It was not my finest hour, fashion-wise. But I had fully expected this jackass to be here six hours earlier, and had figured I’d be caught up on most of my laundry by now.
“What in the name of God do you think you’re doing?” I said in my best Mommy Dearest voice as I reached the basement floor.
The guy, aptly named Bob, jumped about three feet back when he saw me. He made a sound, something like “Aaargh”. Clearly my appearance and demeanor had scared the bejesus out of the poor simple man. I almost took pity on him. Almost.
“Ah, sorry ma’am. I thought you were outside.”
I took a few steps closer to him. The space was so tiny, he had nowhere to go. “Oh, okay, so you thought that since I was out of earshot, it was perfectly acceptable for you to open up a can of whoop-ass on my poor defenseless washing machine?”
He gulped and his face turned a fiery red.
“Do you even have any idea how to fix a washing machine?”
He gaped at me.
“Cat got your tongue?”
He cleared his throat and pulled up his pants a little. I was grateful for that small gesture. I’d gotten an eyeful when he bent over before. At least he was wearing underwear.
“I think I found your problem, ma’am,” he said in a voice that was far more confident than the look on his face.
I leaned back against a beam, and crossed my arms over my chest. I may or may not have been wearing a bra, and this little pecker-head was certainly not deserving of any kind of reward for kicking my machine. “Is that so? You found the problem, you say?”
“Yep.” He nodded, and it was all I could do not to tackle him to the ground.
“Let me guess,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice, though I knew it would be lost on the likes of Bob. “I need a part, in order for you to fix this problem. And this part that I need must be ordered. Am I doing okay so far?”
Bob just stared at me. I could be intimidating when I was pushed too far.
“And this magical part, that needs to be ordered, must be ordered from overseas which will take several days, possibly more than a week before it comes in. Then, in order to get this hunk of junk to actually wash clothes, I will have to schedule yet another appointment with one of you geniuses. That appointment will be scheduled between the hours of seven in the morning and four in the afternoon, and I will have to spend yet another nine hours of my day, afraid to leave the house, jump in the shower, or take a pee, just in case you ring my doorbell.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Bob, Bob, Bob. Oh, Bob. That is just not going to work for me.”
“Ma’am, I…”
I held up a hand to stop him. Then I whipped out my cell phone and made Bob call his boss.
An hour later, I had a brand spanking new front loader installed in my basement, and I waved to Bob as he drove off – my crappy old machine with the size eleven boot imprints tied securely to the back of his truck.
I checked the time, surprised and annoyed that it was already close to three. School would be letting out, and Miranda would need my help. I walked across the street to the café.
A few years ago, I had purchased the bait and tackle shop from Uncle Fred and transformed it into a coffee shop, which I named Whole Latte Love Café. The shop was inspired by Jo-Jo, my favorite barista on the west coast, who’d been an avid Zeppelin fan. It was part bakery, part coffee shop and part music café. We didn’t sell weed like at Jo-Jo’s, but we had poetry slams and regular open mic nights. It was eclectic and cozy, and my mother’s lemon bars were the tastiest in three counties. We did a good, solid business, and I was quite content with my modest life. God knew there wasn’t a profession I hadn’t tried before that would have been more rewarding. Being a local shop owner was where I belonged.
I walked in through the back entrance and quickly tied on the colorful apron Miranda had gotten me last Christmas, remembering that I still wasn’t exactly dressed. I inhaled nice and deep, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, chocolate and freshly ground coffee filling my nostrils. I would never tire of it. I grinned as I rounded the corner and saw Sydney standing on a stool beside Miranda, helping her put whipped cream and chocolate shavings on a customer’s café mocha.
“Hey, munchkin, you’re home early,” I said, swooping my daughter up in my arms. She giggled and squirmed to get down.
“I ran the whole way, ‘cause Miranda said she’d teach me how to grind beans today.”
“She did, huh? Well, I’m sure that once you learn how to grind beans, you’re going to be awfully busy around here. So I think you should come take a little break first, and maybe have a snack. Whad’ya say?”
Sydney jumped off her stool and ran over to the bakery case where she was allowed to select one item every day after school. “Wash your hands first, young lady!” I yelled after her as she dropped crumbs all across the floor on her way to the break room.
“You’ve created a monster. You know that, right?” I sidled up next to Miranda and helped put the finishing touches on a latte.
“What, showing her how to grind coffee beans? That seems harmless.”
“No, not that. I meant letting her call you Miranda. Now she’s starting calling me Izzy.” I rolled my eyes.
“Well, sweetheart, what did you expect? We’re not exactly a conventional family. Sydney’s the spitting image of you in every way. Besides, you have to choose your battles. Believe me, larger ones are looming straight ahead.”
I shuddered. If that were true, and Sydney was anything like me come the teenage years, we were in big trouble. I was not nearly as patient as my own mother. We were going to butt heads like nobody’s business.
I took a few orders from customers and helped Miranda get through the afternoon rush. Then I restocked the prep area while Sydney sat in one of the lounge areas, coloring.
“You okay?” Miranda said, as she dried over-sized mugs and lined them neatly on the open shelving.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Well, I’m still worked up about the whole washing machine thing, but I can catch up next week.”
