Chapter 11
11
After six weeks in Starr’s Fall, a day in Hartford felt like going to the big city. Maggie had left Ben that morning with heartfelt promises from him to do his schoolwork; Zach was coming over after breakfast to crack the whip and also work on finishing the bookshelves. The café was set to open in just eight days, which felt absolutely crazy. Maggie didn’t think they were remotely ready, but Zach had argued that their supposedly “grand opening” could still be something of a soft launch, with limited kitchen offerings, and assured her that she didn’t need to have absolutely every last duck in order to open her doors. Sometimes, he’d said, it was better just to begin. There was, Maggie had decided, wisdom in that. She hoped.
In fact, there had been a lot of beginnings in her life lately—the café, her friendship with Zach, Pilates, making an appointment at the Humane Society to get a cat. It all helped her to feel settled, just as Laurie had asked if she was, but the truth was no matter how many strides she took, Maggie still felt jumpy inside. Telling Laurie about her complicated feelings toward Matt’s death had been both a relief and a terror, and a week on she still found she couldn’t quite look her new friend in the eye; she wasn’t used to or comfortable with having been so vulnerable or having admitted so much.
And now, with all that behind her, she was heading to Hartford for her eight-hour-long course in how to be a barista. It would be the longest Maggie had been away from Ben since he’d got out of the hospital, nearly a year ago. A shudder went through her as she remembered that dark, dark time—the endless days in the halogen glare of a hospital room, the persistent beep of the monitor as she’d sat by his bedside while he’d pretended to sleep, followed by her own sleepless and gritty-eyed nights of despair, and then, when he’d been discharged, the sudden clutches of panic when she wasn’t sure where Ben was in the house, or what new terrible thing might have happened.
Heaven help them both, Maggie thought as she gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles ached, but she could not go back there again… and neither could Ben. She really hoped Zach was up to the challenge of watching her son today. She hadn’t sold it to him as babysitting, for Ben’s sake, but now she wondered if she should have been a little more forthcoming about her son’s history. But wasn’t that Ben’s to tell?
It was so hard, as a parent, to know what the right thing to do was, Maggie reflected despondently. If she knew the right thing, she’d do it, absolutely. But a thousand questions and doubts plagued her daily—should she let Ben game or force him to find different interests? Should she tell people how he could still be considered at risk or let him start over with a clean slate, just as she was trying to do? Should she be protective because it might save his life, or let him make his own mistakes, knowing that was part of growing up?
And now she didn’t even have Matt to back her up and offer a different perspective—not, she reflected, that he’d done that all that often, especially in the last few years. He’d become so busy with work, and in her darkest heart of hearts Maggie had sometimes felt that Matt had found Ben something of a disappointing mystery. He’d never said as much, but even so, Maggie had felt his confusion and even disapproval that Ben wasn’t the kind of kid who played football and flirted with girls and cared about the stock market, the way he had hoped for. The way he himself had been. His mother had been even more vocal in her disappointment, which was partly why Maggie didn’t mind not pursuing that particular relationship.
But could she really blame either of them, when she too had had a secret, shameful version of a dream child too—a son who had friends, and hobbies, and could look people in the eye when he spoke to them? A son who hadn’t been bullied, sometimes relentlessly, since middle school, and who didn’t cause her to lie awake wondering if she’d done something wrong, if she was doing it at that moment.
As parents, they had to let go of their dream children—she knew that, absolutely—but sometimes it could feel so very hard. Moving to Starr’s Fall had been about letting Ben be who he needed to be, rather than the person she or anyone else thought he should be, but that didn’t mean letting it happen was easy.
Zach, however, was making it easier…
Not that she let herself think that way too often. Still, over the last few weeks she had become unsettlingly used to having Zach around. More nights than not, he stayed for dinner, and while he and Ben spent a good amount of time playing RainQuest, Zach still made sure to chat to her, too. He asked her about the business, but also about her life, and he’d shared some of his. She’d admitted she was coming to enjoy the business side of things, and he confessed how much he liked woodworking. He’d even made Ben a little carving of a djinn, his profile on the game, which Ben kept by the computer.
“I hope,” Zach had told her in a low, laughing voice when she’d walked him downstairs to the door last night, “that you don’t think I game this much in real life.”
She’d raised her eyebrows, lips pursed. “Is this not real life?”
