The Second Jam

by Lila Felix

  I felt like part of the family.

  A bulldozer ran me over while I slept. Either that or I’d been skating my ass off.

  They probably felt the same.

  I was barely on my feet when someone knocked on the door. Rushing to cover up my lack of bra, I yelled to whoever it was that I’d be there soon.

  The peephole gave me no clue to who it was. But when I opened the door, I knew.

  A white bag sat outside my door along with a cup of coffee. It was from the bakery that I got my dad’s breakfast from. I opened the bag to inhale the sweet bread when I noticed a piece of paper inside.

  I knew what it was on instinct, but I made sure to sit down before reading it.

  I got your dad food. Hope you are okay. Cyrus.

  The words weren’t eloquent by any stretch, but he’d written it himself. His Y’s needed some work, but I wouldn’t dare say a word. I held the note to my chest for a while, just basking in the situation.

  He’d brought me breakfast.

  He’d taken my dad breakfast.

  He’d taken a chance and written a note to me.

  I was in thick trouble.

  Finally coming out of my fog, I glanced at the clock on the wall and freaked out. It was almost 7:30. I’d been sitting there gushing out over Cyrus for almost an hour.

  I rushed around, throwing on a green t-shirt and a pair of ratty jeans just in case they intended to paint. Truth be told, I didn’t know what they intended to get done, but I was beyond grateful for any help I could get.

  When I got to the Hope Place, I slammed on the brakes and my breath was taken from me at the sight. Every member of the Black family and some I didn’t even know existed were at my door, dressed to work. Falcon, the one with the Mohawk, was tapping his watch with a smile.

  I was late.

  “I’m so sorry.” I ran toward them with my list in my pocket.

  “It’s okay. We figured you might be—busy.”

  I got the drift. “He dropped breakfast at my door this morning with a sweet note. That’s it.”

  “You taught him well.” Nellie nudged Owen with her elbow.

  “Give us the list, Bea. We’ve got this.”

  I watched them work all day in awe. Not only did they get everything done on my list, they went above and beyond offering services and help. Reed offered her expertise in gardening. Falcon offered to teach classes on budgeting and basic finances. Nellie offered me books at cost from her warehouse. Storey offered to teach girls make-up and hair for job interviews. There were more offers for things that everyone was skilled at, but eventually I asked them all to just write it down so I could keep track.

  At the end of the day, I broke down in tears, overwhelmed by the love I felt for people who didn’t know me outside of the derby rink.

  “What’s the matter, Bea?”

  Scout approached me as I slid down the side of the counter in the kitchen. My legs couldn’t hold me or all my feelings at that point.

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Is that the point of this place? You won’t know the people who walk through these doors, but you won’t hesitate to help them, right?”

  Leave it to an almost stranger to teach me my true purpose.

  “Right.”

  “Plus, anyone that my boy is falling for is part of the family in my book.” Owen looked around for support and each one nodded.

  Which just made me cry more.

  I looked at every face, some splattered with paint—some had torn their shirts or mangled their hair while working.

  “Wait. He talked to you?”

  “He has talked to me about you.” Nellie popped him on the bicep. “His mother is still a little mad about it, but he did.”

  I sat there, dumbstruck and stalemated.

  “Thank you for everything.” It was the only thing I could say at that point.

  “Anytime. And call us when you open, we want to be here.”

  “I will.”

  They filed out with never-ending conversation between them. I loved that they were a happy family. Their only strife was Cyrus.

  I laid down sideways for a while and then got up and took a tour of the place for myself. I noted that every room had been left pristine. Each task had been completed to perfection. I couldn’t find one mistake or detail left undone.

  Those people were magic.

  I had to repay the enormous debt I owed to Cyrus and his family. I had accrued a debt with Cyrus because of his constant concern and just the way he…loved me?

  Shit.

  Holy crap on an effing cracker.

  I loved Cyrus Black.

  The sensation of complete knowing whooshed over my body and zipped up to my head, making me dizzy and sizzling my cheeks with heat.

  I knew what I had to do.

  By the time I got home, it was almost time for Cyrus to come over. I hadn’t even prepped for a lesson.

  Get a grip on yourself, Beatriz.

  Cyrus had made such a difference in my life. I didn’t even know how it happened or how he’d managed to infiltrate what I’d thought was a rock-solid schedule—a crack-less wall.

  I flitted around the apartment picking up my clothes from the morning’s chaotic start and put on a pot of coffee.

  I felt like I should be nervous. Realizing you are in love with someone is a pretty damned big revelation—a life changing revelation.

  My nerves were still. For once, they were calm.

  He made me calm.

  The thought of being with him stilled me.

  After a quick shower and a change of clothes, sat on the couch, not anxious, but happy about the chance of seeing him.

  A few minutes later, the knock on the door made my heart jump. I took a great breath and blew it out with ease. When I opened the door, he was leaning on the wall next to the threshold with his arms crossed over his chest, looking the picture of collected.

