But he wasn't listening. He turned away from me and started talking. "Looks like you're spending the night here in Stuart. Unless you need me to give you a loaner so you can get to Miami. Seeing as how you're in such a hurry."
There was a touch of malice in his offer, and it sidetracked me.
"Heavens, no," I lied. "This'll work fine. Just fine. Unless I'd be an imposition? I mean, maybe you're really busy?"
"Never too busy for you, Granddaughter. Let me close up and we'll go get some chow. I'm so hungry I can't think straight."
While I stood in the open door, he ran detail tape on his cash register and filled out a daily sales report. I tried not to heave at the smell of the dead fish.
"Great! Glad we can visit," I said, talking to the top of his baseball cap as he licked a pencil and wrote down numbers.
So much for my plan to get some much needed rest and relaxation. Instead of sunning by the Biltmore's gigantic pool or strolling around in South Beach, I was stuck here in the land of stinky fish. Rather than eating at five-star restaurants, I was escorting my grumpy grandpa to the local delicatessen.
Whoop-de-do!
Life was cruel, and I was overtired. Every disappointment grew disproportionately.
I fought to keep a happy expression on my face. It wasn't just the fact I was now obligated to stay in Stuart—heck, I'd already done that to myself by buying a building—it was also the fact that I felt ashamed for wanting to drive on past Poppy.
Things would be different now that I owned the building around the corner. For a while at least, we'd be neighbors.
"Guess what happened while I was out walking?" I asked, eager to spill my news.
"Durn it. You made me lose count."
I turned my face toward the fresh air and waited as he totaled up the numbers on his pad. A half an hour ticked by slowly as he puttered around.
"Alrighty-then," he said finally, as he slipped the money into a bag and deposited it in the floor safe under his desk. But when he got to his feet, he wobbled and made a grab at the door frame.
"Poppy? You okay?" I slipped under his arm to support him. He leaned against the door sill until I could ease him down into his desk chair. How old and frail he looked! His shoulder blades formed tent poles under the fabric of his shirt.
"Musta skipped lunch. I get light-headed when I forget to eat."
It was half past six. After eating nothing but junk for a day and a half, my body demanded real fuel. Poppy obviously needed some of the same.
"Then we need to get you to Pumpernickel's," I said.
Taking a last breath of fresh air, I helped him to his feet. Poppy started toward the back door, passing a rack designated for his customers' car keys. My own Camry key was the Lone Ranger, sitting on a hook by itself.
"Aren't you going to lock up?" I asked.
"Nah, wouldn't do much good," he said. "Neither of the locks work."
Even though Black Beauty wasn't running, I felt protective of her. I couldn't understand why Poppy was being so careless.
"The locks need fixing. So does the roof. Need a new flapper on the toilet, too. Gotta get a new air pump for the bait tank. Usually Thomas and I would..."
His voice trailed off.
Tears filled my eyes. My dad was such a wonderful guy; he never passed up the chance to do a good deed.
I sure missed him.
Evidently, Poppy did, too.
8
Poppy took the lead, walking us out the back and through the empty parking spaces. I gave Black Beauty a tiny love pat as we went by.
"All right, Pumpernickel's here we come," I said, right as Poppy stumbled. I grabbed him before he went down and helped him to his feet.
"Got a spot on my foot that's giving me trouble." Poppy leaned on me hard. "Just one more thing I've been too busy to see to."
"Dad isn't here, but I am," I said. "I'd be happy to pitch in and help. I think that Job Number One is dumping those dead fish."
"Yeah, I guess. The smell didn't bother me none, but everyone else seemed pretty fussy about it."
Hal Humberger had been right: In its current state, Poppy's place wasn't attractive to customers. Now that I was here, things would change. It wouldn't take much work, really. Cleaning the Gas E Bait, top to bottom. Freshening up the paint. Tossing the old magazines. De-cluttering. Replacing the tattered silk flowers in the pots at the front of the station. Washing the windows. Getting the gas tanks going again. And, of course, fixing everything that didn't work right.
