Chapter 8
Elias
When I came home last night, I expected more drama. I was tense and ready to verbally spar again with Nora. But, by the time I dragged myself back after hiding out at Jessi’s place with the kids, the fight had left me.
She was curled up in bed, tissues all around her, wearing her grandma’s robe.
How in the Helsinki was I supposed to stay mad when she looked so pitiful?
“I’m going to do better,” I tell Clo who’s splashing around in the birdbath the sparrows like to bathe in. “I can be a nice human.”
Clo flutters his wings and chirps at me. I think he believes me. He’s seen it and knows I’m capable.
The sun hasn’t breached the horizon yet, so it’s gray out, but I love the kiss of a hello from the early morning. It’s so peaceful and quiet. If you get up early enough, you can spend all the time you need with the beginning of your day.
I pick up my coffee mug and bring it to my nose, inhaling the nutty tones.
I’m not one to add sugar and creamer, but I do love a specialty brew and am always game to try new flavors.
Mom picked this one up at one of the bougie newer shops.
Imported from France. It’s our little secret.
Monroe’s baby sister, Hattie, doesn’t need to know we tried something new.
We’re all still major Baked & Brewed patrons.
The hot, rich flavor of the coffee makes my taste buds sing.
I hear the snicking sound of the French door closing.
When I glance over, I’m not surprised to see Nora still wearing her grandma’s robe.
She’s no longer wearing the dress from yesterday and her hair is wet from a shower.
Beneath the robe, she’s wearing soft, gray capris and a matching T-shirt.
Her grandma’s slippers flop across the hardwood deck as she takes a seat.
Without looking my way, she sips from the teacup that typically sits by Goldie’s bedside.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she says softly. “I grabbed some of your coffee.”
I don’t ask why she’s drinking from a teacup because I know. She’s grieving right now and wants to feel closer to her grandmother. For the first time, I see a soft, vulnerable human version of her.
“It’s what it’s there for,” I murmur, voice gruff. “I can make more.”
She slides her feet out of the slippers and brings her knees to her chest, hugging them with one arm. All her makeup has been washed away, and her eyes are swollen from crying. Her shoulders are slightly slumped in defeat. Guilt tugs at my insides knowing I didn’t help things yesterday.
“Back home,” Nora says absently, “people don’t do this.”
“Drink coffee?”
She cants her head to the side, electric blue eyes meeting mine. “Relax. Sit without looking at their phones. Do nothing.”
“Doing nothing is my favorite thing to do.” I snort out a small laugh. “And that’s why I’m best suited for small-town living.”
When I lift up my “Not in a Hurry” mug, she grins at me. In the dim morning light, it brightens the space. Not sure I like that.
“In the city, there’s a place on the corner near where I live,” she says as she inhales the scent of her coffee, “and it has great coffee and vibes. But, if you’re not there with plenty of time to spare before work, you’ll be late.
They’re always so busy. It’s straight chaos, too.
Baristas are yelling when orders are ready and customers shuffle about like zombies on crack. ”
“You’re painting a nightmarish picture.” I smirk and sip my coffee. “Why not make your own?”
“Ohhh,” she croons after taking a sip. “Because it doesn’t taste like this.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes. Then, little by little the sky starts blending purples and blues. Soon, it’ll be pink and orange as the sun makes her debut.
“It’s so peaceful here.” She sighs heavily. “I don’t remember this part.”
Resentment rears its ugly head, and I almost snap out something rude. I swallow down some coffee instead. As much as I don’t understand her reasons, I am trying to be pleasant to be around. Because Goldie would want me to.
A small breeze smelling of salty air and strawberries dances our way. I’m reminded that I need to check on the strawberries today. There were a few that were close to being ready.
The sunrise continues its watercolor transformation from one end of the spectrum of colors to the other end.
I drink until my cup is empty and then set it beside me on the table.
Clo thinks I’ve summoned him because he leaves where he’s been perched on the side of the birdbath and lands on the edge of my mug.
“Can I help you?” I say to my bird friend.
He chirps and sings his pretty little bird song. Then, he turns, pokes out his but, and craps into my cup.
“For funkytown’s sake, bird!”
Clo yells back at me and flaps his wings angrily. Nora giggles and I ignore the way it makes my chest tighten.
“Not funny,” I grumble.
“Not true,” she throws back. “I’m just trying to decide what’s funnier. The fact your bird friend sang you a song before pooping in your coffee cup or that a big, mean lumberjack said funkytown instead of—”
Clo hushes her with angry chatter. He clearly learned that from Goldie.
“Your grandma wouldn’t let me curse,” I say quietly, mostly to myself. Pain inside my heart has me antsy to leave this uncomfortable conversation. I quickly rise to my feet, shoo the budgie off my mug, and then gesture inside. “I need to wash out my mug.”
I bolt inside, eager to escape. Sometimes the emotions swarm over me out of nowhere. I’m a grown man and crying in the cookie aisle of the store because you no longer have to buy the Pecan Sandies for your elderly roommate sucks. It hits out of nowhere and is embarrassing.
