The New Hope Cafe

by Dawn Atkins

  “Can I wait for him in here?” she asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  Bunny lifted a few tarps searching for the cat, then came over to him. “Is that hard to learn?”

  “Carving? It takes practice. Patience.”

  “More patience? I hate patience.” She sighed.

  “Woodwork is a craft. You get better as you go along.” He preferred furniture to cabinetry. More creative and he could work alone. Selling out to Jared hadn’t hurt anything but his wallet.

  Bunny wandered off and he half forgot about her, until a crash near the power saws sent him running back there. If she’d gotten hurt… He should have been watching her closer.

  He found her at the jigsaw, bent over a sheet of veneer.

  “Are you hurt?” he demanded, reaching for her.

  “No. I’m sorry.” Bunny backed away, her eyes big.

  “Stay clear of the saws. You could lose a hand.” He put the wood back, then noticed she’d run for the door. He’d scared her by yelling.

  “Hold on,” he called to her.

  Bunny turned, wary as Louis, poised to fly.

  “Sorry I shouted. I was afraid you’d gotten cut.”

  She just looked at him.

  “How about I show you how to build a small box with a lid? That was the first thing I made. A treasure box.” That’s what he should have said in the first place, instead of letting her wander off unsupervised. You had to keep kids busy.

  “Really?” she asked. “Right now?”

  “Right this minute.” He went to the worktable where he kept his computer, pushed the monitor to one side, cleared away the papers, spun the stool to Bunny’s height, then set her up with scrap wood, a few tools and basic instructions.

  She got right to it, which he liked. He had figured on bringing his girls into the shop from a young age to show them the joys of making something with their own two hands.

  But that was done.

  Hell, he’d probably have barked at them, too. Made them cry without meaning to. Jonah doubted his dad had set out to be an asshole. He was simply built that way—moody, quick to anger, distant, harsh. Jonah was just like him, except for the alcohol problem. That was Evan’s burden to bear.

  Jonah and Bunny had been working in silence for a time when she said, “I like the quiet in here.”

  “Me, too. The din gets to me in the café.”

  “It’s loud. Yeah. Plus, my mom watches me too much. She always worries.” He’d noticed how CJ hovered over her daughter, almost as if she were afraid if the girl were out of her sight, she’d be lost forever. It seemed excessive, but what did he know about being a parent? He’d let the girl wander among power tools.

  A few more minutes passed, then Bunny whispered, “Look. He’s out.”

  Louis had curled up in a sunny spot between the work spaces.

  “Is it too soon to pet him?” she asked.

  “Probably.”

  “Patience is hard.”

  “If it were easy people wouldn’t want it so bad.”

  She considered that for a few seconds, then they both went back to work.

  Soon, he heard her humming. He recognized the tune: “Blackbird,” an old Beatles song his mom used to sing to him. He felt a pang, remembering how he would picture the hurt bird singing in the dark, waiting to heal, finally soaring free. He almost sang along with her, but he settled for tapping his foot. Louis closed his one wise eye.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “WHERE’S BUNNY?” Cara asked Rosie. Rosie and Beth Ann had been playing poker when Cara had gone to call for the bus schedule. Panic flared. It always did when she lost track of her daughter. What if Barrett grabbed her? It was irrational, but always in the back of her mind.

  “She went after Jonah’s cat. Wants to make friends before she has to leave.” She shot Cara an accusatory glare.

  “Where would the cat be?”

  “Out by the creek. Maybe Jonah’s shop.” Rosie shot her a look. “Bunny’s not lost, if that’s what you think.”

  Rosie had no idea what she was thinking.

  Cara bounded downstairs, through the café and into the yard, forcing herself not to picture the worst. There was no sign of Beth Ann or the cat in the open areas. She ran for the shop next, gravel grinding beneath each flying step. At the doorway, she looked inside, spotting Jonah working on a bench, then Beth Ann. Whew. She sat at a drafting table hammering nails and…humming.

  Cara hadn’t heard Beth Ann hum in forever, not since…before. Relief rushed through her. Beth Ann was safe. Pausing to collect herself, she surveyed Jonah’s shop. Through the windows, late-afternoon light lit up swaths of sawdust. One wall held a huge, tool-laden Peg-Board. Tarp-covered furniture or unfinished pieces lined the walls. Toward the back, she saw standing equipment and all kinds of wood in sheets and planks. It smelled pleasantly of fresh-cut lumber.

  “Hello,” she said, stepping inside.

  In response, a cat leaped from the floor and galloped out the door, fleeing on three legs.

  “You scared Louis,” Beth Ann said, frowning.

  “Sorry.” Cara felt like an intruder now. “I was looking for you. What are you making?”

  “A treasure box. It’s the first thing Jonah learned to make. Woodworking is a craft. That means you have to practice a lot. The rule is measure twice, cut once. That’s because wood doesn’t forgive, right, Jonah?”

  Cara smiled at the information her daughter had absorbed from Jonah. She looked at him. “I hope she’s not keeping you from your work.”

