Midnight at the Blackbird Cafe

by Heather Webber

  “Ma’am? Is it okay if we stay?”

  I gritted my teeth. “On two conditions.”

  “Name them,” he said.

  “Stop calling me ma’am and stay on that side of the fence. The café will be open from eight until two if you get hungry.”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’—” He coughed. “Thank you kindly.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I headed back to the deck, but stopped first to apologize to the undeserving zucchini for my mean look earlier. It was then that I noticed a dark gray cat with light eyes watching me intently from its seat on a white stone bench in the center of the garden.

  If Zee had had a cat, I thought it a tidbit someone would have mentioned during one of the many, many visits I’d endured in the past couple of days. But it was also possible the neighbors were so caught up in trying to discover who my father was that they didn’t think to mention a pet. I didn’t see a collar as I smacked my lips, making kissing noises. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  The cat stiffened, then bolted, disappearing into a flower bed. I smiled. It was rather refreshing to know there was at least one creature in this town who didn’t want to meet me.

  As I climbed the creaking deck steps, I fought the sudden urge to also hide in the garden, and instead went into the café to face the day head-on.

  2

  Natalie

  If my mother knew where I was going, she’d undoubtedly clutch her signature double strand of pearls, purse her lips, and vociferously question the heavens above as to where she had gone wrong raising her only daughter.

  Seelie Earl Linden had often interrogated the heavens during my twenty-eight years of being on this earth.

  The heavens, to my knowledge, never replied. That only served to vex Mama even more than I did. Quite the feat.

  My grip tightened on the handles of the stroller as I walked down Mountain Laurel Lane, Wicklow’s one and only main street. The wide road was lined on both sides with painted brick shops, offices, houses, and a few restaurants. An oval-shaped median with a high curb ran the length of the street, starting at the church with its jutting white spire at the north end of the block to the stone courthouse at the south.

  Nearly a century ago, Wicklow had been established as a charming artists’ colony that boasted of its eclectic population. Old, young. Rich, poor. Offbeat, average. Country, gentility. All had come together for a shared love of the arts and the magical mountain air. Between the natural landscape with its breathtaking vistas, the unique shops and artisans, and the undercurrent that this town was different, special, Wicklow quickly became a day-trip hot spot for tourists.

  Now, I reflected, Wicklow wasn’t so much as lukewarm.

  As I walked along, I couldn’t help noticing that in the four years I had been gone from my hometown, a dozen more shops and restaurants had been boarded up and those that remained open looked mighty tired from carrying Wicklow’s fiscal burden.

  I knew bone-weary exhaustion when I saw it.

  The housing recession a decade ago had caused the town to fall on hard times with a resounding thud. A lot of the artists and craftsmen had moved along to more lucrative, populated locations like Fairhope and Mobile, abandoning their houses and shops. By the time the economy rebounded, the damage had already been done. Wicklow had struggled ever since. Recently, however, a committee had been formed to try and rejuvenate what was left.

  Revitalization seemed an impossible task, though I saw the committee’s fingerprints on the overflowing flower baskets hanging from lampposts, the new wrought-iron wastebaskets dotting the sidewalk, the patched sidewalk cracks, and the colorful posters touting the annual July 4th celebration. It was going to take a lot more than some pink petunias and trash cans to bring this community back to life, but I had to admire that the committee was trying. Determination was rooted deep in this mountain town.

  Glancing down, I checked on my daughter. Ollie was happy as could be in the stroller, playing with the buckle strap, babbling away. She was an easygoing baby, and I often envied her contentment. She was too young to understand the chaos and heartbreak of my world, and for that I gave thanks.

  Pivoting, I crossed again in front of the Blackbird Café. The café was one of the lucky ones that had survived the economy’s downturn. It was a favorite among locals, not only because of its legendary pies, but because, many had said, Zee put her heart and soul into the restaurant—and shared that with those who ate there. How it would survive without her, I didn’t know, but it, too, was trying.