Miranda raised her eyebrows. “That’s not what I was talking about.”
I shrugged. “I guess I’m just not looking forward to tomorrow is all.”
Tomorrow was the anniversary of the fire. Seven whole years since I lost my best friend, and my life changed forever. Tomorrow I would wake up and perform the difficult task of calling the O’Donnell’s – first Evelyn, then Michelle in San Francisco. I would listen quietly while they both cried, but my own eyes would be dry; I hadn’t shed a tear for Cooper, or anything from my life in California, since my drive across the country.
It was one of the many ways I coped.
Sometimes I thought it would be better if I just didn’t make those phone calls every year. Maybe both women would be better off if I stopped the silly ritual. It didn’t seem like it helped anyone; it sure left a bigger hole in my heart each year.
There was also one other ritual that I’d prefer to put to rest. It was the one where Jay called me and I simply stared at the phone, knowing I would never answer it, and wondering if this was the year he’d actually leave me a message.
Honestly, I just wished I could sleep through the whole day and not deal with any of it.
Miranda put the last mug on the shelf and turned to face me. “Did you ever think of maybe taking a trip out there? Not on the anniversary, but maybe in a month or so? It might help.”
I rubbed my temples. I had a pressure headache just starting, and I didn’t feel like talking about this right now. “I don’t think it will help. Not even a little bit.” My voice was sharper than I’d intended. I knew she meant well, but it wasn’t the first time she’d suggested it.
Miranda just nodded, and I instantly felt guilty. “Sorry Mom,” I muttered. She kissed me on the cheek and walked over to Sydney.
I swallowed hard, getting slightly choked up. I needed to go for a walk.
“Hey, mun
chkin,” I said, yanking on one of Sydney’s pigtails. “Be good for Grandma, okay? I’ll be back in a little while.”
I ran upstairs to the abandoned apartment we used for storage, rummaging around until I found a pair of old tattered jeans and my CBGB t-shirt. It was open mic night at the shop and I didn’t have time to do wash before tonight. It would just have to do.
I headed out toward the beach. There was a time when I truly hated the East. I thought for sure I would never return. California was my home, and that was just the way it was. But now I couldn’t remember the reasons I felt that way. Maybe it was Cooper that was home to me and now that he was gone… Well, now this was my home, and I couldn’t imagine living anyplace else. As I walked past the more modest houses of Avalon, I realized I had fallen in love with this town. I loved the fun and quirky shops, the diehard locals, fighting off hurricanes and blizzards every year with solid determination and banding together as a community. I loved the crazy tourist season, and the peaceful quiet months that began right after Labor Day. I didn’t need to go visit California. There was nothing there for me anymore.
I sat on the edge of the jetty, enjoying the feel of the salty spray as it sprinkled my face. It was almost fall and it would be too cold to come all the way out here in another few weeks. But I would anyway. It was the only place I could think.
I had been pretty successful blocking my mind of Jay; most days, anyway. But this time of year my brain seemed consumed by him. Maybe tomorrow when he called I would actually answer. Maybe it was time. It had been a while since he’d sent one of his random letters; I had a box of them, unopened, in my closet. Maybe I should read them, too. Or maybe not.
I knew I was being stubborn. He had attempted to reach out to me by writing, and he did call once a year. But I was still angry. I knew he could write beautiful words – that had never been a problem for him. I wanted him to speak to me in person. I would even accept a rambling voice mail message – that’s why I waited for one each year – but not the letters. If he couldn’t communicate by talking, then nothing had changed. And I wasn’t willing to put my heart on the line a second time. If I answered the phone tomorrow, I would just have to be prepared for disappointment, that’s all. But maybe it would offer me some closure if I heard whatever he had to say. I would simply tell him that no further contact was necessary, and we could both move on without this imaginary tether we still seemed to hang on to.
He never needed to know about the real flesh and blood connection we shared.
33
Jay rang the doorbell a third time, then double checked the address on his phone, even though he knew it by heart. No one was home. He was relieved and deflated at the same time. He should have just waited until tomorrow; stuck to his original plan. But he’d been able to get an earlier flight, and now he had a whole empty night ahead of him to wallow in a hotel room and replay one of the many speeches he had prepared to deliver when he saw Izzy.
He stepped off the porch and stood on the walkway admiring the cute little Victorian. It was not the kind of house he would think of Izzy living in, but in some strange way, it suited her. He wondered, not for the first time, what her life was like now. Was she married? Did she live here with her husband, maybe a kid or two? Was she happy?
He had known that he was taking a risk coming all the way out here, showing up on her doorstep unannounced. What had seemed like a good idea when Trisha convinced him to come along, now seemed foolish.
But after two years of therapy, and a recent long overdue visit to the O’Donnell’s – which was both terrifying and therapeutic - he had felt like he was ready to take a risk of this magnitude.
There were a million ways this visit could go south. He had no reason to believe Izzy would even speak to him, let alone forgive him; she had ignored every letter he’d sent her and every phone call after all. He’d messed up royally – that, he knew – and this was his one and only chance to make it right.
