“There was this one time with my Road King Classic.” He placed a square, white napkin on the table as visual aid. Gesturing to it, he explained its superiority to another white napkin, representing “the other guy’s bike.” Lila watched as the two white squares battled it out on the table, Tom supplying the roars and whines of the revving engines. As with the other four napkin fights dramatized so far that evening, it reached its inevitable conclusion. Tom’s napkin reached the edge of the table first while the other square met an undignified end, crumpled in Tom’s fist. Lila glanced over at the door and used all of her mental powers to summon Annie and Pete; they had to arrive soon.
Tom rose to get another beer and Lila realized he was wearing a Harley t-shirt. And, she had to admit, it hugged his biceps nicely. Covered with tattoos—yes, that was a Harley Davidson logo, Lila noted—they were great biceps. She should know. She’d made out with him last weekend in his truck in Ted’s parking lot. Because that’s where the classy girls liked to get busy.
She couldn’t quite explain how it had all gone down. There hadn’t been a logical progression to the evening. In retrospect, she attributed it to the general restlessness and smidge of boredom that had crept into her safe and easy Redwood Cove life. Officially done with her Recovery Phase, for that was how she thought of the first half of the year, she now found herself in the middle of August tanned, rested and ready. With nothing in particular to do.
Nothing was wrong, exactly. Everything in her life at the moment was just…fine. Her friends were fine. Her Gram was fine. Her job was fine. Though Marion had yet to give the green light to the bookstore café plans, it looked as if—albeit with the speed of a snail—she was progressing toward a yes. And so she guessed she’d taken matters into her own hands and found herself some action.
Not that it had been much action, she recalled, watching as Tom took a couple of coins out of his pocket and placed them on a new set of the napkins for further explication. Though he didn’t look like the type of guy who had trouble with the ladies—his Gold’s Gym physique had a certain magnetic pull—back behind the steamed-up windows of his truck Tom had had a devil of a time with Lila’s bra. Fumbling with, twisting around and finally angrily cursing at the undergarment, Tom had given Lila enough of a break in the romance to think the death-knell words: ‘Wait, what am I doing?’ Excusing herself from the cab of the truck, she’d made a quick getaway in her Honda Civic, knowing she was going to have a phone call from Annie bright and early next morning.
“He likes you,” Annie had declared to Lila.
“Yeah, I made out with him in his truck,” Lila said. “What’s not to like? He didn’t even have to take me out of the parking lot.” Annie laughed, told Lila it was good for her, and now Lila found herself on yet another quasi-double date at Ted’s.
Sighing with relief as she saw Annie and Pete finally come walking through the front door, Lila took their entrance as a cue to excuse herself. Pete never let her pay for anything and she wanted to at least buy the first pitcher.
Up at the bar, it wasn’t that crowded yet and she placed her order with ease.
“Hey Lila.” Recognizing Jake’s voice before she turned to greet him, Lila cursed her stomach for doing a slow flip of response. Giving him a quick smile, she checked on the status of her pitcher and wished she felt half as breathless and flushed over Trucker Tom. It would be so easy; they could hang out with Annie and Pete, spend quality time in his truck.
“How’s that knee?” he asked, pointing at her leg.
“Oh. Pfft.” Lila gave a short puff of air signifying the utter insignificance of the incident three weeks ago. In fact, it was the sort of thing they should both forget ever happened.
“No surgery required?”
“Just a knee transplant,” Lila said, “but it’s taken nicely.”
“It’s that cobblestone,” Jake nodded. “I have it on good authority that stuff is really dangerous.” Looking up at him hesitantly, Lila saw no trace of superiority, no smugness, just a smile.
“I was a little…” she paused, returning the smile shyly, “stressed back then. At the holiday party. It made me a little…crazy.” Jake looked mildly surprised at her voluntary choice of words. “Speaking of which,” Lila plowed ahead, channeling her inner Gram and doing what she knew she needed to do. “It was a while ago now so I’m not even sure if you remember. I’ve been wanting to say, but I just haven’t seen you in a while...”
“I’ve been out of town on business,” he offered.
