Chapter 40 #2
“Try again. A little slower.” I slide my hand across the table, wanting her to take it. Wanting to comfort her somehow, ease her burden. Wanting her to know she doesn’t have to feel alone, be alone. I’m here to shoulder what she’ll give me.
When she still doesn’t look at me or my hand, I breathe in, hold a second, and slowly release, willing her to follow my lead.
She tries again, but her breath is still choppy, eyes still shut. She swipes underneath one of them, and something in me cracks. I do not want to watch this strong, proud woman fall apart.
She’s given up so much. Her art. Her work. And she’s dedicated all her time to Trudy and Simon. I’m irritated that her sister blew into town only to upset Taxi.
Then again, sometimes it’s the people closest to us that hurt the most.
I would know.
“It’s so like Jolene to be missing for everything important and then waltz in at the nth hour and demand to be treated like she’s a fucking savior.”
“Taxi,” I whisper, tapping the back of my hand on the top of the table. She lowers her hands from her face, one of them falling flat against my palm. I squeeze.
“Jolene’s been to Africa to work with underprivileged young women. Jolene’s been to Honduras to assist in some Doctors Without Borders program. Jolene, Jolene, Jolene,” her voice sings.
I clear my throat, holding back from telling her how well she carries a tune.
“I’m sorry,” she eventually mumbles, acknowledging my hand holding hers with a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t ask me to lunch so I could lose my shit.”
“I asked you to lunch so you could definitely lose your shit, if you needed to.”
Taxi lifts her head and chuffs again. “What is wrong with you? Why do you have to be so amazing all the time? Can’t you have a fault?”
I chuckle. “I’m certain I have many.”
“Tell me one. Just one, so I can stop thinking you’re perfect.”
“Hey now . . .” I hold up my free hand, teasing her. “You can keep thinking I’m perfect all you’d like.”
Slowly, she leans forward again, her smile not quite full yet. “Families are so complicated.”
“Yes, they are,” I easily agree. Mine certainly has been. So has hers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Curmudgeon Bakery. From this angle, it’s across the street, catty-corner to our position, and it reminds me of how very complicated families can get.
“Uh-oh. You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” I sling my attention back to her.
“A pensive one.”
“I’m not pensive,” I say, sounding a little too defensive.
The waitress suddenly appears and takes Taxi’s drink order, then asks if she knows what she’d like to eat.
“I haven’t even looked at the menu,” Taxi admits, rushing to reach for the plastic-covered card tucked behind the condiments.
“I recommend the grilled cheese and tomato soup special,” I state.
Taxi glances at me and then looks at the young waitress. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
For some reason, I chuckle. The waitress notes the order and walks away.
“Come here,” I say, stretching both hands across the table. Taxi slips her hands against my palms, holding on a little tighter than before.
“You cannot take on everyone,” I start.
Taxi snorts, tugging her hands back, but I catch her fingers with my thumbs, pinning her in place.
“For a long time, you’ve only had yourself to take care of,” I remind her. “And you’re doing amazing with Trudy and Simon.”
Taxi looks toward the window again, blinking a few times.
“And all you can do, as the eldest sister, is love the rest of them.”
She nods, closing her eyes.
“You can’t change who they are. How they are built or what they carry inside. You can only love them as they are.” I squeeze.
Taxi nods again, her head bobbing. She hears me. She understands me, but it’s still hard.
I’m forty-seven, and I still worry about each and every one of my siblings like I’m still responsible for them. I was never responsible for who they are. I acted responsibly for them. I kept us together and gave them a home, and provided what we could afford until the Seed & Soil took off again.
It was hard. The frustration in Taxi’s face is exactly how I felt for years.
But Taxi’s sisters are adults now. They’re accountable only to themselves.
“The best you can ever do is just be there for them,” I state. Be present. Like she’s been doing for Trudy and Simon.
“When the cell service works,” I add, hoping to ease the tension in her hands, which are suddenly gripping mine hard.
Like she’s holding onto me to ground herself.
“You’re a strong, beautiful, capable woman, Tallulah Alexander. Don’t you ever forget it.”
A tear leaks down her cheek, and she releases my hand to swipe at it.
The waitress returns with the sweet tea Taxi ordered, and we sit back like we’ve been caught almost kissing.
“Better?” I ask, once the waitress walks away, knowing a few words might not make the situation any better, but I’m here for her, and I remind her of that as well. “I’m always here for you, Taxi.”
I’ll always be right here in Sterling Falls, where sometimes our cell service is spotty. But I never leave. Wherever she goes, I’ll still be right here.
She nods again, brushing at her other cheek. She blinks a few times, then reaches for a paper napkin in the metal container. She dabs at her eyes.
“Two grilled cheese specials.” The waitress slides the sturdy plates onto the table.
Taxi and I break apart again.
“Thank you,” she soggily says to the waitress, continuing to break my heart.
“Eat your sandwich, Taxi.” I watch her, her eyes still avoiding me. “And then I have a surprise for you after lunch.”
“Stone,” she groans, like she can’t take any more surprises.
“I promise. This is a good one.”
When she glances up at me, I have my hand over my badge, making a silent vow to her.
She’s going to love the surprise. I hope.
She picks up a French fry and bites, slowly chewing, while I reach for the ketchup. With a sharp whack, I send a giant dollop to my plate. Then I dip the corner of my grilled cheese in the red sauce.
Taxi stares at me. “What are you doing?”
I shrug, like it’s no big deal. “Dipping my grilled cheese in the ketchup.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Don’t people typically dip it in soup?”
“Do they?” I say, knowing the answer.
She continues to watch me as I take another swipe through the ketchup and bite into the sandwich.
It’s . . . awful.
“See,” I say, chewing quickly and swallowing fast. “A fault. I told you I have many.”
Her eyes widen before she chews at the corner of her mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”
But she’s smiling again. Not a full smile. Not a sterling, gleaming, Taxi smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“Eat your lunch.” I nod toward her plate.
And thankfully, Taxi picks up her sandwich . . . without ketchup on the corner.