My First My Last My Only

by Denise Carbo

  It’s not like it would hurt anyone if I let the charade continue. He needs someone to play his girlfriend to keep women away. Why not me? I’m sure he suggested it because he knows I won’t blur the lines and start thinking it’s real or do something stupid like fall in love with him.

  Chapter Twelve

  A familiar dark head catches my gaze and I lean over the sink to peer out the window. I recognize Mitch’s stride, but I only see a glimpse before he disappears. Jogging to the window over the counter for a better view, I press my nose against the glass and search the public docks where I saw him.

  There.

  He’s carrying a box across the parking lot and down onto the docks.

  What’s he doing? Did he rent a boat?

  Is he bringing supplies to his house?

  No, that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no dock at his house, and why would he use a boat to transport anything when his truck is much more convenient?

  Mitch walks back up the steps empty handed and disappears out of view once again.

  Short of walking outside, there’s no way I can see what he’s doing.

  Once again, he strides into view carrying another box.

  An older woman with steel gray short hair walks behind him toting a bag in each hand.

  Who is she?

  He must be helping her, but with what?

  “What are you gawking at? There an accident or something?”

  Springing away from the window, I face Sally. Before I can come up with a plausible excuse or distraction, she marches over and cranes her neck to look out the window.

  “Oh look, it’s Margie Swanson. She must be getting her groceries. She lives on one of the islands and comes to town once a month to pick up supplies. Now I see what’s got your attention. Your young man is helping her carry her stuff to the boat.”

  She leans back and pats me on the shoulder. “You’ve got a keeper there.”

  My mouth opens so I can tell her he’s not my anything, but then I snap it closed. I can’t very well confess it’s all a charade.

  “I saw your friend, Mrs. Roberts, headed this way and thought you might like to know. I’ll keep an eye on things back here for you.”

  “Oh.” I cast my gaze around the kitchen. “There’s nothing due to come out of the ovens for a while yet.” I point to one of the rolling racks. “Those cookies should be cool by now if you want to bring them up front.”

  Sally nods and I walk out front as the bell over the front door jingles.

  Mrs. Roberts steps in leaning heavily on her cane and looks around before smiling at me. “Hello, Franny.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Roberts. What can I get for you? You’re not out of meringues already, are you?”

  She stops in front of the display case and rests both hands on top of the cane while she peers inside. “No, no, I have plenty of meringues left. I need something sweet for my bridge game tonight.”

  “Okay, do you have anything in mind? A cake? Pie? Tartlets?”

  “I’m not sure, everything looks so tempting. I would prefer individual servings so we don’t have to worry about making slices or plates and silverware. What would you recommend?”

  “The fruit tartlets don’t require more than a napkin. I could box up an assortment of cookies for you. There are also cupcakes, doughnuts, muffins, or these mini cheesecakes and mousse cakes.”

  “Oh my, I’m partial to cookies, but those little cakes look delicious.”

  “Would you like a sample or two to decide?” It’s not something I frequently offer, but for Mrs. Roberts, I will bend the rules. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring a couple over?”

  A rest before she heads back home couldn’t hurt.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  While she shuffles over to the chair, I pour her a cup of tea and grab a few items for her to sample.

  “You know, you could call me anytime and tell me what you’d like. I’ll deliver them to you.”

  “Oh, that’s so kind of you, but I enjoy getting out for a stroll. It’s good for me.”

  “Okay, but the offer is always open.”

  “Are you working alone today?”

  “No, Sally is in back. She saw you coming and told me so I could visit with you.” I glance over my shoulder towards the kitchen. Sally should’ve brought the cookies up front by now.

  “Humph—I doubt her reasons are so altruistic.”

  “What do you mean?” Did Mrs. Roberts not like Sally?

  They have both lived in town for as long as I can remember and are in the same generation, but they don’t socialize together as far as I know.

  She stirs her tea and then raises her chin. “You recall I told you about my late husband’s penchant for charming other women?”

  I nod once and freeze in place. Sally?

  Her gaze meets mine and she nods. “Just so.”

  My mouth grows slack. Sally?

  I clamp my lips together and gaze over my shoulder to the kitchen. Holy crap!

  Had Sally been avoiding her since she started working here? How had I never noticed? Actually, Mrs. Roberts usually came in during the afternoons when Olivia worked. Intentionally?

  I slide onto the chair across from her. She takes a bite of each confection, sips her tea, and looks up.

  “They are all wonderful. I’ll take two of each, please. Also, would you mind wrapping the rest of these up for me? I can’t finish them and I would like to save them for later.”

  “Of course.” I carry them over to the counter and box them up.

  It doesn’t look like she’s going to elaborate.

  What am I going to say to Sally? Should I even say anything? If she wanted to talk about it, she would have mentioned something.

  Although, I can’t imagine how that conversation will go. It’s not like she is likely to say she didn’t want to wait on Mrs. Roberts because she had an affair with Mr. Roberts.