“That night at the bar?” she continued. “I think we were standing over there,” she pointed toward the pool table, knowing she was stalling but seemingly unable to cut to the chase. “We were talking, and, I don’t know, but I think I called you something—”
“Daddy’s little rich boy?” he offered, the insult alarmingly fresh in his memory.
Lila winced and looked down at the bar. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He waved it away. “Seriously. It’s not anywhere near the worst anyone’s said about me.” Lila looked up, relieved and wondering exactly what was the worst someone had said and who that someone was. “I wasn’t on my best behavior that night either,” he continued. “So, sorry about that, too.”
“It’s…” she began, nodding dismissively. “There’s no…’sfine.” Forgoing her eloquence on the topic, Lila fell silent and began playing with a bead of condensation sliding down her pitcher of beer. Trying something new, she asked, “So you’ve been out of town?”
“Yeah, my dad and I have been making the rounds. We were in Vegas the last few days.” His tone distinctly lacked the ‘Vegas, baby!’ swagger Lila found typically accompanied mention of the destination. “I know it’s not cool to say,” he continued, “but I hate Vegas.”
“I’ve only been to the airport there,” Lila admitted. Discount flights to Boston always involved stop-overs and Lila had grown familiar with more than a few airports. “Lots of slot machines.”
“When you’re in a casino, there’s no windows, no clocks. They’re designed like mazes so you just get lost.”
“Sounds weird,” Lila agreed, remembering how much her old roommates Venice and Valeria had loved jetting to Vegas. They’d pack only the skimpiest dresses and highest heels, relegate sleeping to cat naps by the pool, and return Sunday afternoon with seriously next-level stories about their exploits. At first Lila had thought about saving up some money and joining them, but the more she’d heard about it all the less she’d actually wanted to go. “What were you doing there?”
“Maintaining our presence. Protecting our market share. Networking.”
“Ah ha.”
“Yup. I’m really outgoing and extroverted so I’m awesome at it.” Lila looked up at him, unsure as to whether he was joking. “I have this effervescent personality,” he continued. “So I’m great at marketing.”
Lila laughed, picturing how many times she’d seen him scowling. Now she knew he was making fun of himself. “Sounds like fun.”
“Goes with the territory, I guess.” Shaking his head, he asked, “What have you been up to?”
“Nothing much,” Lila answered, deciding against ‘making out with guys in the parking lot.’
“Done any trail running lately?”
“Oh yeah, it’s so great to not be trapped on a treadmill in a gym anymore.”
“You’re pretty serious out there.”
Lila glanced down, flushed with embarrassment over how she’d blown by him without much greeting the last time she’d seen him out running. “I get kind-of focused.”
“That trail’s my favorite.”
“Yeah,” Lila brightened. “I’m hoping I can show it to my Gram this week. She’s coming for a visit. She’s 74 but she’s in great shape. She walks her dogs on the beach twice a day, every day.”
“Your Gram? Is that your grandmother?”
“Yup. She’s amazing and so much fun and it’s a really big deal for her to travel this far ou
t. She’s never flown out to California before, so I’m hoping everything goes OK.” Brimming with enthusiasm and a dash of nerves, Lila found herself telling him all about how she couldn’t wait to show Gram the sea lions and Annie’s daughter, Charlotte, and have her as a special guest for storytime.
“You should bring her by the vineyard,” Jake suggested. “We could show her around.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you.” Pleased but surprised and flustered at the invitation, she then became more flustered at being visibly flustered lest he mistakenly think she’d mistaken his invitation as a date or something vastly more than it was, which was surely simply an invitation to see one of the area’s biggest tourist attractions. “Gram said she’d like to visit it.”
It was true, Gram had mentioned her desire to see Endicott Vineyards more than once. Lila had remained noncommittal, fearing a kind-of Elizabeth Bennett visiting Pemberly scenario all gone wrong. In this version, she and her relation would accidently bump into the heir while touring the family home, only this time the guy would actually be an unfriendly creep and would think she’s crazy.
“We’re not open to the public on Mondays, so you two could come by,” he suggested, then adding. “Oh, wait. You have storytime.”