  I stood there for a minute just watching him. He moved his head a little to the side to look at me from the corner of his eye, but didn’t say a word. A shadow already covered his face and chin, the beginnings of the beard I loved so much coming back already.

  All I wanted was for him to look at me.

  “I missed you today.” He said, finally—finally—twisting to his left to face me.

  “You did?”

  “I did. Your dad was funny this morning.”

  I waved him in, hoping my dad was funny the ha-ha kind and not funny, I need to take him to the doctor and have his medicine tweaked kind.

  “Oh, goodness, what did he say?”

  “He wanted to teach me how to dance and he made me watch some show where the guy did a lot of singing. There was a good guy and a bad guy, both after the girl. It was all in Spanish though, don’t ask me what the hell it was.”

  “Escalona.” I replied without hesitation. It was my father’s favorite novella.

  “That’s it. There was a dead guy floating down the river and they found his hat.”

  “Yeah. That’s it. I’m sorry you had to sit through that. He hasn’t watched that in ages.”

  I’d shut the door. The smell of coffee drew me to the kitchen and Cyrus followed.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He leaned against the counter and watched every move I made. The boy was a professional leaner. He should teach classes on leaning for the purpose of swoon.

  “No wonder you’re always running. You put enough sugar in your coffee to kill someone.”

  I didn’t actually take that much sugar in my coffee, but I’d gotten lost in his presence. Scooping the sugar into my cup had become a blind pattern I couldn’t stop.

  “I like coffee with my sugar and cream. Don’t tell me, you take yours…”

  “Black.”

  “Just like your name.”

  I poured him a cup. We sat down on the couch and sipped the liquid energy in a cool quiet.

  “What were you up to today?�
�

  “Finishing up some things at the Hope Place. It’s all ready for inspection now.”

  He scrunched his eyebrows together. “Everything on that list? That was a lot of stuff. You’ve been working hard.”

  “I had some help.”

  I let the statement hang at face value. He would assume Zuri had come to my aid.

  “So, what am I learning today? I found this video at the library today after I left your dad’s house. It was horrible—well, probably not for a kid, but there was a song about when two vowels are together in a word.”

  “Wow. Well, I guess whatever helps you. You know the basics. It’s just a matter of sharpening your reading and practice will make you faster.”

  “You want me to sing the song?”

  He was joking around about it. That, in itself, was progress. That part should be one of the steps of learning. Admit you have a problem—face the problem—learn to joke about the problem.

  “Yes. I want to hear the song.”

  Cyrus adjusted his posture, straightening his gray button down shirt. I laughed as he cleared his throat and pretended to warm up for an a capella performance.

  “Ahhh…nope. I can’t sing.”

  “Come on. Tell me the gist of it, at least.”

  “The lyrics say that when two vowels are together, the first one says its name.”

  I tested the theory mentally in my head.

  “That’s mostly true. There’s some exceptions.”

  “I didn’t get that far in the video. There’s a thirty minute limit.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” I got up and rushed to my room to grab my laptop. “Here. Can you find it again?”

  He clicked on the internet icon and then punched in ‘learn to read star’ letter by letter. I didn’t know what star meant, but he looked determined. What came up next was certainly a kid site, but he didn’t seem to mind. His jaw ground top against bottom as he scrolled down the videos of mice and rudimentary drawn characters until he found what he wanted. “Here it is.”

  The video rang true words, even though it was silly.

  At the end, it gave examples of words that didn’t match the rule.

  “Why don’t you keep with these videos while I finish up these applications?”

  He didn’t even realize that he didn’t need my help anymore. He was basically teaching himself to read. He could’ve done this anytime.

  That was the beauty about Cyrus and me. We didn’t need each other. We chose each other.

  Throughout the night, we never lost touch of the other. I leaned against him and he put his arm around my waist. I sat on the other end of the couch and he rubbed my leg under the hem of my jeans. He scooted to the edge of the couch with the computer on the coffee table and I slunk behind him, resting my face on his back.

  “I’m starving.” My stomach agreed.

  “Me too. What do you want?”

  “Omelets.”

  “You’ve got eggs?”

  “Nope.”

  He closed the laptop and turned around just enough to see my face without displacing me. “I’ll go to the store. I make a mean omelet.”

  “I can cook, too.”

  “But I want to. Do you want to ride to the store with me or stay here?”

  “You go. I’ll wash the dishes and get the kitchen cleaned.”

  He walked out and I’d forgotten to offer to pay for half. I’d try when he got back. I hummed the vowel song while I washed dishes and wiped down the counters.

  Now to get through the rest of the night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cyrus

  I grabbed eggs and all of my famous omelet makings. I was lucky she’d chosen omelets.

  I was an omelet master, just like Gram had taught me.

  Cooking was just like anything else I did with my hands. And recipes could be memorized without words.

  When I got back to the apartment, the apartment was open.

  “Beatriz?”

  “Hey, I’m here.”

  She called from the kitchen. I steeled myself before breeching the subject.

  “The door wasn’t locked.”

  “You were only gone like ten minutes.”

