The Enchanted Garden Cafe

by Abigail Drake

  A niggling thought formed in my mind that Auntie Mags might be right about my blocked chakra and my heart center. There very well could be something seriously wrong with me. I didn’t want to believe it but couldn’t forget how it had felt when those people tried to unblock me. Not painful but uncomfortable and strange.

  I thought about Auntie Mags as I sat by Moses’s bed and wondered if she could unblock whatever kept him unconscious. I knew his brain needed time to heal, but I wanted to do something, anything to help. Maybe I should consider Matthew’s offer. Working together, we might be able to figure out who did this to Moses and why.

  Nurse Brenda came in and smiled when she saw me. “He’s doing better today. His vitals are stronger, and he moved around a bit this morning. Nothing major, just shifting his legs and hands, but I think he’s on the mend. We’ve reduced his meds. We just have to wait for him to wake up now.”

  “He looks so . . . still.”

  She put a hand on my arm. “There’s no rushing it. We have to be patient and give him time.”

  As I left the hospital, the sun warmed my face. I wore a comfortable sundress in a pale blue that matched the sky. It felt good to be outside, and my heart seemed lighter after talking with Nurse Brenda. I almost skipped to the market. I put on sunglasses and thought about my heart center. I wanted to see if I could feel it again on my own.

  I stopped walking, closed my eyes, relaxed my shoulders, and lifted my chin. It took only a second before I found it, a golden, flickering light, right in the center of my chest. A peaceful, secluded island of calm in the middle of the raging sea of humanity that was the South Side, and I’d never even known it existed.

  It made me wonder what other things I’d missed or refused to see. Maybe there was something to all this reiki nonsense. Maybe I’d been too quick to judge my mom, Auntie Mags, and all their crazy friends. Maybe this was what Matthew meant when he told me I was wrong about a lot of things. Maybe, just maybe, I’d been wrong about him too.

  Chapter Seven

  The tastiest meal is one shared with a friend.

  ~Aunt Francesca~

  My little moment of nirvana ended when a person slammed into me suddenly from behind. I flew forward, expecting to hit the pavement, but a strong set of arms caught me just in time. I lifted my head and found myself staring directly at a wooden yin and yang necklace on a nicely muscled and familiar chest.

  “Watch where you’re going.” Matthew said to the man behind me as he pulled me close, cradling me in his arms, two angry spots of color on his cheeks.

  “She stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk.” The man who’d bumped into me wore a business suit and looked like he’d come to the South Side on his lunch break. I put a hand on Matthew’s arm to make him settle down. He seemed ready to brawl.

  “He’s right, Matthew. I wasn’t paying attention.” I turned to the man. “My bad. Sorry.”

  The man walked away, muttering something about “damned hippies and stoners” under his breath. Matthew watched him leave, his expression furious.

  “You can let go now.”

  Matthew glanced at me in surprise, like he didn’t realize he still had me clutched to his side. I disengaged myself gently from his embrace, feeling a tinge of regret. There was something so warm and safe and solid about Matthew.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Don’t,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean what I said in the shop yesterday. I’m sorry, Matthew.”

  He gave me a serious nod. “Apology accepted.”

  “Wow. That was easy,” I said with a laugh.

  The sunshine on his face brought out gold and green flecks in his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. You’re under a lot of stress. I get it. And you were wrong about me. I don’t have a tattoo of a Chinese character anywhere on my body.”

  He rolled up the sleeves of his dark T-shirt to show me his biceps and lifted it to show me his stomach. He had a six-pack but no tattoos. “See? Not a one.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You could be hiding it.” I blushed, imagining him wearing nothing but his yin and yang necklace.

  Matthew came closer and gave me a naughty look. “I could prove it, if you’d like.”

  “No, thanks.” I jumped away so fast I dropped my basket.

  He grinned, catching it before it hit the ground. “Where are you going, Little Red Riding Hood?”

