by Maria Geraci
“I hate Speedway,” Ellen said. “He’s nothing but a misogynistic pig. My friend Janine, who teaches psychology, says he must have deep unresolved mommy issues.”
“Between the four of us, we know . . . what?” said Grace. “At least a dozen more single women? Think of all the men we’ve dated collectively! We could build a dossier on these guys. You don’t run out and buy a book without reading a review or getting a recommendation, do you?”
“Sometimes I go by the cover,” Sarah admitted. “But I always read the first couple of pages too.”
“Wouldn’t it be awesome to meet some guy and know in advance what kind of boyfriend he’ll be? To know whether it’ll be worth going out with him or not?” Grace persisted.
Penny tossed down the rest of her screwdriver. “Butch is quitting his job at the repair shop to tour the country on his Harley.” She met Grace’s gaze head-on. “And he wants me to go with him.”
“Are you going to do it?” Sarah asked.
“I’m thirty-two years old. I have a car loan and four credit cards on which I’m shuffling minimum payments. Butch says I should sell my car and all my furniture and we can live off the road.”
“It sounds kind of romantic,” Ellen said wistfully.
Penny reached for the last oatmeal cookie. “You don’t think it’s crazy?” she asked Grace.
If Penny went on the road with Butch then she wouldn’t be working at the store. Penny had been at Florida Charlie’s ever since she’d arrived in Daytona Beach after moving from Minnesota almost fifteen years ago. Grace had never considered the idea of Penny quitting before. She tried to imagine what the shop would be like without Penny. Some days the only thing that kept Grace sane was Penny’s sarcasm.
“You have at least a month’s paid vacation coming. And I would hold your job. You could take a leave of absence, if you wanted to do it, like . . . on a trial run,” Grace said.
Penny seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “Next month is December, and the tourists will start coming down for the holidays. And then before you know it, it’ll be February and that means Speed Week, and I couldn’t leave you in a lurch like that. Besides, this just shows me that Butch isn’t ready to settle down. And frankly, I am. Maybe it’s best this way. We can make a clean break, you know?”
Grace couldn’t help but feel a selfish rush of relief. But if Butch were truly the right man for Penny, wouldn’t he care about what she wanted too?
Sarah made them all another round of screwdrivers. “I always thought you and Butch would be forever.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what I thought about you and Craig.”
“The cad,” Grace added, because that’s what they’d all called him for so long now the nickname had stuck.
“I think Grace is on to something,” Ellen said. “Maybe this boyfriend club is what we need to empower us. I know my friend Janine would totally be on board.”
Grace raised her drink in the air. “Ladies, may I propose a toast? I officially call the first boyfriend of the month club meeting to order.”
“Hear, hear,” Penny said.
And with that, they all chugged down their drinks.
“Now,” Grace said, “back to Brandon Farrell . . .”
4
La Lechuga y el Tomate
Grace walked into St. Bernadette’s Catholic Church, dipped her fingers into the holy water, and made a hasty sign of the cross. She slipped into the left side of the third pew from the front, the same pew the O’Bryan clan sat in every Sunday at noon. The clan consisted of herself, Pop, Mami, Abuela, and Grace’s brother, Charlie. Grace supposed you really couldn’t call a family of five a clan, but if the definition of the word included “tightly knit group who poked into one another’s business all the time,” then the O’Bryans definitely qualified. Only today, their clan seemed to have added a member.
Grace zeroed in on the tall, willowy, twentysomething standing next to her brother on the opposite end of the pew. “Who’s the redhead?” Grace whispered to her mother in Spanish. Growing up in a bilingual household had its advantages.
Abuela, who was sitting on the other side of Mami, leaned over. “You’re late,” she scolded.
“Just by a minute. Father Donnelly must have started early.” Grace blew a conciliatory kiss in Abuela’s direction. Abuela caught the air kiss and pressed it to her thin cheek.
“Her name is Phoebe and she’s a lawyer at Charlie’s firm. Apparently, they’ve been dating almost two months now,” said her mother. “You’d have met her if you were here on time.”