  I’d walked past the entrance three times already, trying to work up the nerve to go inside. All I wanted was a piece of blackbird pie before it sold out for the day. Yet … I hadn’t been able to bring myself to open the door quite yet. Every time I tried, the image of my mother’s face swam in front of my eyes and I chickened out, walking straight on past.

  It had been a long time since I had set out to antagonize my mother on purpose, and I was trying my best to put those days behind me. To start fresh. To make peace, for Ollie’s sake.

  And maybe a little for my sake, too.

  Mama had frozen me out of her life for a long time now, but during the past week or so, she had started to show signs of thawing. A kind glance. A slight smile. I didn’t want to ruin that progress … but I really, really wanted that pie. If what people said about the pie was true, I needed it—and the answers it might provide—so I could get on with my life.

  “Natalie Linden Walker! Is that you? If this don’t beat all. It’s good to see you, girl! It’s been too long.”

  Oh no. Not Faylene Wiggins. Anyone but Faylene. If there had been a prayer of my mother not learning of this pie escapade for a good while, it just went out the window. “Good morning, Faylene.”

  Faylene, a retired high school art teacher, was a talker. For as long as I had known her, she rambled on fast-forward, speeding through a conversation, barely stopping to breathe, let alone wait for a response. Tall and plump with a sassy pitch-black bob, she had to be in her early sixties, but had more energy than I did at less than half her age.

  “I didn’t know you were back in town, Natalie!” She gave me a quick side hug. “Are y’all headed for the reopening of the café? Have you already met Anna Kate? Does your mama know you’re here? Here at the Blackbird, not here in town. I assume she knows that.” Faylene tittered. “Where are you staying? Back at home? Are you just visiting or planning to stay for a while?”

  I ignored most of the questions, praying Faylene would forget she asked them, as she often did, and said, “We’re set up in my parents’ guest house for the foreseeable future.” Lord help them all.

  The little house, as it had been nicknamed, was a two-bedroom, one-bath, seven-hundred-square-foot cottage that might be entirely too close to my mother for my comfort, being that it was in her backyard. It had free rent, however, and was the perfect place to try to pick up the pieces of my life.

  “Doc and Seelie must love having you home! Oh! And this one, too! Is this here Olivia Leigh?” Faylene’s arthritic knees popped as she bent down in front of the stroller. “Why, aren’t you a beauty! Look just like your mama, yes you do. How old is she now?”

  Ollie glanced up at me with a bewildered expression in her big brown eyes. Faylene had that effect on people. Even toddlers. I smoothed one of Ollie’s wayward curls and said, “She’s a few months shy of two, and she mostly goes by the nickname Ollie.”

  “Ollie? Well, if that isn’t the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long while. When did you two get back to town? You were living down in Montgomery, right? Must not have been long, since I haven’t seen you at church or around town. How long had you been gone, Natalie? Four years now? Five? Your mama and daddy must be thrilled you’re home. I’m surprised they’re not singing from the rooftops.”

  The older woman quieted, smiled, and cocked her head. I realized she was actually waiting for an answer to one of those questions. I chose the easiest.

  “I’ve been
back a few weeks now.” I had begrudgingly driven into town three weeks ago that very day, dragging my muffler and pride up Interstate 59. Both were beyond repair at this point.

  “What’s your mama think of Anna Kate?” Faylene wiggled her dark eyebrows.

  “Who’s Anna Kate?”

  Faylene’s jaw dropped open, then snapped closed. “Anna Kate Callow? You haven’t heard…?”

  I was sure I’d met Eden Callow at some point, but I didn’t remember her. I’d been only three years old when Eden left Wicklow. Her name, however, had been brought up often enough while I was growing up—as it was being cursed to the rafters. I knew Zee, but in passing and reputation only.

  The Callows—and the café—were off-limits to any and all Lindens.

  Which was why my trip here to the Blackbird Café was A Very Big Deal.

  “Heard what?”

  Faylene glanced between the café and me, and I could practically see a war being waged behind the woman’s blue eyes. Redness climbed her throat, making her skin splotchy.

