Cup of Joe

by Teri Wilson

  “Here, have a taste.” Peggy waved a piece of what looked like banana bread under Goldie’s nose.

  Goldie wanted to appease the older woman, so she took a bite and swallowed. It felt like a lump of sand going down her throat.

  “Maybe I’ll bring some of this food over to Care Group this week,” she managed to choke out.

  At the mention of Care Group, a strange look washed over Peggy’s features. Then, as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Well, dear. We old folks certainly don’t expect you to keep coming to Care Group. You were there to help your Grandpa…to make sure he got there OK.”

  “I know. But I’ve really enjoyed worshipping with all of you.” It was the truth. Goldie felt right at home at the weekly Bible study group Peggy held in her living room and referred to affectionately as Care Group. Besides, wherever would she find a church service as convenient as Care Group? All she had to do was walk right next door. Even in her current pathetic state, Goldie thought she could manage to pry herself off the sofa and trudge the 30 feet to Peggy’s front door. “So maybe I’ll just pack up some of the leftovers and bring them with me on Thursday.”

  Peggy opened her mouth to respond, but before any words could emerge, Goldie’s friend Eve bounced into the conversation. Eve had a tendency to do that.

  Bounce, that is.

  Usually Goldie found her bubbly personality sweet and endearing, but today it only made her tired. Weariness settled over her as Eve squeezed Peggy’s shoulders and gave her smacking air kisses beside both cheeks.

  “Bonjour! Have you ever seen such a spread of food in all your life? People really turned out for the big guy, huh?” She flashed Goldie a wink. Her grandfather and Eve had always shared a fun relationship, with plenty of teasing back and forth. She’d started calling him “big guy” back when she and Goldie were in middle school.

  “Yes, this is becoming quite the shindig.” Eve’s emerald eyes sparkled beneath her long, sweeping lashes as she fiddled with the classic string of pearls around her neck. Her gaze swept the room with methodical precision.

  “You can stop looking around, Eve. Most of the people here are at least 30 years older than you are. I don’t think you’re going to bump into any eligible bachelors.” Peggy smirked and bit into something covered with melted cheese.

  “Please! Like I would try to look for the love of my life at the big guy’s funeral.” She rolled her eyes and feigned innocence.

  “Well, technically, the funeral is over,” Peggy said in voice tinged with a teasing lilt. “So, it wouldn’t be entirely inappropriate to meet the love of your life now. You just never know. I hear George over there is looking for someone.”

  She pointed to George Brown who was bending over the punch bowl at the small, round table in the breakfast nook. George was a member of Care Group. Like Eve, he loved dancing, pizza and long walks on the beach. Unlike Eve, he was seventy-five years old.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Eve chided. “I’m getting desperate.”

  This was the moment in the conversation when Goldie would normally remind her that she was sure to find someone. After all, Eve was sweet-natured and beautiful. And, as the French teacher at Turtle Beach High School, she possessed a certain stylish sophistication that most guys found irresistible. Far from desperate, Eve had certainly had more than her fair share of dates. She wasn’t looking for dates any more, though. She wanted to settle down with just the right man. But Goldie suddenly could barely keep her eyes open, much less remind her friend that Mr. Right was out there somewhere for her, waiting for God’s perfect timing.

  “I think I’m going to go lie down for a minute,” she blurted out. Peggy and Eve, whose conversation had progressed from man-hunting to how navy was the new black, turned their heads in unison and looked at her with concern.

  “Are you OK, mon ami?” Eve furrowed her brows.

  “Yes, I just want to rest for a bit. I…I haven’t gotten much sleep lately.” Unless you count lying on the sofa in my pajamas and staring at the television as sleep.

  “We’ll be right here if you need us, dear.” Peggy gave Goldie’s hand a comforting squeeze as she walked away toward her bedroom.

  It was all she could do to make it to the bed without her legs collapsing beneath her. She didn’t even pause to close the door to her room. She simply kicked off her ballet flats and curled up in a ball on top of her bedspread. Instinctively, she reached for the afghan folded in a neat rectangle at the foot of the bed—the one her grandmother had crocheted even before Goldie was born—and spread it over the folds of her black dress. The worn yarn was soft and comforting, like an old teddy bear. As Goldie fingered the intricate loops and stitches, her gaze swept the old rocking chair in the corner and the antique dresser lined up against the rose-colored wall. Her room had looked exactly the same for almost as long as she could remember. All at once, she realized that now her grandfather was gone. Everyone would probably expect her to move into his bedroom. On the surface, it made sense. His bedroom, the master, was far more spacious than her tiny pink room. But the very thought of leaving the space where she’d lived since she was nine years old was too much to bear. Not to mention the unimaginable task of cleaning out her grandfather’s things.

  Tears blurred her vision and threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. She sniffed and willed herself not to cry. Not now. Not here.

  Friends, neighbors and acquaintances milled about the surrounding rooms. Nothing but thin walls separated her from nearly everyone she knew. Now was not the time for a breakdown.

