and she nearly moaned at its flavor. “He came by here last week looking for votes.”
Rana smiled, watching her as she chewed. “It is. He visits rarely, and he’s never brought anyone along with him. That was the odd part.”
“Who did he have with him?”
“I’m not sure who they were, but they were in suits and they had a long quiet discussion. Then they stood in the parking lot for a long time, pointing at the building. I thought perhaps they were contractors here to make repairs or redo the façade, but if that were it, he would have introduced them, wouldn’t he?”
No Parking Page 7
