Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
TARYN
The days after the party are busy and happy.
Every day, I run the kitchen at Marvin’s diner, which is busier than ever. At night, more often than not, Hawk’s truck is idling out back to pick me up, and I fall asleep wrapped around him in bed after spectacular sex.
Grandma June is charming the physical therapists, asking when she can have a proper kitchen again instead of having to drink “this dishwater they call coffee.”
“We'll need her discharge plan in writing within the month,” Mrs. Oakley says.
“Home address, living situation, ground-floor sleeping arrangements or a stairlift, who'll be with her during the day for the first while.
Outpatient therapy twice a week, so somewhere with transport.
It's all very standard, dear. You'll have it sorted in no time.”
I write it all down on the back of an order pad.
“And Taryn?” Mrs. Oakley’s voice softens. “June talks about you every day. Whatever you're building out there, she can't wait to see it.”
I hold it together until she hangs up. Then I stand in the dry-goods cupboard trying to breathe until the lunch rush saves me.
During lunch a man comes in. He’s wearing pristine hiking gear that looks expensive. He doesn't order. He asks for Marvin by name, hands him a thick cream-colored envelope, and leaves a business card on the register like a tip.
Marvin opens it right there at the counter.
“They want to buy the building. Rotmere. The whole block, it sounds like. I have a month to accept.” He laughs, except it sounds bitter. “That's a whole lot of zeroes for a diner my grandma opened with her egg money.”
The whole counter goes quiet. Lila stops with the coffee pot mid-pour and old Mr Garmello turns up his hearing aid.
“You’re not selling,” Lila says. It isn't a question.
“Course I ain't selling!” Marvin folds the letter back into the envelope with shaking hands. “But that money… it could do a lot.”
I scrape the flat-top so hard my elbow aches.
Weeks ago this diner was getting by, invisible, safe.
Then a tour bus stopped, and the specials started selling out, and people started driving over the pass to visit.
Hawk's word floats up at me from the boathouse story he told me.
Rotmere keeps track of everything that does well in this valley.
The diner did well because of me. I made it shine, and they noticed.
At the counter, Lila's little girl is parked at the end of the counter with a coloring book, the way she is most afternoons after school while her mama works.
That night I sit cross-legged on the bed in Viv's blue room with an envelope and a pencil, and I try to make the math work.
What June needs, within the month: a ground-floor bedroom. Someone home during the day, at first. Transport to therapy twice a week. An address that will still be an address in six months’ time.
What I have is a rented room up a flight of stairs, lovely and temporary, rent paid in croissants. A job I adore that ends when Gus's gallbladder finishes healing, in a building that may belong to Rotmere in a month. And Hawk.
I love him. I write that on the envelope too, because it's the truth and makes more sense than math.
I love his gravelly voice. I love that he gave me his grandmother's secret recipe and how safe he makes me feel.
But I can't make Grandma's recovery stand in the same space as my heart.
I traded myself to Keith for what he promised, and that promise evaporated with sixty dollars folded in a letter.
Bishopsdale has cheaper rent. It isn't much of a future. But June needs a ground floor room and I intend to make it happen.
And there it is, in pencil, on the back of an envelope. The answer I hate.
I write a note to Marvin first. I thank him, I tell him Gus's kitchen taught me more in weeks than some kitchens teach in years, and I copy out the venison and huckleberry special onto a recipe card. A recipe is the only thing I have worth leaving.
Viv's note is quick to write, because Viv will understand.
The blue bedroom was as perfect as you are. Thank you. My grandmother needs a ground floor room, and I need to find a secure job and a home for her. One croissant owing. I’m leaving a note at Marvin’s and some money for the croissant. T.
Hawk's note takes me the whole night.
Every version sounds like Keith's letter. I'm sorry. You deserve better. I sit on the floor with pages around me and my hand over my mouth so Viv won't hear me crying.
In the end I tell him the truth, that Grandma June needs me to provide for her. Not to come after me, because it’s not fair on him. And that he’s the best man I ever met and I don’t want him to hate me. I’ll have to mail it to him once I’m back in Bishopsdale.
While it's still dark I carry my suitcase down Viv's stairs in my socks, leave her note by the coffee pot and my key on top of it, and let myself out into the cold.
The mountains are going pink behind the town as the sun rises.
The depot's three streets over. Marvin's is on the way, near enough, and his envelope is the last thing holding me here. I cut down the alley to the back lot, ready to slide it under the door.
But the kitchen light is on.
The smell of baking reaches me and my feet stop.
It's Wednesday. Hawk bakes on Wednesdays.