  I package the rest of her order and put both boxes in a bag.

  Mrs. Roberts uses her cane to rise from the chair and walk over to the register.

  Do I know any of the other women her husband had affairs with? Images of all the women around her age flash through my mind.

  “The ladies will love your sweets, thank you.” She hands me her money.

  I smile and finish ringing up the sale.

  “Enjoy, Mrs. Roberts. Have a good game.” I can’t think of anything else to say. I don’t know the first thing about bridge and my brain is still stuck on the multitude of possibilities and ramifications of who Mr. Roberts was fooling around with.

  The bell over the door announces her departure.

  I huff out a breath and turn facing the kitchen. I’m going to follow Sally’s lead. If she doesn’t say anything, then neither will I.

  Sally is drying her hands at the sink. I glance at the cookies all still sitting on the rack.

  “The cookies were still a little warm, so I cleaned the counters instead.”

  I had checked them before she came into the kitchen to announce Mrs. Roberts’ impending arrival. They weren’t warm.

  “Okay.”

  “They might be cool now. I’ll bring them out now, if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll bring him out in a little bit. You go ahead.”

  She nods and walks out of the kitchen with her head down.

  Had she heard Mrs. Roberts tell me?

  If she had stood by the archway and listened, she could have heard what was said.

  The counter is clean and there are dishes drying in the rack. She might have been cleaning the entire time and heard nothing.

  I shrug and walk over to lean on the counter. I have no desire to broach the topic with her anyway. It’s really none of my business.

  There’s a knock on the back door. Mitch opens it and walks inside. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “I wanted to tell you I’ll be out of town for a few days. I’ve got a few things to tie up back in C
alifornia.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m going to stop and see my folks once I’m done, but no longer than a week.”

  A week?

  No Mitch for an entire week?

  I’ve gotten used to seeing him every day. Well, almost every day.

  I guess that means no drives or accomplishing anything else on our list.

  “You must miss them, being so far away.”

  “Yeah, I always try to make sure I see them at least once every couple of months. Sometimes it’s hard if I’m on location but they’ve visited me a few times when I couldn’t get away.”

  It must be nice to have a close relationship with your family, to want to spend time with them and not feel like a perpetual disappointment to them.

  But then, how could any parent not be proud of Mitch?

  “What are your plans for the week?”

  “Nothing special.”

  Same as any other week, I’ll be here at the bakery.

  “When I get back, we’ll have to plan to tackle one of the things on our list.”

  I smile.

  “I looked it up, there’s a train if driving up Mt. Washington scares you too much.”

  “The Cog. I’m not sure that would be any less scary, have you seen the track it climbs on? It’s steep.”

  Mitch chuckles, leans against the counter next to the sink and folds his arms across his chest.

  “We could try both and see which is worse. An experiment.”

  “You’re going to enjoy torturing me, aren’t you?”

  “If you’re really too scared, you don’t have to do it. We can do something else.”

  “No, I want to.”

  “You don’t look very convincing.”

  I stand straighter and lift my chin. “Better?”

  “Okay, if you’re sure, we’ll plan it when I get back.”

  Let’s hope my courage lasts that long.

  “Be good while I’m gone. No running off with Blake.”

  Blake? Oh, Bobby.

  Mitch heads for the door.

  “I make no promises. Bring me back a souvenir.”

  He looks over his shoulder. “Promise and I’ll bring you back anything you want.”

  Anything?

  Smiling, I cross my arms around my waist. “Okay.”

  “Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  He opens the door. “You going to tell me what you want?”

  “Surprise me.”

  Mitch winks and walks out the door.

  “Be safe.” I call out before the door closes.

  “Who was that?”

  Olivia stands in the archway smiling at me.

  Was it time for her shift already? A glance at the clock confirms it is.

  “Hi Olivia.”

  She is still staring at the door.

  “It was the new tenant upstairs.”

  Sally poked her head in the kitchen. “I’m heading out now.”

  “Thanks Sally, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Are you still coming over tonight after work? I’m planning on throwing shish kebabs on the grill. The boys insisted I buy a watermelon at the grocery store so outside dining is a must for the sticky faces and fingers.”

  No more hiding.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Ignore the mess.”

  Olivia picks up discarded backpacks and jackets when we walk in the door of her blue cape. She hangs them up on pegs next to the door and calls out, “I’m home.”

  Two blond dynamos race down the stairs and collide with her, giving her hugs before dashing back in the direction they came.

  A petite woman with short blonde hair streaked with gray rises from a couch in the living area on the right and tucks a paperback book into a tote sized purse.

  “Hi Mom. How were they today?”

  “They were fine.” She waves a hand and then smiles at me while slipping the shoulder straps of her purse over her shoulder. “Hello.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Franny this is my mother, Laura.”

  Laura shakes my hand and pats the top. “I’ve been in your bakery a few times. You make so many tempting treats I have to stop myself from stopping in too often.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’ve got to get dinner ready for your father so I will say hello and goodbye.”