  Jonah opened his mouth, but Beth Ann spoke first. “I’m not. We both like it quiet. The café’s got too much din.”

  “Din?” Cara said to him. “I assume that’s my fault? The din?”

  “Some of it.” He’d seemed eager for her to get on a bus and out of town earlier. Maybe all her din was the reason. She’d enjoyed their teasing banter, but maybe he hadn’t. She was a people person and he seemed more of a loner.

  She’d be gone soon enough. “There are no buses on Sunday, so the earliest we can leave is Monday.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Right.” He did want her gone. Her face went hot with hurt.

  He frowned as if puzzled. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To take the first bus out of here? I want what you want. For you.”

  “Then we agree.”

  “So can you work tomorrow?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Stupidly, her heart lifted. “Because of the din.”

  “The more din, the more money in Rosie’s pocket. How can I complain?” His dark eyes twinkled at her.

  “So one more day then,” she said. Beth Ann was hammering away on her box in the background.

  “One more day,” he repeated.

  One more day and they’d never see each other again. For some ridiculous reason, the thought made her feel hollow inside.

  Afraid Jonah would see her feelings on her face, Cara shifted her gaze to the bench he was working on. “This is beautiful.” A dozen curved slats formed its high back. “So elegant.”

  “That’s what I was going for.”

  “It looks comfortable.”

  “Try it out.”

  She sat. The shape perfectly supported her body. “It feels custom fit to me.”

  Jonah gave a short laugh. “To Rosie actually. I made the template tracing her lying on her side with he
r legs bent. It wasn’t easy to get that kind of curve in mahogany, but it was worth it, I think.”

  “It was. It absolutely was.” Cara ran her fingers along both sides of the bench, which felt so smooth it was almost silky. He was carving a corner of the back, she saw. “How pretty. The heart almost looks like…lips.”

  “Exactly.” He gave her a funny smile.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. So…”

  Cara looked around the shop. “All this is your work?”

  “It is.”

  “Do you sell online?”

  “Some. Most of this is for a gallery show in Manhattan at the end of June.”

  “Wow. Can I see?”

  “Sure.” He pulled back the closest tarp, revealing a three-drawer dresser in a pale, shimmering wood. The drawers curved outward, resembling liquid. She ran her hand over it. “This feels like butter.”

  “That’s red-flame yellow birch. It’s got a rich grain and polishes well. The inlays are various veneers.”

  “It’s breathtaking.”

  Cara uncovered a boxy chair with narrow, sharply angled slats and wide armrests. “This looks like it belongs in something built by Frank Lloyd Wright.”

  “Good call. It’s an Arts and Crafts piece. It went well with his architecture.”

  “The grain is so pretty.”

  “Quarter-sawn oak. Showing the grain on all four sides is tricky. It’s a hallmark of Arts and Crafts.” Jonah explained more of the distinctive style elements, then showed her a sideboard that resembled a tree trunk, with the top as flattened boughs.

  “It almost looks alive. You’re creating art, Jonah.”

  “I’m building furniture. It has to be useful. But I make it as beautiful as I can.”

  Their gazes locked again. Jonah smiled. It was a different smile than she’d seen in the café—more relaxed and open.

  “You’re happier here,” Cara said.

  “I’m at home here.” His eyes pulled her close the way they had last night in the dimly lit kitchen. Her heart began to race and she could hardly breathe. He dropped his gaze from her eyes to her mouth.

  “They’re yours,” he said softly. “The lips I used for the hearts.”

  “Mine?” She touched her mouth. “I didn’t realize they were so…puffy.”

  “They are. I know from last night.” His voice was low and each word registered inside her. She remembered that kiss, how powerful it was, the surge of desire that had washed over her. Here it was again, fainter, but unmistakable. It was always there when she was around him, waiting to flare.

  “I’m ready for the hinges,” Beth Ann called, snapping their connection.

  “Be right there.” Jonah sounded grateful for the interruption.

  She was, too. At least she should be.

  While Jonah helped Beth Ann, Cara uncovered more of Jonah’s furniture. There were spare modern pieces, more Arts and Crafts style, others with complex inlays and carvings, each more beautiful than the last.

  Toward the back she found a rocking chair that begged to be tried out. It was made of a golden-brown wood, with dark whorls, highly polished with more than a dozen delicate dowels bent like tree branches. The seat belled out and the armrests were indented as if to fit forearms. She pulled the chair away from the wall and sat, pushing off. The ride was silky smooth, like swaying in a hammock.

  Cara heard footsteps. From the corner of her eye she saw it was Jonah. “You must have used an angel to model for this.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.”

  * * *

  JONAH’S HEART LURCHED at the sight of CJ in the rocking chair. She’d closed her eyes, so he had a few seconds to arrange his face.

  Suzanne had been his model and he’d built it for her and the babies. He’d been varnishing it in the garage when she’d burst in, her face terrified. I’m bleeding, Jonah. And I haven’t felt them move all day.

