21. Harmony
CHAPTER 21
Harmony
“ I think that’s it.” Amanda puts away some of her favorite pans in the kitchen of The SeaSong. I’m so relieved she finally agreed to come to the SeaSong full-time. We have an agreement that she can use the kitchen to concoct her private orders as long as she pushes the SeaSong when she caters by suggesting serving my coffee at events she caters and the like. It’s going to be the start of a wonderful partnership, I can feel it.
“Please arrange the kitchen in a way that suits you. I’m not married to its setup, and it’s important you’re comfortable here.” I laugh when she moves some of the pans I just helped put away to a different area.
It’s late. Both Kelleher’s Booksellers and the Hardware Guys are long closed. Amanda will be here early every morning baking, and it’s such a relief for me. I don’t love the baking part. Coffee is what I love. The music, too. Even the business part is something I enjoy.
The baking is necessary but not something I feel particularly gifted at. I’m glad Amanda finally caved and agreed to work for me directly. It’ll be easier not getting up at the crack of dawn to deal with deliveries. She’ll make all her baked goods here, including taking special orders and working deliveries.
“This is your kitchen, please treat it that way.”
“But The SeaSong is yours.” Amanda stops what she’s doing and frowns.
“Yes, it is. But I want the kitchen to be your domain. Organize it how it makes sense to you so that you can work efficiently. I need a baker, and to keep my baker happy, my kitchen is very much hers. I’m just so excited you finally said yes to my offer.”
We’re going to be good friends, I can already tell. Which is good for me because I’ve really needed one here of late.
“I think I’m good,” she says standing up, hands on her hips.
“Here,” I say as I hold out a key on a ring with a coffee cup charm.
“You’re sure?” She lifts her skeptical eyes to me as she takes it. “You trust me here alone in the morning?”
“Absolutely. Plus, you being here early lets me come in a smidge later, and I’m all about sleeping in for a few minutes. Not having to get up for deliveries—yep, I’m sure.”
“This is awesome. Can I hug you?” She extends her arms and we embrace.
“Absolutely. I love a good hug.” It makes me think of my dad and how much I miss his hugs. How much I miss Vi’s hovering concern and love. I even miss Fend, the fish daddy, and his precocious teenage ways.
“This really is a dream come true. I don’t know why it took me so long to decide. Thank you, Harmony.”
I walk her out the back door, going over the alarm system before walking her to her car. After she pulls away, I head back into The SeaSong. Some nights, I just like to hang out here and envision the music show that’s now only a few weeks away. I’m so grateful Gibson offered his band and talked the Little Rebs into it, too.
The entire band family will be here. Just thinking about it makes me a little teary eyed. As much as I talk about the huge shadow they cast, I realized after Sammy and Gibson left that I do really miss having my family close. I want to show off the café—most haven’t seen it. But that also comes with its own set of issues—mainly telling my parents about the baby. This kind of news is best in person. At least, that’s the excuse I tell myself in efforts to feel a little better about keeping it from them.
I walk into the sitting area of the café and stand on the little stage, envisioning the song I’ll be singing with Gibson. Singing onstage is something I put behind me. I’ve always loved it. I was the singer in the earliest incarnation of The Little Rebs while Gibson flittered between drums, guitar, and co-singing.
My love for singing is ironic since my dad doesn’t sing much. Usually, he does it only when he’s writing music when he’s at home. He shares some of it with the band, but there’s so much more he keeps close to the sleeve. His way of working through emotions when they overwhelm him.
I sing a few lines of a Halestorm cover in acapella to the empty café just to test what it will feel like to be onstage again. The acoustics in here are amazing—I lucked out there. I didn’t even think about it when I bought the place.
I don’t think Gibson understands that music was always just a hobby for me. I like to sing. I’m good at it according to my parents and Gibson, but it’s not what I wanted to do with my life. I’ve seen the life of a musician—with my dad and the Rebels. They make it work, but I’ve also seen the dysfunctional side of it from being backstage with the bands the Rebels toured with.
I leave the stage and sit at one of the tables. They’ll all have to be moved for the show and stored somewhere—the back store room, I guess. It exhausts me just thinking about it, but Gibson made me promise I’d let them do it. The small booths that line the edge of the coffee house will be reserved for the family of the bands.
I’m about to leave when I hear what sounds like a crying cat outside. Cupping my hand to the window, I look for the poor kitty in the dark. It’s no kitten though, it’s an older woman, and it looks like Claire Kelleher. She’s wearing a lilac robe, the fuzzy kind that ties at the waist, its belt flying behind her like a furry tail. She’s got slippers on, the kind that open in the back, and she walks with her body tipped forward. Why is she out there alone? This isn’t right. I open the door to the café and call out to get her attention.
