21. Juno
21
Juno
Juno sat in her car outside church, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as she watched the last of the congregation filter out into the humid summer morning. Pastor Darren stood at the bottom of the front steps, sending off his parishioners with warm handshakes and smiles. Poor guy; she could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead from here. It was a blazing summer morning, even with the breeze blowing in off the lake.
His sermon today had resonated with her more than she'd expected—how forgiveness wasn't about changing the person who wronged you, but about freeing yourself from the burden of carrying that hurt.
"Forgiveness doesn't guarantee reconciliation," he'd said, his voice carrying through the small sanctuary. "It simply means you're no longer allowing that pain to dictate your future."
She'd thought immediately of Alex, and how the weight had lifted from her shoulders last night when she'd decided to move forward, to be the friend he needed. She felt lighter somehow, as if she'd set down a heavy load she'd been carrying for years.
Turning the key in the ignition, Juno pulled out of the church parking lot and headed toward her coffee shop. The Outback's air conditioning was a blessing against the July heat. She didn't open until one on Sundays—a compromise that allowed her to attend church, enjoy a causal lunch alone or with friends, maybe even a short nap, and still catch the afternoon crowd eager for respite from the summer sun.
As she rounded the corner onto Camellia Court, something caught her eye—a figure slouched in a chair at one of the bistro sets in front of her shop. Even from this distance, even after a decade, there was no mistaking his identity.
Her stomach dropped. Leonard Thomas. Her father.
Thankfully, he hadn't seen her, so Juno pulled into her usual spot behind the shop, her peaceful post-sermon mood evaporating like the morning dew. She took her time gathering her things, mentally steeling herself as she darted up the back stairs that led to her apartment on the second floor. So much for a leisurely lunch and a nap; there was no way she was going to let Leonard Thomas loiter outside her shop for the next two hours without knowing exactly why he was here.
In the bathroom, she pulled her beaded braids into a dark green scrunchy. She washed away her Sunday makeup and applied a much simpler look with a dark plum lip stain, waterproof mascara and some bronze eyeshadow, nothing that would smear or run as the day warmed up and the kitchen got busy.
"Stay calm," she whispered to her reflection, even as her pulse raced and her hands trembled. "He's on your territory. You owe him nothing."
She considered calling the police, just to have someone there in case things got out of hand, but the fact that Leonard was waiting out front and not shlepping around her backdoor made her feel a little less vulnerable.
Besides, she wasn't at all sure she wanted anyone knowing he was in town. She needed to get down there and tell him to go away.
She changed out of her sundress and into her uniform of jeans and a shop polo, then grabbed her keys and headed back out. She'd thought about going in the back door of the shop and watching him through the window for awhile, but the longer she put off speaking to him, the more nervous she was going to get.
With her face a carefully constructed mask of indifference, her shoulders back and her chin high, Juno rounded the building to the front of her shop. Her father turned when he heard her footsteps, and she felt a flicker of bitter satisfaction at the surprise that crossed his face.
"Juno," he said, pushing away from the window where he'd been peering inside, his hands cupped around his face. He'd aged considerably in the years since she'd seen him. His hair was now more gray than black, his face lined and weathered, and his once-imposing frame was now slightly stooped, thinner. But his eyes, dark and unreadable, remained unchanged.
She didn't respond, simply moved past him to unlock the door. "I'm not open until one," she said over her shoulder, her voice impressively steady. "You'll have to come back then if you want coffee."
Leonard stepped forward, not quite crowding her but close enough that she could smell the slight hint of cigarettes clinging to his clothes. "I didn't come for coffee."
Juno turned to face him, one hand on the door. "Then what did you come for?" Her tone was cool, professional. The tone she reserved for difficult customers—polite but distant.
"To see you." Leonard removed his cap, and she was startled to see how thin his hair had become. In some places, she could even see his scalp shining through. "To talk, if you'll hear me out."
Warning bells rang in Juno's mind. In her experience, when Leonard Thomas wanted to talk, trouble wasn't far behind. But standing in the doorway of the business she'd built, in the town she'd reclaimed as her own, she found she wasn't afraid of him anymore. Just wary.
"Five minutes," she said after a long pause. She pushed the door open, the familiar aroma of coffee beans and baked goods a comforting counterpoint to the tension tightening her shoulders. She turned and held the door a little wider, not so much as an invitation but as a statement of control. He was on her turf and she made the rules here.
Leonard crossed the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the warmly lit interior with its polished wood tables and comfortable seating. "Nice place you've got," he said, hands fidgeting with his cap. "Real nice."
"Thank you," Juno replied, not warming to the compliment. She moved behind the counter—a physical barrier between them—and watched as he took in the gleaming espresso machine, the display case currently empty of the pastries she'd put out later.
"Been a long time," he ventured when she offered nothing more.
"At least ten years," Juno agreed, her expression neutral. "What do you want?"