  I glanced at the café. I’d heard my parents whispering about a long-lost family member of Zee’s reopening the restaurant, but I hadn’t thought too much of it. Honestly, I hadn’t cared. All I wanted was blackbird pie. I hadn’t dared go inside to order a piece while Zee had been alive—that would have been an unforgivable sin in my mother’s eyes, but now?

  Just a minor sin.

  Or so I hoped, for the sake of that tenuous peace.

  I also hoped there was pie left by the time I screwed up some courage to order a piece. I hadn’t expected a crowd for the reopening. Locals were jammed inside, elbow to elbow, and there was a large gathering of people I didn’t recognize on the side lawn. With each of my passes in front of the restaurant, more and more people had arrived with cameras and lawn chairs.

  Faylene pressed a hand to her flushed neck. “It’s just, ah … I think that she’s … Well, the whole town thinks that she’s your…” She coughed, then wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably best you meet Anna Kate. See her for yourself.”

  “All right,” I said noncommittally. If I was going to eat a piece of the forbidden blackbird pie, I might as well meet a Callow while I was at it. Get all my transgressions out of the way in one fell swoop.

  I simply needed to go inside and get it over with. Repercussions be damned.

  After a querulous conversation with the heavens, my mother would get over it.

  Eventually.

  Maybe.

  Though Mama’s deep freeze would likely return in full glacial force.

  I held in a sigh at the mere thought of it. Seelie Earl Linden’s preferred method of punishment was stone-cold silence. Truth be told, the frostiness was more effective than swatting me on the backside ever would have been. I’d like to say I had become immune to my mother’s usage of the silent treatment over the years, but that would be a lie, and I didn’t like liars.

  If only I’d known I married one.

  Ignoring the sudden ache in my chest, I picked an invisible piece of lint off the wide strap of my sundress.

  “Good, good.” Then, as if reading my mind, Faylene said, “I was right sorry to hear about your Matthew. Such a tragedy.” Large hoop earrings swayed as she shook her head. “Such a tragedy. So young.” She tsked. “How have you been coping since he’s been gone? What’s it been now? A year since the accident? Eighteen months? Thereabouts?”

  This was precisely why I’d been in hiding the past three weeks. I didn’t want to talk about Matthew.

  Or the tragedy of it all.

  Or the accident.

  If it even had been an accident.

  But this was Wicklow. People were duty bound to offer condolences and speak their minds. They wanted answers about what had happened. Answers I didn’t have.

  Yet.

  Faylene rocked in her wedge sandals and tipped her head again. She was waiting for a response.

  I flexed my fingers, forcing myself to relax my iron grip on the stroller. Still, my teeth clenched and my jaw ached as I said, “It’s been one year, seven months, three days, and two hours. Thereabouts.”

  Faylene’s eyes widened. “Well … bless your heart.”

  Throwing an arm around me, Faylene dragged me close for a tight hug, squishing me against large breasts. I was suddenly enveloped by a lemon verbena scent and kindness.

  Faylene patted my head. “You poor thing. I’ve been in your shoes. My Cyrus has been gone for a good many years now. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, honey, just holler. If it’s one thing I’ve got, it’s good, strong shoulders.”

  Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. I’d sworn off crying the day my house had been foreclosed on, almost a year and a half ago. It was just … this woman had offered me more compassion and solace in five minutes than my own mother had in nineteen months. All Mama had given me was a floral arrangement on the day of Matt’s funeral.

  “Thank you, Faylene. I appreciate that.” I did my best to extricate myself without fully losing my composure—something I’d worked hard on maintaining since Matt died.

  “Sure thing, honey. Sure thing. If you ever need anything, you let me know. I’m happy to help.” She bent down to Ollie’s level. “I’d love to have this adorable little bit play with Lindy-Lou—that’s my grandbaby. She turned two last month. You remember my daughter Marcy?”

  “Of course I remember Marcy.” It was a small town. Everyone knew everyone. And most of their business as well. Like how I knew Faylene had gone into a deep depression when Marcy decided to go to college in California, far away from her mother.

