Chapter 1 #3
“Sounds good.” Chloe reached for her handmade leather bucket bag she and Jean-Marc had found at a custom shop in the French countryside, and her favorite beret.
She looked again at the boxes. Tomorrow.
She would unpack tomorrow. If she’d learned anything from death, it was to not worry over the small things.
“Does Ella’s still have fabulous milk shakes?” Chloe followed Mom down the stairs.
“You bet.” At the coat rack, Mom and Chloe pulled on their winter coats before stepping into the Tennessee cold. “Let’s walk. Ella’s isn’t far.”
Their brisk walk was under a blue winter sky laced with the gold, red, and orange of the setting sun.
Each step brought memories of running and playing down this lane with her friends.
Riding her bike in the summer and throwing snowballs at the neighbor boy, Landon Martin, in the winter.
She’d read in the latest Rock Mill High alumni newsletter he was a Wall Street mover and shaker now.
“Hearts Bend was a great place to grow up, Mom.” Chloe slipped her arm through her mother’s. “I have so many good memories.”
“I’m glad. Hearts Bend is a great little town.”
They turned off Red Oak Lane and headed down First Avenue.
Across the way, Gardenia Park slept under a blanket of old snow.
Mom’s breath billowed about her head as she chattered and pointed out the new ice-cream flavors Pop’s Yer Uncle Ice Cream Shop advertised in the window—Peppermint and Vanilla Sweetheart—as well as the pretty twinkle lights glowing inside Valentino’s restaurant, the donut and muffin-shaped paper cutouts on the plate glass window, along with a placard propped on the sill of Haven’s Bakery.
Oh, she had a million memories of Saturday mornings at Haven’s with Mom.
The more they walked, the more Chloe’s memories surfaced, and she was awash with sentimentality. By the time they entered Ella’s, she almost believed coming home was just the tonic she needed to shoo away the rags of death. Here she could ground herself in the truths that raised her.
Tina, Ella’s pretty and peppy owner, approached with two menus and surprise in her eyes. “Chloe! My goodness, the famous French pastry chef graces my humble diner.” Tina’s hug felt like a warm drink on a cold, blustery day.
“Stop, I’m not famous. Not even close.” Chloe slid into the second booth from the door and glanced out over Gardenia Circle, the park, and the slotted parking spaces filling up with folks coming to dine after a long workday.
“But I do owe you for letting me bake and sell MeMaw’s vanilla cake here. Remember that?”
“I sure do. Even back then you were a whiz in the kitchen. And darling, ’round here, anyone who makes it as the pastry chef in a Michelin-starred Paris restaurant is a big whomping deal.” Tina handed Chloe and then Mom a menu. “Meredith, how you feeling? I’ve been praying for you.”
“I’m fine, but I’ll take all the prayers I can get.”
“I’ll be back with some waters, then y’all can order.” Tina propped her hand on her hip. “Welcome home, Chloe.”
The simple sentiment hit Chloe in the chest and her eyes flooded.
Mom stretched her hands across the table and squeezed Chloe’s arm but, like the wise woman she was, said nothing.
Chloe reached for a tissue in her bag as Mom saw a couple across the way and went over to say hi, which led to her talking to the couple in another booth and the big, long table of what looked like town council members.
Look at you, Mom. She looked more like a council candidate than a woman battling a cancer diagnosis. But Chloe had seen the mammogram, read the biopsy report, talked to the oncologist while she was still in Paris.
“Fast growing, but caught early”—thank You, God—“very treatable.”
So. Mom had cancer. People survived cancer all the time. Still, the thought stabbed icy fear into Chloe’s heart. She took a deep breath and smiled as Mom’s laugh echoed around the diner. She would be okay. She had to be.
Chloe dug in her bag for another tissue. Instead of the soft-pack that had taken up a recent permanent residence in there, her fingers brushed a stiff piece of paper, down at the bottom, wedged into the corner seam. With a gentle tug, it came free, and she smoothed it open on the table.
Oh my. She’d forgotten she’d stuck that list in her purse. How many months ago? Well over a year, it had to be. Our Goals for the Year, written in her neat script.
Jean-Marc’s list focused on business: Convince Papa to hire a social media manager. Research and contract with new microfiber vendor. Hers covered both her job and her marriage: Institute mentoring/coaching at restaurant. Weekly dates. Save 20% of our income for the café.
A tear landed on the page, smudging the percentage sign.
She remembered now. She had put the list in her purse to have it laminated, so it wouldn’t curl and fade when she taped it to their bathroom mirror.
But she’d forgotten about it. And then every time she had made a savings deposit, the balance was less than the last time.
By the time she’d figured out Jean-Marc was making withdrawals, she’d been about to open a separate account to save for the café.
She crumpled up the list and stuffed it back into her bag as the waitress, Spicy, brought two glasses of water to the table. Chloe ordered a burger, fries, and a chocolate shake. Mom hurried over to say she’d have the same.
When Spicy left, Mom squared off with Chloe, that mother look in her eye.
“You always tried to take care of me. It was cute when you were ten and endearing when you were sixteen. But now you’re thirty and I do need some support.
I admit it. We will get through this together, but darling daughter, I can’t have you hovering and worrying.
You’ll drive me bonkers. So, here’s an idea.
” Mom drew a deep breath and gave Chloe a tremulous smile. “Why don’t you get a job?”
Titans need a new franchise QB. One with two working knees. @SamHardyQB15’s career seems to be fading along with his knees. Save the $$ and give it to someone who can bring home the ring. #dumpSamHardy
– @No.1TitanFan on Twitter