I smothered a giggle. I'd come all this way to do exactly what I'd done back in St. Louis. There I'd specialized in keeping the restaurant in tip-top shape. What was that French saying? The more things change the more they stay the same?
"How's business been in general?" I asked my grandfather. His gait was unsteady as he kept a hold on my arm.
"Better'n ever. That's one reason the place has gone to heck. I'm busier than a one-armed paperhanger. With the economy being so uncertain, people are hanging onto their old cars. Not a day goes by but someone's bringing in a vehicle for me to fix. Of course, I should cough up the dough and buy some new equipment. But I haven't had the chance to investigate what's what. I'd also need to take off time to learn how all that junk works. I guess it's all about them computers now. There just don't seem to be enough hours in the day. Not lately at least."
We had arrived at Pumpernickel's before the rest of the dinner crowd. The seats at the counter were all empty. Poppy lurched past the freestanding tables and slid into the last booth against the wall.
"Hey, who's your date, Dick?" asked our waitress, as she poured glasses of water.
Her name badge indicated that she was "Skye with an E," which tickled me. At first glance, I thought she was in her twenties, but then I realized she was nearer my age. She wore the same black pants, white blouse, and a red apron required of all the staff, but from her ears dangled a pair of sea glass earrings. Even with her blonde curls twisted into a knot on the top of her head, a few escaped to frame her heart-shaped face.
"My granddaughter from St. Louis," said my grandfather.
"Hi, I'm Cara Mia Delgatto." I offered Skye my hand and we shook, taking each other's measure and deciding we both liked what we saw.
"Could you cut the chatter? I skipped lunch," grumbled my grandfather. "Better get me something fast."
His rudeness shocked me.
"Be right back," Skye said.
When she returned, she had a tall glass of orange juice in one hand and plastic packs of Saltines in the other. Poppy's hand shook as he picked up the glass and chugged the drink.
"You must have been busy today, Dick." Skye watched him carefully. "Forgetting to eat isn't good. I'll give you two a minute to look over the menu. The specials are on the chalkboard."
I glanced over, made my choice, and said, "I wanted to tell you my news."
"Can't it wait? My head hurts."
That shut me down. Of course, it could wait. What difference would it make?
Skye came back to take our orders. Poppy wanted a roast beef sandwich on rye with horseradish. I ordered a Reuben with a side of fruit, while he opted for sweet potato fries. We both wanted bowls of matzo ball soup, the house specialty.
While Poppy munched his crackers and finished his juice, I sipped my water and enjoyed the cheerful ambiance of the deli. The decor was simple but effective with bright aqua on the walls, a black and white tile floor, and pink toy flamingos on the tabletops. I started to feel excited about the prospects of sprucing up the Gas E Bait.
And The Treasure Chest?
Hmmm. Maybe.
The tables started filling up. Customers took seats at the counter. Poppy waved to a big man who walked in.
"Who's that?" I asked.
"Lou Murray," he said. "A detective."
The clank of silverware and the sound of water being poured into glasses brought a smile to my face. All of this reminded me of our family restaurant and happier days.
> While my parents had been on a second honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast of Italy, I had re-decorated the restaurant. I repainted the walls a warm, bluish red. A pleasant gray pattern carpet replaced our tired oatmeal Berber. Our gold napkin rings kept "walking off," so I replaced the remaining rings with lengths of dark red ribbon. That allowed us to wrap white damask napkins around the place settings and tie them into a bundle. As a result, it was easier to set the tables.
By the time my parents returned, all we needed was wall art. I had the best of their photos blown up and printed onto canvas. My parents and most importantly our customers loved the results.
Skye visited our table to warn us it might take a while for our food. They were finishing up with a big "to go" order. In the meantime, she offered us a complimentary plate of carrot and celery sticks with ranch dressing.
"How's Tommy?" Poppy asked.
I'd been wondering when he'd mention my son. It hurt my feelings that Poppy didn't seem interested in Tommy, and once again, I keenly missed my dad. I told Poppy what little I knew about Tommy's first week at school. Then I let Poppy guide the conversation until our salads came.
