by Judy Baer
“Actually, I wanted to see if you’d had a conversation with Auntie Lou about her fall out of bed.”
“She’s fine. ‘Meaner than ever,’ she says.” I was pleasantly surprised to realize that he was concerned for my elderly friend. Though everyone knows Auntie Lou, she doesn’t have many close friends that call on her. Everyone on Pond Street assumes I am the go-to girl when something concerning Auntie Lou comes up.
She loves music and can get a little carried away with the volume on her little old portable stereo in the store. She plays her LPs as loud as she can—until someone sends me over to tell her to turn it down. Sometimes I catch her in the back of the store, eyes closed, humming, shuffling her feet and communing with Lawrence Welk and his friends. She also likes Elvis, but people seem to get less tired of his voice emanating from the back of the shop. Mostly I’m delegated to talk to her about not feeding the gulls in front of her store or leaving mannequins bare except for elaborate hats, in the store windows.
“You don’t think there’s a danger of something like that happening again?” His forehead creased in genuine concern.
“Oh, I didn’t say that. She’ll probably do it sometime. At least she keeps her cell phone beside her—even in bed.”
The frown went away. “Good. I’d hate to think of her lying there, waiting for help….”
“That’s very sweet of you. Is this your duty as a police officer or as a concerned neighbor?”
“A little of both. I have grandparents, too, you know.” He smiled then, really smiled and I saw how truly handsome Nick is. He doesn’t smile often but when he does…let’s just say, it’s worth the wait.
“Where did your grandparents live when you were a child?” I asked, intrigued.
“On an island in the middle of Lake Michigan. Gramps was a fisherman.”
“And you saw a lot of them?”
“I stayed on the island every summer and worked for my grandfather.”
“So you like the water.”
Nick turned to look out at Lake Zachary, still as a mirror rimmed with a frame of lush trees and lawns dotted with large lake homes. “I do. This is an ideal location for me.”
“Then I’m glad you’re here.” I surprised myself with my enthusiasm over his good fortune. I guess I’m glad he’s here, too.
We carried on a rambling conversation about the lake, the weather, favorite foods: His are prime rib, mashed potatoes and corn. Mine are milk chocolate, dark chocolate and white chocolate. And hobbies: Nick is rebuilding a 1969 Camaro in his garage. My hobbies are the same as my business—animals, animals and more animals.
It was a rather cozy tête-à-tête until Joe walked out the front door of the coffee shop and noticed us. As he walked our way, I could see that he looked troubled.
“Hey, Joe, everything okay?” I patted the seat of the chair next to me and invited him to sit down.
He accepted the offer by dropping heavily into the chair. “Just the usual. Somebody wants vacation time and I don’t have anyone to cover it so that means I’ll be working nights next week. The espresso machine is trying to express itself in ways that make me think I’ll have to have it repaired. Same old, same old.” His gaze darted between Nick and me but he didn’t say any more.
“Nick was just asking about Auntie Lou,” I offered. “About her health,” I added vaguely.
“I’m not sure she has much time left at the shop,” Joe said bluntly.
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“Of course not, but she’s old. Old people lose steam, that’s all. She should be somewhere she can take it easy instead of working like she does.”
“Put her out to pasture, you mean?” For some reason, the idea of Joe suggesting that Auntie Lou’s “steam” was dwindling upset me.
“Hardly that. But I worry about her sometimes.”
“She is a little frail,” Nick added, trying to bridge the gap that had broken open between Joe and me, “but she’s got lots of spirit.”
“I think it’s great that both of you are concerned, as I am, but Auntie Lou isn’t finished yet.” I pushed away from the table. “I have to get back to work or I won’t get my order in on time. Nick, thanks for the coffee.”
He started to rise, but I waved him back into his chair. Such a gentleman.
Joe cleared his throat. “Don’t forget about my niece’s violin recital on Friday.”
I crossed my eyes at him. “If it’s as bad as last time, I’m bringing earplugs.”
