Lattes, Ladyfingers, and Lies

by Harper Lin

  I’d stopped in only once since I came back to town. It wasn’t the place I remembered. It wasn’t just that it seemed smaller than it had when I was a little girl. It was also run-down. There were weeds growing up through cracks in the parking lot and trash littering its edges. Inside, the floor tiles were clearly aging, and the furniture that dotted the space was worn threadbare. The dropped ceiling had more than a few water spots.

  All that I could have excused if it weren’t for the art on the walls, or rather, the lack of it. Some of the pieces that had been Mr. and Mrs. Shuster’s prizes were gone, replaced with paintings that weren’t much better than what I could do, and I hadn’t taken an art class since middle school. There were several paintings by artists not from New England, which I could have forgiven if I wasn’t pretty sure at least one was a replica of one of the glorified paint-by-number canvases some friends of mine in New York had painted at one of the home art parties that had gotten trendy over the past few years. I wasn’t sure if it was better or worse when I came across a gallery of the museum dedicated to the local elementary school’s art class projects.

  “Why on earth is Cliffton having a show here?” I asked, more to myself than to Sammy.

  “Beats me,” she said with a shrug. “All I know is they’re having some big party to celebrate the opening on Friday night.”

  “What? They are? Is it open to everyone, or is it invitation only?” I was suddenly very excited as the news of the show began to sink in. There were plenty of pictures of Cliffton’s works online, but I’d only ever seen one or two in a museum, and not a little museum like ours either. Only the kind of massive museum that’s all marble. Never an exhibition. And now there was going to be one in Cape Bay? Where I could drop by on my way to work in the morning just to take a peek? I still didn’t understand it, but I didn’t need to understand it to be excited.

  “Invitation only,” Sammy said. I’d almost forgotten that I’d asked her the question.

  “Do you know how to get an invitation? Do you have one?” A museum exhibition opening would be such a fun date with Matt! We could get dressed up, go to the opening, go out to dinner, go back to his place or maybe mine…

  “I think they sent them to prominent people in town. The mayor, of course, the town council, the chief of police. I know Mrs. D’Angelo got one since she’s the head of the Ladies’ Auxiliary—”

  Of course Mrs. D’Angelo had one. She was the town busybody. She was everywhere all the time, in a whirlwind of words and heavy floral perfume.

  “—a lot of business owners.”

  “Wait, business owners?”

  Sammy nodded.

  “I’m a business owner. Why didn’t I get one? Everyone loves Antonia’s! The mayor’s in here every day! Is it because I only just came back to town?” My feelings were a little hurt. Just because I’d only recently moved back into town after being gone for fifteen years didn’t mean I wasn’t just as much a part of the community as anyone else. Antonia’s had been a Cape Bay institution for almost seventy years!

  “No, I don’t think how long you’ve been in town has anything to do with it.” She fiddled with something on the table.

  “Then why didn’t I get invited?” I realized I was probably overreacting, but that’s the thing with overreacting—you can’t exactly stop yourself.

  “But Fran—”

  “Does someone have a grudge against me?”

  “Fran—”

  “It’s not because the pumpkin spice stuff was late getting on the menu, was it? I mean, that seems like a silly reason not to invite me to a big event like this.”

  “Fran!”

  “What?”

  Sammy’s mouth twitched. “You did get invited. Your invitation’s right here.” She picked up the thing she’d been fiddling with and handed it to me.

  It was a gorgeous cream envelope made of what was obviously expensive paper. My name was embossed on the front in an elegant script.

  Ms. Francesca Amaro and Guest

  It was still sealed. I grabbed the letter opener from the desk and slid it under the flap. The invitation itself was just as gorgeous and elegant as the envelope.

  * * *

  You are cordially invited to an

  Exhibition Opening

  at

  The Cape Bay Museum of Art

  * * *

  Featuring

  Glimmer and Glare

  the new series by

  Louis Cliffton

  * * *

  Wine and Hors d’Oeuvres will be served

  * * *

  “How did you know what was in the envelope?” I asked. “Did you get invited too?”

  “Me?” Sammy scoffed. “No. I saw Mary Ellen’s invitation when I was over at the gift shop yesterday.”

  “Oh, okay.” I ran my fingers over the embossed words. I felt bad that Sammy hadn’t been invited. As much as I thought it would be a perfect date for Matt and me, Sammy would probably appreciate the art more. “Do you want to be my plus one?”

  “You don’t want to take Matt?”

  “No, I do! I just figured that you’d probably enjoy it more than him, and since you didn’t get invited…” I trailed off. I’d known Sammy casually for years when she was working at the café, but we’d never really gotten close until I’d moved back to town to take over the café after my mother died. I didn’t have many friends in town anymore—most of them had moved away after high school—so I was excited about my fledgling friendship with Sammy. Still, I wondered if it would seem weird to her that I was offering to take her to the opening over my boyfriend.

  “Oh, no, Fran! Take Matt! It’ll be a fun date for you two! You can get dressed up, go to the opening, get some dinner, maybe take a romantic walk on the beach.” She sighed. “The show’s going to be in town for two weeks. I have plenty of time to go.”

