by Sandra Balzo
‘We’re open,’ I called to her. ‘It’s just a little quiet this afternoon. The nice weather and all.’
The woman wore a parka with the hood up and didn’t seem all that impressed by the balmy temperatures. Probably a snowbird back from Florida and not yet accustomed to the cooler climate. Each year they returned to their homes in flocks and fired up their furnaces for a month longer than those of us who had weathered a Wisconsin winter.
Me, I remembered the May blizzard that dropped eight inches of snow on southeastern Wisconsin well enough to be grateful for any day above freezing, regardless of season. I also didn’t put the shovel away until the Fourth of July. In other words, I was a native Wisconsinite.
The woman just waved her fingers vaguely at me and continued past the shop to the dental clinic next door.
‘Stop in for coffee,’ I called after her. ‘Make that teeth-cleaning worthwhile.’
She turned and gave me a self-conscious half-smile. She was younger than I’d thought, probably in her twenties, and missing a front tooth.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. ‘Accident?’
She nodded shyly and the hood of her jacket started to fall back. She righted it.
As she did, the sleigh bells on the door of Uncommon Grounds jangled and Caron stuck her head out. ‘Are you chasing away customers again?’
‘Nah, just dental patients.’
‘The woman in the mauve puffy jacket who just came past?’ Amy asked from behind the counter. ‘She should have come in for coffee, the poor thing. She always looks like she’s freezing. I think she’s one of the clinic’s low-income patients. She’s been here the last couple of Free Saturdays.’
‘How ever do people get here from the city?’ Caron asked, letting me pass by before closing the door. ‘It’s nearly two miles to the nearest bus.’
‘There are people here in the suburbs who can’t afford a dentist,’ I pointed out. Me, for one, now that my free ticket – marriage to Ted – had been punched.
‘That’s right,’ Amy said. ‘I read an article that said it’s a misconception that poverty is just in the cities. There are just as many poor people in the suburbs. We just don’t see them.’
Caron flushed. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just . . .’ There was an uncomfortable pause as she trailed off.
‘Whatcha doing?’ I asked to break the tension.
‘Inventory,’ Caron said, going back to the shelves.
I followed. ‘I have your issues of Coffee and Me,’ I said, proffering the magazines.
She looked at the dates on them. ‘We’ve gotten two more since these.’
‘So why have you been nagging me to bring them back?’
‘Because I keep back issues.’ She had returned to the acrylic bin she was emptying. ‘Besides, it’s good training for you. You should return what you borrow.’
‘Thanks, Mom,’ I said, hoping Rachel didn’t plan to return what she had borrowed.
Caron didn’t respond. She was surrounded by ten-pound bags of coffee and was making notations on a clipboard.
‘Still a bean-counter, huh?’ I tried again.
Caron and I had worked together years ago at First National Bank, though neither of us had been on the money side of the business. I did public relations and event management and Caron had been an ad copywriter.
I’d gotten Caron, her husband Bernie and the minivan in our divorce settlement. Ted had kept his fishing cabin in Lake Verde and the rest of our friends. Not much of a loss, because they’d all been his to begin with.
Caron gave the bean-counter joke the laugh it deserved.
‘That’s not funny.’ She held out a scoop of coffee beans. ‘Does this look like Breakfast Blend or Sunrise to you? I think the bins may be switched.’
‘Sunrise,’ I guessed, figuring I had a fifty-fifty shot at being right.
Caron gave it a sniff. ‘You sure?’
Before I could answer, Amy chimed in. Literally.
‘Maggy’s right,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘Sunrise is umber-colored, where Breakfast Blend is tawnier, remember?’
I didn’t know umber from tawny any more than I did Breakfast Blend from Sunrise. I had a more pressing question for Amy now that she had stepped out from behind the counter. ‘Is that a wind chime on your ear?’
‘Don’t you love it?’ Amy flicked the dangling earring with her finger and it rang out like an actual wind chime. Only smaller.
She cocked her ear to hear . . . her ear. ‘Pentatonic scale. Minor, I think, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ I said solemnly. Amy had the most eclectic base of knowledge I’d ever been exposed to. If she had said her earring played ‘Amazing Grace’, I would have agreed with her.
