The Empire

by C. L. Alden

  Her seagull alarm clock had been joined by a chorus of friends that were now chattering back and forth, making it impossible to go back to sleep. Dammit. Sunlight filled every crevice of her old bedroom, making it so bright that she could see the light through her eyelids. She glanced at her phone. Ugh. It was only six thirty. She’d missed falling asleep to the sound of real waves slapping against the shoreline just outside her bedroom window, but she certainly didn’t miss the sea chicken chorus or the sunrise light beaming into her room. Her mother didn’t believe in blocking the view with heavy curtains. She did. Her bedroom in California was practically a cave. Heavy light blocking curtains kept her room cool, dark and peaceful.

  Coffee. She got out of bed and stumbled down over the stairs to the kitchen. Coffee. Her brain was single minded. Propped up on the empty coffee pot was a note: ‘Good morning! Come by the cafe and say hello. Love, Dad.’ Coffee. Path of least resistance, she thought as she turned around and headed back upstairs to shower and change.

  She arrived at the cafe to find it humming. Almost every table was full. Coffee. She hoped to get at least one cup in before she had to be social. She ducked in and headed straight for the counter. Hank and Susan waved hello as they waited on some customers. The counter stools were full of who she guessed were regulars. It was a sea of plaid, t-shirts and suspenders. A community of men of various ages sharing space as they hunched over their breakfast and coffee, reading the morning paper, or swapping gossip. The lilt of the conversations was comforting. She missed the sound of a Maine accent that had it’s own pronunciation rules, like “uptah” as in up to, and “down’t” meaning down to, and where “r’s” and “g’s” were generally dropped off the end of words, except when they were added where they didn’t belong like “sawr” meaning saw. Even though she lived three thousand miles away, these sounds, like the sound of ocean waves outside her window, she equated to home.

  She made her way behind the counter to grab a mug. Luckily she didn’t see anyone she knew. She glanced up at the old codger in front of her reading his newspaper. Grey hair, blue-grey plaid shirt, and suspenders. He seemed to be in his own little world, totally disconnected from the hubbub around him. She couldn’t see, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he wore work pants tucked into rubber boots. She could practically smell the sea on him. He looked up, momentarily startled, and smiled. She was caught off guard, embarrassed to be staring, but managed to smile back, noting he had hazel eyes, just like hers. She turned and grabbed the coffee pot behind her.

  “Would you like a warm up?” She asked him, motioning to the pot in her hands.

  “I’m all set, dear. Thank you.” he replied with a smile before turning back to his paper. Something about him was familiar, though she didn’t recognize his face. She poured herself some coffee.

  “Well look who’s here!” Darcy heard before she saw Mary walking around the pass-thru counter from the back, straight to her, arms opened wide. Mary was like a second mother to her. She had been a fixture at the cafe since it had opened. Mary and her mother, Maggie, had been friends since childhood.

  “Hey Mary.” Darcy walked into her arms and she was immediately encircled in a big hug. Talking to Mary wasn’t socializing. She was family.

  Darcy spent a few minutes catching up with Mary and Susan, who managed to buzz over for a quick hello in the midst of Mary’s peppering of questions. Darcy kept eyeing the old man still sitting there with his paper and coffee. He seemed totally oblivious to their excited conversation just a couple steps away.

  “I’ve been dreaming of these,” she sighed with relish as she picked up a blueberry muffin from the pastry display. Mary beamed with pride. “I’ve travelled to a lot of places, and no one makes a muffin like you do.” They were buttery and moist without being heavy.

  “Now that isn’t a propah breakfast! You go sit down, deeah, and I’ll fix you somethin’ that’ll get you stahted.” The warm lilt and accent of Mary’s voice without an “r” or “g” heard, brought Darcy instant comfort. She knew there was no use in arguing about what constituted a breakfast. Mary would do what she wanted, regardless.

