2. Gabby
“Food’s up,” Ricky calls from behind the cook’s line. I grab a tray and start gathering the plates. It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon. Ms. Daisy opens the cafe on Sundays at eleven after morning church, and we usually draw a big crowd.
“Thanks, Ricky,” I say, balancing the tray on my hand and nodding towards the front. “Looks like the wait is starting to dwindle.”
He grins and flips the spatula he’s holding in the air. “Don’t jinx us now!”
I’m just rounding the corner when the chatter from the diners becomes quiet.
“Well, if it isn’t little Heath Atkins,” Ms. Daisy practically shouts.
I spin in place and come face-to-face with the only man I’ve ever loved. The tray slips off my hand and crashes to the floor. People start clapping, though for him or my gracefulness, I’m not sure.
“Hey, you okay?” the new girl, Patty, asks. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you go clean up?”
I glance down at my pants. Bits of french fry and other lunch items are stuck to my clothes. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I nod. “Thanks,” I squeak out before rushing past her and through the stainless steel swinging door that leads to the kitchen.
“Whoa,” Ricky says, reaching for me. “Are you okay, Gabby? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He glances through the cook’s window to the front where I can still see Ms. Daisy talking with Heath.
“Yeah, I’m not feeling so well. Will you let Ms. Daisy know I had to go home early? It’s slowing down, and Patty can take over for me.” I untie my apron and drop it into the laundry basket Ms. Daisy keeps in the back.
“Sure,” Ricky says, giving me a small smile. “Hope you feel better.” He raises his eyebrows like he knows what’s going on, but no one does. Not really.
I always knew he’d come back to town one day. Especially now that Mrs. A’s health isn’t so good. I thought I was prepared.
Guess not, Gabby. You just dropped a whole tray of food when you saw his face.
I slip out the back door and make it into my jeep without anyone stopping me. I turn the key and wait for the engine to warm up. The ole girl was my dream car, but she’s finicky. Like the unbroken horse I saw down at Apple Blossom Ranch when I was a kid.
After what feels like forever, I’m finally able to ease out of the parking lot and head down the main strip towards home. I’ll have to call Ms. Daisy and apologize. And I’ll probably owe Patty a coffee from the Coffee Loft before our next shift together. I’ve never just left work like this before.
I flip on my blinker and turn into my neighborhood. Juniper Woods, where my Gram and Pop bought their house all those years ago, is a small subdivision just outside of the main part of town. It’s a cute little area, with big ole oak trees, and front porches complete with swings.
I pull into the drive and groan. Something has gotten into the trash cans—again.
I jump out of the jeep and put my canvas bag on the little table by the front door before assessing the damage. Not as bad as last time. I look down at my food-splattered clothes and sigh. May as well pick it up now.
I unlock the front door of Gram’s house. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to think of it as mine. I step inside and slip off my work shoes. I make my way through the living room and into the small kitchen at the back of the house. Opening the pantry door, I reach in for the garbage bags, but the box is empty.
Of course it is. I haven’t been grocery shopping this week.
So, I decide to use the plastic grocery sacks from my last trip when I forgot my reusable totes. I snag a handful and walk back to the front door. I slip my feet into the rubber slides I keep there for running to the mailbox, and step back outside.
It takes me nearly half an hour and almost all the grocery sacks to pick up the mess. I glance at the garage door, stuck in its down position for the past year, and sigh. At first, it wasn’t a big deal. The garbage cans were outside when it got stuck. Thank goodness, because they don’t fit through the side door into the garage. I considered keeping the bags in the garage until trash day to avoid animals getting in it, but it stunk up the whole garage and created an ant problem. Clearing up the ants made dealing with the occasional yard mess seem worth it. Since Gram passed and left me the house, it seems like one thing after another keeps going wrong.
I’m not going to complain. I have a home—that’s more than most people my age can say. So what if it’s older and needs a little more TLC than I can provide right now?
I finish tossing the garbage into the outside can and push the lid on tight. “There, that ought to do it.”
“Ought to do what?” a voice calls.
I jump and let out a little scream, slapping my hand to my heart. “Goodness gracious, Lacey, you scared me!”
Lacey looks at me and shakes her head. “What happened to you?”
I laugh. And then I keep laughing until I’m doing full-on belly laughs. The kind that when you see someone doing it, you worry about their sanity.
“Uh-huh,” Lacey says. “It’s worse than I thought.” She takes my arm and guides me back to the house.
