A Shiver of Wonder

by Daniel Kelley

  But then he threw down his hand. “Took long enough. How the hell could you not have won that one?”

  David quickly scooped and racked the cards before his hand was picked up and analyzed.

  “I don’t want to play anymore.” The Barcalounger began extending. “Why don’t you just go?”

  David took a deep breath. “Grandpa, isn’t there anything you want to do? We don’t have to play cards every week, we can go anywhere!”

  “Where? On the Shady Grove trolley?” A swift, dismissive shake of his head. “I’m done with the world. It can be done with me.”

  “That’s so not true. You’ve got years left in you!”

  “I sure as hell hope not.” The Barcalounger creaked and then snapped as it returned to its upright position. “David, I just don’t understand why you’re here. In Shady Grove. Fine, you’ve got some good memories of visiting years ago. But why? Why?”

  Another long, deep breath. “I wanted to live somewhere nice. Small town, not large. I wanted to be… independent. Of…”

  “You want to be done with the world, too?”

  “No! I just wanted something simple. Simpler than what things had become.”

  “Well, you got it! Welcome to Dullsville.” Grandpa’s glare honed in. “You were doing something with your life, David. You were going somewhere, you were living! How could you trade that in for – ” His hand swept toward the charming panorama of bucolic, small town America that his window offered. “ – this?”

  David rested his eyes on the view. “Easily,” he replied. “But it wasn’t exactly like I gave up a lot, you know.”

  “You gave up hope!”

  Their eyes met again. “Look who’s talking!” David tried but failed to keep the anger out of his voice. “Physician, heal thyself!”

  Grandpa Wilcott stood straight up, then. And as David wondered if he was really going to take a swing at his grandson, he also had to stifle an urge to cry. Not for himself, but for the toll that time and living took on a human being. Grandpa’s muscles were rippling, but they were a poor remnant of what he’d been so proud years before. Even the flash of fire in his eyes waned quickly, the energy needed to sustain his indignation not being in abundance anymore.

  He had sunk down again. Whump, creak, snap. “Go,” he intoned.

  David stood. He felt enervated, despite having begun the morning with an optimistic vigor.

  “I know you’ll be here next Saturday, no matter what I say.” But Grandpa wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just… go. I’ll see you then. I’ll try not to be such a… turd.”

  David nodded. “I love you, Grandpa,” he uttered quietly. “I really do.”

  And then he turned, stepped out into the hallway, and pulled the door mostly closed behind him.

  Chapter Ten

  David had made it most of the way to The Restful Nook’s main entrance before he reversed course and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Two right turns and a left later, he found himself in front of Abby Lowell’s room. Her door was decorated with art projects: a Valentine made of pressed flower petals, a pastel rendering of the Easter bunny peering under a bird’s nest for colored eggs, a Cinco de Mayo sombrero created from shredded magazine pages.

  He knocked.

  “Come on in!” sang out.

  And even before he entered her room, David was smiling again, feeling better about himself and the world at large. “Can I bother you for a few minutes, Abby?” he asked.

  “But of course, David!” Abby was up and moving toward him, already beaming. Her hands reached forward to clasp his. “I just love it when you drop by. Was Henry his usual charming self this morning?”

  He grimaced. “You could say that.”

  She shook her head. “I never understand that, how old age turns some of us into glowering old lumps of coal. He was always such a sweet talker, and so energetic. Anyhow!” She clapped her hands. “Come on, sit down. Tell an old lady what’s going on in your life.”

  David sat as Abby slipped her oxygen cannula into her nose again, and deftly turned her compressor back on. Her room was similar to Grandpa Wilcott’s: warm furnishings and pictures everywhere. But it appeared as if there had been an explosion of color in Abby’s room. The walls were aglow in bright yellows, radiant reds, and glistening greens. Picture frames twinkled with hand-painted designs, and her desk was a work of art in itself, all moons and stars and brilliant creatures that seemed ready to leap out of the woodwork to experience life themselves.