  Her favorite booth was open. Apparently not many people liked it because it was tucked away in the back corner and almost out of sight of the rest of the cafe. That was precisely why Darcy liked it. She had a great vantage point of the counter and front door. She grabbed her coffee, the local newspaper her dad had stashed under the counter, a plate for her muffin and settled into the booth. She scanned the cafe again for familiar faces. There was no one she recognized. She kept going back to the old guy at the counter. Why did he seem so familiar to her? It felt like the answer was on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t get her brain to make the connection.

  The Shore Town Cafe was a good size. It had five booths, six four-top tables, two rectangle tables and eight stools at the counter. It could easily accommodate four more tables, but Hank hated the feeling of as he would say, being ‘packed in like sardines’. He wanted his customers to feel comfortable and not have to feel like they had to shout over the noise of a crowd. This philosophy worked perfectly well with their customer base because a good portion of their daily business was ‘to go’. Delivery drivers and folks headed to work came in to grab a coffee and muffin or breakfast sandwich, or to pick up the cafe’s famous five dollar lunch bag that consisted of a sandwich, piece of fruit or small salad, bag of chips and a homemade brownie or cookie for dessert.

  Mary appeared at the table with a huge breakfast of scrambled eggs, homemade wheat toast, sausage and home fries.

  “This looks heavenly!”

  “I even saved a jar of Martin’s marmalade, for special occasions” she whispered looking around before she took it out of her apron pocket.

  “You are too good to me!” Martin’s was a local favorite, made by former Shoreton residents Devon and Sonya Martin who retired down in Florida and decided to be hobby farmers. They bought a small orange grove, and their hobby turned into a lucrative business producing orange products.

  “Keep that to yourself, there’d be an uprisin’ if people sawr it, ‘cause supposably we ran out back in July and there’s been grumblin’ evah since. Shhh…” she giggled.

  “My lips are sealed.” Darcy replied as Mary turned to head back to the kitchen. “Oh wait. Hey Mary,” Mary turned back towards Darcy who motioned towards the counter as she whispered, “Who’s the old guy in the plaid shirt at the end of the counter?”

  “Which one?” She chuckled, turning slightly to look behind her at who Darcy was motioning to. Darcy’s line of sight opened as Mary turned. He was gone. She scanned the other end of the counter and the rest of the cafe and out the windows. There was no sign of him.

  “He’s gone.”

  “Where was he sittin’, hun?”

  “Right there on the end. Blue and grey plaid shirt. He was here when I arrived.”

  “There’s been no one there all mornin’. Are you talking about that guy?” She asked pointing to a man in green and blue flannel shirt three stools over.

  “No… he was right there. Grey hair, plaid shirt and suspenders...He had hazel eyes. Something about him was familiar, I just couldn’t place him.”

  “Hmmm...doesn’t sound familiar. Maybe it’s jet lag?” She offered.

  “Maybe,” though Darcy knew that wasn’t the case. He had to be a regular. She’d point him out next time.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said turning back towards the counter, giving the cafe a quick scan as she walked back to the kitchen.

  Darcy tucked into her breakfast, slathering the Martin’s on already buttered wheat toast. She glanced at the headline of the newspaper, ‘Crane Takes A Dip Near Trader’s Point’. That doesn’t sound good, she thought as she unfolded the paper.

  “Can I get you anything else, sweetie?” Susan asked as she approached the table with a coffee pot, topping off Darcy’s cup.

  “No thank you, Susan. Oh, but I’ve got a question.” She though
t she’d give it another shot. “Do you know who that man was that was sitting on this end of the counter, last stool, old guy, grey and blue flannel shirt, suspenders?”

  “That could describe half the guys that sit on those stools.” Susan joked, and then looked back at the counter.

  “Yeah, true.” Darcy agreed.

  “Are you sure it was the last stool?” Susan asked looking confused.

  “Yes. He was here when I arrived. Drinking a cup of coffee, reading the paper… He looked familiar somehow, but I just can’t place him.”

  “Hon, that can’t be. No one’s sat there all mornin’. I would’ve noticed because Judd Tilson usually sits there, but he wasn’t in today.”