  “But have you ever been to a museum exhibition opening? They’re fun.”

  “No, I haven’t, but, honestly, I’d rather wait and go look at the art when the museum’s more peaceful and not filled with people who are more interested in free food than fine art.”

  I stared at her for a second. “For someone who’s never been to an exhibition opening, you seem to have a pretty good idea of what they’re like.”

  Sammy laughed. “Well, I’ve overheard a lot of conversations in this café over the years, and I can’t think of a single one that was about any kind of art other than a kid’s school project. I’ve also served a lot of people, and I’ve seen their reaction when you give them a free sample. They’re definitely more enthusiastic about those.” She paused. “Speaking of free samples, should we go see how the samples we put out are doing?”

  “You really think there will be any left? I’ve seen our customers’ reaction to free samples too.”

  Sammy laughed. “Well, we should at least go out there so you can show me and the girls how to make the new pumpkin spice latte.”

  “Maybe we can even give out a few free samples!”

  Sammy and I went out to the front—we were right, the samples were all long gone—and I showed her and the girls how to make the new version of the latte. It wasn’t hard—I did all the heavy lifting making the mix—they just had to learn the right amount to use and remember to mix it into the milk before steaming instead of adding it after, like we did with the syrup. I made the first two and gave them to Becky and Amanda to taste.

  “This is supergood!” Becky said, her curly red ponytail bobbing at the back of her head.

  Amanda nodded vigorously before taking another long swig from her cup.

  Then I had each of them practice making one. And then, since the café wasn’t very busy, we each made another one and gave them out as free full-size “samples” to customers who had been watching us practice. Predictably, they were thrilled.

  We had just finished up when Matt walked into the café.

  “Ciao, bella!” He walked right up to me and kissed me.

  I blus
hed. “Matty!” I said quietly. It wasn’t so much that I disliked public displays of affection as that they felt awkward when we were in my place of business in front of my employees and my customers.

  “Scusa, Francesca,” he apologized. He had picked up a handful of Italian words on our trip and now used them at every possible opportunity. It was sweet and silly.

  “You’re out of work early.” I silently dared him to reply in just Italian.

  “Sì,” he replied, calling my bluff.

  I rolled my eyes and tried to think of a more open-ended question to ask him. “So did you just come to see me or were you thirsty?”

  I could tell I caught him. His warm brown eyes narrowed as he thought.

  “The answer is always that you just came to see Fran, Matt,” Sammy offered.

  I gave her a dirty look. “The point was to make Matt say it in Italian.”

  “Oops!”

  “Sempre tu,” Matt said to me. Always you. He turned to Sammy. “Grazie, Samanta.”

  “Prego,” she replied.

  “What? Since when do you speak Italian?” Sure, it had only been you’re welcome, but still! I didn’t know Sammy knew a single word of Italian beyond, well, cappuccino, latte, tiramisu, espresso, and a few more words that were kind of necessary to work in the café.

  “I worked here back when your grandparents were alive, Fran. I didn’t pick up much Italian, but I will never forget that whenever someone thanked your grandfather, he always said prego.”

  I stood dumbfounded for a second. I had forgotten that. As soon as she said it, I could picture him again, standing behind the counter, smiling, and saying prego every time someone said thank you.

  “I forgot about that.” I smiled, remembering it. And then Matt cleared his throat, bringing me back to the present. “What?” I asked innocently. “Did you need something? I thought you just came to see me.”

  He grinned. “Un caffè americano si prega.”

  I rolled my eyes again. I had walked right into it. I sighed. “Becky, could you make an americano for Matt?”

  Becky stood there for a second, staring.

  “An espresso with extra water,” Sammy whispered.

  Becky’s face scrunched up. “Isn’t that basically just regular coffee?”

  I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

  “It’s fancy regular coffee,” Matt said.

  “It’s a completely different brewing method,” I muttered. At least she got him to speak English.

  “Here, I’ll show you how to make it,” Sammy said, going over to help Becky.

  “I’m going to have to give them remedial coffee lessons.” I kept my voice down. Becky was a great employee the vast majority of the time, but every once in a while, I wondered if she paid any attention at all. This was one of those times.

  “Aw, give her a break. She’s young,” Matt said, putting his arm around me.

  “When I was her age, I was roasting all the beans for the café.”

  “That’s because you have coffee in your veins instead of blood.” He tipped his head close to my ear. “That’s why you’re so hot and strong-bodied.”

  “Matty!” I elbowed him in the side.

  He yelped and jumped away, but he was grinning.

  “Here, Matt, try this.” Sammy held a cup across the counter towards Matt.

  “If it’s bad, do I get a replacement for free?”

  “If you think it’s bad, I’ll dig one of Fran’s spicy pumpkin flaxseed granola cookies out of the trash so you can taste something that’s actually bad.”

  “Hey!” I exclaimed.

  “They weren’t good? I told you they wouldn’t be,” Matt said.

  “You didn’t even try one!”

  “I didn’t have to. You told me the name.”

