Sadie #2
Heading for the front door, my mom narrows her eyes at me from her spot on the couch. "Are you okay?"
I nod. "Yeah, I’ll be back soon." My words are rushed as my feet slide into my sandals and I push out the front door. Bounding down the steps, I start my trek on the sidewalk. But when I spot our neighbor's trash can—a plan clicks into place.
Peering around to make sure Mr. Bradley isn’t outside, I quickly extract the book from my bag and shove it inside the bin.
That’ll show her!
It’s silly, but I keep looking around as if someone will have spotted me doing something illegal, or Beth will pop out and know I ditched it.
I made the mistake of putting one bag of trash in my neighbor's bin across the hall two years ago—the rage on his face when he found out still haunts my dreams—and this feels similar.
Continuing toward 1793 Diner, the warm summer breeze coasts across my skin. I should feel guilty for throwing out the book when Beth gave it to me, but all I feel is relief. And honestly, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Stepping up to the glass door, I push on the metal handle and slide inside.
"Well, now… how long has it been since I’ve seen that sweet face?" Josephine, Beth’s sister, smiles at me before continuing to refill napkin holders.
Not a single thing has changed since I last visited.
Red jewel-toned booths line each of the three exterior walls that don’t contain the kitchen, below clear glass windows.
The same chrome bar with an off-white top that’s aged from years of patrons eating on it sits off to one side of the room.
Small stools that match the aesthetic dot the bar to provide the old-school feel this place has always had.
It’s like a fifties soda shop or something you’d see in an old-timey movie.
There’s even a jukebox that I’m not convinced ever worked sitting angled in the far corner, leading to the bathrooms.
I smile softly at Josephine, noticing her long hair that’s tied into a neat bun.
I worked here for years in high school and summers during college, and the entire time I’ve known her, like Beth, she never shows signs of aging.
There’s not a single streak of grey amongst her golden strands.
It’s a bit bizarre, but then again some celebrities look the same no matter their age.
Making a mental note to ask her what vitamins she takes, I walk further into the diner.
"I couldn’t come back to town and not stop in." I shrug, taking a seat in the booth furthest from the door. It’s my booth, the one I spent hours doing homework in—hours preparing to leave this place.
Jo nods before hitting the button on top of the Bunn burner to start a fresh pot of coffee.
I watch from afar as she works through setting up everything needed for a normal weekend brunch rush, and I’m surprised when a wistful feeling in my chest takes over.
I’ve never missed working here, at least not doing the actual job.
Yet something about knowing what she’s going to do next, even after all these years, has me ready to grab an apron to assist.
Taking a deep breath to remind myself of the agenda I planned, I sink further into the springy booth and look through the menu I could practically recite word for word.
After a few minutes, Jo slides up to my table. She places a coffee mug down and fills it with 1793’s specialty blend of rich hazelnut java.
"You dropped this on your way in the door." She places her free hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly, before sliding the freaking puzzle book across the table.
My mind is racing. How the hell? What in the? There’s literally no way.
I glance up at her, trying to decipher whether this is some sort of joke. "Beth gave me that." I slide my hand over the leather binding, and chills run up my arm. "I need to return it. Is she here? There’s something—"
"No, she’s on vacation." Jo sets the coffeepot on the table behind mine. "You need to do it, Sadie. She gave it to you for a reason." There’s a hint of disdain in her voice that gives me pause.
What reason? To drive me crazy? I’ve never been a fan of busy work and that’s exactly what this is.
A ruse, a hoax, a freaking trick meant to make me see that there’s more to life.
But guess what? I don’t need it or want it, especially with the weird way it keeps showing up in places.
It’s not quieting my mind—it’s making me lose it.
I shake my head. "No, I literally just saw her last night." I’m not saying her sister doesn’t know where she is, but it’s only been like twelve hours and she never mentioned leaving. "I need to see her now," I demand.
Jo smiles at me once more. "Early flight, she went to visit our other sister on the French Riviera. Are you ready to order?" Jo digs into her apron pocket and pulls out her notepad.
I ignore her subject change. "Okay. When is she coming back?"
Instead of answering me, she grumbles, then simply turns and walks away. Apparently, she is done with my questions.
Fine, two can play that game.
I stand from the booth, darting behind the counter to grab a to-go cup—I’m not a monster, the coffee is coming with me.
Once I’ve poured my hazelnut drink into it and secured the lid, I grab my bag and march toward the exit, leaving the book sitting right where Jo set it.
She can return the damn thing or burn it for all I care.
