by Jay Quinn
“In that case, thanks,” Karl responded. With that, Johann nodded and strode toward the rear of the store, where Karl could see stools and a small bar, and behind that, an elaborate-looking espresso machine. Brass, with an old-world patina, it looked as if it could make more than a serviceable cup of coffee.
“Impressive,” Karl said to Sven, who had lingered after. He had introduced his brother to Johann, enjoying their banter.
“Johann or the espresso maker?” Sven laughed.
“Well, both, I suppose,” Karl retorted.
“Both would be correct,” Sven said as he switched the heavy fabric sample books from one hand to the other. “Johann has been with us for two years and really runs the shop. It frees me up to do a lot of the installations and to go on buying trips.”
“He’s a good-looking kid,’’ Karl said offhandedly.
“Venezuelans are beautiful people,” Sven said, and spared a casual look in Johann’s direction as the young man busied himself at the espresso maker. “They are like hybrid orchids.”
“Gay?” Karl asked, sotto voce.
“Actually, no,” Sven replied dryly. “He’s had a run of quite beautiful girlfriends, but he’s enjoying himself rather than being tied down. At home he’s a little prince. He’s very Latin in that way. He’s told me he will most likely live at home until he gets married.”
“Good for him,” Karl said. “He should enjoy himself with those looks.”
“He’s certainly good for business,” Sven said, and started away. “These damn samples are getting heavy. Look around. I’ll bring Rob down to say hello in a few minutes.”
Karl watched him turn and walk toward a door at the rear of the store, opposite the espresso bar. Sven opened the door with his free hand, revealing a staircase, and the door closed behind him as he made his way up the stairs to what Karl assumed was Rob’s domain. Karl looked again toward Johann, working on his cup of espresso, which was starting to send its fragrance throughout the store.
Karl felt momentarily stranded in the store’s large interior. He was no aficionado of antiques or housewares, but he knew what he liked and what interested him, so to begin he stepped toward the table where Johann had been folding blankets. There were several stacks of them on the old table, which featured chipped and flaking white paint. The table was almost a ruin, really, at least as far as its finish was concerned, but its lines were Gustavian, and there was no doubt it was one of Sven’s finds from Sweden.
The blankets were made of dense, soft wool in solid, muted tones of saffron, paler yellow, jade, and soft worn blues. They boasted almost absurdly large fringes, with each strand twice as long and thick as his index finger. Idly flicking through the folds of one, he found a handwritten tag explaining the blanket’s provenance as Finnish and boasting a price that made him raise his eyebrows. From the blankets he proceeded to examine the mix of the furniture. Among the antiques were also pieces he recognized as being mid-century modern Scandinavian designs, some Swedish, some Danish, and even Finnish. He stopped before a tiny settee of the Gustavian period that had been reupholstered in a pale pink check and sported an enormously plumped down seat cushion. The thing was precious. It was something he could see Caroline wistfully eyeing for her office in the town house. Interested, he bent to examine its tag and found the price to be sufficient for the down payment on a midsized car.
Stunned, he looked around and saw an old hutch holding a display of boxed and unboxed candles. He made his way over and examined the candles on the shelves. Their white wax and wicks were set m plain, clear-glass containers the size of smallish highball glasses. The label looked like vellum and was printed simply in blue ink stating: “Tynnigo, bougie parfumee, e I90g-6.5 oz. Made in France.” Curious, he lifted one and brought it to his nose. Sniffing tentatively at first, he found himself inhaling deeply the candle’s scent. Immediately, his mind was flooded with images of green firs towering over dark blue waters, the scent of wooden decking under a bright sun, and a slight salt breeze. There was a trace of wildflowers, grass, and even geranium in the complex scent. It was the smell of Tynnigo, the island of his childhood, his grandmere, and her home there.
So completely was he transported to another time and place that he didn’t even notice Johann approach with his cup of espresso. It was the intrusion of the rich smell of coffee overwhelming the other, softer scent that caused him to look up.
“It is very nice, yes?” Johann asked.
