Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  Justin unlocked the door of the Mustang, climbed inside, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine immediately rumbled to life. He let it run for a minute to warm up and then put it into gear. A few squirrelly, fishtailing moments later, he was out onto clear pavement and moving forward once again. He let out a breath of relief and glanced in the rearview mirror to see Pete and Abby pull out behind him.

  He made a left at the next street, Pete heading straight toward his own home. Justin may or may not have glanced down the alley to look for the presence of a blue Jeep he already knew wouldn’t be there. And he may or may not have felt some disappointment when he was right.

  * * *

  Just after five, Justin pulled up—in his SUV this time—in front of the Costas’ house, a 1930s cottage in Denver’s East Colfax neighborhood. Neatly trimmed evergreen hedges marked the front path, the house’s shutters recently painted. Only the security bars covering the windows indicated it was in an “up-and-coming neighborhood,” a real estate euphemism for a formerly bad area experiencing a burst of popularity because of high prices elsewhere.

  Five o’clock seemed like a ridiculously early time for supper, but the kids had a seven o’clock bedtime and turned feral if their dinner stretched much past twilight. Justin grabbed the glass bottle of soda off the seat beside him along with a can of gourmet hot chocolate and crunched up the snowy walkway to the front door.

  The screech of kids inside reached him before he set foot on the front steps. He loosed a half-smile/half-grimace and knocked on the door. Pete answered, Abby clinging to his back, while five-year-old Andrew ran circles around him in a Darth Vader mask and cape. As soon as Justin stepped inside, the little boy thrust out his hand, evidently using his Sith powers on him.

  Justin set down the soda and cocoa, clutched his throat, and sank to his knees.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” came a feminine voice from the room beyond. “No more strangling your uncle with the Dark Side. Go get washed up for dinner.”

  Andrew scampered off immediately, though not in the direction of the bathroom or the kitchen, so his obedience to the command was debatable. Justin popped back up to his feet in time to see Jessica emerge from the kitchen.

  “Hey, Jess.” He gave her a hug and kissed the top of her head. “You’re looking well. Don’t tell me your no-good husband is finally pulling his weight around here?”

  “On occasion.” She winked at Pete, who just shook his head. “When he’s not rescuing you, that is.”

  “He told you about that, did he?”

  “Of course he did.” She held out her arms for Abby. “C’mon, girlie, let’s find your brother and get both of you washed up.”

  “Let’s go open that soda. It’s that small-batch artisanal nonsense your sister likes, isn’t it?” Pete gestured for Justin to follow him to the kitchen, where the smell of roast chicken and potatoes emanated from the oven. Justin leaned against the counter while Pete got out mismatched glasses and filled them with ice. “What did you think about the link I sent you? I know it’s out of our price range, but Jessica really believes being at sea level will help, and at this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

  Justin sighed heavily. Jessica had been diagnosed with relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis several years ago, but in the last couple, her symptoms had become more frequent and more concerning. Which was why this potential move out of Colorado was so critical. She’d noticed that almost all her complaints went away while visiting Pete’s family in Miami, and they came right back upon returning to Denver.

  Justin circled back to his thoughts on the charter listing. “It’s pretty high, but if his fleet has been maintained well and he can back up his revenue figures, it’s worth exploring. Buying an existing charter is going to get us in the black much faster than starting one from the ground up. No pun intended.”

  Pete poured soda into three glasses and tasted his experimentally. “You know I’m not one for sentiment, but I really appreciate you doing this. You’re leaving your whole life for Jess and me. That’s not something most people would do, even for family.”

  Justin brushed off the thanks. “What life? Denver’s just a crash pad at this point. You’re giving me an excuse to check out of the grind, live someplace sunny, and fly to some of the most beautiful islands on earth. Besides, you know I’ve been wanting to do something like this for years.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Pete clapped his hand on Justin’s shoulder. “Just brace yourself. Jessica’s already trying to figure out how to meet some women in Florida to set you up with.”

  “You weren’t supposed to tell him that.” Jessica rolled her eyes as she reentered the kitchen, two newly cleaned children in tow. “This husband of mine is a traitor.”

  “You’re really not going to give up, are you?”

  “Not until I see you married off to a gorgeous, kind, funny woman and settled with a bunch of children. I’m thinking four or five.”

  Justin snorted. “You are worse than our father. He’s only asking for three.”

  “I’ll settle for three.” She grabbed a pot holder off the counter and took a roasting pan from the oven, revealing two beautifully browned whole chickens. “Tell me about this business you and Pete are considering.”

  Justin went to the table, pausing to help Abby into her booster seat, then settled into his own chair. “So much for keeping it quiet.”

  Pete shrugged. “Your sister is a mind reader. She knows when I’m hiding something.”

  Justin grinned, knowing it wasn’t far from the truth. “We’ll know more when the broker responds to our inquiry. It’s a small fleet, but they’ve got the range to service the Bahamas, the Keys, and Cuba. There’s also the possibility of regularly scheduled service to Nassau.”

  “And what do our parents think about this whole thing?”

  “I haven’t told them yet. But if I had to guess, Dad’s going to try to talk me into interviewing with United, and Mom is going to act all disappointed that I haven’t given this up yet.”