  “It makes me think of my grandma,” CJ continued as he drew closer, her eyes closed in pleasure. “She had a rocking chair. Not this great, but we spent a lot of time in it. She would tell me stories and sing to me.”

  She sounded so happy, lost in a good memory, her face serene. This was what he’d wanted from the chair, what he’d built into it with all his skill.

  When he’d pulled into the garage after the hospital, after they had lost the babies, Suzanne had seen the chair and shrieked, Get it out of my sight. Burn it. Break it to bits. I don’t care. I never want to see it again. He’d crated it away. He intended to put it in the show in New York and be rid of it for good.

  “Can I try?” Bunny had joined them.

  CJ opened her eyes and smiled at her daughter. “Sure.”

  Bunny climbed beside CJ, who set them rocking. “This feels peaceful,” Bunny said. “The chair is like a hug.”

  Jonah’s chest went tight, so moved he had to catch his breath. Yes. This was why I built it. For this.

  “It does,” CJ said. “How can wood be so soft?” She looked toward Jonah, then froze, stopping the chair with both feet. Something in his expression alarmed her. “Are we too heavy? Should we get off?”

  “No. I built the chair for…mothers and kids.” The words scraped his throat, dry as sawdust.

  CJ’s eyes widened and she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”

  With a start, he realized she knew about the twins.

  Dammit, Rosie.

  “Get off, hon.” CJ nudged her daughter.

  “But I just got on.”

  “Stay there,” Jonah said. “Use the chair. That’s what it’s for.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” He wanted a new memory of the chair he’d built with so much hope and joy. Bunny leaned down to start them rocking again. CJ sat straight, holding his gaze, not quite convinced by his words.

  As he watched them, the knot in his gut loosened and some of that peace Bunny had mentioned rolled through him.

  “Take your time,” he said. “I’m going back to work.”

  Jonah returned to the bench and began chipping at the wooden heart, their quiet voices in the background. It was a damn good chair. He wanted it to be enjoyed, even if the family he’d built it for was gone.

  They’re gone. Suzanne. The babies. The life we had, the one we hoped for.

  He braced for the usual knockdown blow of grief and regret that always followed such thoughts.

  But it didn’t come.

  He felt…fine. Normal. Sad, but not ripped apart or wrecked.

  With a jolt that made him put down his chisel, he realized he would be okay. Relief washed through him, warm as bathwater. Without realizing it he’d climbed out of the hole he’d buried himself in all these months.

  CJ had showed him that. CJ and her daughter. By loving the chair he’d built, by feeling its peace, by reminding him of its beauty and worth.

  He was so grateful to her.

  And attracted, too. So strongly it alarmed him. That must be a sign of his recovery, proof he was coming back to life, getting the feeling back in all his parts.

  He was surprised to notice it didn’t bother him that CJ knew about the babies. He trusted her not to pry or pity him. She’d been leveled by pain, too. Her husband had broken her heart and her spirit and likely hurt her physically, but he didn’t want to think about that. Their connection made him feel less…well, lonely.

  If he could do it without mak
ing a fool of himself, he’d like to thank CJ before she walked out of his life for good.

  * * *

  AFTER SUPPER, Cara did the dishes while Rosie went through her mail. Beth Ann was in her room watching a rented DVD on Cara’s laptop.

  The kitchen was fragrant with the scent of lemon soap and the garlic she’d used on the sole she’d sautéed for supper.

  It doesn’t taste too fishy had been Rosie’s take on the dish that melted in your mouth. Beth Ann, on the other hand, barely ate a bite. Not even the ketchup cure helped. She was too sad about leaving.

  “You got any idea why my nephew skipped out on a home-cooked meal?” Suspicion laced Rosie’s words.

  “He said he had work.” Grateful Rosie couldn’t see her face, Cara burned with embarrassment. Jonah was avoiding her because of the rocking chair incident, she was certain. She’d blathered on about the angel he’d modeled it on, not realizing it had been his ex-wife. To make it worse, she’d let on that she knew about the babies, his deepest pain. He was so private and she was a near stranger. No wonder he’d disappeared so fast.

  They’d stayed in the chair as he’d insisted, but Cara had wanted to melt into the concrete. She knew any apology would make it worse. Jonah would not want to be reminded. Now, for sure, he would be glad to see the last of her and her din. They had one more day to get through.

  “I don’t buy it. He always has work,” Rosie said, but Cara heard an envelope tear, so she knew Rosie had gone back to her bills. Whew. Bad enough that Rosie had looked at her funny after Cara let it slip that she’d watched Jonah repair the sink last night. You and Mr. Silence is Golden had a chat? She’d blurted about waiting for the water, but Rosie seemed to have read between lines Cara preferred blank.

  Cara put the salad bowl in the cupboard. A sharp gasp made her turn just as Rosie slid to the floor, spilling iced tea over the paper she clutched.

  Cara dropped down beside her, adrenaline making her shake as she felt Rosie’s wrist. There. A pulse. Rosie’s skin was gray, her forehead clammy. “Rosie?” Cara patted her cheek. “Can you open your eyes? Can you hear me?”