Leonard sighed, the sound heavy with what might have been regret, though Juno knew better than to trust it at face value. He'd always been good at appearing contrite when it suited him.
"I've been sober for almost two years now," he said, meeting her eyes directly. "Working a program. Making amends where I can."
Juno raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying the implied question—would she allow him to make amends to her?
"I know I was a terrible father," he continued when she remained silent. "I—I was a monster. A man ruled by his vices." He paused, swallowing visibly. "And I know I did horrific things to you and your mother."
Juno had to clench her hand into a fist to stop herself from touching her face. How many times had she tended to her mother's split lips and black eyes? Her father rarely left any bruises on Juno, not during the school year, at lease, but how many times had he struck her, his big, open palm cracking against her cheek, the impact sending her lurching backwards? She forced herself to maintain eye contact, refusing to show how much the memories still affected her.
"Is there anyone looking for you?" she asked bluntly.
Leonard blinked, thrown by the direct question. "What?"
"Is there anyone after you?" she clarified, her voice still level. "Are you running from something—or someone—that might follow you here?" The real question hung unspoken between them: Are you bringing trouble to my doorstep?
"No," he said, shaking his head firmly. "No, nothing like that. I've been clean, Juno. Honest work, honest living. I would never bring that kind of trouble to you." His eyes, so like her own, held a pleading sincerity that she found herself wanting to believe despite her better judgment.
"I'm—I'm looking for work," he added, twisting his cap in his hands. "Something steady. I've been doing odd jobs, construction mostly, but nothing permanent. Folks are wary about giving a guy like me a real job." He gestured vaguely around the coffee shop. "I could help around here. Clean. Stock. Whatever you need."
Juno nearly laughed at the audacity. After everything, he was asking her for a job? But beneath her indignation, she heard Pastor Darren's barrel-chested voice: Forgiveness is messy and uncomfortable and it often asks more of us than we think we can give. Forgiveness might even ask us to consider extending second chances, third chances, or more. It's what Christ does for us every time we let him down, and boy oh boy, do we let him down again and again and again, amen?
She thought of Alex, of how he'd come to her just two nights ago in search of some kind of reconciliation with her, of the way he was trying to forge his way with Lena now.
Of how she'd decided just last night that she would support him in that journey, despite her own misgivings. If she was willing to give Alex a second chance, did that mean she should offer her father one, too?
"Why should I trust you?" she asked, the question surprisingly free of venom. "I've heard this spiel a thousand times before."
Leonard nodded slowly, as if he'd expected this. "True enough." He met her gaze steadily. "I can't prove anything to you with words. Just time and actions. But I'm asking for a chance to try."
Juno crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, weighing her options. Though every instinct screamed against it, she couldn't deny there was a part of her that was curious about what had happened to him over the last decade, what had finally motivated him to get clean, if he really was sober and repentant.
"I've got some time before I open," she said finally. "I was going to make myself a sandwich; you want one, too? Maybe you can give me the rundown of what you've been up to, especially the last few years." She gestured toward the other end of the counter where there were several stools for patrons to use. "Have a seat."
Relief washed over Leonard's face. "A sandwich would be great."
"This isn't a yes," she warned, moving behind the counter. "But I'm willing to listen.""
Leonard nodded, settling cautiously onto a stool as Juno assembled two simple turkey sandwiches. She placed one in front of him along with a glass of water and a bag of kettle chips, then sat down across the bar from him, maintaining a careful distance.
"Two years sober. Tell me about that," She took a bite of her sandwich.
Between bites, Leonard launched into his story, describing rock bottom, a stint in rehab, and the journey through the twelve steps. Juno nodded, made acknowledging noises where appropriate, and asked pointed questions when his narrative grew vague or contradictory. She didn't soften toward him, but she did notice that his hands remained steady, his eyes clear, none of the telltale signs of the addict she remembered.
When they'd finished their sandwiches, Juno brewed a pot of coffee and offered him a couple of her peanut butter cookies. An hour passed as Leonard filled in the gaps of his life. When he finally seemed to run out of things to say, Juno glanced at the clock.
"I should get ready to open." She stood and gathered their dishes.
Leonard rose quickly. "Thank you for listening. And for lunch."
Juno studied him, still undecided. Finally, she spoke.
"I could use someone for custodial work," she said carefully. "Sweeping, mopping floors, cleaning appliances and bathrooms, washing dishes. All the dirty work nobody wants to do."
Leonard's eyes lit up. "I can do that. Any of it. All of it."
"It'd be no more than part time right now," she continued, "but if you're planning on sticking around, it could turn into more. I bought the empty space next door." Her hands full, she jutted her chin toward the west wall. "I've got a crew coming in the fall to get started, and I'm hoping to have it up and running by the end of the year. Business is good." She heard the pride in her voice, and if it had been anyone but her father she was speaking to, she would have been embarrassed. But she wanted him to see what she'd made of herself, how far she'd come in spite of his efforts to crush her.
