Summer by the River

by Debbie Burns

  Wednesday through Sunday, days the tea garden was open, Josie’s alarm went off at 5:00 a.m., and Zoe slept right through it.

  “Morning, sweets. You don’t have to get up yet if you don’t want to. It’s almost two hours until your bus comes.”

  “But I want to be first to the bus stop.”

  Sitting up, Josie stifled a yawn. “You know, there’s plenty of room on the bus for everyone. Even if you aren’t first.”

  “But I like to be first.”

  Josie got out of bed, stretched, and walked over to Zoe. Their rooms had been designed for child and nanny. Zoe’s room, about half the size of Josie’s, had been the nanny’s quarters.

  When Zoe finished yanking off her smiley-faced marshmallow nightgown, Josie pulled her into a bear hug, savoring the feel of her smooth, youthful skin. “I love the way you smell when you’re clean.”

  “Then that’s clean you like and not me. I smell like Zoe.”

  “You smell like childhood and possibility and garden fairies.” Before letting her go, Josie buried her nose in Zoe’s hair and took an exaggerated whiff that made Zoe giggle.

  “How can you know what garden fairies smell like when you don’t even believe in them?”

  “I believe in you, Zo. That’s what matters. And how about listening to some advice from someone who’s been through school and learned a thing or two?”

  Zoe stuck out her hip and pointed a finger in a mock-authoritarian pose. “Is this going to be boring?”

  “I’ll keep it short.” Josie chuckled. “How about when you catch yourself being worried about being first—whether it’s first in line or to the swings or whatever—you try taking a breath and giving yourself permission to just be you and do things on your own time?”

  Zoe tugged her shirt over her head, and Josie swept her hair out from under the collar. “Then what if I end up being last?”

  “Last for what? The bathroom? When you stop and think about it, a lot of these things don’t really matter in the long run.”

  She thought of Zoe’s father, of how much it had mattered to him to be first at everything. First or best. Of how that never changed and what it led to. A shiver ran up her spine, and she shoved back a flood of memories.

  As Zoe finished up in the bathroom that was built into the east corner of Josie’s room when the house was about a century old, there was a familiar scratching on the bedroom door. Tidbit only scratched on Josie’s door to be let out in the morning on the few days Myra slept in past six.

  Zoe rushed over and let him in with still-wet hands. She dropped to the floor and buried her head and hands in Tidbit’s fluffy fur, offering him a long string of adoration. Tidbit soaked up the praise but didn’t let it deter his morning stretching routine, a good stretch of the hips followed by a downward-facing dog that accented the shortness in his legs and length of his back.

  “Not so loud, or we’ll wake everyone,” Josie whispered, thankful that there were only two other people in the house today compared to the overflowing numbers of the weekend. “Let’s get Tidbit out back. Then you can make all the noise you’d like.”

  Tomorrow, after Carter left, it would just be her, Myra, and Zoe again. After the fun of yesterday afternoon, the thought gave Josie a surprising twinge of disappointment. Even though her life seemed so much safer before he’d stepped into it, it would be quieter without him.

  Too quiet, she thought before pushing it away.

  Tidbit led the way downstairs, accomplishing the impossible task of making his descent look easy despite his squat legs and long body, and Zoe followed, holding onto the banister so she could hop down one step at a time. Josie trailed after them, attempting to lock in the sight as a memory on Zoe’s first morning of first grade.

  They were headed down the hall toward the back door when the swinging door to the kitchen pushed open. Carter stood in the doorway, and the sight of him sucked the breath from Josie’s lungs. The way he’d tied one of the aprons around his hips, drawing her attention to his toned torso, didn’t help. “Morning.”

  “Carter!” Zoe dashed forward and wrapped her arms around his waist in a bear hug. She buried her head against his hip and closed her eyes with the same exuberance as if she were hugging Santa.

  “Morning, kid.” He ruffled her hair when she stayed locked around his waist. “Ready for your first day of school?”