  “This isn’t the best area. You should lock the door.”

  Her face reddened. She couldn’t just make it easy on me. “I said, I’m fine. See?” She turned around in a circle. “No one broke in and stole all my stuff and beat me up.”

  I pulled out the food and got to work without saying anything else, but my movements were stiff and aggravated.

  “That omelet is going to taste like shit.”

  She jumped and sat on the counter, picking at the bell peppers.

  “You don’t have to read to make omelets.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. I meant because you’re pissed or something. Your mood is going to seep into my eggs. I like my eggs broody-free. You can’t tell me you’re that upset about a door being unlocked.”

  I finished up the omelet I was working on, hers, and put the pan on the back burner. I needed her to see it from my angle. Standing in front of her while she sat on the counter, I put myself between her legs and pulled her toward me.

  “What if the one time that you don’t lock the door is the one time that a creep is right outside? You’re careless. You stay in parking lots at night by yourself and you don’t lock doors. You take off in anger after bad first dates.”

  “I can take care of myself.” She thought that jutting out her chin would make me believe her more. And I did believe in her. But believing in her did nothing to stop my concern.

  “I know that.”

  “Then why are you so pissed?”

  “Because I worry, okay? I worry if you’ve gotten home in one piece. I worry when you’re by yourself in dark parking lots and I worry that when I’m not here you’ll go to sleep or leave without locking the damned door. What—what—what would I do if something happened to you?”

  I hated that effing stutter.

  She studied me. It was more than a look. It was studying. I loved her deep brown eyes. Blue or green just wouldn’t have fit. The brown was endless and soothing. She was endless to me. I could’ve spent a lifetime getting to know her and I bet she’d still have secrets.

  “So what’s the compromise?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’ll start locking my doors and you can come with me to the bouts to make sure I’m safe.”

  “Maybe. It would make me feel better if you came by the shop, like I asked you to, and let me check your car, you know, in case you need to get away from a serial killer.”

  She giggled, thumping her head against my chest and wrapping those legs around my waist.

  “I will be there tomorrow. Now that you’re not pissed, think you can cook me another omelet?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  She whined when I let her go. I kind of loved it.

  I set to making more food from her when she hopped down from the counter and walked behind me, hugging me around the middle.

  “Are you free tomorrow night?”

  “For a lesson?”

  “No, for dinner with me.”

  “Sure. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  She didn’t answer and I reached down and patted her hands, splayed against my stomach. “What time, honey?”

  “Why do you call me honey?”

  “I don’t want to call you Bea like everyone else.”

  “How about I pick you up?”

  My lip curled at the thought. But Beatriz wasn’t any ordinary girl. “Sure. But don’t expect anything when you walk me to the door. I’m a lady after all.”

  I could feel the heat of her laugh through my shirt.

  “Let’s eat.”

  At her tiny oval table, we ate omelets and fresh bread and talked about everything. She told me about her fears of having The Hope Place taken away from her. She worried about her dad and what would become of the shop afte
r he was gone. She was tired of being worried.

  Her yawn, as usual, interrupted our free-flowing conversation.

  “I’m gonna go so you can get some sleep.”

  “No.” Her head was already down on the top of the table. “Don’t go.”

  “You’re asleep on the damned table, Beatriz. I’m going.”

  Without moving her head, she reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Stay.”

  How could anyone resist Beatriz asking them to stay?

  “Just until you fall asleep. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  We moved to the couch after I did her dishes and cleaned out the coffee pot. A lot of good coffee was doing to help her.

  “I think you’re immune to coffee.” I commented.

  “I know. It’s awful. I don’t even like it.”

  I may not be able to read well, but this girl’s logic was seriously flawed.

  “So why in the holy heck do you drink it?”

  “It’s a habit. Leave me alone!”

  Her eyes were closed throughout the conversation. She reminded me of Cybill when they told her to take a nap. She’d keep talking even though her body and eyelids had already given up on the fight.

  “Give me your feet.”

  “No. Then I’m really going to fall asleep.”

  “I will see you tomorrow, Beatriz. It’s not like it’s the last time I will ever be here to rub your feet and bring you ice cream.”

  I reached over and began rubbing and like always, she was out in no time flat.

  Carrying Beatriz to bed was a treat for me. She was even more beautiful when she wasn’t constantly arguing with me.

  She didn’t come to the shop the next day and texted me that she was working at the Hope Center. As soon as work was over, I ran up to the apartment, showered and settled on a black button down shirt and the only pair of jeans I owned that hadn’t met oil or grease.

  At exactly six, she knocked on the door.

  “Hey, come in. I just need to do something with this.”

  “Let me.”

  She grabbed my hair brush and made me sit on the floor in front of that chair in the corner. I had actually thought about cutting my hair before her hands were in it.

  “There. Are you ready?”

  “Yes. Where are we going?”

  “How much do you trust me?”

  That was the last thing she told me before a bandana was placed over my eyes. On the ride to wherever she was taking me, we held hands, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t tell by her turns where we were going.