“So the spy is back,” she said, whispering as I input his order. “Do you think he’s FBI or CIA?” I smiled and pretended to ignore her. “Or do you think he has his own private investigation firm? Somebody batten down those glasses,” she said over her shoulder. “Things could start flying here any minute.”
I laughed and reached for a glass. “Okay, he’s not a spy.”
“Of course he’s not,” she said. “But he is awfully cute, isn’t he?”
“I haven’t noticed,” I said. I stepped around the corner to call home and noticed Brad had tried calling again. “What do you want now?” I said, looking at the phone. He didn’t leave a message. I dialed the house and waited. Haley answered. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Can I have chips?”
They were fine. “Did you eat all your casserole and peas?”
“There’s one noodle and one pea left on my plate.”
“Fill one of the bright blue cups up but no more than that, okay?” She hung up and I imagined they’d eat from every bag and package before I got home.
I filled a glass with tea and took it to TS. “So,” he said. “What do you do for fun around here?”
Besides work, I hadn’t been out of the house in ages. “I stay in mostly.”
“So you like to what? Watch movies? Read?”
“Both,” I said.
He put his arm over the chair and looked up at me. “What’s your favorite book?”
“Too many to mention.”
“Favorite movie?”
“Again, too many to mention but no horror or teen flicks.”
“Aren’t they one and the same?” he said. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Purple.”
“Favorite bug?”
“Favorite bug?” I asked, laughing.
“Yeah, which bug do you find most interesting?”
“The butterfly.”
“Purple butterfly?”
“Of course.” I touched my hair and pushed it behind my ear. What did it look like this afternoon? Did I have any lipstick left?
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“Hydrangea.”
“No kidding? My grandfather buys those all the time. What’s your favorite site?”
“Kites in the sky,” I said.
His mouth dropped open. “I figured you’d say the gondolas in Venice or Niagara Falls or the Eiffel Tower.”
“I’ve never been to those places,” I said, laughing. “Why so many questions?”
He took a drink of tea. “It’s my grandfather’s fault.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s a good thing,” he said, waving his hands in the air. “It’s not creepy and weird.”
I waited on my other tables and took their orders but was ever aware that TS was watching me as I moved around the dining room but I was okay with it. He was young and I was a mother. We could be friends. That would be fine. He finished his burger and ordered a piece of peanut butter pie. When that was finished he ordered a piece of hummingbird cake. “Someone doesn’t want to leave,” Betty said, wiping crumbs from the front counter. I knew he didn’t want to leave and that pleased me to no end. I loved looking at and talking with him.
“Do you want any other desserts?” I asked, holding his bill in front of me.
“I didn’t want the cake,” he said. He smiled at me and I laughed. “Hey.” He stopped and moved the last bite of cake around on his plate. “Is there any chance you’d like to go out with me sometime? To watch a non-horror, non-teen movie? Or maybe go to a bookstore and pick up one of the titles that are too many to mention?”
My heart sank. For all he knew I was single. No kids. No obligations. He was probably looking for fun and I wasn’t much of that anymore. “Um.”
“I know I came across as a jerk the day we met. I never even asked you your name until the second day. That says a lot. I know.”
“No,” I said. “It’s not that at all. It’s just that I work quite a bit now because . . .”
“If you’re tired we can just sit and have coffee and pie one night,” he said. “I guess that’s not really all that appealing when you work in a restaurant that’s known for coffee and pie.”
I laughed and he smiled. I really loved that smile. “Coffee would be nice.”
“How about the bookstore?”
“The bookstore would be nice, too,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear again.
He stood and put on his coat. “When?”
“I’ll need to check my schedule. I’m trying to work a double shift as much as I can right now.”
He handed me a twenty dollar bill. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Does that give you time to check your schedule?”
I nodded and he walked toward the entrance. “You need change,” I said.
“No, I don’t,” he said, pulling the hat over his ears. He left and I realized I didn’t tell him about Zach and Haley. Idiot, I said to myself.
“So?” Betty asked, stepping next to me as I cashed out his bill.
“So he wants to do coffee,” I said.
“And all the cards are out on the table? You told him you have children?” I shook my head. “But he does know your name is Christine, right?” I slammed the cash register drawer closed and snapped my head to look at her. Betty laughed and grabbed her coat off the rack to go home. “You are a piece of work,” she said, reminding me of my grandmother.
“I was going to tell him about my kids. I forgot all about my name!”
“Now it’s just going to be weird and awkward.” She wrapped a neon pink scarf around her neck. “The truth shall set you free, you know.”
I got home at nine thirty and found the house was a mess. Every couch cushion and throw pillow was on the floor in a circle with two or three books on top of each one. I had no idea what the kids had been playing. I found Zach and Haley together in his bed. I sat on the edge of the bed and Zach smiled with his eyes closed. “Faker,” I said, whispering.
“She was afraid to sleep by herself,” he said, pushing Haley’s leg off of him.
“I sure am glad to see you,” I said. “Were you okay?”
“You called a million times,” he said, rubbing an eye with his index finger. “I could never play computer games because I’d be in the middle of a game when the phone would ring.”