Karl nodded and smiled. Carefully he placed the candle back on its shelf and reached with both hands to receive his cup of espresso.
“Sven worked for many months with a candle maker outside Paris to get the scent right,” Johann explained. “We import them for sale only here. You would be surprised how many grand houses on the beach and other places smell of Tynnigo. We have people from New York who call and order half a dozen at a time to be shipped to them there.”
“I can understand why,” Karl said, and took a tentative sip of his coffee. He was almost reluctant to let the delicious taste impinge on his memory of the scent. “It brought back many memories of the place itself.”
“I have been there,” Johann confided. “Last summer was slow, so Sven took me along on a buying trip to Stockholm and Paris.”
Karl nodded. “That must have been fun. This coffee is wonderful. Thank you very much.”
Johann made an elegant, masculine dismissal with his hand of Karl’s compliment and thanks. “There are many wonderful things here in this shop. Not just from Sweden, but from other places as well. Your brother has been teaching me to shop the flea markets of Paris. Take a look around; you will be surprised by what you might find. “
Karl smiled. “I might be surprised, but I doubt I could afford it. Tynnigo is not Target.”
Johann laughed happily. “A good joke,” he said. “But what is rare and beautiful is often expensive.”
“True,” Karl said evenly. “But I suppose nothing is expensive if you really want it.” He placed his coffee cup on the hutch’s counter and picked up a boxed Tynnigo candle. It was marked fifty-two dollars, he noted, but he decided he didn’t care. He handed it to Johann and said, “Could you take this for me and hold it at the register? I’d like to buy one before I leave.”
Johann took the candle and nodded. “Please let me know if I can help you with anything else.” With that, he favored Karl with a brilliant smile and walked away.
Alone once more, Karl strolled along the aisles of precious articles he had no use for, but he did admire their loveliness and guessed at the people who could afford such indulgences of whim and taste. He sipped at his coffee as he wandered and finally came to stand by the front windows to take in the street scene outside. Downtown West Palm Beach had become enlivened once more, after a decade-long slump as businesses and shops moved to the suburbs. At least this cheerful pocket of it had. Strolling the streets with purposeful strides were men and women dressed for the subtropical Florida winter, stylishly casual. Across the street was a high-end kitchen design shop, flanked by an art gallery and a chic women’s clothing store. Further down the street was an oriental rug dealer and a patisserie. The street was hardly the dreary place Karl had last visited a decade before. He watched the street scene and finished his espresso with genuine ease. It felt good to be off work and out in the middle of the day. And, if West Palm Beach was hardly Marrakech, it was much different than any place in Raleigh, Cary, or Chapel Hill. In the early March sunlight of southern Florida, it was as exotic to Karl as if he had flown much further away from his familiar home.
His cup empty, Karl turned and started back across the store to dispose of it properly. Scanning the store, he couldn’t find Johann’s curly head, so he made his way to the espresso bar. Halfway there, the rear door to the upstairs opened and Sven made his way onto the sales floor, followed by Rob. Karl stopped and raised his free hand. Sven and Rob saw him immediately, and Karl was surprised when Rob hurried over and gave him a quick hug.
The hug flustered Karl, who gave a brief pleased chuckle and stepped back. Rob looked fit and as solidly muscled as the much younger Johann. Karl quickly surmised that Rob had been spending some time in the gym since his separation from Sven. His hair, while predictably receding, was still thick and featured a brush-cut style favored by Marine officers and gym teachers of Karl’s past. His large brown eyes wore a pair of severe architectural glasses, very linear and black-rimmed. Behind them, Rob’s eyes crinkled becomingly with the slight wrinkles that came with his self-assured smile. “Snazzy glasses you got there, Rob. You look like a celebrity architect.”
Rob laughed, and Sven smiled and shook his head. “I’ll settle for being a celebrity designer,” Rob answered confidently.
“One of Rob’s projects is going to be featured in a spread in Elle Decor in a couple of months,” Sven interjected. “Those new glasses were on his face just in time for the photo shoot.”