The sun was just starting to set, and it was still warm out – September’s last nod to summer - so he decided to walk on the beach a while. He certainly was in no rush to start his long night staring at the walls anyway. He glanced at his empty rental car and looked down the street. There was a small coffee shop less than a block away. He would run in there first, then hit the beach.
The shop was called Whole Latte Love Cafe, and was warm and inviting, not corporate-feeling like the chain coffee houses – but genuine. It felt like a comfortable place to spend a few hours. There were at least a half a dozen cozy sitting areas, each set up like a mini living room with cushy, broken-in chairs or sofas, coffee tables strewn with reading materials, and worn, faded area rugs scattered around the scarred pine floor. Bookshelves lined every available wall, candles and table lamps were lit and sporadically placed, giving the place a warm glow, breaking through the gloom of the fading daylight. Music played softly in the background, but it was something contemporary and upbeat, not generic elevator fare. There was a poster on the door advertising open mic night. If he was bored later, maybe he’d come back. It seemed like a place Izzy might spend some time.
There was one couple cuddled on one of the couches, and a woman pecking away at a laptop at one of the corner tables, but no one else was in sight. He stepped up to the counter, and was suddenly eye to eye with a child who he was pretty sure wasn’t old enough to be a barista.
“Hi! Welcome to Whole Latte Love. I can only make a regular drink, if you want something fancy, you have to wait five minutes for Miranda to come back.”
“Okay,” Jay said, amused. “Well, I’m a little impatient, so I think I’ll just have a cup of your house blend, if that’s okay.”
She hopped down off the stool and marched over to a fancy-looking brewer, held a cup underneath and pushed a button. The smell of strong dark coffee, with a hint of coconut, filled his nostrils and his mouth watered.
“This is a Jamaican blend that Izzy picked out. We switch every week. Do you need me to leave room for cream?”
“No, I take it black. Hey, did you just say Izzy? Does she work here?”
The child eyed him warily, “Yes. Who are you?”
Jay sat down at the counter and took a sip from the cup that had just been set down in front of him. It was amazing. Izzy always did know good coffee. “I’m an old friend of Izzy, from California.”
“Her friend from California died. That’s why she gets sad sometimes. Miranda told me all about it.”
Jay didn’t have too much experience talking to young kids, but he was pretty sure he could shoot straight with this one. She’d probably detect any bullshit he tried to give her anyway. “Yes, that’s true. Her friend did die. Cooper was my friend, too, and it was very sad.”
She appeared to be processing the information, then she slid the stool over to where he was sitting and stood on it so she was eye level with him again. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Jay, what’s yours.”
“Sydney.”
Jay reached out his hand and gave her a serious nod as they shook. “It’s very nice to meet you Sydney.”
“That coffee is on the house. Miranda says I can give stuff away once in a while to new people. Plus, I don’t know how to make change real good.”
“Well, thank you very much.” He took another sip, deliberately and slowly, trying not to appear over eager. “So, Sydney, when does Izzy work next? I’d love to stop in and say hi, while I’m here in town.”
A door slammed shut, somewhere in the back of the shop and Sydney turned. “Izzy! Come out here. Your friend is here.”
Izzy’s head was ducked low as she came through the door, concentrating on tying on a bright colored apron. “Sydney Delaney! How many times do I have to tell you that it’s disrespectful to…”
Her head came up and she froze, at the exact same moment that realization kicked in and all of the color drained from Jay’s face. He looked at Sydney, then back at Izzy – who looked like she might possibly collapse – and t
hen back at Sydney again. He didn’t know how he had missed it. Sydney was the spitting image of her mother. They looked exactly alike except for one small feature; instead of lavender, Sydney’s eyes were a sparkling emerald green. The exact same shade as his own.
34
Oh God, oh God, oh God. This cannot be happening right now. I stood in the doorway, holding on to the frame, because I was sure my legs would not hold me up for too much longer. Why was he here? This was so bad. I never wanted him to find out like this. It was cruel and selfish of me to keep it from him at all, but for him to be blindsided… If he didn’t hate me before, surely he would now.
I tried to drink him in, while simultaneously reminding myself to breathe. He looked different than I remembered. Not a lot different, but enough to feel unfamiliar. His hair was shorter, his face more lined, and he wasn’t as thin. Lean, but muscular. The way he was looking at me was terrifying. Those deep green eyes filled with resentment. Aimed at me.
“Jay,” I managed to croak out. He held up a hand as if to balance himself or just give himself a minute, then lowered his head and took a deep breath. “Jay, I…”
“How could you?” He asked in a voice so low I could barely hear him. He lifted his eyes to mine, and I just froze. There was no excuse. I had none.
He waited for me to say something, although nothing I said mattered. I could feel Sydney’s questioning eyes on me, and the enormity of this entire situation hit me as I clutched the wall tighter, waiting for the lightheadedness to drag me under. What would I tell my daughter? Our daughter. She might hate me as much as Jay did. Then what? I couldn’t survive that.
“Sydney!” I said with a little more force than I had intended. I breathed in once through my nose, and said more calmly, “would you please go find your grandmother?”
She looked at Jay, started to say something, then thought better of it, and ran past me out the back door.
The Duet Page 16
