Chapter 35 #2
“No, don’t insult me,” he replies.
“Insult you?” My eyebrows shoot up.
“When you eat inside my truck with me, you’re no longer a customer. You’re my guest,” he explains with gentle warmth, disarming my protest.
“You’re very kind, thank you, Sal.” I offer him a grateful smile and take another bite.
“My pleasure,” he replies, taking a bite of his burger and following it with a long sip of Pepsi.
Sitting here with Sal, in this little pocket of unexpected kindness in a world that’s been feeling hostile lately, calms the anxiety that’s been churning inside all day.
He watches me as I tilt the can back and take a drink, his expression thoughtful. “So you work at a coffee shop?”
“I own one, actually,” I reply, picking up a fry.
Sal gives a short, appreciative chuckle. “Impressive. Here in downtown Madison?” He presses a finger on the stainless steel counter between us.
“State Street,” I nod, “Maddy’s Place. You should come visit with your wife. You’ll be my guests.”
“Gracias, thank you, but you don’t have to do that,” he replies, catching my meaning right away.
“It would be my pleasure,” I insist.
His smile widens as he places a hand over his heart in a genuine gesture of thanks.
“I can see it’s a lot of hard work,” he states, brow furrowing slightly.
“Not really, I have a great team,” I am quick to correct him. “It’s just been a really tough day for me.”
“He said the same thing yesterday,” Sal says softly, almost to himself.
He pauses, as if making a decision.
When he looks back at me directly, his eyes are full of a knowing sympathy. “He stopped by last night, you know.”
He?
My head snaps up, heart slamming against my ribs.
“Matty,” Sal clarifies, seeing my reaction. “And he looked very much like you did when you got here.”
“Matthew was here last night,” I repeat in a daze, fingers gripping the neckline of my sweater.
He leans forward just a fraction, his voice dropping lower, full of concern. “Everything okay between you two?”
I shake my head, staring past his shoulder. “I said something I shouldn’t have. Really didn’t mean to hurt him.” My eyes well up.
Sal reaches for the square metallic dispenser and hands me a napkin. “Don’t worry carina, that boy’s got more scars than you can see. It’ll take a lot more than words to break him.”
Sal’s words land with a quiet detonation inside me.
My hand freezes midway to dabbing my eye, the napkin hovering uselessly. My gaze snaps up to meet Sal’s, searching his serious face.
Scars.
The word echoes, suddenly clicking into place alongside the memory of Matthew’s visceral flinch, the closed-off look in his eyes, the tremor in his hand.
The realization deepens the pit in my stomach, twisting the guilt into an aching empathy.
“What kind of scars?” I ask in a raw whisper, needing to understand.
“Lo siento,” Sal presses his lips together. “That’s for him to tell you.”
I give a slow nod. “Except he’s not talking to me.” My admission scrapes past the lump in my throat.
“Amy, in all the years and all the times Matty’s been here, you’re the only girl he’s brought to this truck.” He pauses, and I can tell from his steady gaze that he’s waiting for the words to sink in.
My surprise must be plain to see, because he repeats, gently but firmly, “The only one.” He looks me straight in the eye. “I saw the way he looks at you, mija. That night you were here together. And what I saw…” He shakes his head slightly, dismissing my despair. “That wasn’t nothing.”
Even though Sal’s words contradict everything I’ve felt since Matthew’s departure yesterday, they still manage to silence the frantic loop of self-blame in my head.
Finally, I find my voice, though it’s hoarse. “Thank you for telling me this, Sal,” I say sincerely.
It doesn’t change the silence from Matthew, but hearing Sal’s perspective is a welcome consolation. A warm stone dropped into the icy pool of my anxiety.
Sliding off the stool, I gather my empty soda can and cardboard box. “Well, Sal,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I can’t thank you enough for the amazing burger and lovely company. But I’ve kept you long enough.”
Sal gets up too, taking the trash from my hands with an amiable smile. “Anytime, Amy. Anytime. You know where to find me if you need another burger, or just someone to talk to, eh?” His eyes are kind, offering open-ended support without prying.
“I can see why you mean so much to Matthew,” I tell him with a grateful smile. “I’m really glad he introduced us.”
“Likewise, mija.” Sal beams. “And don’t worry too much. Things have a way of working out.”
“I hope so,” I whisper, descending the metal steps. “Goodnight, Sal.” I turn to look up at him.
“Buenas noches.” He waves.
I return his wave and walk away.
Instead of turning toward my car, I find myself drawn the other way, toward the quiet, open space of the Capitol grounds.
Gravel crunches under my shoes. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves in the tall trees overhead.
Elegant, old-fashioned lamps cast pools of warm yellow light, illuminating patches of manicured lawn and intricate stonework of nearby benches, leaving stretches of pathway in deep, velvety darkness.
Ahead, the Capitol itself rises, massive and silent, its floodlit dome a luminous pearl against the dark expanse of the night sky.
A slow, deep breath fills my lungs. The first easy one I’ve taken in what feels like days.
As I stroll, my thoughts drift to the unexpected kindnesses that have surfaced amidst the wreckage of the past few days.
There’s Sal, welcoming me into his truck, sharing his meal, and quietly believing that what Matthew and I have “wasn’t nothing.”
There’s Lou, with his unwavering faith in my “grit and passion” and his wisdom about love and fear.
And Helen, with her fierce loyalty, her exasperated worry, and her immediate, unquestioning offers of help.
Then there’s Matthew.
Especially Matthew.
Despite the painful rift between us, he helped me against his own client, offered unconditional care, and opened his home to me. He’s irrevocably part of this web of support.
These people.
This community.
My steps slow as a realization crystallizes under the soft lamplight.
All those years I spent drifting, from one city to the next, one temporary life to another, always searching for something I couldn’t quite name.
I thought home was a place.
A zip code.
A building with sturdy walls.
But maybe I was wrong.
Looking up at the quiet majesty of the Capitol, I can feel the presence of Lou’s, Helen’s, Sal’s, and Matthew’s kindness surrounding me.
Maybe home isn’t just a place.
Maybe it’s the people who make you feel you finally, truly belong somewhere.
Maybe that’s why Madison stuck. Why it burrowed under my skin in a way nowhere else ever did.
The thought ignites a fierce, protective surge that burns away some of the exhaustion and despair.
No.
I will not let James and his poisoned loan, or Bancroft and his calculated greed, drive me away.
Not again.
I’ve spent too much of my life being pushed, being transient, letting circumstances dictate my path.
This café, this life, these connections…
I built this.
It’s messy, it’s hanging by a thread, but it’s mine.
My gaze lifts again to the very top of the dome, seeking the bright golden statue against the stars.
Forward.
Resilience.
Endurance.
A plan, however painful, begins to form, solidifying with each step I take along this winding path.
James’s disgusting demand. Public humiliation as the price for freedom. But if one night of degradation on Friday buys my freedom for good, if it severs his financial hold on my café forever, then it’s a price I will pay.
And Bancroft? Matthew and Lou are right. The petitions are more than just names on paper. They’re voices. Community. I’ll keep collecting signatures until those voices become a roar so loud Bancroft can’t possibly ignore it.
I won’t let Maddy’s Place go down without exhausting every option.
The path forward is steep, uncertain, littered with potential failures and heartaches. But standing here, breathing in the fresh air, surrounded by the quiet strength of the Capitol grounds, I don’t feel quite so lost anymore.
There’s a fight ahead, yes.
For my café, for this sense of home, for myself.
Am I tired?
Yes.
Heartsick?
Absolutely.
But defeated?
Not yet.