"You should be proud of yourself," he said, once again looking around at her beloved shop. "I know I am, too."
She leveled a steady gaze at him, refusing to accept his praise. It still meant little more than the air it took to say them. "I pay fair wages, but I expect my employees to show up on time. And sober. You can smoke, but only on your breaks and only out back in the alley. Not out front where the patrons are served." She always set ashtrays out on a few of the tables, but she didn't want him using them. She really didn't want him fraternizing with her patrons at all, at least until she had a better sense of what to expect from him. "The first time you come in here smelling like alcohol or acting erratic, you're done."
Leonard nodded sagely. "That's more than fair."
"If I catch you pocketing a dime that isn't yours, you're gone," she added, her gaze locked with his. "I have worked hard to be where I am, and I will not have you come in here and screw things up for me. I am stretching my neck to give you a chance to prove you're a changed man."
"I won't let you down, Juniper."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Juno warned. "Just show up and do the work." She paused. "You're staying at the Sleepy Time Motel, right? How are you going to get to work?
A flash of discomfort crossed his face. "I—I have to check out today. Funds are..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
Of course. He needed money. That's what this was really about.
"I'm not letting you stay with me," she said firmly.
"I wouldn't ask that," Leonard replied quickly. "I was hoping maybe you could front me enough to cover the next couple of weeks until I can find something more permanent."
Juno sighed, calculating figures in her head. She couldn't send him away with nowhere to go, but she wasn't about to set him up indefinitely either.
"I'll pay for ten more nights," she decided.
"That's more than generous," he said with a nod. "More than generous."
"You figure out how to get here. I need you in the mornings between rushes, from nine to noon, five days a week, six days if you're willing." She'd call the Sleepy Time herself to pay for his stay; no chance of him pocketing the money and disappearing.
"I'm willing, Juno." Relief flooded his weathered face. "I won't—"
"Let me down. I know." She moved toward the register. "You start tomorrow. Nine o'clock sharp. We'll see how you do with the basics before I decide what else you can handle."
Leonard nodded, clutching his cap like a lifeline. "I'll be here. Early."
"Good. I'll have Jeffrey show you the ropes. He's our dishwasher and prep guy." Juno picked up her phone. "I'll call the inn now and get you set up. Then I need to start getting this place ready to open."
Leonard took the hint and backed toward the door. "Thank you, Juniper. I mean it. I know I don't deserve this chance."
After he left, Juno leaned against the counter, trying to process what she'd just done. Had she made a terrible mistake? Or was this the beginning of healing something she'd thought broken beyond repair?
Should she tell someone what was going on? Her Garden Variety Lovers Club friends? Or would they think she'd made a big mistake and try to talk her out of it? Maybe she'd better not tell anyone yet. If this all went sideways— when it went sideways, because she had a terrible suspicion that it would—she'd rather not have witnesses to her foolishness.
Besides, they'd all find out soon enough. Not only did her peers frequent her shop on a regular basis, but small towns weren't good at keeping secrets.
Juno busied herself with opening preparations, setting up the pastry display case, grinding fresh beans for the three house coffees of the day, wiping down the counter where she'd shared lunch with her father—how weird did that sound? Physical activity helped calm her racing thoughts, but it couldn't completely suppress the worry gnawing at her insides.
By a quarter to one, everything was ready. Juno sat at the counter with a mug of black coffee, staring out the window at the summer sidewalk shimmering with heat. She'd taken a chance on Leonard Thomas—the man who'd stolen her childhood, her security, and nearly her life.
She wondered what Alex would say if he knew. Would he understand, or would he think she was naive? He had his own battle brewing with Melissa over Lena. At least his fight was for something precious—someone worth fighting for. What was Juno fighting for? Closure? Redemption? Or was she simply setting herself up for another devastating blow?
The bell above the door jingled, startling her from her thoughts. Trevor, her Sunday afternoon barista, strolled in with his usual easy smile.
"Hey boss," he greeted her, tying on his apron. "Smells good in here."
Juno lifted her mug. "Got a head start. There's not much left to do, so grab a cup if you'd like." She slid off the stool, grateful for the distraction. "We have a new custodial helper starting tomorrow, by the way. He'll be working mornings after the rush."
Trevor raised an eyebrow, his smile broadening. "Cool. Extra help is always good."
"Thought you'd appreciate the news." Trevor hated to clean the bathrooms, especially the men's. On many occasions, he'd ranted over how disgusting guys could be, not caring that he was decrying his own.
Sunday customers began trickling in—families fresh from church, couples out for afternoon strolls, teens seeking air-conditioned refuge.
As she fell into the familiar rhythm of taking and filling orders, Juno found her anxiety gradually ebbing. This was her domain, her success, built with her own hands and determination. Whatever happened with her father, she would survive it. She'd survived his absence; she would survive his presence.