Tea and Crumples

by Kinard, Summer;

  Sienna drew a sharp breath and faked a smile. “Oh, lots of people, I assure you. Not least Tovah and,” she grasped for a change of subject, “Nina. Thank you for helping Nina, by the way. It’s very kind of you. I suppose you help a lot of people in distress in your line of work.”

  “Some. But I’m also here for my friends.” He shifted toward her. “If I can help…”

  “Well, Nina and her family are wonderful, aren’t they? I think that this is just what they need to get over this little rough patch.” Sienna looked toward the building, where the opening door heralded Nina’s return. She sighed in relief. From the corner of her eye, she saw Greg flinch. “And here she is!” she said too brightly as Nina got into the front seat.

  “Mission accomplished?” Greg asked in his casually confident way.

  “Yes!” Nina smiled. “And I got the phone numbers we’ll need to sort out my aunt’s papers. If we can just go pick up a few things from my house?”

  “Of course,” Greg replied, putting the car into gear.

  Nina gave Greg directions, and they fell into banter about families again, this time about kitchen gardens and dishes. Greg described his mother’s china pattern and her herb patch.

  “Don’t tell me about herbs! My family thinks that you can cure anything with something from the garden. None of us get sick because we don’t want to have to drink something gross.”

  “Tell me about it,” Greg countered. “You know in Peter Rabbit where he has to take chamomile tea after eating too much? That was my mother. She kept a chamomile bed alive in the Carolina heat just to have something to threaten us with if we sneezed or ate too much candy or just needed an attitude adjustment.”

  “Ha!” Nina scoffed. “Try peppers and mint. Not peppermint. Peppers. And. Mint.”

  “You win,” Greg smiled. They pulled into Nina’s drive, and she bounced up the walk. Greg and Sienna watched her till she entered the house. As soon as the door closed behind Nina, Greg turned to Sienna. This time, he did not hesitate. He reached for her hand and held it. His warmth shocked her.

  “Greg,” she began. He cut her off.

  “Sienna, I want to help you. I want to be here for you. Maybe you can’t accept my offer now, but you must see how I could be there for you.”

  “No, you can’t, Greg. You aren’t free, and I’m not free, and that’s beside the point.”

  “I don’t think it is. I think the point is that I see you. Your warmth, your insight, your kindness. I think that in the near future, we’re both going to need someone to see us, intimately. And I want to let you know I’m here for you when that time comes.”

  Sienna looked at their hands. He held her fingers firmly, distracting her. God, give me the words to say that he needs to hear. She was quiet, staring past their hands, waiting for some word or vision that would put an end to Greg’s pursuit, to her own temptation to avoid her grief by using Greg. After several long moments, what came to her was a fragrance, the aroma of spicy food being cooked in a nearby house. From a backyard, a child’s laugh reached out to her. She looked at Greg then and saw him clearly for the first time. Of course. His banter with Nina told her all she needed to know.

  “Greg,” she squeezed his hand and pulled her fingers free, “you don’t love me or need me or want me. I remind you of your mother.”

  He drew a sharp breath and sat back, stunned. His brows knit, raised, and lowered again. He nodded briefly and turned to face the steering wheel. Greg did not speak to Sienna again, and he was quieter with Nina on the way back to the teashop.

  “You’re sure you’re fine?” Sienna asked Nina as they pulled up in front of the darkened shop window.

  “Oh, yes, Miss. Thank you for going with us today! Mamá will have cooked us a big dinner to say thanks to Padre Gregorio here,” she joked.

  Seeing the girl at ease, Sienna nodded and got out of the car. Greg was, after all, a pretty decent person, even if he had been way out of line where she herself was concerned. She waved goodbye as the car pulled off, then turned to find her own car.

  Couples and small groups walked past her to the various restaurants and bars that made downtown one of the best places to eat in the country. The cold air brought her the hoppy smell of microbrew beer, the tang of richly spiced sauces, and a warm afterthought of almonds and vanilla. It was the sort of night that Peter would have loved. They would have held hands on their way to dinner, kissed in front of windows on the way to dessert. She squeezed her left hand over the memory and the wish and the sweetness. Perhaps she could bring them with her to his bedside.