He’d cocked his head, his blue-green gaze sweeping lazily over her. “Maybe it is,” he replied slowly, in a way that made awareness and yearning flare through her. If only, she’d thought suddenly and fiercely, this was real life. Her and Zach…
But she couldn’t let herself think like that, and so she’d kept it more about Ben. “You’ve been a good friend to Ben,” she told him, “and for that I’m very, very thankful. I hope you know that.”
“I do.” He’d hesitated then, and Maggie had tensed, both afraid and hopeful that he was going to say something else. Something about her. About them . “I hope you feel,” he’d finally said, carefully, “that I’m a good friend to you, as well.”
It had been enough to make her stomach flip and everything inside her tingle. Part of her had longed to take a step toward him, tilt her head up to his, see his eyes flare with the awareness that was zinging through her… But she knew she didn’t possess the courage to do that, and then a sudden suspicion had gripped her that maybe he was friend-zoning her, and considering the scenarios that had been playing through her mind, the thought was fairly horrifying.
“I… do,” she’d finally stammered, and he’d laughed softly.
“Why do you look terrified?” He’d reached up and brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, letting his fingers skim her cheek. Maggie had had to bite her lip to keep from shuddering in response as the tips of his fingers brushed her cheekbone. That didn’t feel like a friend-zone kind of thing, did it? “When did you get that silver streak in your hair?” he’d asked softly.
“A… a few months ago.” When Ben had been admitted to the hospital; it had happened almost overnight. But she wasn’t thinking about that now, not when his fingers were still lingering on her cheek, and she had a frighteningly strong impulse to step closer to him, into the shelter of his arms.
“I like it,” he told her as he let his hand fall away from her face. “It’s unique.”
Maggie had opened her mouth to say it made her look old, thought better of it, and so had just smiled and shaken her head. Zach had stepped back as he’d given her a little wave. “Bye, Maggie. See you tomorrow.”
Stupidly, she’d felt almost crushingly disappointed. What had she been expecting—some heartfelt declaration? A kiss ?
Well… basically, yes.
And the fact that it hadn’t happened had to be a good thing, Maggie told herself as she turned off the highway and headed for Cup of Joe, the coffee shop in downtown Hartford that offered barista courses. She felt a flutter of nerves as she thought about walking into a place where she knew no one and trying to learn. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, and it was getting a little easier, but it still felt hard.
Taking a deep breath, Maggie checked her phone—no messages from Ben or Zach, which hopefully was a good thing—and then got out of the car.
* * *
“Going to see Maggie Parker again?”
Jenna swiveled around in her chair in front of her laptop as she raised her eyebrows expectantly.
Zach shrugged on his jacket and then reached for his travel mug of coffee. It was eight o’clock on a dark, frigid morning in late February, when everything was gray sky and slush and no sign of spring. He wasn’t in the mood for another one of Jenna’s piqued innuendoes.
“Ben Parker, actually,” he told her. “Maggie is in Hartford, doing some kind of barista course.”
Jenna folded her arms. “You’ve been spending a lot of time over there.”
Zach knew this was the perfect opportunity to say something pointed about how that was because Maggie actually appreciated his opinion and expertise, unlike his own flesh and blood, but he wasn’t in the mood to annoy his sister or have her annoy him. He felt too optimistic for that.
“Yep,” he said instead, and started hunting for his truck keys.
“Yep?” Jenna repeated. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Yep,” Zach said again, even though he knew it would annoy her. Maybe because it would.
Jenna sighed and slumped back in her seat, staring at her computer screen for a few seconds. “And it isn’t because of me?” she asked finally.
Now that was unexpected. Jenna was usually so wound up and defensive that Zach didn’t even bother with the it’s-actually-you vibe, and truth be told, it was probably also him. “If you’re asking if I’m disappointed about how you’ve handled the decision making,” he told her, making sure to keep his voice mild, “then yeah. It is partly that. I have ideas. I would like to see them implemented.”
He paused, feeling a sudden twist of sympathy for his sister. He was so frustrated with her so often that it felt weird and a little uncomfortable to attempt to view things from her perspective and acknowledge how hard she was working with very little reward. “I know I probably seem like I don’t really care about much,” he said carefully, “because I guess it’s something of a defense mechanism with me. But why are you so resistant, Jenna? Because I think even you can admit that we’re not creating a time capsule here. Technology has forced businesses to move fast, to adapt or go bust. The store could be so much more than it is.”
Jenna didn’t answer for a long moment. Her gaze was still fixed on the computer screen, her body slumped in the chair, her long auburn hair falling down her back in its usual single braid.
