by T. E. Woods
“If you think that was smooth, you oughta see what I do with old men who think they can pick up some girl in a diner just cuz she’s sittin’ by herself. You might not feel a whole lot like clappin’ after that’s over.”
The man’s smile turned into laughter. “I believe you. But trust me, I have no such nefarious plans in mind. I mean no offense.”
“Well I don’t mean none, either. And I sure don’t know what kind of plan that word means, but it don’t sound good. What do you say you sit there and finish your breakfast, I’ll sit here with mine, and we’ll both go about our morning. No harm. No foul.”
“And how is that to occur?”
“What’s that?”
“I can certainly see me finishing my breakfast, but how can you? There’s none in front of you. And from what I heard, none is coming. So it looks like you’ll be unable to keep your end of the very bargain you suggest.”
Miranda’s face contorted in confusion. “People ever tell you you have a weird way of speakin’?”
The man took his time answering her, as though he was actually considering the question and not taking it for the blunt insult she intended.
“You may be right,” he finally admitted. “My wife teases me about never using one word when thirty would do. And then there’s Natalie. She’s my daughter. Just about your age, I would assume. Natalie’s twenty-two. How old are you?”
Miranda considered ignoring him, but it was nice to have someone to talk to after a few days on the road alone.
“Almost twenty-four. Day after tomorrow’s my birthday.”
The man’s face went wide with delight. He clapped his hands. “Happy birthday! Twenty-four years old! Well, you must feel like you have the entire world by the tail. Not unlike my own dear Natalie.” He looked away, searching for the tall waitress with the orange hair. When he caught her eye, he called her over.
“Something else I can get you?” she asked him in a far sweeter tone than she’d given Miranda. “More coffee?”
“I’m fine, my dear. And please relay my compliments to the chef. The recommendation of the hash proved to be just the ticket. Perfect with poached eggs on the side. What I was hoping is that you’d see to my new friend here. It’s her birthday soon and nothing but a splendid breakfast will do to start the festivities.” He turned toward Miranda. “Please. Order what you will. As my guest, of course.”
Miranda shrank back against the vinyl booth. She looked right and left, worried that someone might have heard the stranger offering to buy her breakfast.
“Listen, mister. I’m not like that. I don’t need your help and you’re not gonna have me feelin’ like I owe you somethin’ cuz you bought me a short stack and juice.”
The smile on the man’s face disappeared. “I’ve offended you. I’m so sorry. Please know that is not my intent. I wanted only to kick off your birthday soiree. Forgive me.”
“It’s okay. I know there’s plenty of girls who’d take you up on your offer. I just ain’t one of ’em. Like I said, you do your thing over there, I’ll do mine here.”
“I’m so sorry, miss…Am I allowed to ask the name of the young woman I’ve so mightily affronted?”
He seemed genuinely sorry. Plus, he’d talked about his daughter. What kind of john does that?
“I’m Miranda. Miranda Greer.”
The man wiped his hand on his napkin and reached over the booth to offer it to her. “Nice to meet you, Miranda Greer. Alden York is my name. I live not five miles from here. My wife’s name is Lucille, but we all call her Lucy. And of course, you know we named our only daughter Natalie. Cissy here can tell you I’ve been coming in every morning for more than ten years. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Miranda looked up at the waitress whose name she now knew. Cissy nodded and offered Miranda her first smile since she’d walked in the place. She pointed over her shoulder.
“That’s his joint across the street. MidWest ImEx. My husband works there. So’s my kid when he’s not locked up. You got nothin’ to worry about from Mr. York.”
Miranda squinted through the streaked diner windows. “ImEx. What’s an ImEx?”
“Import-export, my dear. I’m in the business of putting together deals between folks in this country and others. We bring in goods from other countries, that’s importing. And we sell American goods to other countries. That’s the exporting part.”
“Business good?” she asked.
“My bills get paid. My wife and daughter get fed. Speaking of which, how about that breakfast?”
Before Miranda could answer, Cissy grabbed her coffee mug and set it on Alden’s table. “You might as well free up my booth. And if you don’t tell me what you want before I count to three I’m gonna bring you whatever the cook is pushin’ to get rid of. One…”
“I’ll take a ham-and-cheese omelet.” Miranda looked toward Alden. “If that’s okay with you.”
He nodded.
“Hash browns or American fries?” Cissy asked.
“Hash browns.”
“Toast or biscuit?”
“Toast, please. With jelly if you got it.”
“You can get a glass of orange juice for only ninety-nine cents.”
“Orange juice, by all means,” Alden decided. “And how about a side of bacon, too, Cissy? We’ll make our decision on whether or not a cinnamon bun is an appropriate dessert after we’ve finished our breakfasts.”
Cissy walked away with the order. Miranda sheepishly slid out of her booth and into the one next to her.
“I mean it,” she whispered. “I can scream loud and long if you start thinkin’ anything funny.”
Alden slid over to give her leg room. “I have no doubt about that, my dear. No doubt about that at all.”