  “The farmers’ market. Want to come?”

  He looked surprised I’d asked him to join me. I was a bit surprised myself.

  “Did you just ask the big bad wolf on a date?” he asked, and I gaped at him. He had the ability to make me feel flustered all the time and seemed to know it. “I’m teasing you. I’d love to see the farmers’ market.”

  “Good. There’s a little old Amish guy whose wife makes the most delicious whoopie pies. I’ll get you one. My treat.”

  He watched me with his steady dark eyes. “Show me the way.”

  We walked side by side, and I wondered if inviting him was the wrong thing to do. Even if buying whoopie pies for another guy seemed perfectly innocent, Scott might not see it that way.

  Matthew, obviously unconcerned about the moral implications of whoopie pies, looked around at the chaos that made up the South Side. “This place is amazing,” he said. “So colorful. So alive.”

  “Also run down and a little smelly. You aren’t from around here, are you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m from Philly. I came here for . . . a friend.”

  He hesitated before he said “friend,” so I knew it was a girl. She was, no doubt, someone sexy and tall with long dark hair and a throaty laugh. She definitely had tattoos, and she knew exactly where Matthew’s hidden tattoos were as well.

  I hated her.

  I cleared my throat, pushing the thought of Matthew’s girlfriend out of my mind, and adopted a formal tour guide kind of pose. “Let me show you around. To your left, we have Pamela’s, which makes the best pancakes in the whole wide world. Over there is Oram’s. They sell cinnamon rolls as big as your head. They’re fantastic.”

  We passed a guitar shop. “I’ve been there,” he said with a grin. “As you may have guessed, and I’ve been to the record shop too. Is this the block they want to tear down?”

  I nodded. “From the street the Enchanted Garden is on all the way down to the church.”

  The Enchanted Garden was on a side street, around the corner from the main strip, and signaled the beginning of the residential part of the South Side. Most of the buildings on the main street were several stories and made of stone or brick. The café was a little pink and green anomaly.

  “These buildings are amazing.” He pointed to the stone gargoyles that topped the used bookstore. “Look at the detail.”

  “Those gargoyles happen to be my friends, Fred and Wilma.”

  Matthew laughed. “The Flintstones?”

  “Yep. They’re beautiful and close to two hundred years old. The café is one of the newer buildings on this block, and it was built in 1850.”

  “And someone wants demolish all this?”

  “Anderson Solutions calls it progress. The South Side needs more parking.”

  Matthew shook his head. “It isn’t right.”

  “It’s in the hands of Mr. McAlister at this point. If he decides to sell . . .”

  “All hope is lost.”

  “Yes. And we’d lose the candy shop, too, which would be tragic.” We stood in front of Yonky’s Candy Emporium. I glanced in the window and let out a gasp. A handwritten sign in the window said, “Closing after forty sweet and wonderful years—all inventory must go.”

  I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Mr. Yonky stood behind the counter, his shoulders stooped. He seemed to have aged ten years since I’d seen him last.

  “Fiona. I hoped you’d stop by.” He straightened his glasses and attempted to smooth down his gray hair. Half-filled boxe
s littered the floor, and barely anything remained on the shelves.

  “What happened?”

  He let out a sigh. “Anderson Solutions. They gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  Matthew stood next to me, staring into the empty glass display case. “What kind of an offer?” I asked.

  Mr. Yonky let out a bitter laugh. “One that let me keep the shirt on my back and my house too. I got off lucky, I guess. They are not nice people, Fiona.”

  “I got that feeling. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He handed me a lollipop in a bright wrapper. “Keep fighting. You and your mom have decided to stand up to them, and I know a lot of others will stand with you. I had no choice. It was time for me to retire, and Mrs. Yonky wants to move to Florida anyway, but what they are doing is wrong.”

  I gave him a hug and went outside, feeling defeated. I stared down at the lollipop. It reminded me of my childhood, of days spent running to Mr. Yonky’s with coins clutched in my hand, ready to spend my hard-earned allowance on a special treat. “I have to do something.”