  She smiled again. “Might as well start talking, David. I actually do have all day, unfortunately, but it won’t do you any good to keep whatever’s bothering you bottled up.”

  “I talked with Jess last night,” he began. “She called me.”

  “Really!” She leaned forward. “How is she?”

  “Good. I think. It was the first time we’ve talked.”

  “Ever?” Abby’s lips twisted as she sat back once more. “I hadn’t realized that.”

  “I don’t think she’s come back to Shady Grove since I moved here,” said David. “And other than a couple quick trips out of town I’ve had to make for business, I haven’t left.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense, then. You’ll meet her someday. She can be a trip!”

  David laughed. Abby spoke the lingo of several different generations, all fluently.

  “So what did you talk about?” she asked. “Must’ve been strange for you, no? Your girlfriend’s bestie, who knows all of her dirty laundry and childhood secrets… did you find yourself trying not to dive into all that?”

  David felt himself blushing. “Well… that was kind of why she called. I suppose I wanted to dive into some of it. To try to understand Genevieve better. There are so many things about our relationship, no matter how bad or good it is, that I just don’t get. It always seems like I’m missing some big pieces of the puzzle.” His hands rose, palms open with the fingers splayed. “Not that it would fix things if I knew more… It’s just that… I want it to work, I really do. I believe I love her, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and…” He shifted uncomfortably as his hands fell. “I’m sorry, Abby. It seems like half my conversations lately have involved me apologizing for rambling on and on about Genevieve. I certainly did last night with Jess.”

  Abby’s eyes remained on his for several seconds, unblinking as she took in his earnest discomfiture. She sat forward again, and gently patted his knee. “Jess is a nice girl, David. Todd was a nice boy. Genevieve is always going to be Genevieve. Why do you keep dragging yourself over these same shoals?”

  David’s head shook. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  Her hand withdrew, and Abby reclined again. Her countenance was sad, reflective. “I remember the first day I met her,” she said. “Almost twenty-five years ago. Seventh grade art class, back when they had art classes in junior high.” A wistful smile appeared as she glanced about her room. “Of course, she first got my attention when she corrected my pronunciation of her name. But then, her work! Oh my, what all we teachers wish for, a student who can appreciate, listen, and apply. And Genevieve was that student, in spades.” She scrutinized him. “You’ve seen some of her drawings, right? Or her oils?”

  He nodded. “Yes. She has a few up in the house, but the attic is full of them.”

  Abby glimmered. “And, of course, she has several of her newer pieces up at Gâteaupia. But the talent and skill that girl had would have been nothing without her determination. I don’t believe I ever had a student work so hard. If it wasn’t right, if it wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured in her head, she began all over again. Not with anger or complaints, just the sheer willpower to do it better, and better, and better. And it worked! In the two years I taught her, she transformed. From a skillful creator to a true artist. And no, David,” Abby smiled, “I am not attributing that to my teaching. Genevieve learned nearly everything all by herself. I merely pointed her in a direction, and she’d just take off.”

 
“She always credits you for guiding her,” he demurred. “And every time I’m in this room, I can see it. The freeness of form, the touch of whimsy that almost camouflages the craft.”

  “But the craft is still there, David. The hours, the years spent perfecting techniques, learning how to make it look easy, look natural. You do understand that Genevieve uses the same approach with everything she undertakes in life, right?”

  “Of course! Her cakes are all works of art, the store, her house.”

  “And your relationship, too.”

  David remained silent, thinking.

  “She keeps ending it and then beginning it again. Just as she did in my class, just as she does with each cake she designs. As she did with Todd. As she’s doing with you.”

  “Todd, too? I knew they had some rough patches, but…”

  Her hand waved his digression away. “After he left Shady Grove, she didn’t go out on a single date for over two years. Two years! Until she met you. Trust me, she wants to get it right. Allow her to. Give her the space to find her way.”

  “But what if it’s me that she can’t get right? What if I’m the problem?”