  The bell on the cafe door chimed and instantly Susan was all smiles. Darcy glanced over to see who had caught her attention. Ugh. It was Edwin Barrett III, also known as “Fast Eddie”. A rich, pompous asshole. How did I get so lucky? In high school, she and her friends had used some colorful adjectives to describe him and his friends. They thought that she and her friends were about on level with pond scum. Preppy douchebag and tool came to mind today as she watched him make his way to the counter.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” Susan chirped, never taking her eyes off Fast Eddie, and practically skipping behind the counter to take his order. Darcy noticed that he still had that jaunty, stick up his ass walk.

  As the not so charitable thoughts continued to roll through her brain, she had to remind herself that she was no longer sixteen, that people change, that above all, she didn’t care anymore. It was hard not to compare the grown man standing there to the boy she remembered. Not much had changed; the Polo shirt had been replaced with another brand and it appeared that he had finally started wearing socks with his shoes. How grown up! the teenage voice, still wreaking havoc in her brain, commented. Today it was brown loafers, though she was confident that his closet still had at least one pair of boat shoes that got worn regularly. The khaki pants remained the same. Add a blue sports coat with brass buttons and there he was, looking like he should be stepping off some hoity-toity yacht up Bay View way.

  Bay View by the sea, Shoreton by the smell, her teenage counterpart added. She still remembered how disgruntled she felt when fans from visiting teams would chant that from the stands at basketball and football games. When she was growing up, Shoreton had the reputation of a ‘working’ town whereas Bay View was more of a destination and tourist town. Over the last couple of decades, that had begun to change.

  “Good morning Mr. Adams!” Eddie called out cheerfully. Hank nodded and smiled as he cashed out another customer. “Susie, dahlin!” He exclaimed, drawing out the “a” and leaving out the “r” while adding just a touch of his signature Thurston ‘I come from money’ Howell tone, she remembered so well.

  “Hey there handsome!” Susan positively beamed from the attention. “What can I get you this mornin’? The usual?” She asked, taking her cues from Eddie and flashing a flirty smile.

  “Please. And I’ve got to have one of these cinnamon scones,” he said winking in Mary’s direction. Darcy noted that Mary smiled, but she wasn’t as easily won over as Susan. Susan got his large coffee, three creams, one sugar, and wrapped up the scone as he paid Hank.

  Almost in the clear. Darcy picked up the paper to hide behind, just in case. Just keep movin’ she thought as she pretended to scan the random page she opened the paper to.

  “Well hello there!”

  Oh geez… She glanced up to see Eddie’s toothy smile, and with as much enthusiasm as she could summon exclaimed. “Eddie, hey! How are you?”

  “Wow! You look great!” He said, openly checking her out. The teenager in her skeeved out a bit. “What’s it been? Must be at least ten years?”

  “Yes, about that…Look at you,” she continued the conversation as cordially as she could muster. She had no desire to talk to him, but she was trapped. “You haven’t changed either.” He hadn’t really. A few extra pounds, a little gray at the temple, but it was obvious that he took good care of himself. Even her teenage self had to admit that he was a good looking man. Tanned, she guessed, from hours on the golf course, or perhaps a vacation to a sandy beach location in the Caribbean. He still had the blond hair of his youth, a long straight nose, and the best teeth childhood orthodontics could buy, all set off by a pair of piercing blue eyes. She glanced at his left hand. No ring. Interesting. She knew he’d been married at least twice.

  “Naughty girl, you didn’t make the last reunion.”

  “Yeah…” She’d gone to the ten year reunion and had regretted it. It had felt like high school still. The same cliques. The same bullshit. She made the rounds to say hello to her old friends and then left before dinner was served. She had no plans to do that ever again.

  “Mind if I sit down a moment?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but took a seat opposite of her, setting his coffee and scone bag on the table. “I can’t stay long, I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

  “So, what are you up to these days?” She asked, pushing her breakfast aside. She hoped he really did only have a few minutes before he had to leave.

