Coffee Shop Girl

by Katie Cross

  “Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Hey, don’t be a hater.”

  “I’m not being hard on your idea. Sounds great, to be honest. But you sound as excited as a rock.”

  My mind flittered back to Bethany. If she wasn’t part of my day, if I didn’t have her to look forward to, then that adequately described my excitement about the job.

  “Yeah. That pretty much covers it.”

  “You’re playing small, Mav.”

  “I’m trying to figure it out.”

  “You’re running. You and your proud minimalism and phobia of commitment. You’re running like a scared toddler, that’s what. And I know what that looks like, because Jameson has been crashing at our place with sweet little Sarah, and that thing is full of fire.”

  A sudden grin found its way onto my face. My spitfire niece, Sarah, had just earned her spot of honor on my left arm right before I came. She was fourteen months old, and full of fire was a perfect description. My brother Jameson had earned every second of it after his wild teenage years.

  “I’m not running,” I mumbled.

  “That alone means you are, and that also means it’s probably a woman. And one who actually stands a chance at meaning something to you. Are you already in love with her?”

  I rolled my eyes. How was she always right? No wonder Bethany was annoyed with me so much. It was annoying.

  “That’s . . . oddly correct,” I muttered.

  “Don’t act like this is my first rodeo. I can hear it in your voice. That bad, huh?”

  “I messed it up pretty good this time.”

  “Get her back. Then bring her home so I can meet her already. Your mom will be . . . so happy. She worries about you.”

  “You’d tolerate her.”

  “Sure. Let her prove herself to me first, all right? In the meantime, get it together. Figure out what you really want. And remember, you’re no failure, Mav. I would never have tolerated you otherwise.”

  “Thanks,” I said wryly.

  “Talk soon.”

  She clicked off without another word. I sat in my car until full darkness descended, stewing over a lifetime of incorrect thinking.

  Somehow, this had gone oddly off course. For the first time, I realized that leaving Bethany had been the right thing to do. I hadn’t been ready for her.

  I had some demons of my own to chase. And they started back in California.

  Time to confront my mom and see that letter.

  33

  Bethany

  The cemetery lay in a patch of sunshine.

  I crouched next to Dad’s headstone, only a few paces away from Pappa’s. Mama had been cremated, her ashes scattered to the river, the way she’d always wanted. A small stone tribute to her sat on Jim’s property. Their neighbor had made it, his face tear-streaked when he brought it to her viewing.

  Ironically enough, likely that was the neighbor who was Ellie’s biological father.

  For Dad, I’d chosen a massive headstone with a river carved into it, hints of fish in the peaked waves. The edges pressed into my fingertip as I traced each letter.

  A dry, hot breeze brushed over my neck. I situated myself next to him, staring at the curves of his name. Daniel David Beecham. Talking to his headstone had never been a problem for me. I often came, spinning out yarns, laughing over memories, letting my cracked heart loose. Sometimes, on the slow days, it was the only real conversation I had.

  Today, the words nearly stuck in my throat.

  “I think I made a huge mistake, Dad. Huge. Boomer mistake, as you’d put it.”

  My jaw tightened as I thought about Maverick. Dad would have loved him. If Dad had ever met Maverick, he would have taken him from me. Between them, I never would have gotten a word in edgewise. The thought made me smile, but it quickly faded.

  “I willingly fell for a guy who couldn’t stay. I knew that. I knew he couldn’t stay, but I let myself fall for him anyway. Maybe I was just that lonely. I rarely get hugs anymore, which is kind of my fault. I could find them. Millie would. Jada would. Stephanie would give me a hug, if I let her know I needed one. Kin would, even if that would get weird. But maybe it was desperation.”

  I gazed out over the low, aging gravestones to the forest beyond. A wrought iron fence circled this quiet place, just outside Pineville limits, inside the fold of the mountains. No one else was here but me. In the weeks since Maverick left, I’d questioned myself relentlessly.

  Why?

  Why had I let myself fall into him?

  Why did I keep asking for heartbreak?

  Had I been fair to Maverick?