  Sammy burst out laughing.

  “I can’t get a break with the two of you,” I said.

  Before either of them could pile on me more, the bell over the door jingled and Sammy’s not-boyfriend Ryan walked in.

  “Hey, Fran! Matt!” He paused for a second then said, “Hi, Sammy,” like she wasn’t the first person his eyes landed on as soon as he walked through the door.

  “Oh, hi, Ryan.” Sammy stood there nonchalantly, acting like she didn’t care that he had just walked in, even though she was practically glowing. “Can I get you anything?”

  He leaned on the counter in what I thought was an attempt to look casual, but that only succeeded in making him look like an awkward teenage boy trying to look cool around his crush.

  “I could go for something. Is anything particularly good today?” Ryan, even more obviously than Matt with me, had really just come in to see Sammy.

  “We have a new recipe for the pumpkin spice latte. It’s pretty amazing.” Sammy was practically cooing.

  “That sounds great! I’ll have one of those!” he said, a little too enthusiastically. While Sammy started making his drink, he turned to me. “Hey, thanks for inviting us over for Thanksgiving!”

  “Oh, you’re welcome. The more the merrier!” I said that, and I kept inviting people like I meant it, but the more people I invited, the more anxious I got about it. It had started on a whim—Matt and I were both newly alone in the world, and I thought it would be nice to invite a few friends over for Thanksgiving instead of it just being the two of us. “A few friends” had turned into more than a few, and now I was pretty sure half the town was coming. I was starting to get a little panicky about it.

  “I really appreciate it. My family’s just up in Plymouth, but since I’m the rookie, I have to work the holiday, so I’m not going to be able to make it up there. I was looking at a Thanksgiving dinner from McDonald’s until Sammy said you invited us.”

  I seriously doubted Sammy would have let him have Thanksgiving dinner at McDonald’s. She might disguise it as making sure all the Cape Bay Police Department officers working that day had a real Thanksgiving dinner, but she wasn’t going to let Ryan eat fast food on the holiday. I wasn’t going to say that though.

  “Let us know if we can bring anything. Sammy’s a great cook, and I can buy a mean package of dinner rolls.”

  “I’ll let you know once I figure out what I’m making.”

  “Great!” He looked up at Sammy, who was walking around the counter with his latte.

  “Do you want me to bring this over to your table for you?” she asked.

  “That’d be great!” Of course he didn’t mind. And of course he wouldn’t mind if she sat down for a minute to chat. And of course he wouldn’t mind sitting there making googly eyes at her for the next twenty minutes or so. They really were adorable together. I didn’t know why they denied they were together, but that didn’t make them any less adorable.

  “Hey!” I blurted, turning to Matt. I had suddenly remembered the Cliffton show. “We don’t have any plans Friday night, do we?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether you arranged for us to have dinner with the New England Patriots or you want me to go clothes shopping.”

  “What if I want you to go clothes shopping with the New England Patriots?”

  “I’d do that.” I was pretty sure he’d do almost anything if it involved the Patriots.

  “Actually, there’s going to be this art show in town—”

  The door to the café flung open again, and before I could even think that the afternoon rush must be starting, the whirlwind was flying at me.

  “Francesca!” Mrs. D’Angelo called out, much louder than our proximity required. “Francesca, have you heard the news?”

  “What news, Mrs. D—”

  “There’s going to be an important show at the Cape Bay Museum of Art! Featuring the works of the great Louis Cliffton! Can you believe it? Cliffton!” She clutched my arm with her long red fingernails.

  “Yes, I—”

  “His paintings go for millions, Francesca. Millions! And he’s doing a show here! In Cape Bay! Do you know why?”r />
  “No, actually—”

  “His mother grew up here! So he’s decided to have his newest collection debut at our little museum! I’m just beside myself! His grandmother was the chairwoman of the Ladies’ Auxiliary! Long before my time, of course, but I feel such a connection knowing we have that in common. You got your invitation to the opening?”

  “Yes—”

  “Of course you did! And you’re coming, of course! Bring darling Matteo here with you!” She reached out the hand that wasn’t attached to my arm and dug it into Matt’s shoulder. “I’m so happy for the two of you, by the way. Finding love with each other when you both had no one else in the world. So touching! You did get together quickly after Carmella and Gino died, but grief does funny things to people. I’m not one to judge. Anyway, I just wanted to stop in to make sure you’d received your invitation! I have to be off! Lots of work to be done before the opening! See you Friday!”

  And she was gone. Everyone in the cafe sat in stunned silence as it tried to recover from the barrage of words and the cloud of perfume.

  “Wow,” I thought I heard Ryan say.

  Matt rubbed his shoulder. “So I guess that’s the art show you were talking about?”

  “Yup, that’s the one.”

  “He’s some big-deal artist?”

  “Internationally known.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “Yup.”

  I looked at the indentations in my upper arm where Mrs. D’Angelo’s fingernails had been. At least now I knew why Cliffton was having his show in Cape Bay.

  Americanos, Apple Pies and Art Thieves is available everywhere