  “Oh you know, just the family business. My dad’s been saying he’s gonna retire for the last ten years, but he loves it too much. I’ve taken over most of it, except for the dealerships. He’s still running both. I don’t think he’ll ever let go. He’s a salesman at heart. We’ll be taking him out boots first, so to speak, before he lets go of control of either. My uncle still runs the radio station and I pretty much take care of the buildings and real estate we own, and the theater.”

  Everyone knew the Barrett family story. They made the bulk of their fortune when Eddie’s great-great-grandfather, James Henry Barrett, middle child of six, from a poor fishing family, broke away from fishing and started a canning business. He built the business from the ground up and started an empire that continued on today.

  “I’m also on the town planning committee.” He added.

  “Oh really? Anything exciting going on?”

  “Talk of the Great Debate of course.”

  “And what’s that?” Darcy asked even though she was pretty sure it had to do with the potential bypass.

  “Meet me for drinks tonight at Schooner’s and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “I don’t know…” The last thing Darcy wanted to do was to spend any more time than was necessary with Fast Eddie.

  “Come on, we’ve got years and years to catch up on.”

  Darcy failed to stifle a snort. “Oh come on Eddie, we were never close.”

  “Yes we were! We were in the same class.”

  “Yeah. Okay, and that was pretty much it.”

  “We had a lot of fun times.” Eddie insisted.

  “Really? When?”

  Her question left Eddie looking dismayed and uncomfortable as if he had just stepped into something squishy and smelly.

  “What do you mean? When we were like, ten?” She scoffed. Could he actually be talking about then?

  “Well…”

  It was true. As kids, they had spent a lot of time together. In junior high her family had moved to the neighboring village of Mussel Ridge, but her first home had been two streets over from Eddie’s neighborhood. Growing up, he was an adventurous kid that liked dinosaurs, superheroes and pirates. She was a bit of a tomboy who wanted to be a veterinarian or an archaeologist. The middle ground for them was their common love of being outdoors. Some days they’d be hunting for dinosaur bones or lost treasure, other days they’d be combing one of the local beaches for whatever they could find. Whatever they were doing, it was always an adventure. When Eddie turned nine, his parents started sending him to sleep away camp for two weeks every summer. During that time, his parents would usually take some sort of European vacation. Those two weeks seemed like forever to Darcy at the time. She would spend her days taking swim lessons or going to day camp at the Community Center. It was fun, there were plenty of kids to play with there, but it was noth
ing compared to the adventures she had with Eddie. There was just something about him that made everything fun. Looking back on it, their days together seemed rather magical, exploring the woods and shore, dreaming up adventurous stories of pirates and lost treasure, or mysterious creatures that roamed the woods, or lurked in the depths just off shore. The moment Eddie returned from camp he’d be knocking at her door, full of funny stories about the hijinks at camp. He was a great story teller and would describe things so well that Darcy felt like she was there. She would update him with the latest from the neighborhood and then they would go back to business as usual.

  The summer going into sixth grade changed everything. They had been planning their summer for months. They were certain that this would be the summer for something big to happen. Maybe it would be a major discovery of some sort, or maybe as Eddie hoped, they would find buried treasure on the small island they planned to explore that summer.

  So off he went to camp. Darcy waited and waited. Two weeks came and went, and she heard nothing from him. After a day she walked over and knocked on his door. Eddie’s mother told her that he’d gone to a new friend’s for the afternoon. The next day she walked over again and he was still not home. He had spent the night and would be going to his friend’s camp at the lake through the next weekend. And that was it. She tried a few more times, but she never saw him again that entire summer. Things were never the same after that. She’d never figured out what had changed that summer, but by the time they went back to school, he acted as if he didn’t know her. By eighth grade he and his friends treated her group like they were some lesser species, openly sneering at them and snubbing them at every opportunity. By high school the delineations had become even more apparent and cliquish. The strata broke down basically Breakfast Club style to the ‘rich kids’, ‘the jocks’, ‘the nerds’ and ‘the others’; the floaters, non-conformists, etc. Darcy had never understood the need for groups. She had lots of interests and generally liked everyone. She was a floater, to some extent, she was in AP classes, smart, but not super smart, into sports but not super competitive, band and several different clubs.