“Must be serious if he brought her to Mass.”
Her mother raised a skeptical brow, then turned her attention back to Father Donnelly and the Penitential Rite. Ana Alvarez O’Bryan took the Mass seriously. And she expected her daughter to as well.
Charlie’s redhead caught Grace staring at her and smiled. It was a hopeful, friendly “please like me” kind of smile. Grace mentally sighed and smiled back at Charlie’s newest soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. This one must have it bad—sucking up to the family at Sunday Mass. Not that Grace blamed her. To most women her brother would seem like a catch. Charlie was a thirty-three-year-old handsome, straight, single attorney. He was also self-centered and a bit of a mama’s boy, but it took most women at least three months to figure that part out. Charlie had another month before Phoebe called it quits. Which she would. Because they always did. Charlie made sure of it.
Maybe this time, though, things would be different. She tried to catch Charlie’s eye, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. Charlie could go to Vegas and leave a millionaire; his poker face was that good. But Grace knew her brother better than anyone. One look at him and Grace would know if Phoebe was the one or not.
She sent up a silent prayer to St. Anthony. Please, St. Anthony, let Charlie find a nice girl and settle down. Not so much for him—because, honestly, I’m not sure he deserves it—but because it would really make Abuela and Mami happy.
Technically, St. Anthony was the patron saint of lost items. Grace figured lost causes was close enough, and if ever there was a lost cause, it was the hope that Charlie would settle down. When in doubt which saint to pray to, St. Anthony was Abuela’s go-to guy. Grace figured it couldn’t hurt.
It wasn’t till Grace got in line to receive Communion that she noticed Sarah sitting by herself in the front pew. Ever since Sarah and Craig had split, Sarah had been going to church with her family again, but they went to eight a.m. Mass, which Abuela labeled barbaric. Only chickens and old people are up that early, Abuela said. Abuela, who was eighty-two, didn’t count herself a member of either group.
Grace caught Sarah’s gaze on her way back to her seat. Sarah hadn’t gotten up to receive Communion, which was unusual. Maybe Sarah had stopped taking Communion because of the divorce. Something about that didn’t sit well with Grace.
“Why didn’t you take Communion?” Grace asked her the second they were both outside the church.
“Who named you head of the Communion police?”
“Is it because of the divorce? Did you go to Confession and Father Donnelly told you you can’t have Communion anymore? Have you thought about an annulment?”
Father Donnelly was a nice man, but he was a Catholic priest first and he played strictly by the rules. Grace herself had avoided confession for at least three years now. Not that she’d committed any biggies. No murder or theft or coveting anybody’s anything for her. But she was tired of repeating the same banal sins over and over. And the sins that were bigger, she had no intention of telling Father Donnelly. Those were between her and God. Besides, confession was supposed to make you feel better. Only in Grace’s case she always ended up feeling worse about herself.
“It’s called reconciliation now. And it’s supposed to be private.”
“The creep cheated on you, Sarah. What are you supposed to do? Forgive and forget? Surely the Church has to make an allowance for stuff like that.”
“Father Donnelly
hasn’t said a word to me, so you can retract your claws. I didn’t take Communion because I didn’t want to.” Before Grace could respond, Sarah pointed to Phoebe. “Who’s the Amazon with Charles in Charge?”
Grace followed Sarah’s line of vision to see Abuela introducing Phoebe to Father Donnelly, who was heartily pumping her hand up and down. Judging by the gleam in Father Donnelly’s eyes, he looked like he was already mentally scheduling Phoebe and Charlie’s wedding Mass.
“Don’t change the subject,” Grace said. “We were talking about your divorce from Craig.”
“Did someone just say donuts?” Grace turned to find Charlie standing behind her. “I could down a few dozen right now.” He patted his flat stomach. “I’m starving.” Charlie’s metabolism was legendary, a thing of disgusting beauty. Grace studied her brother’s face. What she needed to know, she figured out in two seconds. Poor Phoebe. She was a goner. The only thing Charlie was in love with was a chocolate-glazed Krispy Kreme.