  “Oh, you’ve got problems all right, but those are yours, not hers!”

  David laughed. “Fair enough.”

  Abby leaned toward him again. “Genevieve feels alone, David. Her parents both died when she was in college, her best friend lives across the country, the other girls who know her best are her employees. Todd was great with her for many years, but the two of them became different people from what they were in their twenties. You’re an adult, and you’ve been hurt, you’ve lost things that mattered to you. She knows that you can understand her, she knows you can accept her.”

  “If she feels so alone, why does she always push me away?” David hadn’t meant his reply to emerge so petulantly.

  “I’ve already told you,” answered Abby. “She needs to get it right. One day. One day, she’ll tell you everything and you’ll understand. Or at least I hope you will.”

  David rose. “Thank you, Abby. Thank you for letting me… be an idiot in front of you.”

  She removed her cannula and stood. “Nothing a few thousand kids haven’t done before you!”

  He smiled. “By the way, Genevieve said that she can’t stop by today, but she’ll visit tomorrow.”

  “Anytime! Whenever. You’re both always welcome, together or apart.”

  He hugged her goodbye, and then once again headed for the exit of The Restful Nook.

  Chapter Eleven

  The day outside was brilliant, the May sunshine golden but not overly warm, the hues of the mid-spring foliage clean and crisp. Willow Street was packed with parked cars, the owners of which were scattered about the public square along with children, dogs, Frisbees, baseballs, blankets, and books.

  David stayed on the north side of Willow, wishing Johnson were with him. But his dog was stuck at home, undoubtedly curled up on the living room couch, waiting to hear the approach of David’s footsteps.

  A young couple exited the front doors of the Episcopal Church on his left. A pastor had emerged as well, and he embraced each of them before they joined hands and began to descend the steps. The pastor nodded at David, who had halted for a second. He gestured welcomingly toward the interior of the church, but David shook his head and started walking again. For his refusal he received both a smile and a polite bow.

  The trolley was at the stop at Willow and Third, but David was headed to Gâteaupia. He’d texted Genevieve late the previous night: “Talked to Jess. You know that. Thank you.” And she had texted back. “Hope it helped. It was time you met. Come by if you want in the a.m.”

  He had known that she meant her business, not her home. Saturdays were early days for the owner of a popular bakery.

  David turned right on Fourth, and then crossed it at Larch Avenue. Gâteaupia was midway down the block on the north side of Larch, between a sandwich shop and a bookstore.

  “David, sweetie! Oh my God, we’re busy. No Johnson today?” Lydia had just dropped off two plates at a table near the front, and she’d rushed forward to plant a kiss on David’s cheek.

  “Nope. God, you are busy. How’s G?”

  She made a face. “Slammed. Eight event specialties: four locals, two that need to be in Franklin by three, two new ones that came in this morning. You wanta take over my spot so I can give her a hand?”

  “Uh…”

  “Yeah, yeah! Then just come sit by me so I can whisper all that I want to do to you into your cute little ear.”

  David had no reply for that. After a few seconds of amused silence, Lydia stepped forward and did whisper into his ear: “Green apple and broccoli torte with a champagne ganache!”

  As she stepped back, he quickly retorted, “Cherry cornmeal jam cake, topped with candied blueberries.”

  “Yuck! You win. Find a place to sit, I’ll bring ya something in a few. Anything you want specific?”

  “Surprise me,” David grinned.

  “Oh, I want to. I want to,” she answered, her voice sultry and low.

  Lydia swept away, and David couldn’t help but admire her. Her hair, streaked with purple when they’d first become acquainted, was now a deep black with shimmery pink highlights. Her figure was perfect, her demeanor a delight. She made everyone feel as though she knew them, and in truth, she did. Quiet about her personal life, Lydia focused outwardly, and took a profound joy in doing so. Between her service and Genevieve’s cakes, it was little wonder that Gâteaupia was filled to capacity most days.