  “Goldie? Are you awake?” Eve’s whisper and the soft rap of knuckles on the open bedroom door helped keep the tears at bay.

  Goldie sat up, the crocheted blanket still wrapped snugly around her. “Yes. Come on in.”

  Eve sat on the very edge of the bed, a strange smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

  Goldie shifted on the mattress to make more room for her friend. The thought crossed her mind that Eve had spent many a night in this room herself throughout the years. They’d been close friends since elementary school, often having sleepovers at one another’s homes. More often than not, they ended up here. At her grandfather’s home. Her Grandpa was always there to offer them a platter full of hot buttered raisin toast and his legendary root beer floats. “What is it? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Oh my gosh…you’re not really going on a date with George Brown, are you?”

  “No. I’m not. Not yet, anyway.” She looked down and examined an invisible chip in her perfect French manicure. “But you certainly seem to have something up your sleeve.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the gentleman caller waiting for you on the front porch.” She peeked at Goldie from behind her thick lashes and paused for dramatic effect. “He says his name is Joe Montgomery. As in Joe’s Coffee Shop.”

  Joe.

  Goldie gulped. Her thoughts immediately turned to this morning and the dollop of whipped cream. Her nose tingled as if her skin itself remembered the sensation of his touch. She scrubbed at her nose with the side of her pointer finger. “Joe’s here?”

  “He sure is. And he comes bearing gifts.” Eve smiled that mysterious little smile once more.

  Coffee. It had to be. The man seemed to possess an unending flow of the stuff. “Why is he outside? Didn’t you invite him in?”

  “Yes, but he wants to talk to you in private. What is going on? You haven’t mentioned this guy to me at all.” Eve crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, as if waiting for an answer.

  Well, she’ll just have to wait a little longer.

  Goldie couldn’t leave Joe out there on the porch. Certainly not after she’d invited him to the reception. “I’ll explain it later, although there’s really nothing to tell. I’m not hiding anything from you. He’s a friend of Grandpa’s. I barely know him.”

  “That’s not what it looks like to me. He brought you a chien, for goodness’ sake.” Now Eve was grinn
ing from ear to ear, which irritated Goldie to no end. She knew Goldie hated it when she lapsed into French.

  Goldie threw the afghan at her in a wad and huffed off the bed. “I’m sure a chien is nothing more than a casserole. He’s simply being polite, like everyone else.”

  Eve didn’t respond.

  Verbally, that is.

  The twinkle in her eyes spoke volumes.

  For reasons beyond Goldie’s comprehension, she felt the need to defend herself. Honestly, what was Eve thinking? Her Grandfather had died only four days ago. “And just so you know, I have less than zero interest in romance right now. No interest at all. None. Whatsoever.”

  But even as she spoke the words, the events of the morning played out in her mind like a slide show—the swirl of caramel sauce in the delicate shape of the letter G, the swipe of Java’s pink tongue against her cheek, Joe’s warm cocoa eyes. And, for the grand finale, the tip of Joe’s finger grazing her nose. Her hands shook as she reached for her shoes. As slide shows went, it was a pretty good one.

  But really. The man was only being nice. Everyone was. She was the object of the entire neighborhood’s pity. She had her body’s weight worth of casseroles in the next room to prove it. In her heart, she knew it wasn’t pity in the strictest sense of the word. More like good, Christian charity. Believers caring for her in her time of need. Of course, she wasn’t sure if Joe even believed in God. But she suspected his intentions were along the lines of those of her friends and the rest of Turtle Beach.

  “There’s absolutely nothing going on between me and Coffee Guy.” Goldie ignored Eve’s raised eyebrows. “I mean, Joe. Nothing at all.”

  As if to emphasize her point, to put a big black exclamation mark at the end of it, she slid her feet into her ratty, pink fuzzy slippers instead of her ballet flats.

  There. She wiggled her toes inside the fluffy shoes. Like anyone could accuse me of trying to look alluring now.

  Eve grimaced at the slippers and Goldie knew she’d effectively made her point. Goldie strode out of the bedroom, Eve hot on her pink fuzzy heels. When she reached the front door, she found Peggy peering through the peep hole.

  “Excuse me?” Goldie tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped a clear foot backward.

  “Oh. My goodness.” Peggy cheeks glowed crimson. Her curly bob looked even whiter than usual next to her flushed face. “I was just…um…”

  “Never mind, I’m well aware of what you were doing.” Goldie motioned towards the door. “Do you mind?”

  Eve looped her arm through Peggy’s and they wandered off toward the dining room. Goldie wasn’t fooled. She knew the minute she stepped out on the porch they would pounce on the peephole like two ducks on a June bug.

  She blew out a sigh and caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. Curly blonde hair mashed flat on one side, her black dress crumpled from her all-too-brief nap, she looked like a mess. Joe would have to be insane to have any romantic interest in her. She was a walking disaster area. The idea was laughable at best.