“Yeah,” she finally admitted on a long, world-weary sigh. “I know.”
It didn’t seem like much, and yet it was so much more than she’d ever admitted to him before.
“And?” Zach pressed after a moment, when it didn’t seem as if his sister was going to say anything else. “If you agree with what I’m saying…”
“I just don’t want to become something we’re not,” Jenna explained, a spark of fire entering her eyes. “I’m not going to start wearing fancy country gear and stocking two-hundred-dollar candles and acting like they’re a bargain.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“We’re not Litchfield people,” she cut across him, her tone fierce, too fierce for what they were talking about. “This isn’t a Litchfield store.”
“You know,” Zach half-joked, “it’s not like Litchfield is that nice.”
She let out a huff of laughter that held no real humor in it. “You know what I mean.”
Did he? Yes, Zach supposed, Litchfield was more upmarket than Starr’s Fall, but what did Jenna have against a little class? Unless there was something else going on, which, judging by the ferocity of tone, the strength of her resistance, it seemed like there probably was. He glanced at the clock above the stove, wishing he had more time to hash this—whatever this was—out with his sister, but he’d promised Maggie he’d be with Ben by eight, and it was already five minutes past. He didn’t want to be any later; she’d been worried already about leaving Ben alone even for a short time.
“I’ve got to go,” he told Jenna. “But we’ll talk about this later, okay?”
She shrugged as she straightened and then turned back to her laptop and started clicking on the mouse again. “Yeah, okay.”
Suppressing a sigh, Zach scooped up his truck keys and headed out the door.
The sky was just starting to lighten to gray as he pulled up in front of Your Turn Next. The café was really starting to take shape, he reflected, which was a good thing, considering it was meant to open next week and there was still a ton of stuff to do. Maggie had ordered a sign, based on Ben’s logo, but it hadn’t been delivered yet. Once it was up, Zach thought, maybe it would start to feel more real.
As it was, today’s job was to finish the built-in bookshelves, something he really was enjoying. Maybe he’d ask Ben to help him; he didn’t want him upstairs on his own all day, staring at a computer for hours on end. In truth, Zach thought Ben would benefit from going to the local high school. It was obvious to him that he was lonely, and playing RainQuest night after night was not the same thing as a social life. He hadn’t said anything about it to either Ben or Maggie, though, because it didn’t feel like his place, and Maggie, he’d already sensed, could be pretty touchy when it came to her son.
Zach let himself into the café, breathing in the scents of cut wood and fresh paint. It really was looking good—his soon-to-be-finished bookshelves lined both walls from floor to ceiling, and in the corner by the window, a leather loveseat and armchair made an L-shape around a coffee table. A three-seater took up the main part of the café floor, with a long, low table in front, and then two armchairs with a little table in between on the other side.
Maggie had taken his advice about the smaller tables, and there were three high tables for two with barstools in the back, by the kitchen area. The chalkboard menu was also up, above the counter, with a glass display case beneath, for the baked goods they were hoping to offer eventually, sourced from The Rolling Pin, although Maggie hoped to offer some of their own food items as soon as they got the proper food certification. Once the shelves were finished and the boardgames were in, it was going to look really good, Zach thought with a flush of pride that he tried to temper. He’d been part of this, yes, but it was Maggie’s project, Maggie and Ben’s. Maybe he needed to remember that a little more.
He headed upstairs, knocking once on the door before he poked his head in. “Hello? Ben?”
There was no response, and Zach felt a tiny flicker of fear. It was only eight fifteen, but he’d told Maggie he would be here sooner. What if something happened on his watch because he hadn’t shown up on time?
“Ben?” he called again and stepped into the living area. A small gust of relief escaped him when he saw the teenager in front of the desktop in the kitchen. “Hey,” he called, and Ben stiffened, then quickly clicked off whatever he’d been looking at.
Uh-oh. Zach had been a teenaged boy once. Quickly clicking off anything was usually a sign someone was up to no good.
“That didn’t look like schoolwork,” he remarked lightly as he came into the kitchen. “Have you had breakfast?”
Ben shook his head, his gaze on the floor, his hands lost in the ragged sleeves of his sweatshirt. He still hadn’t said so much as a word, Zach realized as he came to stand in front of him.
“Is everything okay?” he asked gently. Still no response. “Ben?”
“Yeah. Fine,” he mumbled, his voice so low Zach struggled to hear him.