“My sister says she’s improved a little.”
“Only ‘a little’? Joe, I suffered hearing loss at her last recital. I’d rather listen to a bagful of cats fight than Mozart’s Adagio in E major played by a nine year old.”
He shrugged helplessly. “My sister is expecting you.”
“Only for Maria, then.” I grinned and turned my back on them, reminding myself to stop at a drugstore to buy myself some cotton balls to plug my ears. I left the two of them together to find something to talk about.
The recital was even worse than I imagined it could be. Joe’s niece blistered out a classical piece that no doubt had its composer turning over in his grave, if not trying to claw his way out to rip the violin from the child’s hands. And she was one of the better ones. Even Joe’s comforting arm around my shoulders didn’t help. Throughout it all, the music teacher sat with a blissful smile on her face, nodding and looking proud.
“Is that woman attached to reality at all?” I whispered to Joe after the wailings and screeches were done. “If I had to listen to those shrieking sounds all day, I’d be deaf as a post.”
I moved a little closer to the buffet table where the prodigies’ mothers were serving pieces from a cake shaped like a violin. Accidentally, I bumped into a tall woman who hovered over the cake plates. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean…” She turned toward me. It was the guilty party. The one who’d taught all those innocent children to play like coyotes howling at the moon, like tires squealing on wet pavement, like turkeys having their tail feathers plucked…. There should be a law against what this woman does to music.
She smiled at me with that serene, unearthly smile. As she did so, I noticed a tiny earplug protruding out of one ear. She didn’t answer but gestured me to move forward through the line. No fair! Couldn’t she be penalized for using illegal equipment? Surely wearing earplugs was frowned on by a Teachers of Musical Instruments Association or something. There’s got to be an organization to prevent cruelty to parents.
“I’ll buy you dessert to make up for this,” Joe said later. At least I think that’s what he said. I’m new at lip reading, having had to start it only this evening, after the concert.
“Bribery won’t work. You owe me more than a crummy piece of pie for loss of hearing. Don’t ever do that to me again, Joe. Never invite me to anything where your family plays, sings, acts or orates. Promise?”
Joe smiled and took my hand in his. A dark curl fell onto his forehead and his eyes were mysteriously shadowed by the light of the streetlamp. “‘Love me, love my family.’ Isn’t that what you say?”
“I say ‘Love me, love my dog,’ Joe. And Bentley doesn’t play a violin.”
“My family loves you, you know.”
“They are wonderful people. They can make magic in the kitchen. Your family is chock-full of fabulous cooks with generous hearts and great intelligence. They were standing behind the door, however, when musical talent was handed out.”
Joe ignored my comment. We’ve had this conversation before and he and I are in full agreement about the no-talent part. We just disagree on what to do about it when these recitals come up.
Still, in the end, I did forgive him for only a piece of sour cream raisin pie at Tea on Tap. Weak, I am so terribly weak.
“So what do you think?” He pushed the crust from his pecan pie in my direction. I’m a crust girl, myself. One of my all-time favorite foods is pie crust rolled flat, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and baked in sheets t
o break off and eat all by itself, a taste I acquired in my grandmother’s kitchen.
“Can’t think,” I dodged. “My brain is still jangled from the noise.” By the look in his eyes, I knew that Joe was getting ready for a conversation I didn’t want to have.
“Someday you might have a little girl or boy playing in a recital, you know. We might.”
A lead ball dropped into the pit of my stomach.
“Joe…”
“You can’t avoid this forever, Norah.” Impatience flashed on his handsome features.
“Nor do I want to. But I want to avoid it now.” I don’t know what makes me so resistant to the idea of marriage just yet. “The time isn’t right.”
“Maybe it’s the man that isn’t right. Is that it?” He looked at me with so much hurt in his eyes that I ached for him. But not enough to change my mind.
“You said it. I didn’t.” I reached for his hand, but he drew it back.
“Do you think there’s someone better out there for you? Is that it?”