“I could probably work something out,” she replied, even more surprised that he’d remembered her schedule. “Maybe Godfrey could fill in.” Flashing on an image of Godfrey reading Crime and Punishment and telling the children that, no, there was no Santa Claus, she added, “or I could just move storytime to another day.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come by Tuesday instead. It’s never a busy day.”
“OK.” Lila smiled shyly.
“Great, why don’t you come by mid-morning? We can have a look around and have lunch. I’ll show you our secret tasting room.”
“You have a secret room?”
“No,” Jake admitted, “but wouldn’t it be cool if we did?”
A heavy, tattooed arm encircled Lila’s shoulders like a Python. Inserting his other arm directly between Jake and Lila, Trucker Tom grabbed the pitcher off the bar. “Got us a pitcher. That’s my girl.” Like a mouse trapped by a boa in a cage, Lila froze into a tight smile.
Looking to Tom, then back at Lila, then Tom again, Jake gave a brief nod of understanding. Lila wanted to immediately disabuse it, but couldn’t think how without sounding either too rude or too eager.
“Have a good night,” Jake said and made his exit.
* * *
Gram awoke Monday morning at four am; East Coast time was a hard thing to shake. By seven am they’d had breakfast, taken a walk and read the paper—an actual newspaper they picked up at the market at Gram’s request. By nine they were both ready for a nap, but Gram wanted to push through the jet lag so she insisted on coming with Lila to the bookstore instead.
Inside Cover to Cover, Gram and Godfrey hit it off nicely. Lila thought it might be the longest conversation in which she’d ever seen Godfrey engaged. Then again, he didn’t do much talking. When he did speak, it was absolutely clear that they were following parallel lines of thought, the two strands never touching.
“Have you read this one on greenhouse gasses?” Godfrey asked, grave and pale as he held out a book on climate change.
“Oh, you should see the greenhouse Denise keeps,” Gram replied, describing her friend Denise’s hothouse flowers.
When Godfrey suggested another upbeat title on the dangers of genetically modified organisms and started to get animated about the prevalence of corn, Gram agreed that she’d never much taken to either corn dogs or corn nuts, even the ones that were sold in those handy snack packs.
At first, Lila wondered whether she should intervene. Realizing both were enjoying themselves, she simply took her position at the cash register and watched the Gram/Godfrey mashup.
“What a lovely young man,” Gram concluded, eventually making her way back to Lila. Lila just nodded in agreement.
Later that afternoon, after an eventful storytime in which Mr. Meows insisted on asking Gram’s opinion on several topics, and after a nap for Gram, they sat at the edge of town overlooking the surf. The bench they rested on had been dedicated to someone neither of them had ever met. Still, it seemed like a nice way to honor their memory, sitting together admiring the view and enjoying their ice cream cones, double-scooped and bursting out of handmade waffle cones.
“Remember how you used to have to make cones?” Gram asked as she licked around the bottom edges of her lower scoop, Pistachio. “You always had little burns on the sides of your hands.”
Lila nodded remembering. That damn waffle cone iron had left its mark on half the local girls in Hyannis. She still had a couple of small, old, faded scars she supposed she’d carry with her until the end of her days.
“I’m sure that was a fire hazard,” Gram decided, and Lila had agree, though many aspects of her job at The Creamery were obviously not up to code. No breaks allowed during busy times—essentially 11am until closing—would have made the top of her list. “But look at you now, honey. I’m so proud of you.” Gram gave Lila’s leg a pat as she worked on her ice cream.
That had to be one of the nicest aspects of hanging out with Gram, Lila mused as she licked her double scoops of chocolate chip and raspberry. She’d arrived two days ago and barely let an hour go by without expressing her delight over how well Lila was doing. She loved the attic apartment, declaring the kitchen “ready for a cooking show” and the view “fit for a king.” She thought the bookstore was charming—“a slice of heaven. And they even pay you to spend time here!” She even praised Lila’s car—‘neat as a pin and all paid off! How can you beat that?’ She knew her Gram wasn’t the most discerning of critics, but did anyone really need that in a family member?