  “Yep! I wanna be the first one to the bus stop.” She ended her death grip of a hug and balled her hands into hopeful fists in front of her face. “Are you still making me pancakes?”

  Josie’s insides twisted at witnessing how much Zoe was idolizing him—at how much she was craving a father figure. My dad left when I was so young. I barely have any memories of him, and I’m doing just fine. In answer to her thoughts, she found herself questioning how fine was fine.

  “I made a promise, didn’t I? And this is perfect timing. I was just wondering what you like in your pancakes.”

  “Chocolate chips and bananas.” She clasped her small hands together. “Can I help?”

  He looked Josie’s way. “So long as your mom doesn’t mind.”

  Josie offered a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure. I didn’t think you were awake yet. I was going to hop in the shower after I let Tidbit out.”

  After a quick sniff of Carter’s ankles, Tidbit had planted himself by the back door; his ears were perked forward, and his tail wagged to the pulse of the second hand of a clock. Josie bet that, even more than Tidbit needed to pee, he wanted the early-bird chance to chase the two feral cats that had been hanging around the backyard when it was empty. No doubt they were hunting sparrows and mice drawn in by crumbs missed by twice-a-day terrace sweepings.

  Carter’s gaze brushed over Josie’s thigh-length nightshirt and legs without lingering long enough to be brazen. “Take your time. We’ve got this. Tell me first, how do you like your pancakes?”

  “Um, anything you two decide is fine by me.”

  “Then I’ll go with my specialty and surprise you.”

  There was something in his gaze, something just a bit flirty again, and Josie did her best to ignore it. She reminded Zoe to cover her new clothes with her apron, then headed outside with Tidbit. The temperature had dropped lower than she’d expected last night. The cool wash of air blanketed her skin like a damp cloth, causing a shiver to run up her spine.

  The feral cats were nowhere in sight. After a full circle of the yard and scent-marking on half a dozen plants and trees, Tidbit was ready to head back inside.

  Through the swing door, she could hear Zoe giving a play-by-play of all the things she’d learned about her school day when they’d met Ms. Richards last week. Josie pushed the door half open and offered a reminder that she’d be upstairs if Zoe needed her, then headed up to her room.

  Probably hoping some scraps of food would hit the floor, Tidbit opted to stay behind and sprawl out near their feet.

  She savored a bit more time in the shower than normal, knowing Zoe was occupied. Afterward, she dressed and was about to head back down when she paused by Myra’s cracked bedroom door. Hearing a soft shuffling, she pressed it open and headed in.

  “Morning. Sleep okay?”

  “As well as these bones will grant. What’s that smell? Bacon?” Myra asked as she tied her robe shut.

  “Yeah, I’m guessing. Carter’s making Zoe pancakes.”

  “Pancakes and bacon. What a treat. I haven’t been this hungry in days. Nice man, isn’t he? Handsome too.”

  Myra’s tone was just pointed enough that Josie rolled her eyes. “Myra, you’re like plastic wrap, you’re so transparent. He leaves tomorrow, though, so you might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

  “Didn’t he tell you he’s staying longer? A few weeks at least?”

  Josie had been fiddling with Myra’s statue of Ganesh that rested atop the side table, which
seemed a touch ironic next to Myra’s worn family Bible. She froze with the tip of her finger on the elephant trunk. “No. Why on earth would he do that?”

  “Because I’ve hired him. He’s freelance, after all.”

  Her chest constricted enough that she struggled to take a full breath. “Myra, that doesn’t even make sense. He’s a writer, not a handyman.”

  “If I needed a handyman, I’d hire Stan from the market. What I need is a writer, and lo and behold, a writer shows up at my door.”

  “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. I haven’t heard you say a single thing about wanting to hire a writer.”

  Myra pursed her lips. “Some of the things we need most, we don’t even know we need until they’re upon us.”

  Carter couldn’t stay another few weeks. Not even a few more days. “Myra, he can’t stay. Haven’t you seen how Zoe’s all over him?”

