Chapter 4 Eleanor #2
“Hey, I’ve seen worse,” she said, twirling the duster like a baton. “Once I walked in on a couple mid-divorce argument about who got to keep the blender. You’re doing great by comparison.”
That made me laugh, a real one, even if it cracked halfway through.
Belle’s smile gentled. “You okay?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, but the word stuck. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m just . . . tired. All the time. And I keep thinking I’m finally getting a handle on things, and then—”
“Your mom?” she offered.
I nodded. “My mom.”
Belle set the duster on the shelf and stepped closer, her tone light but her eyes soft. “You need a break. Come grab coffee with me. I get off in twenty.”
“I don’t want to interrupt—” I hesitated. “Plus, I should probably go apologize.”
Belle shrugged. “Or you could come with me and breathe for a minute before you go back to walking on eggshells.”
I looked at her, at the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the easy grin, the kindness sitting right there beneath all the teasing, and felt something in my chest loosen.
“Coffee,” I said finally. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”
“Good,” she said, grabbing her bag from the counter. “There’s a place a few blocks away that doesn’t judge you for ordering extra whipped cream. You can tell me about your mom. Or not. Either way, I’m a great listener.”
“Do you always eavesdrop before inviting people out?” I asked as we headed toward the door.
“Only the interesting ones,” she said with a wink.
The coffee shop was tucked into the corner of a used bookstore. It was warm and familiar, and nothing like home. The windows fogged just enough to blur the gray morning outside, while the sound of milk steaming filled the air.
Belle waved to the barista like they were old friends. Which, apparently, they were.
“Hey, beautiful,” he called. “I didn’t know you were on the schedule today?”
“I’m not,” Belle said with a grin. “Just corrupting new people with caffeine and literature.”
He laughed and turned to me. “So you’re the new recruit, huh?”
Before I could answer, Belle said, “She’s my friend, James. And maybe my next victim if she keeps living with her mother.”
I snorted. “That’s fair.”
He handed us two steaming mugs, hers dark and mine drowning in whipped cream, and nodded toward the shelves. “You know where to hide.”
We wound our way through the maze of bookcases until we found a table in the back by the window. Belle dropped into her chair with a sigh that made me smile.
“So,” she said, blowing on her coffee. “Do you feel any better?”
I looked around. The low hum of conversation, the smell of espresso, the soft click of pages turning, it was the calmest I’d felt in months. “Yeah,” I admitted. “Actually, I do.”
“Good,” she said. “Because you deserve a break.”
I shrugged. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” she said simply. “But it helps to have people who get it.”
There was something in her tone, not pity, but understanding. I sipped my coffee and watched her, wondering how many people she’d quietly taken care of without anyone noticing.
“So you work here too?” I asked, nodding toward the barista.
“Sometimes,” she said, smiling. “I juggle a few jobs, cleaning, coffee, and the occasional bookstore shift. My ADHD loves chaos, and my bank account insists.”
I laughed. “You make it look effortless.”
“Oh, it’s not,” she said. “I just fake it with lipstick and sarcasm.”
I liked her honesty, the way she didn’t try to smooth out her rough edges. She was the opposite of everything my mother valued, and somehow that made me trust her even more.
The barista called over, “Hey, Belle — Penguin Project meeting tonight?”
Belle perked up. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I tilted my head. “What’s the Penguin Project?”
Her smile softened into something fond. “It’s a theater program for kids with disabilities. They pair each kiddo with a mentor, and they put on a full musical. It’s chaotic and wonderful and the highlight of my year.”
My heart gave a little tug. “That sounds incredible.”
“It is,” she said. “I’ve been helping with them for a few seasons now. We’re doing Cinderella this year. Lots of glitter, lots of magic, very little sanity.”
I smiled, picturing it. “Ava would love that.”
Belle’s gaze flicked to me, curious but gentle. “You should bring her. Seriously. It’s magic.”
Something about the way she said it, no pressure, no pity, made my throat go tight. “Maybe I will,” I murmured.
Belle grinned. “Good. I’ll save you a front-row seat.”
There it was again, a tiny spark of excitement for something ahead instead of dread. Just coffee and conversation and a woman who made the world seem a little bigger.
It wasn’t much.
But it was a start.
That night, the house was quiet. Even the clock in the hallway seemed to tick more softly, like it was giving us a reprieve.
I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Belle’s voice still echoing in my mind — They pair every kid with a mentor. It’s magic.
The door creaked open. Ava padded in, clutching her blanket like a shield.
“Hey, bug,” I whispered. “Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “I had a weird dream.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” she said simply, climbing into bed beside me. “Just talk about something else.”
I smiled and shifted to make room, her small form curling into my side. “Okay . . . what should we talk about?”
“Tell me something good,” she murmured.
I thought for a moment. “Belle told me about a program today. It’s called The Penguin Project. They do plays with kids who have disabilities. This year they’re performing Cinderella.”
Ava lifted her head a little. “Cinderella?”
“Yeah. The one with the glass slipper and the pumpkin carriage.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Too sparkly.”
I bit back a laugh. “Maybe. But you’d get to see how it all works behind the scenes. The costumes, the rehearsals, the acting . . . ”
She tilted her head, thinking it over. “Are the ugly stepsisters in it?”
“Of course.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth. “I like them better.”
“Because they’re mean?” I teased.
“Because they’re weird,” she said simply. “They don’t pretend to be nice. Everyone pretends all the time.”
The truth in her words hit me harder than I expected. I brushed a hand through her hair.
Ava settled back down, voice muffled against my shoulder. “Maybe we could go see it.”
“Maybe you could be in it,” I whispered. “Belle said it’s special.”
She didn’t answer, just reached up, tapped the side of her headphones, and closed her eyes.
I lay there in the dark, listening to her breathe, my heart full of something that wasn’t quite peace but close enough.