Skye cleared our salad plates and served us each a bowl of matzo ball soup. After my grandfather downed most of his soup, he seemed more focused, so I took a deep breath and plunged in.
"Something happened while I was on my walk." I told Poppy about my accidental meeting with Hal Humberger.
During my recitation, Poppy didn't look at me. In fact, he looked everywhere else but at me as he continued to munch his crackers. I explained how Mr. Humberger had mistaken me for someone else.
"Is there a point to this? Other'n how he figures as how I'm done for?" Poppy crushed the empty plastic wrappers in his fist.
"I tricked Hal Humberger into selling The Treasure Chest to me. I guess that makes us neighbors," I said.
Poppy still didn't look me in the eyes, but he worked his jaw furiously. He picked up his spoon, tipped his bowl, and scooped up the last drop of his soup. After he drank it, he set down his utensil, lining it up on his paper placemat. Then he turned angry eyes on me.
"So you just up and bought Essie's store? That building she's been trying to unload for years? Cara, that was pure foolishness! Old Hal Humberger pulled a fast one on you!"
"No," I said. "I'm the one who put one over on him!"
"Ha! That's what you think!"
"But Poppy, I saved your business!" My cheeks grew hot.
"Oh, you did, did you? You are just like your father, aren't you? That apple doesn't fall far from the tree! Got to meddle, don't you?" he screamed. "Can't leave well enough alone? You think you have all the answers!"
All the air went out of my lungs. It felt like I'd been punched in the gut. Heads turned and people stared at us. Skye was taking an order, but she paused long enough to glance our way. I caught her eyes, and her look was soft with compassion.
"You think you can fix everything, don't cha? Even stuff that can't be fixed. My little girl, Jolene, wanted to die in peace, but no, Thomas wouldn't let your mother go. He insisted she get chemo. Suffer? My baby girl suffered like Christ on the cross, but Thomas wouldn't let up. Kept begging her to live. Kept pushing and pushing!" With a mean shove, Poppy pushed our table toward me. My empty water glass toppled over.
While I was trying to keep my glass from falling to the floor, Poppy stood up between the table and the booth bench. He leaned toward me with both palms resting on the tabletop. When his face was inches from mine, he started up again.
"Your mama didn't want to let him down. Couldn't stand up to your dad. When I called her to see if I could come visit, you know what she said? Huh? Do you, Miss Smarty-Pants? She said, 'Pop, I can't stand for you to see me like this. Stay away and keep me in your prayers.' Because Thomas had to have his way. Yep, you're just like your daddy. Push, push, push! Well, there's a limit to what people can take, and I done reached mine!"
All eyes were on me. Necks craned around the sides of the other booths so people could stare. I began to feel dizzy. Stars swam in front of my eyes. Every muscle in my body wanted to get up and run, but I didn't dare. I didn't think my legs would carry me. Not as tired as I was.
I hunkered down, cowering like a beaten dog. I turned this new information over and over in my head. My father had forced my mother to have chemo? Dad had been the instrument of my mother's pain? That wasn't how I remembered it. All I could remember was the loving, caring moments when Dad nursed Mom.
"You're wrong, Poppy," I said, drawing myself up to face him.
"No, Missy. I ain't. You're the one who's confused. You're just like your daddy. He used to come here to spy on me and stick his fingers in my business, too."
With that, he slid out from between the bench and the table. He took two steps toward the door and then turned back as if he'd forgotten something.
For one crazy second, I thought he'd decided to apologize.
Instead, he wagged his index finger in my face. "Let me tell you something, Cara Mia. Life ain't a series of problems with tidy solutions. No, it ain't. Things go wrong. Hearts get broken. You wake up one day and discover all your prayers and hopes and plans don't count for nothing!"
As I watched in shock, Poppy stomped out of the restaurant.
9
I wanted to crawl under the table and die. Every patron in the deli had turned to stare at me. Their expressions ranged from horrified to empathetic.
Why on earth had I ever come back to Stuart? I must have been nuts!