* * *
—
By the time Cissy was clearing away their breakfast dishes, Miranda had relaxed and each of them learned more about the other. Alden learned Miranda grew up in Montana. She’d left home four years earlier, for reasons she didn’t mention. She told him she made her way making and selling beaded jewelry at local art and music festivals.
“It ain’t much. Ain’t ever gonna get rich or nothin’ like that. But I’m on my own. It’s a good feelin’, bein’ able to care for yourself. Know what I mean?”
Alden assured her he did. He explained how he began his company nearly twenty years earlier. “It was mostly flower bulbs and gardening supplies. I’d sell the American varieties overseas and bring in the European plants for the American market. If you ask me, a tulip is a tulip, but it seems American gardeners are willing to pay dearly for anything they view as exotic or unique. Same’s true for our European friends. A plain yellow tulip bulb that wouldn’t cost a quarter here in the U.S. will sell for ten times that in Paris. It’s allowed me to earn a good living for my family. It also affords me the opportunity to invest in those activities I feel are even more important than simply putting cash in the coffers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Aren’t you corporate fat cats all about the green? Getting that dollar? No matter how you have to screw the little guy?”
His chuckle was warm. “First of all, my company is as far from corporate as one can imagine. I own it outright and am working alongside my crew every day. Secondly, may I say you’re far too young to be so cynical about human motivation. Is that what you’ve been taught, my dear?”
“It’s how it seems. Look around. People gotta get theirs. Everybody’s peckin’ for that kernel of corn in the mud. Sizin’ folks up as to who can help ’em and who can hurt ’em. Take your good buddy Cissy here. She met me this mornin’ and didn’t have two kind words to string together. ’Specially not after learnin’ there was gonna be a two-bit tip waiting for her after I was done sippin’ my coffee. But you step in and next thing you know I’m good for what’s probably go
nna shake out to be a four-, five-dollar breakfast. All of a sudden there’s a buck where my lonely quarter was gonna sit, and she’s all smiles and light. Freshenin’ up my coffee and askin’ what I need like she’s my best friend since birth.”
“Such pessimism regarding your fellow man.”
“Again, Alden, not sure what that word means, but I gather it don’t mean anything good. You wanna convince me I’m wrong in what I see in Cissy?”
He conceded her point. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t believe so, at least. And that’s what I mean about other investment opportunities. I’ve been blessed with work. Good and steady. It frees me up to participate in what really gives me pleasure. And who am I kidding? I’m not going to change the world moving rosebushes and potted ferns from one part of the globe to the other. But, my other franchise…if I can achieve success there…well, then perhaps my time on this planet will have meant something.”
“What’s a franchise? And how is yours gonna change the world?”
She liked how easily his laughter came to him. “A franchise, my dear, is simply an opportunity. A job. Permission to do something.”
“Then for heaven’s sake, Alden, why not just say job? I’m startin’ to see why Lucy and Natalie ride your butt. What’s the sense in talkin’ if folks can’t understand what you’re sayin’?”
“And perhaps you’re bringing about my enlightenment as well. You see? We all have things to learn from one another. You’re teaching me. And it’s my hope my own activities will help teach others.”
“That’s your other gig? Teaching?”
He considered her characterization before replying. “Well said, my dear. My other gig is helping people learn how to be the best version of themselves they can possibly be.”
“How you do that? Volunteer at Big Brothers Big Sisters or somethin’?”
“Are you familiar with that particular organization?”
Miranda shrugged. “My mom had it tough. Not much luck with men. But that didn’t stop her from flyin’ to that particular candle time and again. No matter how many times she got burned. Anyhoo, chasin’ men is a time-consuming hobby. She was never home much. When she was, it was either because she’d just snagged a new man and was reelin’ him in, tryin’ to house-train him, or she’d just lost a man who didn’t take to the notion of bein’ tamed and was lickin’ her wounds. Either way, it didn’t leave much space in her world for me. When I was in fourth, maybe fifth grade, my teacher told my mom I might learn somethin’ having a Big Sister. Mom didn’t want to give that teacher any reason to take a closer look at what was goin’ on in our household, so she tells her sure, sign her up. That’s how I met Betsy. She got assigned to me. We lasted about three months or so. We had some fun. And Betsy did talk to me about what was gonna happen when my period rolled around. I was grateful for that.”
“Yes. One might imagine.”
“But Mom started to get worried when I told her Betsy was studying to be a social worker. Yes, sir. You wanna see white trash move? Put the words social and worker next to one another. Say it out loud and watch ’em run. Mom had me out of that program so fast I wasn’t sure what day it was.”
“But, certainly you could see the value? Betsy was teaching you what she knew and you didn’t. That’s the only way we can grow, Miranda. Every being alive needs to learn. Beyond the structured education offered in the school system or even in books. It is my firm belief we need that one-on-one instruction of someone who has accomplished what it is we would like to accomplish. Beyond theories and conjecture. Down to the nitty-gritty of what it truly takes to make something happen. What works. What doesn’t. Save themselves years of trial and error by learning from the mistakes others have made. Does that make sense?”
“I guess.”
He reached over and tapped the bracelet on Miranda’s wrist. “Is this one of your creations?”