  “That’s a good thing, if you ask me, and if you remember, I’ve raised a few children too.”

  “And when he leaves, and it crushes her to pieces, then what?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

  “No, Myra, we have to cross it now, for Zoe’s sake. He’s a New Yorker. He isn’t going to stay. And what’s that going to do to Zoe when he leaves?”

  “I invite you to consider whether you’re talking about Zoe or you.” After a direct look that said they were both thinking of a different New Yorker who’d proven to have no staying power in Josie’s life—Josie’s father—Myra added, “And as I said, my instinct tells me we should cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Life isn’t that simple, Myra.” Josie lowered her voice even though they couldn’t be overheard downstairs. “Besides, what if he starts poking into an entirely different story than the one that brought him here?”

  “I trust it’ll be in your highest good if he does,” Myra said with a characteristic wave of her hand. “And life can be that simple when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  Josie growled in exasperation. “Myra! Are you even listening? I don’t want you playing cupid. That man downstairs isn’t for me. If we aren’t careful, Zoe could get trampled on in the process of you figuring that out.”

  Myra straightened. “Zoe’s tougher than you’re giving her credit for. And I know what I’m doing, Josie. Trust me.”

  Hot anger flowed through her veins. In five years, she’d not fought with Myra. Not even once. And now this. “I’m not having this conversation.”

  She stalked out of the room and closed the door harder than she meant to. She stood in the hallway, sucking in several deep breaths, angry at Myra, angry at Carter, angry at herself the most, only she couldn’t piece out exactly why. Tears burned against her eyelids for the second morning in a row, but she blinked them away.

  Feeling more acutely isolated from Myra than she had since her arrival, her knees nearly buckled underneath her. The smell of bacon and pancakes and the sounds of laughter rose from the kitchen, filling the hall with a touch of home that Josie realized wasn’t really hers to claim.

  * * *

  An almost imperceptible frown formed on Zoe’s face as she saw she was nowhere close to first in line for the bus stop. You’re just like your father, Josie almost blurted out. He hated being last at anything. But she never talked to Zoe about her father. Not yet, anyway. How could she when the truth was so complicated?

  Zoe’s frown settled in deeper, but she kept it together. “It was a good trade,” she mumbled more to herself than to Josie. Her delicate eyebrows knitted into peaks as she watched the older boys chasing each other in circles, having dropped their backpacks to mark their places in line.

  “What was a good trade?”

  “Everything back home. For being last.”

  Her voice was so soft, it tore through Josie. She slipped her hand around Zoe’s small, moist one, and nodded to a group of one father and several mothers she had no intention of chitchatting with. “Those pancakes were good, huh?”

  Carter had made two batches. To the first, he added bits of crunchy bacon. The second batch was Zoe’s favorite, chocolate chip and banana. He’d turned hers into objects. A horse. A dog. A school bus. Even a pencil that had reminded Josie of a penis. “You understand he’ll leave in a few weeks, don’t you, Zo?”

  Zoe dropped her hand. “I’d like it better if he’d stay.”

  “His life is elsewhere. He has his own home. Just like we have ours.”

  “He’s gonna help me build houses for the fairies in the garden.”

  Swallowing back a comment, Josie changed the topic to Zoe’s day ahead. In the distance, she heard the low drone of a bus, and a tidal wave of anxiety washed over her.

  Her thoughts flashed back to the bus ride that started her and Zoe on this journey here to Galena—to Myra and the tea garden. Now fully in the memory, Josie’s back itched in anticipation of a searing pain she never actually felt.

  Zoe had been so impossibly heavy in her arms when she’d spotted a city bus a few blocks ahead, innocently loading the last waiting passengers. In a moment of wild desperation, Josie had made the decision to run for it. She’d broke from cover behind the cars where she’d crouched moments before and dashed for the bus, Zoe’s tears starting up fresh. There’d been yells in the distance and the rapid popping of gunfire.