“Go take a shower and get out of . . .” She waves her hand up and down in front of me. “That. I’ll start the tea.”
I nod, still chuckling to myself. “Thanks, Lace.”
She flicks her wrist and wrinkles her nose. “Don’t thank me. Go change. You smell like hot garbage and yesterday’s lunch.”
“That bad?” I ask, turning to the hallway that leads to my bedroom and bathroom.
“Worse,” she calls as I slip through the bedroom door.
The smell of baking cookies drags me from my room with my hair still wrapped in a towel. “You found stuff to make cookies?” I ask, surprised.
Lacey sputters and chuckles at me. “Uh, no, girl.” She motions to the small counter hidden by the refrigerator. “I came prepared. I know you never have groceries.”
She bumps the oven door closed with her hip, a tray of chocolate chip cookies in her oven mitt-covered hand. “Ms. Daisy called me after you hightailed it out of there.”
I drop my head. “Oh, I suppose I should call her now.”
Lacey places the tray on the stovetop and drops the shark-mouth oven mitt onto the counter. “No need. She understands.”
I sigh. “No one understands. Not really.”
Lacey stares at me long enough I start to squirm.
“Yeah . . .” she says. “I think people understand more than you want them to.” She raises her eyebrow in challenge. “Now, go sit down in the living room. Tea and cookies coming right up.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Lacey makes a shooing motion with her hand and pins me with her best “do as I say” look. She’s a natural at this adulting thing, and ever since she started dating Knox, she’s mastered the “mom” look.
I flop down onto the sofa, drag the throw blanket Mrs. A made for me onto my legs, and settle in. I glance at the mantle where Gram kept framed photos of all her special moments. Man, I miss her.
“All right,” Lacey says, placing the tray of cookies on the ottoman and handing me a mug of steaming tea. “I’ll be right back, then you’re talking.” She spins on her heel and heads back to the kitchen without giving me a chance to get a word in. This is going to be a long night.
Lifting the delicate cup to my mouth, I blow across the steaming hot liquid, pink and gray roses peaking at me from below the tea. I loved these cups as a young girl. Gram would set out finger sandwiches and Earl Grey Tea cookies, pour us each a cup of tea with honey, and we’d have a wonderful afternoon imagining ourselves having high tea with the Queen of England. I smile as I take a sip, letting the warmth and memories soothe me.
“There,” Lacey says as she sits on the sofa next to me, her cup in her hand. “Now, spill it.”
I debate how much to share. Seeing Heath today was a punch in the gut, for sure, but I’ll be fine once he leaves town again. “I was surprised, that’s all.”
Lacey frowns. “I don’t believe you,” she says, taking a sip of her tea before leaning over and grabbing a cookie from the tray.
I shrug. “Rosie didn’t tell me Heath was coming home to visit.” I leave out the part where I didn’t stick around to see his wife . . . baby’s mother . . . What is she exactly? Rosie had never been clear about that, and I hadn’t asked, choosing to keep as much conversation between the two of us away from that topic as possible.
“From what I understand, Heath’s back home for good.” Lacey pops the rest of her cookie into her mouth, waiting for that news to sink in.
“Oh,” I say, putting effort into seeming unaffected. “That’s nice. I’m sure his mom will be thrilled to have them here.”
“Them?” Lacey asks, confused.
I make a show of zipping my lip and throwing away the key like we did when we were kids. “Not my news to share,” I say. Wondering for the first time why no one else in town seemed to know about Heath’s child. “Can we just eat these cookies and watch a rom-com?” I ask, grabbing two cookies for myself. “I really don’t want to think about Heath’s surprise homecoming anymore.”
Lacey pats my knee and smiles. “Sure. I don’t have to open tomorrow, and Knox is home with Matti, so I don’t need to rush. We can watch two rom-coms, really make an evening of it.” She laughs and tucks her freshly dyed purple hair behind her ear.
“Maybe I’ll dye my hair,” I murmur as I grab the remote for the TV and pull up my streaming service. Fifteen dollars well spent, if you ask me.
“Oh, no you don’t! Your hair is so pretty the way it is. Blondes have more fun. Isn’t that what they say?”
I turn and pin her with a glare. “Does it look like I’m having fun?”
Lacey laughs. “Well, not yet, but you will be by the time we’re done with these movies.”
I settle on The Princess Bride, even though we’ve seen it a million times. The princess is stolen, and her long-lost love comes to save her. True love. If only love really withstood separation like it does in the movies.