  Notes from Sienna’s tea files

  Nina Hernandez, 19, teashop waitress, cooking teacher, prophet: chocolate malt black tea with milk and sugar. Hot or iced. Served with her churros. Revelatory.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As soon as she entered Peter’s room, she felt time shift. Like she had always felt at the holiest times of the church year, the very air beckoned her into the longest night. Longest nights were nights of death, of change, of resurrection. God works at night, she thought. A shock ran through her and she made the sign of the cross over herself.

  She looked at Peter and saw him for all the love they shared. Swift, dim memories of Peter in the light of morning, at sunset, by candlelight, raced through her mind. Then stillness came. She noticed, as it left her, the aching dull thunk of grief. She was left with Peter, the palpable bodily Peter. He was really there and not only a thought that could be pushed aside or beaten down or worn at the edges like an old photograph much handled.

  “Peter,” she almost whispered. It was the voice of recognition. He was the other half to her sacrament. She needed him the way bread needs wine. They had been woven together into the dwelling place of God, and all the small graces of cups and spoons and blankets and baking were stocked with the joy of their union. She bent and kissed his gray, dry face, astonished at his beauty.

  Now that it was almost too late, she cherished the touch of him. “Thank you,” she voiced in low pitches. “Thank you for him. Thank you.” She kissed his hands and laid her head on his shallow breathing, let his quiet heart reverberate through her. Limned in gratitude for his presence, she fell asleep.

  A man in dark clothing stepped into the room when his knock went unanswered. He walked to Peter’s bedside and made the sign of the cross over the sleeping man and wife. He waited in near silence, the only sound the gentle susurrus of wool prayer knots through well-worn fingers. Sienna did not stir, though her dreams were peopled with soft, kind voices and the light one only recalls from childhood—like sunlight through pink springs, but unburdensome for all its brightness.

  Another knock went unanswered after midnight. Marnie entered, then hesitated when she saw the priest standing by the bed. “Are you—? Forgive me for asking, but are you really here? I mean, in the body? Only, saints often dress alike.”

  The priest nodded and smiled understanding. “I’m Father Max from the Orthodox Church. Sienna invited me to pray for her.” Seeing Marnie’s continued hesitation, he added, “Yes, in the flesh.”

  Marnie walked around the bed to stand beside him. “There’s something we must do, Father. Only, I will ask you not to mention it later except that you leave me out of the tale. It must be for God’s glory alone.”

  “Of course.”

  Marnie looked at Peter with a studied eye, then held her hands out above him. “The cancer is here,” she moved her hands, “Here, and here. But the part that is killing him is here.” She paused her hands again. “I will need you to touch him, and then perhaps I might lay one hand on his chest and one on your arm?”

  They moved into place. The prayer beads slipped whirring through the priest’s hand. Gradually, in her dream, the light changed for Sienna. It was bright golden as sun through a magnifying glass. In the room, Marnie’s bracelets burned her skin and the wounds beneath them throbbed. Joy poured into the room like the smell of incense in air pealed by bells and candlelight. Father Max’s hands shoo
k, and the prayer rope thumped against the hospital bed, which shifted its load on a preset timer. Marnie’s face contorted with compassion but glowed golden over the fluorescent room lights. Soft thrumming wind stirred Father Max’s beard, and he remembered all the baptisms he had performed as well as the birth of his children.

  In their sleep, Peter and Sienna smiled at one another under a canopy. They were wearing crowns made of pale flowers. Someone was smiling at them just outside their peripheral vision. They could see the echo of the joyful countenance on one another’s faces. Music played, and they walked toward the sound of singing.

  Sienna had forgotten to pull the shades in Peter’s room. A ray of morning light caught her left eye and troubled her awake. The music from the dream continued. She lifted her head, careful of her achy neck muscles. Jessie was playing a mandolin softly at the foot of the bed.