  Dredging up every ounce of strength, Josie ran even when she thought she couldn’t run anymore. The doors of the bus pulled closed when she’d reached fifty feet of it, but she kept running. Panic had washed over her as the bus started to pull away. She’d screamed as loudly as her spent lungs allowed.

  Thank God someone inside had spotted her. The bus lurched to a stop, and the doors opened. Josie flew on, up the steps, and the bus pulled into motion a second time. That was the beginning of her journey here. To this place. To this world that was so different than the one she left behind.

  When Zoe’s bus rounded the corner, Josie’s lungs were all but locked up, and her hands were shaking.

  We’re safe now, she’d told herself a thousand times since. Even if someone was still looking for them, she’d broken all ties to her past. To Los Angeles. To the few people she’d once loved so unconditionally.

  The school bus came to a stop in front of them. Josie’s palms broke out in a blossom of sweat when Zoe got into line without so much as looking at her.

  “Hey, I almost forgot.” Josie pulled Myra’s point-and-shoot camera from her back pocket just as the line of kids began to move. “How about a smile first?”

  When their eyes met, Zoe’s plastered-on smile became a real one. Her missing front tooth tugged at Josie’s heartstrings. Her hands were shaking so wildly, it was all Josie could do to snap a couple pictures. “I’ll see you on the flip side, Zo.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  The doors closed, and the bus pulled away with Zoe waving to her from the second window from the front.

  After it turned the corner, Josie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She didn’t need any reminders to know she’d forever be indebted to a driver whose name she’d never learned and a city bus that had arrived twenty minutes behind schedule.

  Chapter 11

  Carter itched with anticipation as Myra joined him at the far edge of the patio. It seemed she was ready to share what she knew of her mother’s connections to his grandfather. But she wanted Josie with them when she did. Close to half an hour ago, they’d heard a school bus in the distance, but Josie hadn’t gotten back yet.

  While waiting, he’d been writing and soaking up the early morning sunlight. A pair of tabby cats, one orange and the other gray, had been hunting in the big yard. While they were too wild for interaction, they hadn’t been deterred for long by his presence on the patio. After watching him for a bit and flicking their tails, they ignored him and went back to stalking the flower beds and occasionally
chasing one another around the grass.

  He had enough freelance work, including the new project Myra was giving him, to stay busy for a month, but his thoughts kept trailing to the murder mystery he’d completed a rough draft of a few years before. He’d been wanting to get back to it for a while now, but a full-length manuscript wasn’t a quick turnaround on top of the demanding projects that kept him afloat. The longer he delayed it, the more the plot had been morphing. He’d intended to set it in present-day upstate New York, but now that he was here, he couldn’t help thinking this sleepy town might make a better setting. It would be more work up front, but the idea of setting it during the Depression was becoming more intriguing too.

  If he did set it here, he was going to write in a pair of mischievous feral cats. And maybe a red-haired, blue-eyed young heroine with a chip on her shoulder would be the one to find the body.

  Or maybe not.

  “What about calling her cell?” Carter suggested as Myra settled into the chair across the table from him. Tidbit, who’d followed her outside, must have caught wind of the cats because he abruptly dashed off into the yard as fast as his short legs would carry him. Carter had zero doubt in the cats’ abilities to outrun him.

  Myra let out a huff in response to Carter’s question. “She doesn’t carry one. Hasn’t in the five years I’ve known her.”

  “Doesn’t carry one or doesn’t own one?”

  “Doesn’t own one.”

  “Huh.” There were only a few reasons Carter could guess for someone Josie’s age having no interest in a cell phone. Adding what he’d learned about her past to her standoffish demeanor, the likeliest reason was that she didn’t care to be reached. This made him even more curious to find out what she was hiding. The longer he was here, the more Galena seemed to be a good place for burying secrets.

  And for rejecting technology. How they ran a tea house with no Wi-Fi, he didn’t know. He’d been using his phone as a hotspot when he worked on his laptop, which got him through, but the cell reception wasn’t great either.