  “You are. You’re standing up to them, like Mr. Yonky said.”

  “But I didn’t help him. To be in business so long and to go out like this . . .”

  Matthew put a finger under my chin and tilted my head up until his eyes met mine. “You’re doing what you can, Fiona. Don’t give up hope.”

  “I’m trying, but I feel like the whole area is doomed. It’s depressing.”

  “Not doomed. Not even close. I know you’re sad about Mr. Yonky but look around. Most of the other businesses are doing well.”

  He was right. Only a few shops had darkened windows and “closed” signs on their doors. Most were busy and bustling with customers. “I guess it isn’t that bad . . .”

  “It’s actually a vibrant and interesting place. But I am curious about a few things,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “First of all, are you going to eat that lolly or stare at it? Because it looks good.”

  I handed it to him. “Here. It’s yours.”

  He unwrapped the lollipop and stuck it in his mouth as we walked. “Secondly, I need a recommendation. There are tons of restaurants here. What if I wanted to go somewhere nice, like on a date?”

  I thought about the sexy girlfriend I’d imagined and tried not to scowl. “It depends. If you want to splurge, I’d go up there.” I pointed to the restaurants perched on top of Mount Washington, high above the South Side. “Those are some of the best places in town, and the views are fantastic.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. “Where do you like to go?”

  “I’m easy.” I pointed to Wicked Wienies, the hot dog shop across the street.

  “Hot dogs? Aren’t you a vegetarian?”

  “No way. My mom is a vegetarian. I’m a carnivore.”

  “Shall I buy you a hot dog, Ms. Carnivore?”

  “Let’s go to the market first before they run out of everything; then we can eat.”

  The farmers’ market was held twice a week in the church parking lot at the end of the block. Soon, my basket and totes were filled with fresh produce and some beautiful herbs. All the vendors loved Matthew. He even charmed old Mr. Yoder, my Amish whoopie pie supplier, who was slightly deaf and thought Matthew was my husband. I bought whoopie pies for us and several fruit pies for the shop.

  “You’re a charmer,” I said as we walked away.

  “People usually like me. You’re kind of the exception to the rule.” He gave me a wink, and I groaned.

  “I told you I was sorry.”

  Matthew put a casual arm around my shoulders. “Water under the bridge,” he said. “Did you have a chance to see Moses today?”

  I nodded. I should have moved away from his embrace but didn’t. “The nurse said he’s doing better, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

  “It might take some time, Fiona.”

  “I know, but I miss him.” I shifted the totes in my hands. Matthew carried the basket. “Were you serious about what you said? Do you want to work together and ask around?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “And do you still want a hot dog?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  I tilted my head toward the hot dog shop. “Let’s start there. They’re open all night, and the whole South Side eats there. If anyone has been chatting about what happened to Moses, they would know.”

  Bob and his partner Bernie, the owners of Wicked Wienies, stood behind the counter, organizing the lunch rush. The irony of the fact that an openly gay couple owned a shop called Wicked Wienies was not lost on me, but I was so used to it I didn’t think about it anymore. Bob called out a greeting, and Bernie waved me over to the end of the counter to chat. Older and a little on the chubby side with gray curly hair, he had on a purple T-shirt that said, “I Love Wienies!” As soon as I got close enough, he reached out and clasped my hand.

  “I heard about Moses. Is he okay?”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. “He’s still unconscious, but everyone is . . . hopeful. Have you heard anything? About who might have done this?”

  Bernie shook his head. “The whole South Side is talking about it, but no one knows a thing. Moses has a lot of friends, and I don’t know of a single person who’d wish to do him harm. It’s so strange.”

  Bob joined us. His T-shirt, also purple, said, “Eat More Wienies.” I watched as Matthew tried to hold back a smile.