“I take it Elle Decor is a good magazine?” Karl asked carefully.
“Very good,” Sven answered, while Rob only rolled his eyes and looked away modestly. “I’m very proud of him.”
“Proud of us,” Rob said easily. “Your brother is a big part of it, whether he wants to give me all the credit or not.”
“Things are going well, I see,” Karl said, noting that Rob had taken pains to include Sven in his achievements. Obviously, whatever caused them to separate didn’t have anything to do with work.
Rob looked around the store and shrugged. “You know business. It could always be better, even if you’re swamped. But I can say some of our tough years are starting to pay off. Right, Sven?”
Karl watched as Sven gave Rob a furtive glance that spoke at once of love and hurt. He then looked at Karl with a quick smile. “We’re lucky,” he said simply.
“How have you been, Karl?” Rob asked smoothly. “It’s really great to see you.”
“Can’t complain,” Karl responded easily. “My work is busy and challenging. Caro is happy, and Melanie is looking forward to spreading her wings once she finds a job in Manhattan. Life’s good.”
“I recently put in a good word for Mel with a guy I know at an auction house on Madison Avenue,” Rob offered. “I emailed Mel and told her to send him her résumé. You never know, right?”
“I appreciate that,” Karl said sincerely. “It’s difficult at her age to get a foot in the door.”
“No problem,’’ Rob insisted, and then looked at his watch. “I hate to just say hi and run, but I’ve got a lunch meeting.”
“And I need to swing by the deli and pick up lunch for us and Mom and Dad,” Sven added.
“Karl,” Rob said, and reached to grasp his shoulder, “I’ll see you and the family tomorrow night at Sven’s for dinner.” He gave Karl’s shoulder a squeeze and then turned to Sven. For a moment it seemed to Karl that he hesitated, as if he wanted to touch him, but instead he simply said, “I’ll be back midafternoon.”
Sven nodded and gave him a smile. “See you then.”
“Until tomorrow night, then, Rob,” Karl said heartily. “I know Caro and Mel will be pleased to see you.”
Rob nodded and turned to step easily around a display of long case clocks. Once he reached the front door, he turned and waved before heading on his way.
Sven watched Rob possessively as he moved past the windows on the street before he changed his expression to one of bland cheerfulness, turned to Karl, and asked, “Getting hungry?”
Karl nodded and replied, “Starved. Mom’s not making lunch?”
“She doesn’t cook much these days,” Sven said carefully. “I promised I’d bring lunch when I brought you. I hope deli’s okay?”
“Sounds good,” Karl replied agreeably. He decided not to comment on Sven’s revelation that their mother had stopped cooking. Something in Sven’s tone and earlier reluctance to discuss her current state stopped him. He decided to wait and see for himself how she was doing. There was much unsaid that signaled to him some seismic shifts in the world of southern Florida, which he had taken as terra firma from the perspective of his world in Cary. If the currents between Rob and Sven were any indication, Karl felt he’d be better off going with the flow.
“Let’s roll, then,” Sven said, and took Karl’s espresso cup as he turned toward the store’s rear exit.
Remembering his candle, Karl said, “Hold up just a minute. I asked Johann to hold something for me at the cash register that I need to pay for.”
Sven gave him a puzzled look, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he led him to an island in the middle of the store with a counter on all four sides. He let himself inside the swinging waist-high door that led to the checkout area’s interior and sat down the espresso cup. “What did you find you liked, Karl?” he asked at last.
Karl saw the boxed candle waiting beside the register. He strolled to that side of the island and reached across the counter to pick up the box. Showing it to Sven, he said, “This is pretty amazing.”
Sven looked at him with an eagerness for approval that touched Karl deeply. “Do you really like it?” Sven asked, then, “You remember?”
“How could I not?” Karl replied. “I took one whiff of this and it was like I was standing on the dock in front of the house. How did you manage to duplicate the exact swell of the place?”
Sven laughed happily. “That is an entire story in itself. I worked back and forth with this little old French man who has an amazing lab. Come on, I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”
Karl set the candle down and reached for his wallet.