‘It plays “Amazing Grace”,’ she said.
I looked at her.
‘Really.’ She removed her earring. ‘“Amazing Grace” uses the pentatonic scale. Just the black keys on the piano.’
She dangled the earring delicately between her thumb and forefinger. ‘If you find me a toothpick, I’ll show you.’
Personally, I would have paid money to see Amy perform ‘Amazing Grace’ on her earring using a toothpick. Unfortunately, Caron didn’t agree.
‘We have to finish this inventory.’ She dropped the lid on the bean bin. ‘Besides, we don’t have any toothpicks.’
I wasn’t sure that was true. Being a faithful partner, though, I went along. ‘Caron’s probably right. Would a chopstick work? I think I have the ones from Chinese take-out yesterday.’
Caron shot me a dirty look.
But Amy was shaking her head, even as she deftly replaced the earring. She had lots of practice with piercings. Six in her left ear, three in her right, two in her . . .
‘Where are your lip rings?’ I asked.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I thought it was too much, with the wind chime and all.’
‘Good point,’ I said, ignoring Caron who was still staring daggers at me for perpetuating the conversation. She’d been the one who had to have Amy in the first place. Now that the rock star of Brookhill baristas worked for us, though, Caron seemed impatient with her rock starness.
To be honest, Caron seemed impatient a lot these days. I wondered if things were OK at home.
I didn’t have time to inquire because the chimes – this time the ones on the door – jangled. The newcomer was Sarah Kingston, Brookhills’ real estate agent extraordinaire and what passed for my closest friend.
As she came in, Sarah was whistling, ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’’. Believe me when I tell you this was out of character for her.
‘You’re in an awfully chipper mood,’ I said suspiciously.
Sarah finished out the song before she answered. Right about the time the cattle were ‘standing like statues’, Caron snagged a bag of trash and slammed out the back door, with a muttered, ‘It’s not even morning, for God’s sake.’
‘What’s her problem?’ Sarah asked, petering out on the chorus.
I shrugged. ‘Don’t know, but she’s been irritable for about a week now.’
‘Since her birthday last week,’ Amy contributed from where she was tallying numbers.
Uh-oh. ‘I forgot about her birthday,’ I admitted. ‘Is she mad?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Amy said. ‘I think she wants to forget her birthday.’
Caron was a month older than me, which put her at forty-five.
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Sarah was shaking her head. ‘Forty-five is the new twenty. Look at me.’ She spread her arms out wide so her baggy jacket flapped open like wings above her equally baggy trousers. ‘I’ve quit smoking and started exercising. Cardio and stomach crunches. I’ve never felt better in my life.’
Why is it that when a person – say me, for example – falls off the fitness bandwagon, it seems like the rest of the world – even someone who once mistook a muscle for a tumor – hops on?
‘You do look fabulous,’ Amy said. ‘How much weight have you lost?
’
‘Fourteen.’ Sarah was studying Amy’s face. ‘Why are you wearing just one wind chime?’
‘I thought asymmetrical was the way to go. What do you think?’ Amy said, turning her head back and forth, jingling to and fro.
Sarah pursed her lips. ‘You’re right,’ she said after a moment. ‘Two would have been ordinary. By wearing one, you’ve taken it to the next level.’
First Sarah was exercising, now she was giving accessorizing tips. I didn’t know if I should be happy for my friend or afraid of her.
‘Are you sure you’re still Sarah? Or has someone else taken over your body?’
‘As long as they give it back in better shape than they took it, I’m OK with that.’ Sarah pulled out her cellphone to check the time.
The action reminded me of Rachel, which in turn reminded me of Ted, which depressed me.
‘Listen,’ Sarah was saying, ‘I have to run.’ She giggled. Sarah never giggles. ‘Not literally, of course. I run at five.’
I just looked at her.
‘In the morning.’
That’s it. I was going to start exercising tomorrow. And I was never going to eat again. Ever.
Sarah was still talking. It would probably take a stake through her heart to stop her. ‘I need to make a couple more stops and then get home and change. I’m meeting someone for an early dinner downtown and the sunset walking tour of historic buildings.’