  “It’s Matthew’s first time here,” I said. “Be gentle with him, guys. No atomic chili today. Just wienies.”

  “You never forget your first wienie,” said Bob seriously. “And sadly, we had to take the atomic chili off the menu. One of the cooks got it in his eye and nearly went blind.”

  He pointed over his shoulder at a cook in a white T-shirt wearing an eye patch. He gave us a cheery grin and waved his kitchen tongs at us. Bob shook his head sadly. “Poor guy. He’s okay, though, better than Moses. I can’t believe something like this could happen at the Enchanted Garden. What on earth is this place coming to? An old man getting beat up for no reason at all. How’s your mom holding up, Fi?”

  I blinked away tears. “She’s fine. We’re trying to figure out who could have done this. If you hear anything, will you let us know?”

  “Of course we will,” said Bernie. “But I have a funny feeling about this one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gave Bob a long look. “Bob and I were talking about it this morning. If none of our customers has a clue about what happened, it can only mean one thing.”

  “What?”

  Bob leaned forward so we could hear him above the din of the noisy restaurant. “It wasn’t someone from the South Side who did it.”

  I nodded. I had a feeling Bob and Bernie were right.

  We lunched on hot dogs with nonatomic chili, fresh-cut French fries, and milkshakes. I sipped my chocolate milkshake, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  “You’re deep in thought,” said Matthew.

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “I was thinking about what Bob said.”

  “That it wasn’t someone from the South Side?”

  “Yes.” I let out a sigh. “Which is bad news. It’ll be harder to figure it out if it isn’t someone local.”

  He reached over to squeeze my hand. “Don’t give up, Fiona. Someone has to know something.”

  I pulled my hand away, suddenly a little uncomfortable. “Thank you for lunch. Bernie sure knows his shakes, doesn’t he?”

  “Do you want to try some of mine?” he asked, holding up his strawberry milkshake. I hesitated only for a second.

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said, “because I wanted the chocolate but thought you’d be greedy about it.”

  I giggled, and we switched glasses. “Mmmm. This is good too.”

  “I bet you’re one of those girls who never has to diet, aren’t you?”

  I used a spoon to scoop out a lump of strawberry. “I don’t
eat like this daily, but I don’t diet. My mom doesn’t either. I guess I got her genes.”

  “What about your dad?”

  I leaned back in my seat. There were two options when this subject came up, honesty or avoidance. I chose honesty. “I’ve never met him.”

  I’d never discussed it with my mother, but I suspected my conception occurred on a whim created by a lot of pot, very few inhibitions, and the presence of a handsome stranger. I had no idea who my father was, but Mom had straightened herself out as soon as she found out she was pregnant, and she built the café and made a life for us here. Not exactly the life I would have chosen, but somehow it worked, for her at least.

  Matthew studied my face with his steady, dark gaze. “Are you okay with that?”

  “I don’t have a choice.” I glanced at my watch and slid out of the booth. “I should get going.”

  Matthew leaped to his feet and picked up my tote bags. I grabbed the basket.

  “Did I offend you?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not at all. It is what it is. I have my mom. I don’t need anyone else.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  Something in his voice told me he wasn’t so fortunate, but I didn’t want to ask about it in the middle of the hot dog shop. I forced a smile onto my face. “Can you help me carry this stuff home? I still owe you a whoopie pie.”

  He rubbed his washboard stomach and groaned. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”

  I giggled, sounding like an obnoxious fourteen-year-old girl. I laughed at every single thing he said. I tried to stop but giggled again as we walked back into the shop. Kate, still scratching away in her notebook, looked up in surprise. Her eyes went from me to Matthew and back to me again, and my cheeks grew instantly warm.

  “You remember Matthew, don’t you, Kate?”

  “Hi, Kate. Nice to see you again.” He lifted the tote bags. “I’ll bring these back to the kitchen.”

  “Thanks.” Kate and I spoke in unison. As soon as he was out of earshot, she grabbed my arm.