“Anthony?” she cries out loudly, wringing her hands as she walks in the direction of the beach access point down the road, clearly shaken.
“Mrs. Kelleher?” I call out as I approach her, not wanting to spook her. She stops and looks around, her eyes finally stopping on me.
“Oh, dear girl! I’ve finally found you!” Her body visibly sags with relief, comfort etching back into her muscles.
I take her elbow and gently guide her toward The SeaSong. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do with her. I don’t have a number for Toby, and I don’t want to call the police and cause him trouble. Yes, he’s been a grade A asshole to me, but his mom obviously has memory issues. Leaving her outside to fend for herself would be the worst decision.
Once I have her seated safely inside, I lock the front door again and give her one of the scones from earlier in the day. She squeals, her whole face brightening. “Oh, how I’ve missed these. Do you bake them?” She asked me this every time I visited her in the hospital.
“No, my friend Amanda does the baking. They’re delicious, huh?” She nods as she eats. Unease uncurls in my stomach as I watch her. “Do you know your phone number, Mrs. Kelleher?”
“Of course.” Crumbs gather on her chin and fall as she speaks. “5-5-7-9-Humboldt.”
That’s not her phone number. At least, not these days. I’m not sure if it’s a phone number at all. “Okay. Um… Do you know your address, Mrs. Kelleher?”
She blinks and looks at me, her lip starting to quiver. “I don’t… I don’t seem to remember.”
“That’s okay.” I pat her back, trying to reassure her. “We’ll figure it out and get you home.”
“I don’t want to go home. I want to go to the beach.” Claire’s eyes sparkle with a fleeting clarity I only saw a few times I visited her in the hospital.
“The beach?”
She nods vehemently. “He probably snuck off to the beach. My Anthony and I love the beach. Our son Tobias goes, too.” Maybe she knows the way home from the beach? Plus, who am I to take away her wish to see the ocean? I, too, go there for comfort, especially when I’m homesick. And, sometimes, I even talk to Sevenya as if she’s floating alongside me out there on the waves.
“It’s dark outside. Are you sure you want to go out to the beach right now?”
“Oh, I really do. Please.” She works her adorable little old lady eyes on me, and I know that we’ll be heading down to the shore.
I turn off all the lights in the café, then we head out to my Jeep. I make sure she’s warm and help her up into the seat, handing her a bag of day-old beignets for the ride. She hums as she snacks on them, enjoying the short ride down to the shoreline, which is only a quick five-minute walk, but I don’t want to risk her walking in the dark.
I’m not sure if it’s the snacks or the fact that she’s in a car, but she seems to be in much better spirits than when I found her wandering down Ocean Street. She’s not wringing her hands in discomfort or calling out for help.
I don’t take her to the beach where my Jeep broke down—the stairs there would be too much for her, especially in the dark. Instead, I drive her to the closer access point where tourists flock during the day. It’s flat, less rocky, and she’ll be able to maneuver easily. However, I’m not letting her get anywhere near the water.
After I park, I open the door for her, and she brings her bag of fried doughy treats along. Locking elbows with Claire, I escort her carefully to the edge of the parking lot where she slips off her threadbare slippers and steps into the sand with me. The sand is so much colder than it is during the day, and I love the grit between my toes as tension I didn’t realize I was holding onto drains from my body into the sand. I hope it has the same effect on Claire. It’s clear to me that she has dementia or something similar. She was always bouncing in and out of different periods of her life when I’d visit her.
It must be hard for Toby, who’s obviously tending to his mom and his business at the same time. It can’t be easy becoming the caretaker to the person who raised you.
Even though I don’t like him very much for what he did to my heart, I still feel empathy for his circumstances. I don’t think he has anyone to help him besides the mysterious Mrs. Peabody. I’m not sure who she is or how she fits into this picture, but she was there when his mother fell.
Claire bends over, picks up a handful of sand, and lets it fall between her fingers. Her smile is stretched so wide, I can’t help but smile back. She plops down into the sand and waves her hand back and forth, smoothing the sand rhythmically while she scrunches her toes in it. I sit next to her. We enjoy the rough sand against our skin and the salty mist blowing in from the ocean waters on our faces.
We sit side-by-side for who knows how long, not talking, just enjoying the mighty Pacific. The tide is low so we aren’t close enough to the surf that I worry about her safety. It’s fairly warm, too, considering how close we are to the water in the moonlight.
“I love the water,” she murmurs, picking up a soft gray feather out of the fine sand.
“Me too. The first place my dad took me was the ocean when I came to live with him in California. It became our thing. My mom liked to surf but not as much as my dad and me.”
