Chapter Seven Pancake Capital of the World #3
Maria sits at the breakfast bar next to Tom, our local mechanic. Opposite him is Eddie, our postman, and Fran, my former English teacher. A booth near the window holds my retired pediatrician. In the one next to it is a familiar face, maybe from high school theater?
Please don’t tell me this is—
An A-frame whiteboard outside the front stoop reads January Town Hall! Free coffee, free opinions.
Oh God.
My phone buzzes.
Griffin: Ten minutes out (Sent with Car Assist)
Is it too late to tell him to turn around?
I already know that answer, though. On these winding mountain roads, it’d be asking for trouble. So how do I explain this mess to him? He’s gonna think I lured him here. That I immediately thrust him in the town spotlight.
I step out of my car. Windy, dry air whistles past, blowing my bangs out of place and tangling them with the rest of my hair whipping around my neck. I pull everything into a ponytail as I crunch across the lot.
When I open the chipped yellow door and step inside, a bell dings. Heads turn in my direction. Even though the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner still croons John Denver, the rest of the conversation goes silent.
Finally, someone calls out, “Beverly!”
It signals the rest of the diner to rush me too.
“Your momma said you’d be back in town!”
“Oh my God, look at you!”
I’m immediately engulfed in a hug from someone beside me. It turns out to be Eddie. “Hey, kiddo.”
“How have you been, Bev?” Fran, still looking the picture-perfect image of an English teacher, complete with a cardigan and pearls, sits beside him with a steaming cup of coffee. “How’s LA?”
“Good, good” is all I can think to say. I stiffen as more eyes find me. The weight of their gazes presses me deeper and deeper into the checkered tile floor.
“Did you move home for good?” someone else asks. “Did it not work out?”
A laugh bubbles out of me. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t want to.
I shake my head. “No, just working on some personal projects.”
My mom appears from the back, rag in hand and a beaming grin across her cheeks.
“All right, y’all, leave her alone.” Momma laughs with the same smile I see in the mirror, save for some extra wrinkles.
Her blond hair is lighter than mine, shimmering even more now that silver has sprung from her roots.
“Aw, c’mon, we’re just asking questions,” Eddie says. “Catching up.”
Momma purses her lips, looking so much like Nana.
“Only ask the good ones, y’hear?” she says, slapping out the rag to nudge his coat.
Momma is no nonsense. Always has been. Cheryl Lark likes working, walking on trails, and scrapbooking. I’ve never even seen her reminisce over scrapbooks when she finishes, almost like she’s tucking the memories away to clear her mind for more. Cheryl Lark doesn’t have time for nostalgia.
When she strides away with her notepad, Maria takes the opportunity to snag my arm.
“Hi, sweetie. I hear you’ve got a new boyfriend.”
My stomach drops. I feel like I’m driving up those mountain switchbacks all over again.
I force a smile and shrug. “Oh. Just…I don’t know.”
Don’t break her heart completely.
I’m normally so confident, but being back here feels like being sixteen again.
“I thought you and Beau were still a thing,” Fran throws in. “He’s mighty impressive. What with winning awards and all that.”
“He does win awards, I guess,” I agree.
I want to crawl into a hole and die. Shovel me in with dirt. You know what? I’ll even go alive.
The restroom door swings out, and Nana shuffles over the threshold, bundled in her marshmallow coat. Her lips part in shock at the sight of me.
“Bevvy?”
I walk over and loop my hand through the crook of her arm, leaning in to mutter, “This is a town hall. Why didn’t you tell me this was a town hall?”
“Didn’t think that detail mattered.”
“I should not be here,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m meeting Griffin.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s today?”
“Yes,” I whine.
She nods to herself as if thinking, then finally says, “You know what? That’s completely fine. We’ll figure it out.” She pats my hand. “Maybe it’s good you’re here. We have lots to talk about.”
“But Griffin is—”
“I know, and—”
“What can I get you, Ma?” my mom asks.
“Coffee,” she says, leading us to an empty booth. “For me and Bev.”
I smile despite my blood pressure rising. She knows coffee is the way to my heart.
We take our seats across from each other, and I remove my thick coat, then set it on the seat beside me. “Now,” she says, all business. “This is all going to be fine. How far away is Griffin?”
“Probably five minutes.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, shoot. Okay, I mean, yes, that’s good. That’s good.” She’s repeating herself, as if now parsing the situation on overdrive.
“Is it?” I near-hiss.
The kitchen door kicks open. Uncle Greg emerges from the back with two cups of coffee nearly overflowing. He wears a tie-dyed shirt and cargo pants. His messy blond hair is in a hair net that looks more like a bird’s nest.
“Hey, you made it!” he says. His face falls. “Wait, I thought you didn’t want to attend a town hall. Isn’t the musician guy coming today?”
I place my thumbs on my temples and churn into my skin.
What have I done?
“Okey dokey, then,” he says. “Existential-crisis time. Good to know. Well, I’ve got your coffee.”