I pick up the pace when she glares at me and our eyes lock, but I don’t back down.
I’ve faced off with NHL coaches, kids’ parents, the media—I will not lose whatever staring contest she’s trying to have.
I hear the door jingle faintly, but before I can turn my head, my face collides with something solid and my bag flies to the ground.
I stumble backward, catching myself on… Mr. Wallingham?
The portly man in his late seventies frowns as his coffee flings to the left. The edge of the ceramic mug hits the edge of his wife’s plate, catapulting scrambled eggs in the air, and a baby somewhere I can’t see cries out—probably in the same horror I feel.
"Sorry, I didn’t—"
"I wasn’t looking, I—"
"Smart Sadie?"
My shoulders tense at the nickname coming out of his mouth, and my head spins, meeting his gaze for the first time in years.
"Max?"
The boy whom I tutored for a whole three weeks during junior year of high school has transformed into a man—a man that’s staring at me. My skin heats in embarrassment.
He drops down, grabbing my bag and shoving the contents that spilled out all over the floor back into it.
I scan the items, hoping and praying that a super tampon isn’t lying out for all to witness, but even worse, his fingers are wrapped around the brown leather book.
This honestly isn’t funny anymore! Max stands and slips the bag onto my shoulder.
"Thanks."
"Yeah. How’ve you been?" He smirks at me, and while it’s kind of adorable, it also reminds me of every player in the locker room that’s at one point or another tried to get my attention.
If I didn’t have time for Brett Burns, the Flames' resident flirt, I for sure don’t have time for this golden retriever to be smiling at me.
After what just happened, I don’t have time for anything other than getting the hell out of dodge.
"Max, it was good to see you, but I need to go." I turn slightly, whispering an apology to the couple whose breakfast was ruined, then shove past him, pulling the door open and making my way toward Mom’s. I’m halfway across the parking lot when he calls out to me.
"Sadie, I think you dropped this." Max jogs over to where I stopped, sliding a letter into my hand.
Without saying another word, he turns and goes back toward the diner.
I look down at the crinkled envelope that’s only marked with my name on the front in Beth’s handwriting.
Knowing I have no other choice than to let this thing wreak havoc on my life or take control of it, I move to a bench across the street, sit down, and slide my fingers under the edge to open it.
Sadie-
I know that you’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell you I was leaving. And the truth is twofold. I didn’t want to put a damper on our only day together, or for you to think you could get away with not completing the puzzles I gave you.
Was it that obvious that I found the whole thing kind of bizarre?
I mean, I love crosswords. I swear by them for many reasons, such as memory control, fun, stress relief, and even how they’ve helped me broaden my vocabulary.
But I don’t really see how filling out a book of them is going to do anything in the way of getting my job back or helping me discover my future.
That’s a little too presumptuous, even for me.
When I was younger, I was lost. I felt trapped in a life that wasn’t authentic, and I acted out often because of it.
While that may not be the same thing as the stress you’re feeling from work, it has the same root cause.
Happiness, true fulfillment in life, is only found when we embrace the things that are uniquely designed for us.
And you, my girl, are not doing that. I’ve watched with bated breath as you’ve strung yourself out to build the career you sought.
But I cannot sit idly by and watch it any longer.
I don’t understand why she never said anything.
Beth and I have always had a very honest relationship, the kind where we can call each other on our bullshit as soon as it happens.
This makes it seem like she hasn’t agreed with my choices for a long time, and while I wouldn’t change any of them, I can’t believe she said nothing.
There are things you don’t know about me, things that have been kept secret for far longer than you could ever imagine. I need you to trust me and take this seriously, Sadie. Seize the moment and complete these puzzles before my return—your fate quite literally depends on it.
Here are a couple of clues that will help along the way:
Two is always better than one.
What’s over three but less than five is a number in time.
A whisper in the wind is where the fun begins.
When something is right, it’s like a golden light.
With all my love,
Beth
I sit staring in disbelief at the letter.
This is all so ridiculous. Yet, there’s a weird knot in my stomach and an itchiness in my brain telling me to actually do this.
I’m not one to back down from a challenge typically, but this can’t really be more than a simple distraction that she cooked up to keep me from spiraling out about work.
I grab my coffee cup, pulling the top off to make sure it’s cooled enough to drink.
As I raise it toward my lips, my eyes catch on words floating right on top.
It’s elaborate, like the fancy latte art that you’d get in a boutique coffee shop, except I never put cream in my coffee.
I blink my eyes three times, convinced that I’m seeing things.
But when I open them once more, the words are still there: Trust Me. — B.