‘Walking tour?’ I asked before I could help myself. Now Sarah was walking? And touring something other than a home she had listed? What was next?
‘Sure.’ Sarah dug through her voluminous bag and pulled out a flyer. ‘My friend leads the tour for the Visit Milwaukee Center. She said she thought I’d enjoy it, being in real estate myself.’
This was what was next. Sarah had friends. I mean, besides me.
She handed me the brochure. ‘A lot of the buildings in Milwaukee are changing hands or being turned into condos. The tour, I guess, gives you the inside scoop. The skeletons in the architectural closet, so to speak.’
She slung her bag onto her shoulder. ‘Well, mustn’t be late. Ta-ta.’
A jangle of the bells and she was gone.
‘Ta-ta?’ Amy and I asked in unison.
When Caron came back, she wasn’t in a better mood.
‘Somebody left the gate unlocked again,’ she complained as she put a new plastic liner in the waste can.
‘Guess it’s a good thing there’s nothing to steal in the dumpsters.’ I was trying to be positive.
Caron shook her head impatiently. ‘It’s not what they take, Maggy. It’s what they leave.’
As she spoke, she picked up the flyer I’d put on the counter and fanned herself. I didn’t know if it was the unseasonably warm weather that was bothering her or a hot flash. I thought it best not to ask.
‘C’mon, Caron, lighten up. It’s trash, not bodies or toxic waste. Are you OK?’
She ignored my question. ‘There are two computer screens and what looks like a brand new box spring out there. Oh, and some draperies. We could furnish a house. The trash guys come on Friday. Computers and furniture aren’t allowed.’ She looked like she was going to cry.
I patted her on the shoulder. ‘I know, I know. My brother still has a Commodore 64 he doesn’t know what to do with.’
Caron sniffed and cracked a smile. ‘A museum, perhaps?’
I grinned back, happy to make at least a little headway with her. I knew I wasn’t always as concerned about these types of things as Caron was. I’d like to say it was because I had a life. I didn’t. I just didn’t give a damn.
‘Tell you what?’ I offered. ‘I’ll investigate the dumpster situation and see who’s leaving it unlocked.’
‘And the mattress and all?’ Caron asked hopefully.
‘Once we make sure the other tenants are locking the gate, we won’t have to worry about people dumping things in the dumpsters besides us. As for what’s already there, I’ll try to sweet-talk the trash guys into taking that on Friday. If they won’t, we’ll just pay extra and be done with it.’ I put my hand on Caron’s shoulder. ‘Make sense?’
She nodded her head.
I studied her face. ‘And I ask again: are you OK?’
‘Sure.’ She slid the trash basket back under the counter and straightened up. ‘I’m just old and cranky.’
‘You are not,’ I assured her. ‘You’re young and cranky.’
‘Shuddup.’ She smacked away my hand. ‘You’ll get yours in a month, when you’re as old as me.’
‘Actually, I’m hoping to get mine tonight,’ I said with a grin. ‘Pavlik’s coming over.’
The subject of Brookhills County Sheriff Jake Pavlik immediately improved Caron’s mood, as I hoped it would. Long-married, she enjoyed living vicariously through my new single status. Why, I had no idea. I was certain she and Bernie were having way more sex than Pavlik and me.
Caron was smiling and chatting with Amy when I left. I was a bit more chipper myself, no longer fixated on Rachel’s visit this morning. That mood lasted until I got out into the parking lot and saw Ted.
My ex.
Rachel’s husband.
Rachel’s perhaps future ex.
Liar.
Cheater.
Father of my son.
‘Afternoon,’ I said as pleasantly as I could manage. Ted was in running clothes and sweating profusely, thank God. That meant hugging was out of the question, so we’d be spared one of the awkward hug-or-don’t-hug moments that an ‘amicable’ divorce engenders.
‘I’m disgusting,’ he said, holding up his hands.
‘I know.’ I’m sure my smile was bigger than he expected.