“Have you no shame?” she asked her brother.
“What do I have to be ashamed about?” He reached over and tousled the hair on top of Sarah’s head the way he did every time he saw her. “Hey, squirt. What’s shakin’?”
Charlie had called Sarah squirt ever since Grace could remember, but the nickname hadn’t fit Sarah since they’d graduated parochial school. Sarah might be vertically challenged, but she was the epitome of elegance. Kind of like Grace Kelly but with just the right amount of curves.
Sarah’s traditional response to Charlie’s “What’s shakin’?” was always “Wouldn’t you like to find out?” But before she could say it, Grace interrupted them. “Charlie, when did you start bringing your girlfriends to Mass?”
He looked startled. “Who said Phoebe was my girlfriend?”
“Are you sleeping with her?” Grace asked.
Charlie didn’t even blink. “Nope.”
“Okay, wrong question. Are you having sex with her?”
“Isn’t that a little indelicate considering where we’re at?”
“That means yes. So if you’re having sex with her and you’ve brought her to Mass to meet the family, then she’s your girlfriend. Jeez, Charlie! When are you going to grow up? I haven’t even met her and I like her already. And now you’ve dragged the whole family into it, and then in approximately one month, when she breaks up with you because you’re acting like a total ass hat, Abuela and Mami are going to be really disappointed.”
Charlie had the look of someone who was being unfairly attacked. “For your information, I didn’t bring Phoebe to Mass. She asked me what I was doing today and I told her I spent Sunday afternoons with my family. First Mass, then supper at the house. When we got here, she was waiting outside. What was I supposed to do? Ignore her? Then after Abuela found out we knew each other, she insisted Phoebe sit with us. I was ambushed!”
Sarah chuckled. “I like how this girl works. You have my permission to marry her, Charles.”
Charlie shot Sarah a warning look. “Not funny,” he said.
“Yes, it is,” Sarah replied.
“Stop it you two. Charlie is right. This isn’t funny.”
Sarah’s smile vanished. “Sorry.” She turned to Charlie. “What’s wrong with you? The girl is gorgeous and she’s obviously way into you. Give her a break. Maybe she’s the one, only you’re too stupid to give her a chance.” Sarah stomped off toward the parish hall. “I don’t know about you two, but I need a donut!”
Charlie stared at Sarah’s retreating back.
“Don’t take it personally,” Grace said. “It’s this divorce from Craig.”
The mention of Craig’s name made a muscle on the side of Charlie’s face twitch. “What’s that bastard done now?” he asked. Grace couldn’t help but find his brotherly affection for Sarah touching.
“Nothing. At least, I hope nothing. I think Sarah still blames herself for the marriage falling apart, and it’s eating her up. You know Sarah. She’s a perfectionist.”
“Who’s up for donuts?” Pop came up and placed an arm around Grace’s shoulder. “And speaking of food, how’s my Tomato this morning?”
Tomato was the affectionate nickname Abuela had given Grace as a little girl. Abuela gave everyone nicknames. The names were usually based on a physical trait. For instance, the neighbor next door, Mr. Abernathy, was tall and pigeon-toed, so he became the pato flaco, or the skinny duck. But sometimes the nicknames were based on personality quirks. Even earlier than when Charlie had christened Grace Mal Genio, Abuela had given her two grandchildren the titles of Lechuga y Tomate, Lettuce and Tomato. Charlie was the Lettuce, cool and crisp. And Grace was the Tomato because, well . . . because she was the opposite of that. Pop had stolen the nickname the second it had come out of Abuela’s mouth.
“Pop, I need to talk to you today. In private.”
“No one is eating donuts when I have a huge dinner waiting at home. Especially not you,” Mami said to Pop. “Remember your high blood pressure.” Whenever Mami reminded Pop of his high blood pressure it always made his face go red.
Abuela had her arm linked around Phoebe’s like they were already the best of friends. Abuela liked everybody. Except Fidel Castro, of course. But he didn’t count. “Won’t this be nice! A big family dinner with both my grandchildren.”