  “To be fair, she has legitimate reasons to feel that way.”

  “Maybe, but she’s our mother, not my wife, so she doesn’t have a say in the matter. You know me . . .”

  “I know you’re not getting any younger.” Jessica gave him the side-eye but apparently decided not to pursue the topic further, for which he was grateful. When their parents split, Jessica had sided with their mom, and Justin had gone with their dad. Which wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded, considering their mom had moved into a rental house right down the street and they ran between the two as if the neighborhood were simply an extended hallway. It hadn’t stopped Jessica from resenting Rich Keller’s career as an airline pilot for being the deciding factor in the divorce, though.

  Jessica went back to the topic at hand. “So what happens if everything checks out?”

  Pete jumped in. “Then we make a written conditional offer, hire a lawyer to check out the books, apply for licenses, and get a loan.”

  She looked between them. “How long do you think?”

  Justin hesitated. “If all goes well . . . early summer.”

  “Wow, that soon.”

  Pete reached across the table to squeeze Jessica’s hand. “If you’re not sure—”

  “No, no, it’s not that. It’s good timing too, since our lease is up in July. It’s just hard to leave Colorado.”

  “I’m pretty sure the first time you take the kids to the beach in December, you’re going to feel okay with the choice,” Justin said.

  Pete laughed. “And that first winter without shoveling snow is going to make me okay with it.” His expression softened. “It’s what we have to do for your health. I’ll go wherever it takes.”

  Tears welled in Jessica’s eyes, and Justin looked away, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment. He might like to tease Pete, but it was clear that he adored Justin’s sister and their kids. Their happy little family was almost enough to make him regret his near-pe
rmanent vow of bachelorhood. He’d always said that he would never make the mistake his dad made, marrying a woman who didn’t know what she was getting into. Because like his dad, he knew that he would never be able to give up flying, not even for someone he loved. It was what he’d always wanted to do, what he’d trained for, what he’d paid a fortune to achieve.

  But in Florida, maybe he wouldn’t have to make the decision. He’d be doing day trips on his own schedule, as often or infrequently as he felt like flying, coming home each night to his own bed. That kind of lifestyle could be compatible with settling down.

  And now he was turning into a big sentimental idiot. He reached for the drumsticks on the platter and served them to Abby and Andrew, then took a couple of thighs for himself. “I’ve been dreaming about your roast chicken since the last time you made it, Jess.”

  “Liar,” she said, but at least the tears were gone and she was grinning at him. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if this move didn’t work, if her condition continued to get worse.

  Fortunately, they didn’t touch on serious topics much longer, instead turning toward the US’s World Cup prospects and various other soccer-related topics that Justin pretended to care about. When they were done, the two chicken carcasses were picked clean, only a scattering of roasted potatoes left in the pan. Justin rose, preparing to clear the table, but Jessica waved him down.

  “No, don’t. I’ve got it. You two have things to discuss.”

  “Actually, I’m going to rack out early. It’s been a long couple of days.”

  Justin pushed in his chair, but Jessica caught him. “Are you coming to church tomorrow? Abby’s class is singing with the worship team.”

  Justin shot his sister a look. “Really? You’re going to use my niece as bait?”

  “We miss you,” Jessica said levelly. To her credit, she was persistent. “Just come with us. You promised you’d go if you were home on Sundays.”

  Justin sighed and gave his sister a quick squeeze. “Say a prayer on my behalf. Maybe God listens to you better than He does to me.”

  “Justin—”

  This time it was Pete who gave her the warning look, and Jessica surrendered with a helpless shrug.

  Pete saw him to the door. “So you’ll send the e-mail?”

  “First thing tomorrow.”

  Pete clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. “Thanks, brother.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ll let you know what they say.”

  On the way out to his car, Justin’s phone dinged in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frown and checked his notifications. Facebook.

  A friend request from Melody Johansson.

  Justin almost missed a step but recovered right before he pitched down his sister’s icy walkway. He stared at the phone for a moment before he clicked Accept. What did he do now? Post on her timeline? Say hello?

  No, she was the one who had sought him out. If she wanted any more contact with him, she could take the initiative. He shoved the phone back in his pocket like it burned his hand and strode to the car, where Melody and that little point of social media contact needled him the whole way home. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate: he’d message her, invite her to meet him for coffee or a drink. But he’d already decided she wasn’t a casual date, and now he was actively looking to move away from Denver. It was a waste of time. For both of them.

  Instead, when he got home, he went straight to his computer and began to compose an inquiry letter to the charter’s broker. By this time tomorrow, they’d know whether the purchase was a possibility or if they’d have to go back to their long search. For Jessica’s sake, he hoped it was exactly the deal they were looking for.

  Chapter Five

  MELODY SHOULD HAVE called in sick, but the restaurant work ethic was too deeply ingrained in her psyche. Besides, had she stayed home, all she’d have done was wonder why Grandma Bev hadn’t let on that she was sick. They’d always been so close, even if they only saw each other every few months. Why wouldn’t she have given Melody the chance to say good-bye?