‘Good to see you, though.’ He was looking at me suspiciously. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Perfect. Out running, I see.’ It was a safe subject. Fitness freaks are always happy to chat about their workouts. It would give me the requisite five minutes of polite conversation I felt we should engage in as modern ex-spouses. Then I was out of there and heading toward a date with a man who appreciated me. And would, I hoped, someday have sex with me.
‘I’m training for a marathon,’ Ted said cheerfully. ‘Is Sarah here? I said I’d run with her tomorrow, but I have to cancel.’
‘Sarah’s running a marathon, too?’ Great. Now I’d have to run a marathon. Not to mention that my best friend was hanging out with my ex.
‘Nah.’ Ted had his hands over his head, stretching.
His short jacket moved up and I could see abs. Not just stomach, you understand, abs. A six-pack. The last time I’d seen a six-pack on Ted’s stomach, he’d been drinking from it.
I took a good look at my ex-husband. He’d always been handsome. Six-feet tall, sandy brown hair, green eyes. I’d fallen for him the first time we’d talked. He had a way of looking at you, really looking at you, as he spoke. It made you think you were the center of his universe for that moment. It had made me want to be the center of his universe forever. And to make him the same of mine.
‘Forever’ had lasted nearly twenty years. Or eighteen if you subtracted the Rachel Years. Longer than for most couples, I guessed. Question was, how many more of those eighteen were . . .
‘. . . so sometimes Sarah comes running with Emma and me,’ Ted finished.
Emma? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I was thinking about something else. Who did you say Emma was?’
Ted rolled his eyes. He and Rachel must have a blast rolling their respective eyeballs at each other. ‘Emma Byrne. She and I went to dental school together. She was over to the house a bunch of times, with her boyfriend. Griffin something or other. You remember.’
I did now. Emma had been born in Ireland and, where I thought of people of Irish descent as having brown or red hair and green eyes, her hair was raven black, her eyes a startling navy blue. She was memorable and I thought I’d seen that memory walking through the parking lot of Benson Plaza last week.
‘You know, I think s
he’s part of the dental group that bought the practice next door.’
‘She is,’ Ted confirmed. ‘She’s also Sarah’s dentist. Emma has been on her for years to quit smoking. Nasty habit, smoking. Yellows your teeth, causes gum problems.’
Not to mention those lesser problems of cancer and heart disease. I tried not to wonder about how closely Ted and Emma Byrne had stayed ‘in touch’ over the years.
‘Once Sarah gave up the cigarettes,’ Ted said, ‘Emma thought running might give her a reason to stay off them.’
Talk about your full-service dentist. ‘So how do you fit into this health kick?’ I asked.
Another roll of the eyes. ‘I told you. Emma and I are training for the Milwaukee Marathon.’
‘But not Sarah.’ I just wanted to be sure hell hadn’t frozen over.
‘Not yet, but I have to give her credit. She’s running about four miles with us before she drops off at the Donut Hole.’
‘Now there’s the Sarah I know and love,’ I said, smiling. ‘Except for the four miles part.’
‘People change.’ Ted said it quietly.
The switch in mood startled me. If he wanted to debate the point, I might argue that it wasn’t so much people who changed, but what we knew about them. Had Ted loved me and then changed his mind, or had he never really loved me at all and I’d just become aware of it?
‘What about Rachel?’ I asked abruptly.
‘What about Rachel?’ Ted asked back, seeming surprised.
‘Is she running, too?’ I asked lamely, though it was a fair question. When Rachel had worked for Ted, they used to ‘run’ together every lunchtime. Like little fornicating Energizer bunnies.
‘She trained for awhile, but she had to quit. She’s . . . busy.’ His tone was evasive.
‘Really?’ I said, not able to stop myself. ‘To hear her tell it, you’re the one who’s been busy.’
‘Me?’ Ted looked confused. Then he looked worried. ‘When did you talk to Rachel?’
I shrugged. ‘Just ran into her. Listen, I have to go.’
Then I shut my mouth and left. Too bad it was thirty seconds too late.
Chapter Three
Rachel and I had agreed to meet in the lobby of the Slattery Arms. The Arms was the flagship of the hotel chain and the management and sales offices were housed there.