Charlie introduced Grace to Phoebe. She was in her first year at the law firm and Charlie was her mentor. Grace almost snickered at the mentor part. She really hoped Charlie was telling the truth about his relationship with Phoebe. Sleeping with someone you worked with was never a good career move.
“I’m so glad to finally meet Charlie’s family!” Phoebe gushed. “He’s always talking about you and your parents and the store and your wonderful abuelita.”
“Gracielita,” said Abuela, “go find Sarah and invite her to dinner. It’s been too long since she’s eaten at the house.” She patted Phoebe on the arm. “Why don’t we go back inside the church and light a candle to the Virgin? I have a special intention I’ve just thought of.” Abuela caught Grace’s gaze and winked.
Grace gave Charlie an “I-told-you-so look.”
“I’ll go find Sarah,” Charlie muttered. “The more the merrier.”
Grace could only shake her head at her brother’s naivety. If Charlie thought there was safety in numbers, then he didn’t know much about women.
Grace opened the door to the den to find Pop rifling through the shelves, trying to find some family photos that Phoebe had insisted on seeing (Sarah was right—this Phoebe was good). It was the first time since they’d been at the house that Grace had found an opportunity to talk to her father alone.
Pamphlets with pictures of Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower were strewn over the desk in the center of the room. Her parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary was in April. To celebrate, they were going on their first trip to Europe. Pop pulled out a photo album. “Look what I found, Tomato. Your high school album!”
“I think we should open the store on Sundays,” Grace blurted. No sense in beating about the bush.
Pop smiled like he’d heard this a thousand times before. Which he had. “We aren’t opening the shop on Sunday. It’s a family business, and Sunday is a family day.”
“I get that. But it’s also a lost day in revenue. People travel on Sundays, Pop. And they stop and spend money. Only they don’t spend money at Florida Charlie’s because it isn’t open. You wouldn’t have to be at the store. Lots of the kids we hire would love extra money. We could pay them time and half if that would make you feel better.”
“What if something goes wrong? What if we need a manager on site? That would mean you or Penny or your mother or I would have to go in and take care of the crisis.” He shook his head. “We’ve discussed this before and my answer is still the same.”
Grace bit back a frustrated reply and opted for a more tactful approach. “Pop, you pay me to manage the store, and as the manager, I feel that it’s in the business’s best interests to open on
Sunday. How about if I draw up a plan that would show some projected revenue figures? I could train Marty or one of the other senior cashiers to handle any emergency that might come up. We could do a trial run. Maybe open one Sunday a month and see how it goes?”
Pop flipped open the photo album. “Remember this? It’s your senior prom.”
“Yeah, I remember. Lots of fun. So how about it, Pop?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Grace knew exactly what “I’ll think about it” meant. It meant no.
“Speaking of the store,” Pop said, “I stopped by yesterday. Grace, honey, I thought I told you I wanted that alligator tooth up front where the customers can see it. We spent a lot of money advertising that tooth. Folks driving down on vacation see the billboards on the highway, get all excited about it, then come into the store to find that the tooth is stuck somewhere in the back. No hoopla, no fanfare, no nuthin. Remember, presentation is everything. My dad taught me that.”
“Pop,” Grace said gently, “I just don’t think people are into that kind of stuff anymore. People stop at the store to buy T-shirts, and sunscreen, and hats.”
Pop placed his hand on the small of her back and led her out of the den and into the dining room where the rest of the family and Sarah and Phoebe were already seated. “It’s Sunday, and we don’t talk business on Sunday, right?”
“Right,” Grace repeated, knowing there was no point in arguing further. If Charlie said something, though, then maybe Pop would listen. Grace thought about the best way to approach her brother. Charlie wasn’t interested in the family business as a career, but Grace knew he didn’t want to see Florida Charlie’s go down the drain. If Grace asked Charlie, he would offer to help. But Charlie was so busy with his job that he was always making promises he never followed up on. This time though, he was just going to have to make time. Grace would have to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation.