  With the help of Hugo, the other weekend baker, and Melody’s furious determination to work instead of think, they plowed through their tasks ahead of schedule, giving her just enough time to grab two hours of sleep and get ready for the funeral. Her exhaustion was a blessing—her grogginess would let her move through the day wrapped in a fog, insulated from her grief.

  It also made it much easier to deal with her mother. When Janna had said she would drop by to pick her up, Melody had assumed she’d rented a car upon her arrival in Denver like a normal person. Oh, she’d rented one all right, but the glossy black town car came with a driver. Janna couldn’t arrive at her mother’s funeral in a rented Ford Focus, apparently.

  “You look awful,” Janna commented when the driver opened the door for Melody to slide in. She, of course, looked very elegant in a black suit and pillbox hat covered with, predictably, black tulle.

  “I just worked an overnight shift and got two hours of sleep. Oh, and the woman who raised me just died. Of course I look awful.”

  Janna looked stung by the comment, but she let it pass. “I don’t know why you stay on at that awful restaurant, considering the hours they make you work.”

  “The ‘awful restaurant’ was Rachel’s place, a very good restaurant, and I haven’t been there for over nine months. This is a bakery, and bakers always keep terrible hours. We discussed this.”

  “No, we didn’t. But we would have if you ever answered my phone calls.”

  Melody heaved a sigh. They had this same conversation every time they were together. “That’s because I turn off my ringer at work and while I’m sleeping, Mom. Call when I’m awake and I’ll pick up.”

  Janna waved a hand. “I couldn’t possibly keep track of all that.”

  “Between 2 and 8 p.m. It’s not that hard.” But in order to remember, Janna would have to actually listen in the first place. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to sleep on the way. Wake me up when we get there.”

  Melody leaned back against the black leather seat, turning her head toward the window. When she closed her eyes, though, the racing of her thoughts prevented any actual slumber. How ironic that even sitting here next to the woman who had given her life, her grandmother’s death made her feel like an orphan.

  Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, because she awoke to a firm hand shaking her arm. She straightened abruptly, disoriented, and untangled her tongue with difficulty. “Are we there?”

  “Here.” Janna thrust a small mirror at her, but her tone seemed almost sympathetic. “You might want to fix your makeup.”

  Melody took it and found her mascara had trailed down her cheek as if she’d been crying. She wiped her cheeks with a tissue and then dropped her hands. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Me neither, sugar.” Janna put her arm around Melody and held her close for a moment, then seemed to be bracing herself for what came next. “But she deserves a proper good-bye.”

  It was a kind of truce in honor of a woman they both loved. Even so, Melody spent the service in a daze. She was relieved that there was no casket or viewing, just a beautiful glazed urn beside a wreath of flowers and a framed portrait from her grandmother’s younger days. Most of the attendees were from Beverly’s church and the hospital where she’d volunteered for the past several years.

  It was only when they’d accepted the condolences of the attendees and were left in the empty sanctuary that Melody thought of what she should have asked earlier. “Who organized the service?”

  Janna’s mouth compressed into a thin line. “She did.”

  “What? How?”

  A sigh eased from her mother’s lips. “It was her lawyer who called me, not the hospital. He said she’d been very specific in what she wanted to happen. She’d prepaid her cremation and the church as soon as she knew she was ill. Even wrote out a list of people to invite.” Janna shook her head. “Independent to a fault and determin
ed to run things even from the afterlife.”

  Melody resisted the urge to say she seemed to have passed on a good deal of that to her daughter as well. “So what now?”

  “I suspect we’ll find out soon enough. We’re due at the lawyer’s office in less than two hours.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “Well, darlin’, you know I’m performing at the Ryman tomorrow night. Surely you wouldn’t expect me to cancel.”

  And like that, they were back to their old dynamic. No need for comfort herself, so why would she think Melody would need it either? Probably for the best. Janna had never been the nurturing sort.

  They left the church and let the driver choose their restaurant for lunch since he claimed to be familiar with the area, landing them in a nice-enough café with overflowing plates and nothing to say to each other. Melody tried to make small talk a few times, but the conversation quickly petered out. Other than arguing over Melody’s life choices, they had nothing to discuss.

  Melody blessed the clock when it finally turned over to two o’clock, time to go to the attorney’s office. He was located in a small business park in a three-story professional building, the directory showing a long list of doctors, financial advisers, and lawyers. Benjamin B. Harrison, Attorney at Law. They rode up the elevator in silence and emerged into a beige hallway on the second floor.

  Janna took the lead inside the small office and marched straight to the receptionist. “Janna Leigh and Melody Johansson to see Mr. Harrison.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Johansson, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

  Janna’s expression soured a little—she’d never taken Melody’s father’s last name despite their short marriage—but to her credit she didn’t correct her. She instead sat primly in one of the leather chairs while Melody wandered around the room, looking at the mediocre modern art on the walls.

  “Ms. Leigh? Ms. Johansson?”

  Melody turned at the male voice and did a double take. She’d expected the lawyer to be a distinguished older gentleman with graying hair, not a good-looking guy barely approaching forty, fit and dressed in a stylish, slim-cut suit. He crossed the room to shake their hands.