“Oh, brave girl. You can surf?” She stops raking the sand as she looks at me.
“It’s exhilarating. I love it. It’s my favorite thing to do. I haven’t done it in a long while, though. I promised my uncle and my dad that I wouldn’t surf unless I had someone to go with me, and I don’t know many people here in Port Haven yet.” I drag my fingers through the sand rhythmically, and it makes me think of Uncle Sammy. Of how he surfed with me when he came to visit.
“My Toby will go with you. He loves to surf,” she offers.
“He would?” I doubt it. He was the one who pushed me away, not the other way around. Visions of the wet hem of his pants in the hospital cafeteria come to mind. The longing way he looked at my mom’s surfboard in my living room. Like he missed the act of riding the water out far enough to catch a wave. I know how that feels.
“Tobias would spend his entire day at the beach if you let him. I think he’s a little older than you, dear, but I am sure he’d love the excuse to go out on the water.” She smiles and reaches out to squeeze my arm. At this moment, she seems okay. Like there’s nothing causing her to forget who or where she is. She seems…healthy.
“You shouldn’t give up something you love,” she continues. I can tell you love it just like Tobias does. He tries to be like his father, but I know that he loves the water just like me.”
I tear up. I can’t help it. She reminds me of Miss Shelly with all her love and encouragement. My mom, too, with the way she loves the ocean.
“Mom!” Toby’s voice shouts through the darkened evening, worry evident in the bark of his voice.
Claire startles from the abruptness of it and turns. “He’s not my son!” she declares, a frightened look on her face as she slowly begins to back up in the sand away from him.
He trudges through the sand, drawing closer. “What the hell were you thinking bringing my mom here?” he shouts at me. “She’s elderly. She’s not in any shape to be at the beach, especially in the dark with a woman who doesn’t know her.” He visually assesses his mother who is now cowering on the sandy shore behind me as a pair of police officers jog toward us from the empty parking lot beyond.
“Toby, calm down,” one of the officers says as he arrives at our location. There is a note of familiarity in his voice. Like he’s familiar with Toby and possibly his mom.
Toby pushes past me and goes for his mom, supporting her weight as he urges her to her feet and then makes a show of brushing sand off her. “We’ve been looking for you for hours, Mom. Why did you leave the house?”
I hear her mumble about the sand as one of the officers stands with Toby and his mom. The other takes my information. I figure it’s standard procedure while they meet and confer about what’s going on by their respective vehicles, still with the blue and red lights on.
As they talk just out of earshot, the officer who took my information returns to me. “Okay, ma’am, I need you to turn around for me and put your arms together behind your back.” He reaches to release the cuffs from his belt, and I back up, dazed and confused as to what’s going on.
“What? Wait!” I put my hands up between the cop and me. He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m here to help Claire.
“You’re under arrest for endangering an elderly person not in your care.”
“Are you kidding me right now? I found her wandering around downtown. She didn’t know her address. She asked me to bring her to the beach.”
The officer grabs me by the wrist and spins me away from him as he tightens the handcuff around one of my wrists. I wriggle my other arm away from him and attempt to look him in the face.
“This is a misunderstanding. I was going to call. She begged me to go to the beach. All she did was sit and tell me stories about Toby as a kid. I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t want Toby to get in trouble. I was hoping she’d remember the way home after our trip here!” The officer talks right over me, his bored, loud voice reciting my rights but it’s all just a blur.
“Do you understand your rights?” He asks, his firm grip on my arm tightening as he expertly moves us toward the two cruisers in the lot.
“What?” I’m not trying to be cute or stupid but he rolls his eyes at me and then reaches for my free hand.
Everything moves quickly in the haze. The officer arresting me puts his hand on the back of my head and roughly shoves me hard toward the cruiser. My body has a mind of its own and tries to break free. “Stop resisting!”
I instinctively double over to protect my abdomen. In efforts to keep my baby safe from hitting the SUV, my head strikes the vehicle instead.
“I’m pregnant!” I scream, out of breath while attempting to shield my nugget. “Stop pushing me. I’ll go! Don’t hurt me, please!” Not thinking, I try to turn again to talk to him directly, but he spins me back to face the car and pushes me face first against the cool metal of the hood. I turn my head, and he pushes his arm against my ear, locking me in place.
“That’s what they all say.” His knee presses between my legs to hold me in place as he pats down my body. I go limp, trying to prove I’m not resisting. He continues to hold me there. My whole body shakes as I rest against the car.
Hot tears flood my eyes and cascade down my face as I hiccup out a sob. “I was trying to help. To be nice.” I say it quietly, mostly to myself.
This is bad. So, so bad.