by Nan Rossiter
I raised my eyebrows. “You can’t go out in this. You’ll be no help to him if something happens to you.”
Coop ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know anything about helping him get through this.”
“You just do what you have to,” I said softly. “One day at a time.”
* * *
After a long night of endless tears and cups of coffee, we heard the wind dying down. Coop turned on the outside lights and realized the snow had stopped, but there was still a foot of it blanketing the ground. Without a word, he pulled on his jacket and boots.
“I’m coming,” I said, pulling on my boots.
“You don’t have to.”
I eyed him. “Don’t be silly.”
We shoveled in silence for over an hour and a half, trying to clear a path for the truck. “Good enough,” he said finally, hurrying inside to grab the bag he’d thrown together and pouring fresh coffee into his travel mug. He gave me a quick hug. “Thank you,” he said tearfully.
“Be safe,” I said, searching his eyes.
And then he was gone—his mind already miles away, preparing for the tragic circumstances that awaited him, his own sorrow taking a backseat to the grief of a little boy, who had, in a heartbeat, lost everything.
Chapter 32
“What is man, that thou art mindful of him?” I murmured as I poured a second cup of coffee and sat back down at Abe’s old desk to put the final touches on the new menu for Cuppa Jo to Go. The shop had been closed for all of January so we could remodel, and while Liam—who was slowly adjusting to life on Nantucket—was in school, Coop had been helping me—actually, he’d been doing the work and I’d been helping him.
We’d given a fresh coat of paint to the stamped tin ceiling; we’d stripped off old wallpaper and spackled, sanded, and painted the walls a lovely ocean blue; we’d installed wainscoting along the lower walls and around the new coffee counter, then painted it the same creamy white as the ceiling; we’d installed new glass display cases for the muffins and baked goods, and a new glass refrigerator for cold drinks, as well as stylish tables and chairs. As a final touch, I’d found some new retro metal signs with a coffee theme—my favorite being of a rooster crowing, with the words WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE! along the bottom.
Every afternoon at three, Coop headed over to the elementary school to pick up Liam. Then they came back to the shop so Coop could finish up whatever project he’d been working on. “It looks really nice,” Liam said approvingly after I’d hung up the metal signs.
“Thanks, Li,” I said, giving him a hug. “How was your day?”
“Okay,” he said with a little shrug. “I only cried once.”
“It’ll get better,” I consoled. “It takes a long time when you miss someone.”
“I know,” he said. “And it’s going to take me twice as long because I miss two people.”
I bit my lip. My heart ached for him. He was such a good little guy and his grief was so close to the surface it spilled over without warning—like a waterfall—anytime he thought of his parents. He tried so hard to keep it in, too—to take everything in stride—but his sweet blue eyes were always shadowed with sorrow.
“Want to help me hang this sign, pal?” Coop asked, looking up from unwrapping the new sign I’d ordered for the exterior.
Liam looked at the big wooden sign and nodded. “What’s Jo?” he asked, frowning.
“Jo is another word for coffee,” I explained, tousling his hair.
“Oh,” he said, quietly reading the rest of the sign. “So people can get coffee to go?”
“Yes, coffee, muffins, bread, and lunch too.”
Coop lifted the wooden sign. “Grab my tool bag, Li,” he said, nodding toward his tools. Liam lifted the heavy canvas bag and followed Coop outside.
The sudden loss of Lily and Daniel had had a profound impact on all of our lives. When Coop came back from Boston with his new young charge, they were both so heartbroken, they could barely muddle through. Coop tried to explain to Liam why tragedies happen—why his parents had been taken to heaven—but he could barely understand it himself. Why had his beautiful sister—whom he’d tried to protect his whole life—and her loving husband—and father of her child—been killed? Was this part of some greater plan, because if it was, he couldn’t begin to see what it was. What possible good could come from orphaning a sweet seven-year-old boy?
I looked back down at my menu, trying to decide how much I should charge for the new items—sandwiches served on the customer’s choice of any of the fresh breads we baked or on wraps. I’d already made the three different offerings—curried chicken salad with dried cranberries, apricots, and red seedless grapes; tuna fish with celery and thyme; or ham and Swiss—and put them in the fridge for our grand reopening the next day. I didn’t want to have too many new options, and I didn’t want to make them too expensive. I tapped my pencil, wondering if people would be willing to pay $3.00? I looked at the clock and sighed—it was already ten o’clock and I really needed to get the menus printed before noon. Finally, I jotted down a price of $2.50, drained my coffee, and stood up.
I was putting on my coat when I looked out and saw Coop’s truck pulling in. I frowned. After everything that had happened—adjusting to having Liam living with him and helping me remodel the bakery all month—he’d been looking forward to getting back to work on his own projects at the boathouse, so when he climbed out, I was puzzled . . . until I saw Liam sitting next to him in the passenger seat.
“Not a good day?” I asked, holding the door open.
Liam shook his head sadly.
Coop put his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “Mrs. Polley called and said they tried everything—it’s just one of those days.”