  There had definitely been some desperation. Touch has always been your love language, Lizbeth had said when she’d stayed up late to hash this out with me. The way a sister would. I’ll give you more hugs from now on. You need them.

  In the end, I could see that Maverick had done me a favor. I hadn’t been ready for him. I’d been desperate for him. Eventually, it would have broken us up.

  “I’ve asked myself if it was just desperation that led me so quickly into Maverick’s arms. If it had been any other man, would I have done the same thing? But . . . I don’t think so. I think I know why I did it.” A tear trickled down my face. “Because he reminded me of you. He was on my team. He sparked life back into me when I’d felt dead for so many months. He made me feel safe, and seen, and alive. I haven’t had any of those things since you died.”

  I sniffled, turning to rest my head on my bent knees. “And now he’s gone, and I’m sad. I only knew him for a few weeks but . . . it was still so real, Dad. So real for me. How many times can a heart break?”

  The breeze rustled overhead again. I stopped breathing to listen. No words came. No representation of Dad appeared. Half of me had hoped for it. The other half thought I’d finally lost my sanity. The mounting pressure had broken my brain.

  I blinked, then touched his name again.

  “I’ll be fine,” I whispered. “Eventually. I always am. But that’s not the only reason I came here today. I, uh . . . have a confession. No, I’m not pregnant.” My lips twitched. “So, don’t ask. I . . . changed the Frolicking Moose. It’s been changing a lot, in fact. The fish are gone. Like, we buried them.” The admission came out like a gasp. “Please don’t haunt me.”

  Another stir of wind, gentle on my cheek. I laughed and wiped two tears away.

  “The scones are gone, too, and Lizbeth painted the walls. I was fine with that. The place really did smell like fish, you know. I gave all your lures to Ellie. Because, honestly, Dad. Fish and coffee? That just sounds disgusting. She’ll live up to your lures. She’ll keep you going that way, won’t she?

  “Oh, and I maybe—but definitely did—sell the motorcycle. I’m also going to rent the attic of the Frolicking Moose out. Not sure if anyone will take it . . . but I’ll try. Jada is letting us live in her basement until I can save up to get my real estate license. I’ve decided to push all our profits toward that once I get new school wardrobes for the girls. Kinoshi and I have filed for custody of the girls. He’s taken us on as a pro bono case, if you can believe that.”

  A fluttering feeling moved through me. Quick. Light. How had I been so blind all this time? I thought I had been alone after Dad died, but my team had always been around me. Millie. Jada. Kinoshi. Even Stephanie, at the restaurant. Hadn’t she constantly brought me free meals? Jada gave me twenty bucks for a single coffee all the time. Millie brightened my day, sometimes stopping in to talk for an hour. Now Lizbeth and Ellie. I wasn’t alone then . . . neither would I be now.

  I had a team. And they had me.

  “So . . . just waiting on word after the filing,” I whispered, my throat thick with emotion. “Not sure what Jim will say, if anything. No sign of him yet, which is encouraging. I think we have a chance. I know it’s what you would have done, too.”

  The usual stir of pain didn’t pierce my chest. Just a hollow emptiness lived there now. Maybe that was better than the pain. Maybe i
t was nothing. But I had a feeling it was progress.

  “By doing all of this, though, I feel like I’ve disappointed you. Like I’ve failed you by letting you go. By changing your dream into my own thing. By erasing you from my life by selling or removing all your things.”

  Another deranged giggle burst out of me. This is the horrible feeling that Maverick must be avoiding. Disappointing someone you love so deeply.

  The emotion released something inside me. A dam broke in my chest. From it, a mixture of wrenching sobs and giddy laughter flowed out. I wasn’t sure if I was terrified, or relieved, or finally totally crazy with grief.

  But I sank into it.

  “Please,” I begged Dad when I calmed down. Tears flowed down my face unimpeded now. “Please just . . . don’t be really gone if the coffee shop is different, okay? I know it doesn’t make sense. It sounds insane. You’re probably thinking, You’ve lost your mind, Bee. Of course I’ll still be around even if the shop doesn’t smell like dead fish and old man. But I just . . . I want to know that you’re not really gone. There’s still you somewhere, even if it’s not the Frolicking Moose. Then I can move on. Then I can be the sister that Ellie and Lizbeth need me to be.”