  David found a table with a single chair in a corner by the washroom. At Gâteaupia, however, no table was a bad table. The storefront itself was an enchantment: elegantly lit cake display cases, gleaming round tables with scalloped back chairs, a stamped tin ceiling that shone with the vintage lighting’s radiance. Genevieve’s spectacular paintings of various desserts enlivened the walls, and then there was the actuality itself. Pure heaven on white china, served with linen napkins and real silver. Once you ordered at the counter, the remainder of your Gâteaupia experience consisted of relaxing in comfort while being catered to with style.

  “Here you go. Chocolate and Glazed Hazelnut Mousse Cake.” Lydia slid a plate in front of him before setting down a lustrous fork atop a tidy napkin. “G says she’ll be out in a few. She asked if you could entertain yourself. Think of me while you do so, David?” She bounced back toward the counter, swung around to make sure that he was still watching her, and then winked as she began to take another order.

  David dug in, famished. This would spoil his lunch, but so what? Nothing could compare to one of Genevieve’s desserts, ever. It still amazed him that she could run the business so well. Aside from Lydia, five other women worked for her, though two only on weekends when it was frantic. Genevieve also oversaw the kitchen, managed the books, and still found time to constantly develop and test new recipes. She was practically superhuman, David felt at times. At other times, he found her high level of competence daunting, if not downright frightening.

  “How is it?” Genevieve stood before him, in a fetching hair net and dusted here and there with flour.

  David gestured toward what little remained on his plate. “Howdoya think?” he got out while trying not to swallow too quickly his final bite.

  She smiled. “That’s a new one. It’s clearly a keeper. I snapped some yummy pics this morning; if I send them to you, can you add a page to the website?”

  He nodded. “Easy. This afternoon, if you’d like. Just hit me over the head with the spelling so I don’t muck it all up like the last one.”

  Genevieve’s smile became a smirk. “I’ll email you when I take a break to do paperwork. And not everyone innately knows how to spell ‘Mascarpone.’ ”

  “What about ‘rhubarb’?”

  “That was a typo and you know it. Ten cents deducted from your fee.”

  “What fee?”

  “Your next slice of it. How was Grandpa? Did you
talk to Abby?”

  David set his fork down atop the plate. “I told her. Grandpa was himself. A slightly worse version than last week. Can we have dinner together tonight?”

  “Oh, right to it, huh? Didn’t Lydia manage to snare you for the evening?”

  “She tried, but she’d forgotten she had a date with a seamstress named Bethany. Bethany no like her girlfriends to have boyfriends.”

  “Ah. But Lydia could sell ice to the Eskimos. Bethany might be stunned to discover what she’s been missing out on all these years, and never let you go. If you’re sure you’re not otherwise engaged, come by around six thirty? You bring the wine, I’ll bring dessert?”

  “Works for me.”

  “Okay, see you then. Bye!” She pressed a finger to his forehead, and then headed back toward the kitchen.

  As always, David couldn’t help but note that Genevieve was at her happiest and most comfortable with him when she was at work. An interesting element in their odd relationship, but he accepted it. He’d never failed to leave Gâteaupia a good deal merrier than when he’d arrived.

  “That’s it? You just eat your fill and leave?” Lydia once more, cantering by with four plates balanced in her arms. “Wait a sec, will ya?”

  David looked on as she served a table of eager diners, the smiles on their faces the only evidence he needed that Genevieve’s constant tweaks to her recipes were well worth her time.

  “I’d so kiss you again,” she said as she strode up, “but I’m afraid you’d start to like it. And then what? I’d gain a lover, but be out of a job.”

  “I do like it, I do,” David insisted, gazing into her sparkling eyes. “But how would I ever keep you?”

  “Oh, you’d keep me, David,” she simpered. “You’re a keeper, didn’t you know that? And oh! One more thing!”

  “Mmm?” Lydia had angled forward as though she were about to deliver a confidence.

  “Banana-carrot Clementine cake with pomegranate sauce,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “Ugh. Fruit and date spice cake with cream cheese frosting.”