  She twisted the doorknob and stepped outside.

  “Hi Goldie.” He stood in his usual spot on the front steps, his hair rumpled in an endearing sort of way, with a small orange and white dog nestled in his arms. A different dog than the furry Husky with one blue eye and one brown one. The dog he called Java. Goldie thought how strange it was that this man, who she scarcely knew, now had a regular spot on her porch…in her life.

  “Hi.” She cleared her throat and instinctively touched the tip of her nose. When she realized what she was doing, she clasped both her hands behind her back.

  “Are you doing OK? I mean, with the funeral and all?” Concern colored his features as his voice trailed off. His gaze swept downward and lingered on her faded pink shoes. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-grin.

  Is he smiling? At my feet?

  “Oh, you know.” She waved her hand toward the house and its closed door. “It’s a little overwhelming. But I’m glad you came. You were always such a good friend to Grandpa. He would have wanted you to be here.”

  Joe nodded and the half-grin vanished for a moment. He looked almost disappointed until Goldie reached over and scratched the little dog on the chin. It licked Goldie’s fingertips and wiggled to escape Joe’s grasp.

  “Can I hold it?” Goldie asked, reaching her arms toward the dog. It had a short muzzle and long, silky ears. Goldie thought she recognized it as some sort of spaniel.

  “Sure.” He lifted the pup and helped settle it in the crook of Goldie’s elbow.

  She nestled the pup against her chest and dipped her chin to nuzzle its silky head. The feather-soft fur felt oddly comforting against Goldie’s skin. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  Joe beamed at her. “She’s a little girl.”

  “I thought she might be a girl. She’s so tiny and cute. Very feminine.” The dog’s wispy tail wagged against the inside of her arm. It tickled and a giggle escaped from Goldie’s lips. For a moment, she nearly forgot about the mourners gathered in her living room. “How many dogs do you have, Joe?”

  “Just one.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. His expression turned almost sheepish and words like adorable and dreamy floated through Goldie’s thoughts. She blinked several long blinks.

  Convinced she was getting her impression of the sweet dog confused with her thoughts of Joe, she asked the obvious question. “Then who does this one belong to?”

  He flashed that full-on, thousand-watt smile and took a step closer. Goldie was surprised to find he smelled vaguely of toothpaste. She would have guessed coffee. Not that she’d given it any thought up until this point. Because she hadn’t. Right?

  “She belongs to you,” he breathed out in a minty whisper.

  Goldie tried to respond, but found herself frozen in time, unable to move or speak. A surprising thrill ran up and down her spine, and then she realized it all had to be a big misunderstanding. Joe must have seen this dog wandering around the neighborhood and thought it was hers for some reason. Although, surely her Grandpa would have mentioned to him if they’d had a dog. And Joe had been in their home plenty of times in those last months. There had never been a dog in sight. “Oh no. I don’t have a dog.”

  She held the little spaniel out toward him. The dog’s legs spun in the air as if she were trying to keep afloat.

  Joe didn’t reach for the pup. He just shrugged, winked and shoved his hands in the pockets of his khaki dress pants. “You do now.”

  The shiver ran up Goldie’s spine again, causing her to feel more tingly, more alive, than she had in weeks. Acting on instinct, she hugged the spaniel close to her chest again. “What? You bought me a dog?”

  Joe shook his head. “No, I didn’t buy her. She’s from the shelter. I host a monthly pet adoption at the coffee shop.”

  Goldie nodded, as if anything he said made sense. What was happening? How did the shelter and its monthly pet adoption have anything to do with her? People just didn’t go around giving dogs as gifts. Casseroles, yes. Dogs, no. Definitely not.

  “Look, I know it may not seem appropriate, and if you don’t want her I understand. I can take her back.” Joe ran his fingertips over the crown of the little pup’s head. She batted long doggy lashes and nudged against his hand for more petting.

  She does seem like a sweetheart.

  Goldie squeezed the little orange and white dog and held her close enough so that she could feel the thump of a doggie heart beating against her own. It was the closest she’d been to another beating heart in a very long time. “Well, I’d hate to turn her away if she needs a home.”

  Joe clasped his hands in front of his chest and closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. It looked almost as though he were praying. “OK. That’s great. Really, really great.”

  The dog melted into the crook of Goldie’s arm, a warm bundle of soft fur. Goldie thought perhaps she would let the pup sleep with her in the pink room tonight. Then she realized that for the first time
since her grandfather died, she would no longer be alone in the house where she grew up. Before she could stop it, a lone tear of gratitude fell from her lashes.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  Joe nodded and his gaze glowed with understanding. Not pity, or even sympathy. The expression his coffee eyes bore was one of shared grief. “My pleasure.”

  Goldie sniffed and shifted from one foot to the other. She really needed to hold it together. But she had to ask him one last question before the two of them went inside and she lost him in the whirlwind of all the other guests. “Why?”