Chapter 3
“Are you sure you feel up to working this morning?” Chloe gathered her and Mom’s dirty breakfast dishes and carried them to the sink. She’d had her first chemo session yesterday morning and still seemed rather knocked out by it.
“I’m fine, Chloe.” Mom sounded uncharacteristically cranky. “I told you not to hover.” Except she wasn’t fine. She walked hunched over and her eyes were rimmed with dark circles.
“They told us you might be tired. There’s no crime in staying home to rest.” Chloe reached for her phone. “Let me call Frank Hardy and—”
Mom clapped her hand over Chloe’s and lowered the phone. “What time is your interview?”
“I don’t think I should go. I need to be here for you.” On the way back from Ella’s Monday evening, they had paused by Haven’s and seen a sign in the window. Baker and Manager Wanted.
Mom called Bob and Donna while Chloe called the Atlanta area code to inquire.
She talked to a headhunter who said she’d get back to her.
So far, no call. Mom hung up with Bob saying the same.
“He’ll call me back.” Which he did, ten minutes later as they walked into the house.
“Bob says the new owner will see you Thursday at two.”
“Chloe LaRue, you’re going to that interview. I asked a favor of a dear friend, and you will keep your word.”
“And if I don’t? You’ll cut off my allowance?” Chloe forced amusement into her tone.
“Yes!” When Mom laughed, the gray pallor of her cheeks faded.
“Chloe, I think this job will do you, and me, a world of good. I love having you near, but I’m used to living alone.
You, my precious girl, must learn to get on with your life.
Bob said the new owner is coming in to sign papers and it’d be nice to hire his new manager the same day.
Now let me get ready for work.” Mom paused at the kitchen door.
“When you get the job, we can meet for lunch now and then. Frank’s office is just down the street.
At least until we move to the new building. ”
“I’d like that,” Chloe said. Mom was planning ahead, thinking of a future. Chloe should take a page from her book.
Finishing the dishes, Chloe thought about the interview.
She didn’t have to take the job if they offered it to her.
Maman was more important than glazing donuts for the good folks of Hearts Bend.
Then again, Mom seemed adamant about having some space.
Apparently it was easy to get used to living alone.
Chloe prepped a snack of tea and some crackers and cheese, along with apple slices, for Mom to take to work. Much like the snacks Mom used to make for her when she had play practice after school.
Mom had rented the rambling quasi-farmhouse positioned at the end of a city street when Chloe was fifteen.
Before that, they’d lived with MeMaw and Pops for nearly seven years until Mom saved enough for them to move out.
She’d been a salesclerk at Cooper’s Market, picking up every shift she could, and going to business school at night and online when she could.
When Mom started working with Frank Hardy, they’d been able to move out.
A few years later, Mom bought the house.
“I’m off.” Mom stood at the door, slipping on her gloves. “What are you doing before your interview? Are you sure you don’t need the car?”
“I thought I’d explore the town. I haven’t been here in three years. I want to see what’s new.”
After Mom left, Chloe soaked in a long hot bath, dressed warm for her explorations, and spent sixty seconds scratching Honey behind the ears. Then she was off.
She wandered through Gardenia Park, sat on the bench under the large oak listening to the sounds of a small town, then strolled past Ella’s to First Avenue where pink tinsel hearts still adorned the lampposts.
The hearts would soon be replaced with green shamrocks.
Hearts Bend sure did love its holidays. Hands in her pockets, the cold air on her cheeks, she strolled down the sidewalk past shoppers who called out to one another.
She jumped sideways as a couple of joggers loped past toward the park, their breath misting about their heads.
In the familiar calm, she reflected on her life.
She’d been moving on autopilot, living in the past, stuck in her final moments of life with Jean-Marc.
Their arguments. His refusal to tell her why he was withdrawing large amounts from their joint bank account, from the savings they’d planned on to buy a café in the French countryside.
His plea for her to go with him to Zermatt because the trip was more than just testing the new ski design.
It was a family trip with his parents and brothers, the owners and executives of Sport de Qualité.
Except the chic brasserie where Chloe worked, Bistro Gaspard, in the up-and-coming Bastille neighborhood, was participating in the Moveable Feast. All the restaurants along the Rue de Charonne showcased their menu for five nights.
People came from all over France to dine on some of the best food in the country.
It was an honor for Bistro Gaspard to participate.