  “Nada te turbe, nada te espante, Quien a Dios quiere, nada le falta,” the girl’s warm voice chanted low and clear. She watched Sienna rub her eyes, then drew the song to a close. “Solo Dios basta.”

  “Is that a Taizé chant?” Sienna smiled. “I thought you only sang bluegrass and Appalachian hymns.”

  “Not at sick beds. It’s not fair to make people want to get up and dance when they have doctor’s orders to rest.” Jessie raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Peter. “Though if you ask me, he looks near enough ready to dance, for all the fuss he’s made.” Jessie lifted her mandolin into its case and busied herself with preparations to leave.

  A low chuckle ran under Sienna’s hand. She caught her breath and turned sharply to see Peter, his color healthy, his smile brilliant, if a bit watery around the eyes, and his laugh unfettered by pain.

  “Forgive me, Jessie,” Sienna said, not turning back to the girl, “but am I dreaming? Are you really here?”

  “That seems a common question the past few hours.” Peter said with a chuckle.

  “What do you mean?” Sienna asked.

  “Only that I met other visitors on their way out when I was coming in,” Jessie supplied. “Tovah and Deborah and Liz and Bethel Bailey. Only Tovah was wearing a mask due to her recent illness, so we had to verify her identity. And they apparently all arrived on the heels of your priest friend Father Max.”

  “I slept through all those visitors and no one woke me?” Sienna looked from Peter to Jessie and back again.

  “I’d better head out. I don’t want my boss to catch me coming in late to work.” Jessie winked at Sienna, waved goodbye, and left them to talk together.

  “I wouldn’t let them,” Peter said succinctly. “Your face had peace for the first time in ages, and I didn’t like to disturb you.”

  “What about you? You were asleep, too.” She touched his face, first with a few fingertips, then with her outstretched palm. “You look… well. Peter! You look well!”

  He kissed her palm and breathed deeply. “I feel it, too. No doubt the doctors will want to look me over again soon. Let’s see what they have to say about it.” He reached up and cupped her hand with both of his warm ones. “But if you want my opinion, I haven’t felt this well in years.”

  “It sounds as though we had a string of miracle workers last night.”

  “Bringing in grace by the handful?” When Sienna became a Christian, the parishioners at her tiny church filled the baptism font with water that they carried handful by handful. Each of the ninety-eight people, and some of the children three times, added water with their own hands.

  Sienna smiled, “Yes.” The memory lit her face. “Exactly like my baptism. The Holy Spirit working through what each person brings. Or brought, rather.”

  Peter’s stomach grumbled.

  “Hungry?”

  “Very. I ordered breakfast, but it takes an hour to get here.”

  “Tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Peter watched the ease take over Sienna’s movements as the familiar ritual restored her from sleep. When the tea was steeping, he drew a deep breath.

  “Mmm.”

  “It’s your favorite.”

  “Not the tea, but it is my favorite. It smells nice, but you smell edible.”

  Sienna lifted her hair to her nose and sniffed. Cardamom, green tea, dark China teas, and fenugreek. “Oh. It’s all the Indian food I’ve been eating.”

  “Comfort food.” He reached out and took her hand. She relaxed her fingers in his grip, relishing its refreshing warmth. “You must have been really stressed out by this. And the shop opening at the same time.”

  “And maybe closing.”

  “Closing?”

  “I shouldn’t be so melodramatic. There have been a lot of bad reviews, all apparently started this by one person who didn’t like how we described the quiche or something. Our sorority parties keep cancelling.”

  “And you rely on the big parties and events to make ends meet.” Peter frowned.

  Sienna sighed in reply.

  “What will you do? I saw that Tovah is making herself recover quickly as usual. Does she have ideas?”

  “We have to contact our investors and see if they can front us a little more to get through the next two months. We had to pay extra to get some of the dishes and furniture rush delivered, and the plumbing in the ladies’… well, you know about that.” A pained expression pinched her eyes. The baby friendly bathroom and lounge had required expensive pipes to be moved into expensive places. They were expecting Susan when they approved the changes, giddy with parental joy. “We made our quarterly budget based on the pre-booked event schedule. All that work, poof.”