“It’s okay,” I said softly, pulling Liam into a hug. He nodded and buried his face in my shoulder. I felt him sobbing and looked up at Coop and he shook his head. The whole balancing act of caring for a child, dealing with his own grief, and running a business was overwhelming him—not to mention we hadn’t slept in the same bed in weeks.
“Hey,” I said, pulling Liam away to see his face. “I was just going to drop off the new menu at the print shop—want to walk over with me?”
He wiped his eyes and nodded.
“Then we’ll come back here and make some hot cocoa.”
“My mom always made hot cocoa with whipped cream.”
“Well, it just so happens that I make it with whipped cream too.”
“Okay,” he said, mustering a smile.
“Do you want me to give you a ride?” Coop asked. “It looks like it might start snowing any minute.”
I shook my head. “No, a walk is always good for the soul, even—and sometimes, especially—in the snow. Besides, then you can get to work and Liam can help me finish getting ready for tomorrow.”
Coop looked relieved. “Thanks, Sal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Oh, you’d probably be better off,” I teased.
“I doubt it,” he said, kissing the top of my head—which, except for fooling around in the kitchen when we were supposed to be remodeling—was the extent of our affection lately.
“I’ll pick you up later, pal,” he said, tousling Liam’s hair. “Be good for Sally.”
Liam nodded and reached for my hand.
Ten minutes later, we were pulling open the door of the print shop and noticing a handwritten sign in the window that said, “Free kittens,” except that the s was crossed out and it really said, “Free kitten.”
We stepped up to the counter and Julie came out from the back. “Hi, Sal! Did you finish the menu?”
“I did,” I said. Years earlier, I’d learned that all the business owners on Nantucket knew the goings-on of all the other business owners.
“Is tomorrow the big day?”
“It is. Are you going to stop by? I’m offering free samples.”
“I hope to,” she said, smiling.
She looked over th
e counter and saw Liam peering into the cardboard box in the corner. “Who’s your little helper?”
“Liam—Coop’s nephew,” I said quietly, and from the look on her face, I knew she’d heard about the accident.
“No school today?”
“No—some days are harder than others.”
“I know how that is,” she said softly.
We talked about the menu and I explained that I wanted five hundred copies so I could replenish the baskets on the counter for people to peruse or even take home.
“I can do it while you wait,” Julie offered, “and then you don’t have to come back.”
“Okay,” I said, glad to have one less thing to do later.
Julie disappeared into the back and Liam looked up. “Come see the kitten, Sally.”
I walked over and knelt down next to him. “He’s cute,” I said, stroking the kitten’s soft fur, and Liam nodded.
“He’s free to a good home,” Julie chimed, coming back out with my copies.
“Can we take him home?” Liam asked hopefully.
I pressed my lips together uncertainly, wondering how Coop would react to having another responsibility added to his plate. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know how Coop will feel about having a kitten.”
“He’d love it,” Liam assured me, his eyes sparkling now. “He loves Henry and he always says he’s going to bring him home to our house.”
“And what if he doesn’t love it?”
“Then he could live with you and Henry.”
“That’s just what I need,” I said, laughing. “Two cats!” But when I saw the earnest look in Liam’s eyes, I knew there was no way I was going to say no—if I’d ever been blessed with children, I would’ve been a total pushover and my kids would’ve been spoiled rotten. I stroked the kitten’s soft gray head. A kitten might be just the thing for Liam, and if Coop wasn’t up to the responsibility, Henry would gain a little brother.
“Okay,” I said softly.
“All right!” he said, jumping up and down. It was the first time in a long time that I’d seen him truly happy.
Julie smiled too. “What are you going to name him?”
And Liam, who’d already scooped the stocky little kitten into his arms, thought for a minute. Then his face lit up. “Tomcat or Tom for short.”
Julie nodded approvingly and slid the copies across the counter. “He looks like a Tomcat.”
“He does,” I agreed. “Can we take the box too?”
“Of course, and since he’s the last one, you can take the kitten food too.”
“Thanks, Julie,” I said, pulling my wallet out of my purse.
Julie waved her hand. “No charge—it’s on the house for taking the last kitten off my hands.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, smiling, and then looked at Liam. “Good luck with Tomcat.”
“Thanks,” he said, slipping the kitten into the front of his coat.
I picked up the box. “Are you sure you don’t want to put him in here?”
“I’m sure,” he said. “He’ll be warmer in my coat.” And as he said this, Tom poked his head out between the buttons and Liam laughed.
Chapter 33
The first two years Liam lived with Coop, he spent a lot of time with me at Cuppa Jo. By the time he turned nine, he was able to ring up customers more efficiently than the teenagers I’d hired—he knew the price of every item without consulting the cheat sheet taped to the counter next to the register, and he was always first to make fresh coffee when the pots were getting low. He also made sure the floors were always swept and the counters sparkled. He was a conscientious little worker and I knew I was going to miss him when he announced, the summer he turned ten, that he wanted to help Coop at the boathouse.
“What?” I teased, feigning dismay. “I thought you loved Cuppa Jo, and now, after I’ve trained you to be the perfect employee, you’re going to run off and learn how to restore and build boats—which, by the way, I’ve heard is really boring.”