I laughed out loud. “Sorry! You did a great job keeping your sister safe.” He nodded. “Was it scary?”
“Kind of,” he said. “Especially when somebody kept knocking.”
I played with his hair and he closed his eyes. “On Monday you’re going to go to Glory’s Place.”
“What’s that?”
“A really cool place where you can play basketball and lots of games and be with other kids. Sound good?”
He closed his eyes. “Sure.” I kissed his forehead and his mouth fell open. He was asleep. I kissed Haley hard on her cheek and she never moved. “Thank you,” I said, whispering.
Clayton and Julie sat at their favorite table. Julie’s head was covered with a purple and teal wrap. Her blue eyes sparkled as I delivered coffee to them. Clayton led Ava and Adam to the counter and they pointed at the fresh cakes and cookies on display. “Glad to see you back this week,” I said to Julie. “You look great.”
“I feel great,” she said. “I just have one more chemo treatment and then I start radiation.”
“How are the kids?” I asked.
“Well, we kept it from them as long as we could. I didn’t look sick so we didn’t want to scare them. But now that my hair is nearly gone it’s kind of hard to cover that up anymore. We just tell them that doctors are helping to take away a lump in my chest, and I ask them to help me pick a scarf out of the drawer every day.”
“How are you getting through it?” I asked, afraid after the fact that I was getting too personal.
“Hope,” she said, watching her children. She wasn’t wistful; her voice didn’t break or fail her.
It was simply all she had and she said it as if reading off her grocery list: eggs, bread, sugar, hope. It was just part of the deal. If she was afraid, Julie didn’t show it and I didn’t ask her. Clayton returned to the table and set a cupcake in front of Ava and a cookie in front of Adam. I glanced at Julie and she smiled. “I think I’ve gone soft,” she said, watching Ava lick frosting off the cupcake. “But some things aren’t a big deal, you know.” She ran her finger through the frosting and licked it, smiling at Ava. Julie’s hair was gone but her heart was full. A huge scar ran across her chest where her breast had been, but her love was complete. Poison was pushing through her body each week, but a hope beyond my own reason was pulling her through.
I input their orders and noticed Gloria and Miriam sitting down. I carried coffee and tea to their booth and watched as they pored over the morning’s mail. “Anything in there from mystery man?” I asked.
“Nothing today,” Miriam said, squeezing lemon into her tea. “But she did get a note a couple of days ago that said he’d like to meet her Thursday in Ashton Gardens, but she won’t even go and spy him out.”
“He’d know either one of our cars and would see us making giant fools out of ourselves,” Gloria said.
“I’ll drive,” I said.
. . .
The coffee-and-pastry lady sat in a booth by the window on Monday and her oversized coat dwarfed her. She looked so sad and small. “Morning,” I said, placing a cup of coffee in front of her.
She took the cup between her hands. “Hi.”
“Any luck finding work?” I’m not sure why I kept trying to have a conversation with her. She shook her head. “Would you like a day-old today?”
She looked into her cup and nodded. “That’d be great. Maybe I’ll buy two today. It’s my birthday.” Her eyes were full of mist and sorrow and regrets and she took a sip of coffee.
“Happy birthday!” I said. “So how young are you?”
She half-smiled but didn’t answer me. I left her alone and walked to the baker’s racks to find a day-old pastry but stopped, looking at the cakes. I picked up a chocolate one with butter cream frosting. “Hey, Karen,” I said. “Can Stephanie or Rosemary write happy birthday on this cake?”
She stepped to my side and looked at it. “One of them probably could. Why?”
I nodded toward the pastry lady. “It’s her birthday.”
Karen reached in her apron and handed me a five dollar bill. “Here. To help pay for it.” She glanced at Tasha. “If we all pitch in we can do something nice today.”
“I don’t even know that woman,” Tasha said. I moved toward the kitchen and Tasha yelled after me, “Here!” She thrust two dollars toward me and sighed. “I have textbooks to buy you know!”
Rosemary wasn’t in the kitchen but Stephanie was folding dough over tiny globs of jelly in the center of pastries. “Stephanie, can you write on a cake?”
She looked at it and frowned. “I can’t even read my own writing,” she said.
“What do you need?” Betty said, entering the kitchen from her office.
“Happy birthday,” I said.
“Happy birthday who?” she asked, picking up a pastry bag.
I leaned my head toward the kitchen window that looked out over the dining room. “I don’t know her name.”
“That little gal who comes in here for coffee?” I nodded. She took the cake from me and grabbed a pastry bag filled with icing. Betty’s hands were quick and graceful. I watched as she wrote the words and squeezed flowers out here and there on top of the cake. “Thanks!” I said, picking it up from the table.
“Hold on,” she said. She walked to the grill and placed two slices of French toast onto a plate along with a side of fruit.
“That was Karen’s order,” Craig said.
“For Brewster,” Betty said. “He can wait an extra two minutes. He should be ordering oatmeal anyway.” She handed the plate to me and said, “Tell her it’s on the house.”
I turned the corner, holding the cake in one hand and the plate of French toast in the other. “Karen,” I said, whispering. I kept my back to the counter so the woman wouldn’t see what I had. “Can you help me sing?”