  Another shift of wind ruffled my hair. I closed my eyes, letting it cool the tearstains on my cheek. The silence that followed sank all the way into my bones. I absorbed it, grateful for the peace. The quiet. The sudden fatigue that accompanied a crazed but necessary outpouring of emotion. I welcomed it. I felt lighter than I had in the ten months since Dad’s death. Lighter, and stronger.

  My eyes fluttered open when I felt a soft caress on my arm.

  A bee lay there, wings gently fluttering. My breath caught as it traveled slowly up my arm, half-flying to my shirt, where it landed right over my heart. A sob broke from my throat. The bee remained, perfectly still, as my heart beat beneath it.

  “Got it, Dad,” I whispered, laughing. “Message received. I love you, too.”

  34

  Bethany

  Early August sunshine cut through the windows, leaving the shop sticky with heat. My air conditioning struggled to keep up, which meant last month’s two-hundred-dollar profit might end up going to AC repairs.

  No, I’d figure something out. Swap coffee for their work, or something.

  “What do you think, Lizbeth?” I asked, my head tilted to the side. “Should we do the Cut and Coffee event from six to seven or seven to eight on Thursday nights? Or six to eight? No, Thursdays won’t work. That’s bingo night at the community center. I think we’ll have to do Wednesdays.”

  An almost-finished advertisement filled my computer screen. Millie and I had decided to host a cut-a-thon where people could buy coffee, get a discount on their haircut, and donate half the proceeds to the local food bank. Getting foot traffic into the coffee shop to show everyone the new baked goods was my idea. Buying mini cupcakes and giving out free samples was Lizbeth’s. It was the perfect opportunity to show off the Frolicking Moose’s new look.

  Lizbeth lazily turned a page in her book, curled up like a cat on Dad’s recliner. One leg bopped up and down. The plum-colored walls lent a newfound coziness to the shop. With one set of lights turned off, replaced by the warm glow of the lamp, the entire place felt calm.

  She had weeded down the mugs to the best ones from Dad’s collection—I willingly gave the rest to Goodwill—and used the rest of the space for donated books.

  New games populated the coffee table, which Lizbeth had distressed. Because, come on, Bethany. Crappy-looking furniture is the new thing.

  The sprawling, braided rug we’d found at a thrift store lay in a circle beneath her chair, which she’d scrubbed to a fresh shine with upholstery cleaner. It was shaggy in a totally chic way. Only the new designs on the chalkboard equaled it in terms of color, which Lizbeth had happily taken charge of. Her chalkboard palette grew in color every day.

  The Frolicking Moose was officially rustic-mountain cozy. Dad would have loved it. I knew I did.

  Main Street lay quiet. No customers had been in the store for an hour, which was a new record. Our marketing efforts had doubled revenue over the last four weeks since Maverick left. The new decor certainly had something to do with that.

  The temptation to send Maverick pictures of the changes had been almost overwhelming, but I had refrained. He hadn’t reached out to me, nor I to him. We’d both chosen our paths.

  While I still ached for him, even after such a whirlwind affair, I couldn’t be the one who went back. Honoring his need for space required nearly all my strength. The pine-scented candle that Ellie had chosen felt like a knife in my chest, even now. But I let it burn, because there was comfort in the loneliness for him.

  He’d done his best in difficult circumstances, and I could see that now. These days, I tried to satisfy my need for touch through hugs with every willing customer or friend. A substantial number of people were willing to donate their hugs.

  It helped, but it wasn’t the same.

  In the end, Maverick might have done the right thing. We hardly knew each other. He was used to a city life and a corporate world. For the next eight years, I was tied to this town, this shop, this path. Braiding our worlds would have been difficult, at best. He’d always live in my memory as a bright spot. An illumination. Downright magic.

  Like lipstick that never faded.