“I have no idea, Joe. Quit being obtuse. I haven’t looked. I’m not interested in looking. Don’t you see? That’s the problem. I’m just not ready.”
I haven’t heard bells yet.
I know Joe so well that I quickly realized that he was about to give me an ultimatum of some sort. Unfortunately, well as he knows me, he still forgets that giving me an ultimatum is as problematic as coaxing an unwilling donkey into a trot.
“I know, I know. You aren’t ‘ready.’ You have feelings for me, but…. if you do decide to fall in love I’m first on the list.”
“Not only first on the list but second and third, as well. I just need some time.”
“Time’s going to run out eventually, Norah. Then what?”
Joe’s eyes were soft and a little sad. He’s been patient with me for nearly two years. A pang of guilt shot through me even though I know that until I am sure—and that God has confirmed it for me—I couldn’t do more than I was doing now.
“I can’t ask you to wait forever, Joe. I want you to follow your heart. If there’s someone else you might…” My throat ached as the words came out.
“It’s not that.” He took a deep breath and then he smiled. “I just thought strong-arm tactics might work with you.”
I was relieved and overwhelmingly grateful that he still had patience with me. “Joe, you are a prince,” I began. “And you are first…”
“…second and third on your list. I know, Norah. I know. Maybe you want to see other people.”
“Other people?” I parroted idiotically. “We hardly even see each other!”
“I’ve been pushing you too much, haven’t I, Norah? Maybe I need to back off and give you some space.” His voice was firm and determined. His eyes looked raw and painful as two holes burned into a blanket.
He’s doing this for me.
“Joe, that’s not…”
“I think it is. I can’t seem to entice you to marry me by pushing, Norah. Maybe I can do it by backing away.”
My throat clogged with an emotion I couldn’t identify. I’d never felt more loved by him than at that moment.
“I see it in your eyes, Norah. You need space and time. You’ve told me that all along, but I didn’t want to listen. Now—” he smiled weakly though there was nothing else weak about him “—I realize that’s the gift I have to give you. Time. Freedom. You are at liberty to see anyone you choose, Norah. I won’t get in the way.”
“It’s not about that, Joe. I’m just waiting to feel…to hear…” I couldn’t get the word bells out of my mouth.
“And I’m here when you start to ‘feel’ it.”
“There’s no one else I want to see,” I blurted, suddenly, unexpectedly feeling panicky. “No one.”
“Me, either. But you need space. I love you, Norah. But I want you to come to me willingly if you come at all. I’ve waited nearly two years. I can wait a few more months.”
I was filled with an overwhelming gratitude at his words and, to my shame, another niggling thought. Only months? Maybe Joe was right. I was even balking at a timetable for my freedom.
“It’s not going to change my feelings for you,” I began.
“No? I hope it does.”
Surprise must have shown on my features.
“I hope it makes you love me more. Enough to marry me.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
He shrugged as though there were thousand-pound weights on his shoulders. “It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
I think I surprised him when I shot up, threw myself across the table and hugged him. I certainly surprised myself and the waitress coming to refill our coffee cups. “Joe, you are the most awesome man on the planet.”
He grinned and pushed me back to my side of the table. “Remember that. It’s not every woman that has the opportunity to marry a superhero.”
Later, as I watched his taillights disappear around the bend, I felt a sense of heaviness in my heart. What’s wrong with me? Am I being selfish about building my business? Is he the one for me and I’m too blind to see it? I tipped my head back and stared at the star-sprinkled sky. Lord, what’s a girl to do?
Then, because I heard Bentley in the house moaning like he’d been eviscerated, I went inside to rescue my lonely doggie.
“Hi, Norah. What’s new?” a gravelly voice said as I opened my front door.
“Not a thing, but thanks for asking.” I put my purse down on the foyer table and sat down on the couch so Bentley could jump up beside me.
“What’s shaking, baby?” came the next question.
“What’s shaking with you?” I inquired politely.
