41
I don’t usually come to this side of town.
It’s out of my way, but a client requested an urgent hand delivery, and even though it’s Saturday, I offered.
With the windows down and the music up, the drive feels like the reset I need after a full-on week.
After dropping off the package, I head to Aysha’s coffee shop.
Its coffee has a reputation for being the best in Brown Oaks, and while the pastries may not rival Beth’s Bakery, I’ve heard they’re close enough to merit a taste.
After I place my order, I glance around. Light wood and greenery give the space a slightly rustic feel. Then I spot Joel at a table in the back. Delight tumbles through me. Serendipity at work again.
But when Joel sees me, he doesn’t look happy. Surprise shifts to unease, before he schools his face into neutrality. It’s clear I’m the last person he expected to see here.
Two other people are sitting with him. A man and a woman who look to be in their sixties.
I give Joel a small, awkward wave and decide to bolt as soon as my coffee is ready.
Only they catch him looking at me and now they’re looking at me, curiosity plain on their faces.
It feels rude to slip out without a hello, so I collect my coffee and walk over to the table.
“Hi, Joel.”
“Kenzie,” he says after an uncomfortable second of silence.
I wait for introductions. Finally, in a stiff voice, Joel says, “This is Phil and Gaby.” His body tenses, as if he’s bracing for something. “My foster parents.”
Shock balloons in my chest as my thoughts spin. Foster parents? Joel said his parents were dead, but he never mentioned foster parents. And why didn’t he invite me to this breakfast? We’re dating. Am I not important enough to him to meet them?
Maybe he simply wants time alone with them.
Despite the pit in my stomach, I direct a friendly smile their way. “Hi!”
They nod politely. They don’t smile.
Gaby is small-boned, her brown hair in a neat bob, her hazel eyes watery.
A blouse and a delicate brooch give her a prim, careful look, and there’s something birdlike in the tilt of her head.
Phil is tall and too thin, swimming in an ill-fitting suit.
Tired lines drag at his face, as if gravity’s had more practice on him than most.
It doesn’t look like anyone’s ordered yet. The menus are still on the table.
My smile falters. Why does everyone seem tense?
I scour my mind for something to say. “Is this your first time in Brown Oaks?”
“No,” Gaby answers.
“So you’ve been here before?”
“Yes, we have.”
This is next-level awkward. Gaby can’t stop fidgeting, vibrating with nerves, and Phil has a distant look on his face, as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
Joel places a hand on Gaby’s arm to still her fidgeting. She stiffens, and he pulls back at once. I remember what he said to me, how he didn’t want to tell me the truth about his past because he couldn’t bear it if I stiffened when he came near.
Is this what he meant? He doesn’t want me reacting the way his foster parents do?
What on earth is going on?
I’m still smiling. Smiling so hard it hurts. “When was your last visit?”
“We came...” Gaby trails off and looks to Phil.
“I can’t remember,” he says through tight lips.
My hand lifts to my pendant. I feel uneasy and embarrassed, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t stopped to say hello.
“It was six months ago,” Joel reminds them.
Gaby nods. “That sounds about right. Joel usually visits us, but sometimes we come to him. Not often, though.” She presses her lips together, like she’s said too much.
“That’s nice that he visits you,” I offer.
“I guess it is,” Gaby says after a strained pause.
Pressure builds in my throat. I want to leave this strange tableau, but I can’t come up with a graceful exit.
“How do you know Joel?” Gaby asks.
“Through a mutual friend,” I answer.
Phil’s eyes snap to mine, then cut to Joel. His forehead crinkles, as if to say, You have friends?
My eyes widen a fraction. I clutch my pendant tighter. Inside me, every alarm light starts blinking.
Another sharp silence falls.
Only Gaby risks a glance at me. And I swear what I glimpse in her eyes is concern.
I look at Joel. His face has completely closed down.
“Kenzie, thank you for stopping by,” he says, and the remoteness in his voice curves my shoulders with mortification.
It’s painfully obvious he doesn’t want me interacting with them. It feels like he’s embarrassed by me. Hurt floods my chest.
“Sure, no problem. I have to go anyway. I need to get back to my dog.”
For the first time, Gaby shows interest. “You have a dog. What kind?”
“A beagle,” I tell her. “Joel helped me train him.”
The strangest thing happens. Gaby’s face goes white. And Phil’s lips tighten even more until they practically disappear.
“You should keep your beagle away from Joel,” she blurts out.
“That’s enough,” Joel says in a low, cold voice. A tone I’ve never heard from him.
A chill lifts the hairs on my arms.
Phil looks up at me. “Joel is allergic to dogs,” he says.
I suck in a tiny breath. He’s lying. Joel has spent hours with Turbo, and never once shown a reaction. Unless he’s been taking antihistamines every time. But that wouldn’t explain the times Turbo and I bumped into Joel unexpectedly, and he showed no symptoms.
Why would they warn me to keep Turbo away from Joel?
All I want now is to leave.
“Goodbye. It was nice to meet you both,” I manage, forcing the words past the knot in my throat.
I know the hurt is written on my face. I know Joel can see it. He’s able to read me better than anyone. I wait, hoping he’ll say something, maybe apologize, maybe invite me to sit, but he does none of those things. He lets me go. And that hurts most of all.
It’s only when I’m out on the street, breathing air not weighted with unbearable tension, that I realize what disturbed me most about that whole encounter.
It was the way his foster parents behaved around Joel.
They acted like they were afraid of him.