  Still, that didn’t stop me from thinking about him. Where was he now? Some random town in South Dakota? Minnesota? I scoffed. No. Probably something less remote this time. He’d probably had his fill of small-town life for now. He was probably back in California with his family.

  Did he want to go back to the city?

  Any new tattoos? He’d have to have a new niece or nephew for that, which only highlighted how little we knew each other at all.

  This had been for the best.

  My attempts to make myself believe that only drove me deeper into a hole. Resignation didn’t feel much better. No matter what I told myself, I missed him. The way he smiled. The look in his eyes when I chewed on my bottom lip—like he wanted to bite it too. I knew what my yoga pants did to him. It’s why I wore them so often. He’d been more than my latest flame; he’d been my friend. I missed discussing the state of the store every morning. Asking questions about cash flow.

  Knowing he’d have my back at the next bank meeting.

  He’d been part of my team, and I missed that.

  “Six to eight,” I declared, forcing my mind back to work. “We’ll do the Cut and Coffee from six to eight. We’ll test it out and reevaluate later.”

  “Uh . . . Bethany?”

  A tremor in Lizbeth’s voice caught my attention. I glanced up. She backed away from the windows, her face as white as a sheet. Beyond her was a familiar, beat-up truck. My heart dropped into my stomach. The driver’s door swung open with a groan, and a red-haired man staggered out.

  “Jim,” I whispered.

  He wasn’t sober, and he wasn’t looking kind. I darted around the counter and bolted for the door, sliding the lock home. Seconds later, Jim slammed into the door with his shoulder. A low-throated bellow issued from him. His face pressed against the glass like a horror movie. Bloodshot eyes peered at me, gone with drink. A scruffy beard made his face look like orange sandpaper.

  “Go upstairs,” I said to Lizbeth, taking a few steps back. “Take my phone with you, and call 911. Tell them we need Sheriff Bailey here right now. Where’s Ellie?”

  Lizbeth stood frozen, her gaze locked on Jim. His vague shouts had ceased as they stared at each other. Sorrow appeared on his heavy brow. His breath fogged up the glass window.

  She whimpered.

  “Lizbeth!”

  Startled, she came back to herself, looked at me, and whispered, “What?”

  “My phone.” I grabbed her arm. “Take it upstairs, and call 911. Tell them to send Sheriff Bailey right now. Where’s Ellie?”

  “I-I-I don’t know. I think she’s with Devin.”

 
; “Lizbeth!” Jim yelled. He slammed a palm against the door. “Let me in. Lizbeth is my daughter. You can’t have her.”

  “Don’t listen to him.” I shoved her toward the hallway. “Go upstairs. Call 911.”

  “Maybe I can talk him out of it.”

  “No. You will not speak with him.”

  Lizbeth looked at me, then at Jim, and quietly disappeared, eyes sparkling. When I turned back to the door, his nostrils flared.

  “Give her back!”

  “Get out of here, Jim. We’re calling the sheriff, and he’ll be here any minute now. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  Jim stumbled back, screaming Lizbeth’s name before he nearly fell off the porch. My heart hammered when Lizbeth appeared at the end of the hallway. Tears tracked down her face. “The sheriff is on his way, but he’s up a canyon. It’ll be a few minutes.”

  Great.

  I licked my lips. “Thanks, Lizbeth. Go back upstairs. See if you can find Ellie.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be fine. He’s not going to come in here unless he breaks the glass down, and that would probably kill him. Go to the back door and see if Ellie is out there.”

  She stopped, torn.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked.

  Her lips parted. “Yes.”

  “Then go.”

  I turned to face Jim again, my knees shaking. No one walked by outside, which was good. This would be between me and him. All I had to do was buy time until the sheriff arrived. This would all be fodder against Jim in our custody case, which was already going better than expected, thanks to Jada’s reports and a few neighbors contributing their testimonies. But this would seal it.

  “Let’s talk this out, Jim,” I said through the window, but remained back. “I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, but you have to promise to stay calm.”

  He blinked rapidly, as if he couldn’t focus. He leaned his forehead on the glass door to stare straight into my eyes. Darkness clouded his features. It was like staring into the soul of the devil.