  “Do you think the investors will help?”

  “Two of them might. One of them we’ve never met, actually. She said in her emails that she would be glad to invest further if she believed in the business. I think she’s our best hope.”

  “A true community builder?”

  “Yes. Dream investor. Strange name, though. Xenia R. Maris.”

  “Strange name, ha. Xenia means stranger, doesn’t it?”

  “I think so. But maybe in this case, she’s an angel unawares. I’ll set up a meeting for her to visit the shop, and we can just hope she believes in it. But why am I going on about that, when you’re awake?”

  “Agreed. Let’s spring me from this joint, and then we can work together to sort out the teashop.”

  “We’ve always worked well together, haven’t we?” Sienna looked at Peter with the newfound sense of oneness that had come over her the previous night. She had not let herself feel how she missed him these weeks while he was in the hospital. Her hazel eyes shifted toward green. Peter’s dark eyes responded. Desire and love sprang up in her belly like a plucked string. She bent and kissed his hand playfully, letting her lips pull at his knuckles a little. “But first, tea?”

  “Yes,” Peter answered low and swiftly. “Always tea.”

  Sienna poured the tea and gave a mug to Peter before taking up her own. Peter watched her in silence with a smile playing around his eyes. An unobservant intruder would have noticed the politeness and ritual; Peter and Sienna felt the seduction in old courtesies. All the latent playfulness and bodily awareness of ritual woke up between them. It breathed in the bouquet of the tea and glanced between their modest eyes.

  The intruder, when she came, was not unobservant. Dr. Patel glanced between the couple, saw the casual joy of tea ceremony, and relaxed the knot in her lower back. “Mr. Bannock, you’re better!”

  She was met by two satisfied smiles. “I hope so,” Sienna and Peter said.

  “Well, let’s find out, shall we?” The young doctor smiled at them, confident that the tests would show what her instinct told her already.

  Notes from Sienna’s tea files

  Tasting Notes: Golden Monkey black tea. Top shelf tea, perfect for celebrating.

  Provenance: Fujian region of China, direct shipped to the shop.

  Liquor: Dark honey color.

  Astringency: Mellow.

  Body: Round.

  Fra
grance: Honey and peaches.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The preliminary tests show no cancer.” Sienna beamed at Tovah. Tovah handed her a mug of her usual, along with a brownie. “A brownie? For breakfast?”

  “Just eat it. You’re celebrating.”

  “Mmm. This is delicious. New?”

  “Nina. Her mom’s recipe. Mexican chocolate. Now, you were saying?”

  “No cancer. It’s gone. All that’s left is scar tissue. But they don’t want to be hasty.”

  “So he’s in for another day of observation?”

  “I think so. As Peter said, they are bound to run out of stuff to pick out of him to test before long. Then they’ll have to let him go. Not that I’m ungrateful for the awesome care he’s received. Just eager to get him home with me now that he’s well.”

  “Of course. You want to tuck him under your wing and make sure he’s held in fluff and comfort till you’re sure of him.”

  “Is that what Marc did when you came home after your bout with meningitis?”

  “Marc, our mothers, our oldest. Everyone. My advice, should you choose to accept it, is to coddle the snot out of him whether he likes it or not. He’ll be tired even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Put him on that Andirondack deck chair out back, tuck a blanket around him, and administer tea and soup till he floats.”

  “That’s very specific advice.”

  “Good advice always is.” Tovah picked up a few crumbs on a fingertip and ate them. “You were right about the brownie, though. It’s great, but not breakfast. Peanut butter pastry?”

  “We have those in stock?”

  “It’s autumn, so I told Hearth to send any and all nut pastries our way.”

  “Yes, please.”

  The back door opened, and Lettye came in through the kitchen. “Welcome back, Sienna!” She hugged her boss. “I’m so grateful to hear about Peter. My Bible study group and Granny have been praying.”

  Sienna returned the hug with gusto. “Well, tell your Granny we said thank you, and thanks be to God! He’s coming home tomorrow.”