  “Timmy. Tommy. Come say goodbye to your grandmother.”

  The boys rush down the stairs once again and wrap their arms around Laura’s waist, almost knocking her over.

  “Bye Grandma,” they chorus.

  She kisses them each on top of their heads.

  “Now also say hello to our guest, Miss Dawson. You remember she owns the bakery I work for?”

  “Hi Miss Dawson.”

  “Hi boys.”

  “Can we go back upstairs now?”

  Olivia rolls her eyes. “Yes, but only for a few more minutes then it’s homework time.”

  Laura leaves and the boys race back upstairs.

  “Why don’t we head to the kitchen?”

  I follow her to the left, an open area split into the kitchen and dining room.

  “Have a seat. I’ll grab the ingredients for dinner.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No, sit. You’ve been working all day and besides I’ve already made the shish kebabs. All I have left to prepare is a salad.”

  I sit down and put the small bag of cookies I brought for the boys on top of the oval oak table along with my purse.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the boys in case it’s a rule or something, but they can call me Franny.” My mother has chastised me over breaking so many proper etiquettes over the years. The dictates jumble in my brain. I don’t understand the reasoning behind half of them.

  Olivia smiles as she pulls things from the fridge. “I try to teach them manners, but if you’re comfortable, they can call you Franny.”

  A lawnmower buzzes from outside and Olivia frowns. “That would be my new neighbor. I swear he mows his lawn almost every day. Who does that?”

  “No idea. I’ve never mowed a lawn in my life.”

  “Never?”

  I shake my head and she laughs. “Feel free to learn by mowing mine anytime.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get the urge.” It’s something I will have to tackle if I find a place of my own with a lawn. The task shouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish. You turn it on and push it back and forth across the lawn.

  Of course, there are sharp blades involved to cut the grass. Visions of bloody feet and missing toes and fingers pop into my head.

  I could hire someone to mow the lawn.

  “He’s single and lives alone. Not what you’d call sociable either. I did the neighborly thing when he moved in and went over to introduce myself, even brought him cookies, and he sort of grunted at me and looked at me like I was an alien or something.”

  “He’s not going to win any conversation awards?” Someone worse than me at talking to people. He might be rude instead of anxious.

  “Definitely not.”

  “When did he move in?”

  “A month ago.”

  She puts down the knife she is cutting the tomatoes with and glances upstairs and then over to me. “I did a search online for him and checked the sex offender list.”

  “Wow, you don’t trust this guy, do you? I never heard of such a list. Did you find anything?”

  “Wait until you’re a parent, you’ll take paranoia to a whole new level. The weird thing is I found nothing, not on the list or by searching his name. No social media accounts, nothing. Do you know how weird that is?”

  “Not really.” I shift in the chair. What would come up if I typed in my name? I’m not on any social media outlets. I have one for the bakery and a website, but nothing personal.

  “Try it some time. There’s always somethin
g, but not with this guy.”

  “Maybe he’s just a private person?”

  “There’s private and then there’s private for a reason, if you know what I mean. Like, witness protection, criminal, a serial killer.”

  I chuckle, but Olivia’s not smiling. She is serious.

  “I know I probably sound a little nuts, but these are the things I worry about now that I’ve got kids.”

  “Understandable, I can only imagine the things you have to worry about as a parent. Speaking as a person who is shy and not all that great at dealing with people, do you think he might have a similar problem?”

  Olivia pushes the salad bowl to the side, leans against the counter with her hip and folds her arms. “Crap, now I feel like a bitch. What if he has a mental disability and here I’ve been thinking the worst?”

  “No, I mean I have no idea, I’ve never met the guy. Don’t feel bad for looking out for your kids.”

  “I should bring him more cookies and try again. Or maybe he doesn’t like cookies. Brownies, I’ll bring him brownies.”

  “Wait a minute, slow down, I’m only saying there could be another explanation. That doesn’t mean you should rush over there, at least not alone. What if he is a criminal or something? I don’t want to be responsible for you ending up chopped into little pieces.”

  Olivia stares at me and then we both burst out laughing.

  “It’s contagious. I’ve got you worrying now too. Little pieces?”

  “Well you did say serial killer.”

  “True.”

  “Seriously, next time you get the urge to visit your neighbor call me. We’ll go together.”

  “Good idea, then you can tell me if I’m crazy or just a bitch.”

  “You’re not a bitch.”

  She grabs plates from a cabinet and sets them on the counter. “We all can be a bitch from time to time.”

  “Very true, some more than others.” A few might just be born that way.

  I might have fantasized occasionally about having the audacity to say whatever I want. Like telling Vanessa what an evil ogre she is.

  Of course, I never act on it.

  Which could very well be why she continues to torment me. Aren’t you supposed to confront bullies to get them to back down?

  Food for thought.

  Olivia tilts her head up to the ceiling. “Boys, homework time!”

  Their feet stomp down the stairs.