“Oh, please no,” she said. “I hate those kind of restaurants. We’re not one of those restaurants.”
“Can we be for one minute?” I asked. “Tasha? Would you help, too? That lady’s always alone. I have a feeling that if we don’t do this then no one will.”
Tasha closed the cash register and rolled her eyes. “Like I’m going to say no now. Just make it fast. Not one of those slow, drawn-out versions.”
They walked in front of me to hide the cake. When we got to the table I stepped out front and we started to sing. The woman was surprised and embarrassed, partly by our singing I think. We sounded like sheep stuck between the rails of a fence. Gloria and Miriam and the customers around her sang along with us and we all stopped when we got to the name. We had no idea what to sing. “Tamara,” she said, whispering. We finished the song and everyone clapped, because it was over, I’m sure!
“Happy birthday,” Karen said before running to one of her tables.
Tasha set the French toast in front of her. “It’s on the house,” she said.
Tamara stared at the food. “Thank you,” she said.
I picked up the knife and cut into the cake, putting a piece on the plate. “You’ll be able to take this home,” I said.
“Can you pass it around to the people who work here?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“I’ll have a piece,” Gloria said, waving both hands in the air.
“You don’t need a piece,” Miriam said.
“They could erect a statue to your sensitivity,” Gloria said. “Happy birthday, darlin’,” she said, looking at Tamara. Tamara’s face softened and the lines that reached across her forehead faded to spindly creases. I don’t think anyone had called her a term of endearment in ages. Gloria slid out of her booth and picked up her breakfast plate. “You know what? We are going to move over there with you because no one should eat alone on her birthday.” Miriam sighed and followed. Gloria settled in and surveyed the table. “Now this is a birthday celebration,” she said.
“Christine?” I turned to look at Tamara.
“I’m thirty-four.”
“Happy birthday,” I said, leaving them alone.
I worked my other tables that morning but kept my ear tuned to Tamara’s party. Gloria and Miriam made her giggle and one time I swore I heard a belly laugh. Tamara delivered pieces of cake herself to the staff and any customer that wanted a piece. For a few minutes on that windy December day she felt normal again, whatever that meant, and she smiled. In a world where she heard emptiness as she walked the streets and sat alone in the park I believed she heard the song of people remembering her name. I watched her and realized that God was most likely felt in those ordinary moments—not in an explosion of light as I’d always thought or in the rumble of a storm but at the side of a child’s bed reading stories, rummaging through a drawer for a bright scarf, or at a breakfast table with birthday cake and coffee.
TS never showed up at Betty’s for breakfast or lunch. I reasoned that maybe he thought I was working at night now so he decided to come in during the dinner hours. I grabbed four empty produce boxes that Craig was throwing away and raced home to meet Zach and Haley as they got off the bus. My cell phone rang as I got out of the car. I didn’t recognize the number but answered it anyway. “Christy?”
I set the boxes down and put my key in the front door, groaning. “What?”
“I want to see the kids on Friday,” Brad said.
“As soon as your check arrives in the mail you can have your visits again.”
“I am paying again.” I didn’t believe him. “And I’m coming on Friday.”
“If that check is in my mailbox, you bet.” I snapped my phone shut and ran to the mailbox. Maybe he was telling the truth. I pulled out a small stack of ma
il and flipped through it. Nothing. I shivered in the cold and ran up the driveway and kicked the boxes into the house, grabbing the phone off its cradle in the kitchen. I rummaged through the drawer with the phone book and found Patricia Addison’s number. I dialed her cell and hoped she’d answer.
“Hello,” she said.
I was so relieved to hear her voice. Although I’d only met Patricia once I had the feeling I could trust her. “Patricia, this is Christine.” I realized she knew me by my given name. “Angela Christine Eisley. Angela’s my first name but nobody calls me that. I go by Christine. I just didn’t know when to tell you that when you were here.” She laughed and I could hear children in the background. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, no,” she said. “I just picked the kids up from school and we’re headed home.”
I looked at the clock and knew Zach and Haley would be running through the door any second. “I don’t know if you can tell me this or not but my ex-husband is hammering me about visitation this weekend.”
“Has he paid child support?”
“I haven’t gotten a check,” I said, watching the front window for the school bus. “But he says he’s going to show up here on Friday. Do I have to let him take the kids?”
She paused. I wasn’t sure if I was putting her in an awkward position. “What has your attorney told you in the past?” she asked, sidestepping the question.
“He’s told me that when Brad pays child support he gets visitation.”
“Have the laws changed since that time?” she asked.
I smiled. “I don’t think so.”
“No, they haven’t.”
“But what if he gets here and he rants and raves and threatens lawsuits and—”
“That’s his choice,” Patricia said. “You will have done nothing wrong.” It’s amazing how a word spoken in kindness or anger can set the course for the remainder of the day. Although I didn’t know much more beyond Patricia’s name, the grace in her voice and the choice of her words calmed me when I would ordinarily get up in arms after a call with Brad.
The Christmas Secret (Christmas Hope) Page 11