  That Marcy left was no surprise whatsoever. If anyone needed a break from Faylene, it was her only daughter. However, most were shocked to their souls that Marcy had actually come home after she graduated college.

  I wasn’t.

  It seemed to me that all Wicklow girls tended to return to their roots—and their mothers—at some point or another. It simply took some more time than others.

  “Lindy-Lou is Marcy’s little one. I keep her a couple days a week, and one more ain’t nothing, if you’re needing some time to yourself, Natalie. I’m the best babysitter around, you can ask anyone.”

  Ollie stared at Faylene, wide-eyed and completely captivated. I suspected I looked the same. Faylene was a good reminder of why I moved back here. I wanted Ollie to have this kind of supportive community, and if that came with prying questions, so be it. It was worth the pain. “I can’t thank you enough for the generous offer, Faylene, but right now I don’t get out much.”

  “You’ll get out more and more, I’m sure of it. There’s a lot of good you could do around here. Many of our committees are floundering—it isn’t any wonder why the town is too. We need some young blood to spice things up. The whole town could use an influx of youth. Doc mentioned once that you were on all kinds of committees and organizations down in Montgomery.”

  I had been. Everything from the historical society and the Daughters of the Confederacy to the Junior League and church ministries. I’d dropped a lot of it when I finally got pregnant—something that had taken a good four and a half years of trying—and I wished now that I hadn’t cut myself off so completely. Hindsight was always bittersweet.

  “You just holler when you need me,” Faylene said. “I’ll be here. Now, if that isn’t the most darling headband Ollie is wearing. I need one of those for Lindy-Lou. She’s cute as a button, but nearly as bald as old Mr. Lazenby.”

  I had just finished Ollie’s headband last night. It was embellished with a coral peony made of satin and chiffon petals. Delicate yet fanciful. “I’d be happy to make one for Lindy-Lou.”

  Faylene’s eyes flew open wide. “You made that headband? Of course you did. You surely inherited Seelie’s knack for sewing. That woman is magic with a needle. Her quilts are to die for. I’d love for you to make Lindy-Lou a headband. No, two headbands. Three. Yes, three. Different colors, of course. How much are they?”

  “
I couldn’t charge you … they’ll be a gift.” It’s the least I could do after that hug.

  “Nonsense! I insist.” She narrowed her gaze, studying my face for a good, long moment. “How about this? You throw in the first one as a freebie, and I’ll pay for the other two.”

  I wondered what Faylene had seen during her intense examination. The tattered shreds of my pride? The laughable amount in my bank account? Whatever it was, I was happy for the compromise. “That’s a deal.”

  “Excellent.” She steepled her fingers under a big smile. “I can’t wait to see them on Lindy!”

  “I can have them to you in a couple of—”

  “Dog!” Ollie exclaimed. She leaned so far forward in her stroller that she almost toppled straight out onto the sidewalk. “Dog!”

  I turned and saw a tall man walking toward us, a fancy camera with a long lens hung around his neck. At his heels was a beautiful brindle-and-white dog, some sort of Sheltie mix.

  Faylene clapped her hands. “Oh! Lookie here. Cam Kolbaugh, as I live and breathe. You are a sight for these eyes! I haven’t seen you since what? Christmas? Give me some sugar!”

  “You saw me last week at the movie on the courthouse lawn.” He kissed both her cheeks. “And you know it.”

  “Oh! That’s right, I did see you there. My mistake.” She elbowed me while wiggling her eyebrows. “Gotta get in what kicks I can, you know what I mean? Cam is such a looker, I just can’t help myself.”

  “Faylene, come on now,” he said. “You’re going to make me blush.”

  “Not that we’d be able to see it,” she returned. “All that handsomeness hiding under those whiskers. It’s a shame. A damn shame. When are you going to shave that beard?”

  I smiled at the sheer displeasure in Faylene’s voice. I kind of liked the man’s beard, not that I’d ever say so.

  Ollie saved him from answering when she squirmed excitedly and shouted, “Dog!”

  The man crouched and spoke directly to Ollie. “His name is River. Do want to pet him?”