“Great balls of fire!”
“That’s no answer. How was your night?”
“Overworked and underpaid.”
“I know the feeling.” Bentley snuggled next to my leg and sighed happily.
“Gimme a kiss, will you?”
“No.” Then I decided to be blunt. “You have terrible breath. You’re a stinky bird.”
An indignant flutter came from across the room. “I’m a mynah bird!”
“You’re a stinky bird.”
Finally Asia Mynah acquiesced. “I’m a stinky bird.”
Asia Mynah and I have some variation of this conversation every time I come through the front door, another at bedtime and a third when I uncover his cage in the morning. His vocabulary is prodigious, a hundred and fifty words or more, because his previous owner spent hours working with him. Frankly, I have more intelligent conversations with Asia than with some humans I know.
Feeling exhausted all the way down to my bones, I put my feet on the ottoman that also serves as my coffee table and switched on the television. I tried to watch the news, but Bentley barked until I turned to the Animal Planet. Fortunately they were having a special on rhinoceroses and, because Bentley doesn’t like things with horns or dry skin, I was able to switch back in time to see the weather.
I leaned back on the couch and closed my eyes.
Hi, Lord. Busy day, huh? My head is swimming. Everything has been going so smoothly and now there’s all this change. Auntie Lou falling out of bed, the odd new people at the toy store, Connor Trevain, coming back to run the cruises, Lilly’s obsession with him and Nick Haley and his horse. Oh, yes, and Joe’s agreeing to give me space. What’s Your take on all of this? Anything You want me to do? My favorite spot is in the center of Your will, Lord, so I ask that You keep me there, even when conditions change around me. Thank You, as always, for all the blessings You send my way. Help me to share them with others. And thanks for allowing me to be a steward of Your creatures. Without animals, this world would be a grim and forlorn place.
Oh, yes. Help Auntie Lou deal with Arthur and Ruma-tiz.
In Jesus’ name. Amen
Feeling as if I’d touched all the important bases, I went to bed.
Chapter Eight
“Norah, did you pick up my newspaper this morning?” Lil
ly breezed into my store on Monday morning with a frown on her face. “I’m on my way to the Java Jockey for coffee and biscotti and it’s not here.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you. I haven’t noticed it outside your door for two or three days.”
“I’m going to call to complain that it hasn’t arrived.”
“What hasn’t arrived?” Chuck from the market walked in the door. We on Pond Street meander in and out of each other’s businesses with alarming regularity.
“My morning paper. It hasn’t been coming lately.”
“Yours, either?” Chuck looked surprised. “You are the fourth person I’ve heard complain this week and there are probably many more who don’t come by the meat counter. I called the paper and they insist that the deliveries were made.”
“Who’d want a bunch of old newspapers?” Lilly wrinkled her nose disdainfully. “Weird.”
It is weird. No one ever disturbs things around here. There are too many people who know too much about each other’s dealings for anyone to get away with monkey business—not that running off with daily newspapers is getting away with much.
We didn’t have time to consider the disappearance of the morning news because at that moment, Connor walked into the store. He looked as though he’d combed his hair with sunlight and his white captain’s uniform was so bright it was blinding. I almost expected him to hold up a bottle of laundry detergent or give a sales pitch for bleach.
“Good morning, Norah…Lilly. Beautiful day.”
Lilly trilled as if he’d said something brilliant and it took everything in my power not to roll my eyes or gag.
“Good morning to you, too, Connor,” she said breathily.
Uh-oh. She’s doing Marilyn Monroe.
Connor’s raised eyebrow told me that he was wondering about the abrupt transformation in Lilly.
“Can I get you something?” I asked, speaking into the silence between them. “Kitty litter? Pigs’ ears? Flea powder?”
Lilly turned to glare at me. She thought I was being an idiot, I know. Asking him if he has fleas is not a good come-on. That’s okay. I think she’s being one, too. Marilyn Monroe before breakfast, I’m sure!