“Yeah. Nice, ain’t it?”
“Indeed, it is. Let’s say I wanted to learn how to make one of those. The question becomes how to go about it. One might imagine there are any number of ways I could acquire such information. I could, for example, dismantle your bracelet and attempt to learn from a sort of backward observation.”
“But you’d still need to have the equipment and beads. You wouldn’t know how to get that by taking my bracelet apart.”
“Exactly! So let’s say I need to acquire the beads. I go to a jewelry store, yes?”
“What? That’s crazy, man. First of all, no jewelry store. Folks gonna buy these ain’t gonna spend more than two bucks on one. More likely one. You ain’t gonna find anything in no jewelry store for that kind of money.”
“A craft store, perhaps, then.”
“No! Alden, think! The more people involved, the more you’re gonna pay. Craft stores will sell you the beads, sure. But they gotta pay for their store and their clerks and their lights. Geez. You’re gonna end up paying twenty times more for the same thing I get at a garage sale. Go buy the stuff people want to get rid of. Pay pennies for it. Take it apart. Shine it up. Make it new again. That’s gonna make you your money.”
Alden leaned back and smiled. “You’re making my point. I wouldn’t learn in any book or lecture what you simply told me here and now. You’re a success at what you do. And you’ve just taught me how to be a success in the same business. That’s where I prefer to spend my efforts. It’s a program called Each One Teach One.”
“So you, what, hang out in diners waitin’ to buy people omelets? Just hopin’ to come across someone who wants to do something bigger with their life?”
“Everybody wants to do something better with their life.” For the first time since she met him a dark cloud shadowed Alden’s face. “At least that’s what I prefer to believe.” His melancholy disappeared as quickly as it came. “Don’t you?”
A sting of tears rose unbidden in her eyes. She blinked them clear.
“Sure. Sure I do.”
“Are you open to someone helping you? Someone teaching you how to do it?”
She thought about the last two nights she’d spent sleeping in the bathroom of the Ann Arbor public library. Hiding in a darkened stall while security guards made their rounds. Waking with her head wedged between a toilet and a tiled wall.
“What might that all mean?”
Alden glanced at his watch. “Come with me, Miranda. There’s someone I want you to meet. Actually, there’s an entire community I think you’ll be glad to know. We know stuff you don’t. We can teach you. You know stuff we don’t. You can teach us.”
“I don’t think so.”
He reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. “Here are all my numbers. Work. Fax. Address. Call whomever you’d like. Give them my contact numbers. Tell them if something awful happens to you I need to be the first place they send the police. You have nothing to be afraid of. I promise you.”
Miranda realized she didn’t have one person in the world to call. No one who might be interested in knowing what she was about to do or with whom she was about to do it.
“Come with me to one meeting. If, at the end, you don’t like what you hear, I promise to bring you right back to this diner. I’ll cross the street and go to work. You can find your garage sales, buy your beads, and restock your inventory in plenty of time for your next festival. You truly have nothing to lose. And you just may have your every dream to gain.”
She read his card. Then, slowly, she tucked it inside her wallet. She nodded.
“Okay. But remember, if there’s any funny business, I know how to kick and I know how to bite.”
“Duly noted.”
“And maybe you could tip Cissy a little extra,” she added. “I always wanted to be a big tipper.”
Chapter 5
The coffee shop was crowded. Even for a Saturday. Sydney wondered if people were
taking a break from early Christmas shopping. She scanned the room and spotted him in the back corner, fingers tapping idly on a small table while he stared out the wide windows. She stomped the snow off her boots and made her way to him.
“This is a nice idea.” She bent to kiss his cheek.
“Thanks.” Clay stood while Sydney settled into the chair across from him. “For coming, I mean. And for the kiss. I needed that.”
“Rough night?”
Sitting, he shook his head. “I’d be exaggerating if I said I got three hours of sleep. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. But you’ve got to be reeling. First your son shows up out of the blue. I mean, it’s great news, but still, unexpected. And then, whammo! Your long-lost…what? Can’t call her your ex-wife. Baby mama sounds a bit cold.”
“Call her what she is: Steel’s mother. And expected or not—which Miranda’s appearance certainly was not—it can never be great news.”
“She’s a looker, I’ll give her that much.”
“Always was.” Clay stood again. “I’ll grab you some coffee. I’m already on my third cup. You want something to go with it?”
Sydney shook her head. Her stomach was nervous enough. She watched as Clay weaved his way through the crowded shop, smiling and nodding at people he knew. No one would ever guess he’d just been delivered a one-two punch that threatened to knock him off his feet. She smiled as he returned to the table, two fresh mugs in hand.
“I hope you’re switching to decaf.” She thanked him for the coffee.
“Roger that.” He sat down and held his mug in both hands.
“So?”
“So, it’s what you might imagine. Steel’s suddenly six years old on Christmas morning and Santa just brought him the one thing he’s always wanted. It breaks my heart to see him basking in her glow. Like the last nineteen years never happened. As if he’s forgotten all those days and nights he could have used a mother and she was…well, she was no place he was, let’s leave it at that.”