Skye tucked her order pad under her armpit and walked to the center of the restaurant. Clapping her hands, she said, "Show's over folks. Get back to eating. We've got fresh rye bread coming out of the oven."
Reluctantly, diners turned back to their meals. Skye raced over and set down a fresh glass of ice water. I couldn't even look her in the face. I slumped back into the corner of the booth and tried to sort out what had happened. I've never been hit by a bus, but I'd bet it hurt a lot less than Poppy's diatribe.
Was it true that my dad made my mother go through chemo?
My hand trembled as the water glass touched my mouth. I took sips to calm myself.
No wonder Poppy and Mom didn't get along. I'd never seen this side of him, but then, for the past twenty years, most of our communications had been brief. Even when Poppy visited at the holidays, he would return home quickly. Now I wondered if that had been by design. Was it possible that my parents had been protecting Tommy and me?
Skye set a steaming hot Reuben sandwich down in front of me and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You all right?"
I wasn't, but the scent of sauerkraut and cheese made my mouth water.
"He can be mad all he wants, but you still need to eat," my waitress counseled me.
The rich fragrance of the corned beef proved irresistible. I picked up the sandwich and took a big bite. It was almost too hot, but I fanned myself and chewed. Skye refilled my water one more time.
"I put your grandfather's chips on your plate," Skye continued. "No sense in them going to waste. I'm going to bring you a nice cup of tea on the house. Just let me get Lou's carry out order to him, and I'll be right back."
I nodded numbly.
True to her word, in a few minutes, she slid a cup of hot water and a chamomile tea bag onto the table. While I chewed and stared off into space, she tore open the paper wrapper, dunked the tea bag in the mug, and turned a bread plate over the hot water. "Needs five minutes to steep. I'll remind you."
The food revived me. Between bites of the sandwich and fries, I crunched my dill pickle and sipped ice water. As the adrenaline left my body, my mind went blank, which was probably a blessing, because I was tired of thinking. Skye would wait on other customers and check back on me frequently. She brought me more hot water and another tea bag. When I seemed indifferent, she brewed the tea for me. It was nice to be babied. By the clock on the wall of the diner, I'd been sitting here for nearly an hour and a half.
"Don't wor
ry about it. Dick's been awful cranky lately." She picked up tea trash.
"He has?"
"Yep. About a week ago he got in a shouting match with Mr. Humberger. The owner told them to take it outside."
"No kidding?" I almost groaned. Maybe I had made a mistake. Maybe I hadn't rescued Poppy. Even so, my intentions had been good. I didn't deserve the public tongue-lashing.
I could count on one hand the number of times in my life that my father had raised his voice. Despite all the stereotypes of Italians being hot-headed and emotional, my father had been the original cool dude. He'd only ever gotten upset when someone cheated us or upset Mom or me. After Poppy's imitation of Mount Vesuvius, I realized that I could trace my own temper directly back to my mother's side of the family.
As I sipped the tea, my sense of well-being started to return. I burrowed into the nook between the back of the booth and the bench. So what if Poppy was mad? He'd get over it.
I considered my options. First, I could simply turn around and sell The Treasure Chest to Cooper Rivers. I knew he wanted it. I might lose some money for the real estate commission, but I'd get out from under the property. Second, if Cooper didn't want it, I could fix up the building and flip it. Dad had often flipped property, so I knew what to do. Or, I could keep it.
"Wrap the rest of your dinner up for you?" Skye startled me from my thoughts.
The sandwich had been massive. I'd eaten only half of it, and I'd been sitting here for a long time. I nodded. I was so tired, I could have fallen asleep right there in the booth.
"Could I please have a piece of tinfoil for my sandwich? I hate Styrofoam," I said.
"I've been trying to get them to switch to containers that you can recycle." She reached for my plate. "But it's been an uphill battle. They think I'm some sort of tree-hugging fool."
Her eyes were definitely sky blue, which was probably where she'd gotten her name. Freckles danced across her nose, except where it was peeling a bit from the sun. Guessing by the leather "friendship" bracelet on her wrist, Skye was a free spirit.
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 68