Chloe had enlisted her charming and very handsome husband to direct diners down the Rue Chanzy to the next stop.
Typically, they’d balanced their careers, supporting each other when an event or job demanded more of their time. On occasion, Jean-Marc deferred to his parents since it was a family-owned company. The Moveable Feast collided with the testing of Qualité’s new skis.
“I can’t, chère c?ur. It is the test of our new design. I’m the one to ski.”
“But you promised me. We’re so excited to have you working with us. Besides, I hate when you test new skis on an unfamiliar trail. I have nightmares of you slamming into a tree or going over the side of a mountain.”
“Ha, ha, ma chère amour, no tree or mountain can best me.”
So he’d gone to Zermatt and left her behind to stew in her anger and resentment.
The chill in the Tennessee air nipped at her cheeks as she walked, retracing her and Mom’s steps from Monday night.
She stayed on First Avenue to Java Jane’s, where she stood for a moment.
A dusting of cold snow swept down the sidewalk and she felt it through her boots and wool socks, up into her still frozen heart.
Her frozen heart that everyone assured her would begin to thaw after a year.
It would be a year in two months and that particular organ seemed stubbornly focused on remaining hard and immobile.
As she opened the door to Java Jane’s, a flier taped to the glass announcing the upcoming Spring Concert in the Park flapped and a voice called to her from the sidewalk.
“Chloe Beason, is that you?”
She turned to the voice behind her to see a pretty blonde with a friendly smile.
“Yes, it’s Chloe LaRue. Umm…” Recognition flooded Chloe just as her pause became awkward.
“Sophie Monroe? Hi.” They’d been classmates and fellow sufferers in Mr. Ellison’s chemistry class at Rock Mill High. She was also Sam Hardy’s cousin.
“Wow, look at you!” Sophie grabbed her in a Hearts Bend hug. “I thought you were in France.”
“I was but…” Chloe shrugged and dug her hands deeper into her coat pockets. “It was time to come home.”
“Well, welcome back.” Sophie shivered and reached for Java Jane’s glass door. “Best get inside. Jane will kill us, heating up all of First Avenue.” Sophie stepped aside for Chloe to enter.
Chloe inhaled the heady aromas of dark roast coffee and baked treats.
The combination made her homesick for MeMaw’s.
Her kitchen had been Chloe’s comfort after Dad died.
MeMaw had taught her to bake. She didn’t scold her for getting eggshells in the vanilla cake batter or for dribbling flour across the counter.
MeMaw’s kitchen was her happy, safe place. Papaw was her stability.
Perhaps those flavors and aromas could help thaw this grown-up heart too.
Sophie ordered a grande mocha and Chloe chose a small latte. “Do you have a sec?” Sophie pointed to a stand-up table. “I’d love to hear what you’re up to these days.” She pressed two fingers to her lips. “I’m an airhead. I’m so sorry. I know about Jean-Marc. Ugh.”
Sophie had always been a kind friend. She’d included Chloe in her and Sam’s high school clique of jocks and cheerleaders. It puzzled their friends and classmates, but they tolerated the awkward loner dressed in black. A testament to how well liked both Sam and Sophie were.
When Sophie touched her hand, Chloe’s tears surfaced. Guess those wells weren’t empty after all.
“Thank you,” Chloe said in a whisper. “Ten months now. I’m still waiting to get used to it.
” She swallowed the swell of emotion in her chest. For the first six months, the grief had always caught her off guard, when she least expected it, coming in waves.
Sometimes one giant tsunami, other times, sets of swells, battering her fragile shoals of strength and coping.
Lately the storms came less often, but no less intense.
“I can’t say I’ve experienced what you’re going through, but I’m a good listener if you ever want to talk.”
Chloe nodded. That’s all she could manage. She sipped her latte and glanced around Java Jane’s, willing the surge of emotion to die down. “So…” She cleared the fog from her voice. “W-what’s new with you, Sophie?”
Sophie pointed out the side window toward the Book Nook. “I’m a business owner now. Bought it seven months back. It’s touch and go some months but knock on wood—” She rapped the tabletop. “I’m in the black. Independent bookstores are making a comeback in this digital age.”
“You own the Book Nook?” The news cheered Chloe. “I used to love hanging out there, breathing in the scent of the pages, picking out a book, curling up in a chair and reading until dinner time. Or the store closed.”