It clearly wasn’t fine, but Zach wasn’t sure what to do to get him to open up. He decided for laidback honesty, and cocking his head toward the computer, he asked, “Something going down on RQ?”
“No,” Ben replied, his chin tucked toward his chest.
Zach had already figured it wasn’t that. “Something else, then? Because, man, you’re looking like your dog died and I know you don’t have a dog, so… nothing happened to your future cat, did it?”
“We haven’t even picked out one yet,” Ben replied. He folded his arms, hugging them around his middle.
“Okay, then.” Zach paused, trying to figure out what to say next. “I feel like this has something to do with what you saw on the computer,” he said at last. “Am I right?” Ben shrugged. “Because whatever is out there online, it doesn’t need to affect you. Cyberspace isn’t a great place to occupy your head, you know?”
Ben glanced up at that, his mouth twisting. “Dude, nobody calls it cyberspace anymore.”
“My bad. I’m getting old. Seriously, though.” Zach stooped so he could look Ben in the eye. “Tell me honestly,” he said quietly. “What’s up?”
Ben glanced at him before quickly looking down again as he picked the ragged cuff of his sweatshirt. “Just stupid stuff,” he finally muttered.
“Well, I figured that out already,” Zach replied as he straightened. “Because if it’s online, it has to be stupid. But stupid stuff can still bother you.” He thought of all the careless little jokes and remarks that just about everyone in Starr’s Fall made about him. They’d all been pretty stupid, but they’d still hurt. “Trust me,” he told Ben, “I know how that goes.”
“You do?” Ben glanced up again, brushing his bangs from his eyes. “Like, how?”
Zach shrugged. “People in a small town, or any small community, can think they know who you are, what kind of person you are, and then they keep trying to fit you in that box no matter how much you want to break out of it, and that’s if you were even in it in the first place, the way they thought you were.” Which all sounded pretty vague. “Basically,” he told Ben, “people in Starr’s Fall can’t always get on board with people being different. So, to quote a famous song, haters gonna hate. You can’t let it worry you.” He paused, before adding, because he felt Ben needed to hear it, “But it can still hurt.”
“Yeah.” Ben was entirely focused on a loose thread on the cuff of his sweatshirt, his head lowered as he tugged on it. “These kids in my old high school,” he said in a low voice. “They’re still harshing on me and I don’t even go there anymore. How stupid is that?”
“Very stupid,” Zach replied swiftly. “And incredibly immature. And you know what else? Boring. I mean, are they such saddos that they can’t think of anything better to do? Haven’t they moved on in life? Jeez.” He shook his head.
“Yeah.” Ben didn’t sound convinced, and Zach didn’t blame him. He already hated these bullies, and he didn’t even know what they’d done. “It’s just stupid stuff,” Ben said after a moment, trying for an offhand tone and not quite pulling it off. “On this online group chat for my grade. I’m still on the chat even though I left after Christmas.”
“Maybe you should get off the chat,” Zach suggested. “Doesn’t sound like it’s adding anything great to your life.”
“No…” Ben looked up, a bleakness in his eyes that tore at Zach’s heart. “I just wanted to know if they were saying anything about me because sometimes it’s worse not knowing, you know? Like what you imagine. And for a long time they weren’t saying anything about me, and then someone went and made a stupid meme .”
“A meme about you?” Zach asked quietly.
Ben nodded miserably. “It’s not even funny. It’s just my class photo with a photoshopped gaming controller in my hand and this line underneath about the definition of a geek. Like, that’s so basic .”
Zach almost smiled at that. Ben sounded so scathing. “Well, let’s be real,” he said. “These people sound pretty basic to me.”
Zach was rewarded with a very small smile. “Yeah,” Ben said, with feeling. “They totally are.”
“You could just as easily do a meme of their photo, with the word basic underneath,” he joked. “Not that I’m advising that, of course. My motto is ignore, ignore, ignore. But… it’s good to remember what people are like, and how unimportant their opinions can be.”
“Yeah,” Ben said after a moment. He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but maybe a little more than before. A silence settled on them, and Zach let it rest for a few moments and then he straightened. “Look, why don’t you help me with the bookshelves? I really want to get them finished off before your mom comes home. Let’s work on them this morning and then go get a burger at The Starr Light. Then, if you want, you can finish your schoolwork this afternoon.”
The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked up. “If I want? Is that, like, negotiable?”
“Well.” Zach smiled easily. “It can be.”