The late August weather was cooperating nicely, the morning fog lifting around 10am to sunny skies and a light breeze. Gram had on her windbreaker, LL Bean of course, and socks underneath her sensible sandals.
“I can see why it costs an arm and a leg to buy a house out here,” Gram remarked, looking out at the ocean. “Even with those mudslides this winter.” The mudslides in question had, of course, happened down in Southern California, but Lila just nodded in agreement, knowing the concept of one state stretching 850 miles was simply never going to take with her New England Gram.
“Your Grandpa would have loved it here,” Gram remarked, looking out over the rocky coast toward the lighthouse. “It’s a lot like home, Lila.”
“It is, I guess,” Lila agreed, thinking how funny it was she hadn’t overtly realized that when she’d impulsively moved to small, coastal Redwood Cove.
“It’s nice you had your time in the city,” Gram continued. “But I really see you here. And look at you,” she turned and gave Lila’s cheek a light pinch. “You look so healthy.”
“Do you mean fat?” Lila asked with a laugh, feeling like a chunky baby. “I have put on some weight.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Gram agreed, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in her khakis and attending once again to her ice cream. “You were so pinched and pale for years there. I could barely get you to eat a bite when you’d come home.” Lila could recall many a night when Gram had tried to feed her heaping plates of meat lasagna, macaroni casserole or meatloaf as if preparing a bear for hibernation. Last night they’d agreed on lighter fare, making Chicken Marsala, pounded nice and thin the way Gram liked it, with some grilled asparagus from the farmer’s market where Gram had spent a minimum of five minutes chatting with each vendor. They’d fallen into an easy rhythm together in the kitchen born of years of cooking together.
Gram watched Lila as she looked out over the water, smooth and glassy. “You’ve been so serious, Lila.” She tucked an errant curl behind Lila’s ear in a motion she’d been doing for going on three decades. “I remember in high school, your light would be on at all hours of the night while you did your homework. And you were always rushing to your jobs.” She had worked a lot of jobs,
Lila recalled, all involving food. A couple had required uniforms, the worst of which had involved a three-cornered pirate hat. Try wearing that when your high school crush came by with his friends. “And then you headed off to that fancy college.”
Lila had to smile again, thinking how Colgate might as well change its name to That Fancy College as far as her family was concerned.
“And you worked so hard there,” Gram continued, shaking her head. “Two jobs and still making the Dean’s list. Surrounded by all those rich kids. But you never complained.”
At that, Lila had to laugh. “OK, now you’ve gone too far, Gram. I think I minored in complaining.” She and Annie had made a sport of it, saving the choicest interactions with their wealthy, privileged classmates to recount to each other. On a campus where only having one pair of skis or a five-year-old BMW SUV was considered roughing it, Annie and she had kept each other sane and, thankfully, laughing. No, they were not spending Spring Break sailing in the Caribbean on their father’s yacht, nor were they shopping for the latest fashions in Paris with mom, but they were able to remind each other that next-to-nobody in the real world did, either.
“Well,” Gram returned to her praise, unperturbed by Lila’s protest. “I’m just glad I can picture you here now, dear, and I’m very proud of you.” Looking over at Lila once more, she added, “Your mother’s proud of you too, you know.”
Lila exhaled, not wanting to disagree with her Gram, but she knew her mother’s dreams for her had not entailed moving to a small town and working as a clerk in a bookstore. “At least she can stop worrying about me having a baby too young,” Lila said. “I’m 28 now.”
Gram chuckled, “Yes, she drilled that lesson into you, didn’t she?” It had practically been her bedtime story: and then the princess met the handsome prince but they waited to get married and have children until she’d established her career. “Your mother loves you very much, Lila,” Gram continued. “She just has a different way of showing it.”
“I know, Gram,” Lila replied, with honesty. “She’s never been big on emotional displays.” An email, a card, a check to help with her Visa bill—these were her mother’s comfort zones and Lila had grown to appreciate them. During the drama of her teenage years she’d wished they’d been more like the mother and daughter pals on Gilmore Girls, but that had subsided into what was now a comfortable—if distant—relationship.
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