He nodded solemnly. “I think it’s my calling.”
I looked down, shaking my head and suppressing a smile. “I don’t think Frankie can handle the counter by himself.”
“Well, he’ll have to step it up,” Liam said of my current teenage employee. “And I’ll still help on Saturdays.” He knew it was our busiest day.
“Well, if you really think boat building is your calling, then I guess you better follow it.”
“I’m sorry, Sal,” he said, giving me a hug.
“It’s okay, Li. I completely understand.” I looked at Coop. “You’re getting a great little helper.”
“I know,” Coop said, nodding.
“You’re welcome,” I added.
“Thank you,” he said, smiling.
Liam looked up at him and grinned. “See? I told you she’d be okay with it.”
“Just like you told her I’d be okay with a kitten.”
“Well, I was right.”
“You were,” he said, tousling Liam’s long, sun-streaked chestnut brown hair.
Liam had been right—Coop had immediately fallen in love with the kitten we brought home from the print shop that winter day. Tomcat was a true predator—mice and moles weren’t safe when he roamed their property—and even though Coop claimed he loved that Tom was a hunter—and earned his keep—even more than he loved the cat himself, Liam and I knew better.
Liam was growing up, too, and he seemed to take everything about life seriously—almost too seriously, especially his job at the boathouse. When Coop and I had a minute alone—which wasn’t often—he told me Liam was exceedingly helpful and observant, absorbing everything he could about the mystique and beauty of wooden boats. At the tender age of ten, he knew the language of boats, and any outside observer would think he’d been born on the water.
Liam wasn’t just maturing emotionally, though. He was also growing physically—he’d grown four inches that year, and although he had his dad’s angular chin and handsome features, he had his mom’s eyes, and resembled Coop too. So much so, in fact, he was often mistaken for Coop’s son—which Coop didn’t mind one bit!
Kids are keenly perceptive, and Liam was no different. He watched Coop and me interact, laughed at our constant teasing and banter, and often wondered why we weren’t a couple. One day, when he was helping Coop put up a new bird-feeder post for me, I overheard them talking.
“Coop, how come you and Sally never got married?”
Coop laughed and leaned on his shovel. “A wise man never gets married,” he said, eyeing him. “If you can get through life without falling under the beguiling spell of a beautiful woman, you’ll save yourself a lot of heartache . . . and money!”
Liam shook his head. “Wouldn’t you want Sally to cook for you?”
“What?” Coop said, feigning indignation. “Don’t you like my cooking?”
Liam laughed. “I love it, but I think it would be easier if Sally lived with us and did the cooking.”
“I think you like her cooking better than mine,” Coop teased.
“No, I don’t,” Liam said, trying not to grin.
“I can tell by the look on your face.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“I still think you should ask her. Then maybe you wouldn’t drink so much.”
When I heard him say this, I looked up in surprise to see how Coop would react, but he just frowned. “I don’t drink too much,” he grumbled, and then plunged his shovel into the earth.
Liam watched him but didn’t say anything.
“How come Coop drinks so much?” he asked quietly when he came inside a little later to get a chocolate-chip cookie, and I could tell he’d been stewing about it.
“Has he been drinking more than usual?”
Liam nodded and looked out the window as he ate his cookie, watching Coop fill the dirt back in around the new post. “Sometimes, it scares me,” he added softly.
“It does? How come?” I asked.
“Because it makes him act different—like he’s not even the same person.”
“Well, he is the same person,” I assured him, putting my arm around his shoulders. “It’s just that he struggles with some memories from the war, and he thinks a drink will help him forget.”
“Why does he want to forget? Did he . . .” Liam hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to the question that had been weighing heavily on his mind. “Did he kill somebody?”
“I honestly don’t know the answer to that, Li. He doesn’t talk about it. I do know that a lot of his friends were killed, including his best friend.”
“Oh,” Liam said softly. “I didn’t know that.” He was quiet for a few minutes and then said, “I’d be really sad if my friend Jack was killed—I’d probably drink too.”
“I hope not,” I said. “Drinking doesn’t solve problems . . . and it definitely doesn’t bring someone back.”
Liam nodded. “I wish Coop knew that.”
“Me too,” I said, squeezing his shoulder and making a mental note to talk to Coop.
Just then, he came into the kitchen. “I thought you were coming in to get some cookies,” he said.
“I did,” Liam said, smiling as he reached for another warm cookie.
“And . . . where’s mine?” Coop teased.
“Right here,” Liam said, holding out the cookie he’d just picked up.
Chapter 34
When I pulled into the parking lot of Temple Israel in my dad’s vintage Bel Air, everyone who was walking inside turned to see who was driving the classic old car, and although I tried to look inconspicuous as I climbed out, as soon as Elise—now ten—saw me, she shouted, “Hi, Aunt Sally!” at the top of her lungs, freed herself from her mother’s hand, and charged in my direction with Elijah at her heels.
“Hey, you two,” I said, bracing myself as they barreled toward me at top speed.
“Where’d you get the cool car?” Elijah asked, stepping back to admire my dad’s old car—which Coop had kept meticulously maintained over the years.
