She’d gotten quite feisty, insisting she was old enough to stay home alone all day, and questioning the difference between a couple of hours while I ran errands and eight hours while I worked, and insisting all the kids in school had been allowed to stay home alone since they were ten. And when those arguments hadn’t worked, she’d circled back and repeated them, until—with no time left for her to get dressed, or me to fix a fresh cup of coffee—I’d agreed. Under duress. With her solemn promise to keep her cell phone at hand. And an unconditional vow to stay inside and not even to go out on the porch. No exceptions.
Of course, when Phil or Maureen came to relieve me for lunch, I’d be compelled to dash to the house to check on her, but you couldn’t win every battle with a teenager. She was still full of herself when I called.
“Hey, Mom!”
“Doing okay?”
“Reading. You’re not worried already?”
“Always. The world isn’t what it was when I was a teenager,” I paused, “Actually, come to think of it, the world was a dangerous place then, too.” Shit.
“Relax. The doors are locked, the neighbors are nice, and I know to dial 911. And if you couldn’t get to me fast enough, we could call Adam and Cara since they live so close.”
I hadn’t thought about that. “Okay, Miss Priss. But you’d better answer the phone whenever I call. And you can fix me a sandwich since I’ll spend my lunch break checking on you.” A little guilt never hurt.
“I’ll fix you something yummy, I promise. And I’ll even do the laundry and vacuum!”
“Okay, okay! I give up. Enjoy your morning, but be smart.”
“Always! I’m a super-genius, remember?”
True. So now . . . coffee. What if I ordered ahead and begged for a to-go cup . . . ?I called Maureen first.
“Be real, Lila. You didn’t have to ask. You’re worthless without caffeine,” she teased.
“Agreed. I owe you though. Actually, Eileen owes you.”
“Cool. Free child labor! Tell her she owes me ten minutes of work.”
“I’ll make her sweat.”
“Has Sal still not called you?”
My sigh was impressively loud. “Since you asked yesterday? No. I told you he wasn’t interested.” Not in me, anyway.
I got lucky and Tessa answered on the third ring. Even with the clamor in the background she sounded happy to help, so I stuck the Be Right Back! sign on the door, locked up, and plunged into the crowd. With a constant stream of apologies, I was able to make the two-minute walk in five. Not bad, considering I’d maneuvered through at least a couple hundred people in two blocks.
When I entered the packed coffee shop, Tessa waved me over to the end of the counter. “Here you go! With a lid!”
“You are a very, very good human being.” I passed her the money and a generous tip. Her olive skin pinked a bit, and she flashed a smile before bravely returning to the impatient horde.
Making my way back to the entrance was nearly as challenging as navigating the sidewalk outside, but I still cast a few looks for wavy blond hair. At over seven feet, Sal would’ve been easy to spot; but I didn’t see him. Logically, I should be able to accept that. After all, I’d never seen him before a couple of weeks ago, so who knew what his normal routine was? But illogically, I was convinced he was avoiding me.
Back on the street, a high school marching band had stopped to regale everyone. Although I was only ten feet from the curb, there were so many people between me and the musicians that I had no idea which mascot was emblazoned on their uniforms. The music quickly became deafening—a rousing, pounding theme from an action-movie I couldn’t quite place—so I was reduced to wriggling through the crowd with one hand stretched defensively in front of my coffee.
Intense and claustrophobic and exactly why Eileen and I didn’t do the whole parade thing. We liked the street fair, late on Sundays when the crowds had thinned out, but I’d only brought her to the parade once, when she was about six. I’d forced her to go, actually, in one of my rare attempts at creating a tradition. She’d hated it. So had I, which was odd, because I used to love coming with my grandmother when I was little.
Finally, I burst through the last exuberant knot of onlookers and reached the store. My haven, complete with windows to insulate me from the commotion and chimes to warn of intruders. Planting myself behind the counter, I removed the coffee lid and inhaled slowly, savoring the steamy heat rising against my lips. It was almost as comforting as . . .
Jesus. You are unbelievable.
I swigged scalding mouthfuls until my eyes watered and the people criss-crossing outside were a smeary blur. The only reason I wanted to see Sal again was to ask him questions. I swabbed my eyes with a thumb to clear my vision. If he walked by, I’d drag him into the store. I needed answers, otherwise, I’d just have to keep stalking him until he was conveniently on his front porch when I drove by. Or until I worked up enough nerve to knock on his door. His number wasn’t listed online—smarter than me, apparently—but I didn’t want to call, anyway. Face-to-face, I’d know if he was lying.
Watching the crowd, my mind wandered back to thoughts of my grandmother. Mimi brought me to the parade every year when I was a kid. No . . . not every year. I thought back to those long ago festivals. We’d stopped coming when I was . . . ten? No, younger than that. My parents were still alive. Seven, then. First grade. She’d dressed me in my favorite sundress—yellow, with white ducks smocked on the bodice. I’d dripped ice cream down the front and tried to clean it with spit—so worried she’d be mad at me, but