“No way,” Sven said bluntly. “Bring the candle and let’s go.”
“I can’t just take it,” Karl said dismissively.
“Of course you can,” Sven said and laughed. “I own the store and I want you to have it. What’s more, once it’s burned out, let me know and I’ll ship you some more.”
“It’s a fifty-two-dollar candle, Sven. I don’t expect you to just keep me stocked—that’s too much. Please,” Karl said, and reached for his wallet once more.
Sven picked the candle up and started toward the door. “Johann! We’re heading out,” he called. Johann emerged from the stockroom and strode to meet him. “C’mon, Karl. Johann needs to lock up and get lunch as well.”
Reluctantly, Karl followed, behind him and gave Johann a smile and nod as they passed in the aisle. Once they were in the stockroom, he said, “Really, Sven, I appreciate it, but you’re too generous.”
Sven stopped by the door leading to the alley and pulled his keys from his pocket. He turned and looked up at his older brother with a look of hurt mixed with exasperation. “Karl, the markup on those Tynnigo candles is something like five hundred percent.” He extended the candle for his brother to take. “Your wanting it is worth much more than the cost to me. Just be a brother and let me have the pleasure of giving you something that makes you happy, okay?”
Abashed, Karl took the candle from his brother and gave him a long look that he hoped communicated more than his simple spoken thanks. Sven rewarded him with a happy smile and busied himself with the locks on the door, leaving Karl to allow himself to recognize the happy feeling of being loved.
4
THE OLD NEIGHBORHOOD had aged extremely well, to Karl’s eye. In 1965, when his father had bought the sprawling Florida Caribbean-style colonial in the raw subdivision not far from downtown Boca Raton, everything had been fresh and new. Then the trees had been saplings and the palms only bushy-headed toddlers compared to the venerable and lush landscaping that canopied the streets now. Back then the interstate didn’t even exist, much less divide the old, real Boca Raton from the rococo excess of faux-Boca to the west. As he sat next to his brother, riding down streets he had long ago seen being carved from sand, scrub oak, and palmetto trees, Karl felt almost disoriented by the familiar surroundings.
“When we first moved here, none of this was finished,” Karl said softly. “I used to ride my bike here before this street was
even paved.”
“It must have been a lot different,” Sven said. “I was just a baby then. But Boca has really changed even more in the past twenty years. I can imagine how it must look to you after thirty-four years away. You can’t really take it all in coming back only once a year at Christmas.”
Karl chuckled. “I remember Dad worrying because he paid twenty-nine thousand dollars for the house. God only knows what it’s worth now.”
“He’s got it listed for seven fifteen,” Sven confided. “He’ll probably get at least seven for it, with the market the way it is right now.”
“Dad has their house on the market?” Karl asked, stunned.
“Oh, shit,” Sven muttered. Then, “Dad wanted to tell you himself.”
“Why, Sven?” Karl demanded. “Give me some idea of what I’m walking into here. All this mystery crap is really getting on my nerves.”
Sven slowed the car and turned away from the direction of their parents’ house. “Okay, look,” he said. “Don’t let Dad know I’ve said anything.” Sven easily swerved to miss a lone bicyclist riding along their side of the road. “I’m just going to drive around for a minute so I can talk to you.”
“Whatever, just tell me for God’s sake,” Karl answered irritably as he recognized the house where his first crush had lived. Her name was Kathleen Kerry, and she always sat three rows ahead of them at Sunday mass. He could still see her tossing her long hair and reaching back to adjust her ponytail. He suddenly felt claustrophobic. There was too much of the past here. There was where he took that nasty spill on his bike and cracked his wrist. There was where he and Tommy Dempsey used to build forts and later smoke joints. For a moment, the past lived so vividly alongside the present that there didn’t seem to be enough air in the car.
“Dad has decided to sell the house and move them into one of those continuing-care retirement communities. It’s not a bad place—it’s out in West Boca and it’s pretty nice. He’ll explain it all to you, and I think he plans on taking you over there tomorrow to show it to you.”
