“No . . . but Bethany’s a really good speaker and Tyler’s really good at art. And Ms. Miller told me she was counting on me to help the group think outside the box. That’s a compliment right?” She’d looked to me for reassurance, and I’d reached over and pulled her into a big, mushy hug.
“Absolutely!”
The hug had lasted for about three seconds before Eileen had squirmed out of it. Not too bad for thirteen.
We’d spent the rest of the afternoon on the back porch with a bowl of popcorn, watching the blue jays swoop in to tease our cat, Pebbles, and then we’d settled into our nightly routine of dinner, a little reading, and bed. The only reason we were running so late this morning was that I’d overslept. Wallowing in a deep, blissfully dream-free blackness, my brain had refused to acknowledge the sound of my alarm. Luckily, Eileen’s had. I wasn’t complaining though. That was the best night’s sleep I’d had in months. And after scooting through a couple of yellow traffic lights, I maneuvered our old Bronco into the drop-off line at 7:58 a.m..
Coastal Achievement Academy was a charter school, a free alternative to public education for kindergarten through eighth grade. It was loosely Montessori-based, designed to foster a lifelong focus on inquiry and self-exploration, and Eileen loved it. I loved it too, because if I was honest, my kid had needed more than a little help in learning to play well with others. There’s a fine line between smart and smart-aleck.
“Have a good day, sweetie! I’ll be thinking about ya!” I called as she scrambled out of the truck.
“You, too!” she called back over her shoulder. No goodbye hugs for me today.
Thirteen, I sighed. I pulled away slowly, watching her long, spidery legs scurry her into the building. She was going to be taller than I was, and I wasn’t short. At five-foot-eight, I was on the tall side of average, but Eileen was going to be at least five-ten. Not that she cared. Her appearance meant less than nothing to her, and she chided me whenever I dithered over which shoes to wear or bothered with a bit of makeup.
The irony was rich, considering I was about the last person anyone would expect to work in a clothing store. But, after all the times I’d railed against the media marketing machines and their overt sexualization of everything from breakfast cereal to buttons, I was more than willing to eat the occasional slice of humble pie.
As I drove, I clicked through radio stations and wished for the umpteenth time that my old Bronco had a satellite link. It was too damn early for a bunch of yabbering and banter. Finally, I found a station playing some old school Bon Jovi and cranked the volume up. Back in the day, I’d played “Born to Be My Baby” so many times that my cassette ribbon had snapped. I was younger than Eileen, but already hopeless—and by her age, I was worse. Every little choice confused me, as if puberty had cursed me with perpetual indecision along with a monthly cycle. But I also remembered how excited I’d felt, believing that soon I would fall in love and live happily ever after with my soulmate. I was so eager to hurry up and meet him that I’d searched for him in every class, club, bookstore, and face for the next twenty years.
I flicked the radio off with my middle finger. Hopefully, I’d raised Eileen to be more grounded.
Sans music, I weaved through traffic with only the rumble of my gas-guzzler for company, and by the time I pulled into the parking deck on Front Street I’d worked myself into full irritation-mode. I had plenty of time to get a latte before the shop needed to open at nine, but I wasn’t ready for human interaction yet—even with a barista. I sat in the truck for a few minutes, making an effort to smooth my forehead and relax my jaw.
Once I’d managed that much, I could appreciate the panoramic view from my space on the upper deck. The rising sun had transformed the river into a golden syrup flowing in serene undulations toward the ocean. Even the hulking battleship moored across the river looked peaceful in its marshy home, belying its violently patriotic past. There were still ghosts aboard though. There were ghosts everywhere. Leftover promises of lives and once-cherished dreams.
I closed my eyes, inhaled, exhaled, then opened them again to absorb the way the sun was gilding the river. Beauty and peace were everywhere, too. I just had to focus on the right things. Like my daughter.
8:21. Still early enough to find a little peace and beauty in a hot beverage.
I left my four-wheeled refuge and headed for Riverhouse Coffee Co.. It wasn’t until I was facing the entrance that I remembered the man from yesterday. After work, I’d given Eileen all my attention, and apparently that hadn’t left enough brain power for obsessing over what a fool I’d made of myself. Besides, he was an oddball, too. Had he even shopped for anything? If I asked Maureen, I’d never hear the end of it.
Jesus, don’t start now, Lila.
Agreed. I pushed the heavy door and walked in before I could start wondering whether I hoped he was in here today. What did it matter? Either he was or wasn’t, but he had saved me from a nasty fall. If I saw him, I should be nice and thank him again.
Shockingly, I was the only person at the counter, so I didn’t have a chance to look around until after I’d greeted Tessa and confirmed my normal order. This coffee shop made it easy to scope out people. Their walls were lined with local art and photography, and with an innocent interest in the framed works, one could effectively scan the clientele.