After washing out my mug twice for good measure, I pour another cup.
Rather than going back outside, I lean against the counter and sigh heavily.
Outside, I can see my truck, and I’m reminded that I eventually have to go back to work.
My clients are understanding, but I can’t expect that of them for too long.
“Elias…”
Nora appears, wearing a small, guilty frown. “I ran you off, didn’t I?”
“Nah.” I drop my gaze down at my scuffed work boots. “Just needed to deal with my mug and get a refill.”
“So, you’re coming back out with me?”
I jerk my eyes back up to meet hers. Vulnerability shines bright. I may resent her, but I also feel a bit protective over her. Maybe it’s some misplaced sense of duty toward Goldie, or maybe I just don’t hate her as much as I want to.
“How about some breakfast? Do you ever slow down to eat that?” I ask, eyebrow hiked up. “Don’t tell me you’re a Micky D’s kind of girl.”
She laughs. “Actually, I don’t eat breakfast. Just coffee.”
“Sit down. You’re eating today.”
For once, the tiny woman doesn’t argue. Making breakfast gives me something to do. I enjoy cooking and liked when Goldie was here so I wasn’t always eating alone.
I hear a chirp and notice Clo sitting up on the refrigerator. He’s a sneaky little critter. Always shows up out of nowhere when food is cooking.
“Out of here,” I tell him. “I can’t trust you not to dive-bomb the hot skillet.”
“I’ll put him away.”
He throws up a bit of an argument but eventually lets Nora collect him. Once he’s safe inside his cage in her room, she returns.
“You’re good with him,” she says as she slides back into her seat at the bar.
I get some bacon frying and then set to cracking eggs. The air is thick with tension. It’s as if Nora wants to ask me something but can’t find the nerve. For as bratty as she was yesterday, I didn’t ever imagine that to be a problem for her.
“Okay, so I’m just going to address the elephant in the room,” she rushes out. “I’m sorry.”
I glance over my shoulder to frown at her. “For what?”
Her bottom lip trembles and I quickly turn my attention back to my eggs. I don’t like criers.
“For treating you the way I did.” She sniffles and chokes out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t know. About Grandma. Living here, I mean.”
My shoulders tense. Again, if she’d have thought to pay the old woman a visit or even ask, she’d know. Irritation keeps my teeth gritted together, unable to respond. I finish breakfast quietly. By the time I plate up our food, she’s watching me warily.
“She’d been here about a year,” I say, voice hoarse with emotion. “Needed my help.”
Because you and your mom weren’t there for her.
I don’t say those words though I truly want to.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’m grateful she had you.”
I give her a clipped nod before tucking into my meal, inhaling it like it’s going to scurry off the plate.
“This is amazing. Where’d you learn how to cook so well?”
After devouring the rest of my food, I push my plate away and meet her gaze.
“My grandma Dot’s been a waitress at The Budgie Café probably since the beginning of time.
She’s learned a thing or two and taught me on summers when I was out of school with no babysitter.
Spent a lot of time in that restaurant trying to stay out of trouble. ”
Nora smiles as if she’s imagining the scene.
It’s a boring one. Me and my siblings used to drive Grandma Dot insane because the café was dull compared to all the trouble we could get into on Wing Whirr Way if she’d cut us loose.
She never did. We got stuck doing tasks she didn’t want to do like filling ketchup bottles, rolling silverware into napkins, or cleaning baseboards.
Sometimes I think she just made crap up to keep us busy.
We clean up the kitchen together and the quiet is nice. I’d never admit it, but having someone around again sure curbs the utter loneliness that not even an aviary full of budgies can fill.
Once clean, she disappears to her room to get dressed. I slip outside to take care of the aviary chores. The budgies sing to me, all of them eager for more millet, greens, fresh water, and seeds. I clean up all their crap that they somehow manage to get into every crevice everywhere.
When I hear voices out front, I follow the sound, a little surprised to see Mom and Dad standing outside Dad’s truck. Nora, now dressed in a pair of cutoff denim shorts that show off long legs and a pink fitted T-shirt, talks to them, gesturing toward Goldie’s cottage.
I prowl over to them, smirking when my mom beams at me.
“Come here, honey,” she says, pulling me to her for a hug. “You need a beard trim. Get Jessi to do it. Why didn’t you when you were there last night?” She pulls away to tug at my beard and shakes her head. “I’m serious.”
Dad claps me on the back and grins. “You didn’t tell us Goldie’s granddaughter was here.”
And I specifically didn’t tell my older sister either, so how they found out is beyond me. Stupid small towns.
“I messaged them through their website,” Nora admits, confusion marring her features. “When you suggested them, I didn’t realize it was your family.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t change that they’re the best at what they do.”
Nora rolls her eyes at me.
Mom turns her back toward her and not-so-discreetly says, “She’s adorable.” When she starts the eyebrow wriggling, I grunt and shake my head.
“No,” I say, firm and with no room for argument.
She pats my chest and flashes me a sly grin. “We’ll see.”
We. Will. Not. See.