“Her family owned the diner, and I’d go there every day after school for a chocolate soda just to see her behind the counter,” he reminisced. “I didn’t even like chocolate soda.”
I laughed. “True love.”
“I finally invited her to go to a movie with me, and her answer was, ‘Well, it’s about time, Charlie Frankel.’ I think I asked her to marry me on our first date,” he said, chuckling fondly. “And she said she would.”
“That’s sweet,” I said. “Sometimes you meet someone, and you just know.”
He nodded. “Exactly right. And if you know, what’s the use of wasting a whole lot of time hemming and hawing about it? Everyone said we were too young to get married—we were only eighteen—but I’m telling you, we just knew. And we had seventy years together. Isn’t that incredible?”
My throat tightened. “Yes. It is.”
He sighed. “I miss her every single day. But I feel lucky I had her as long as I did.”
“I’ve heard wonderful things about her baking,” I said. “That apple pie must have been something else.”
“It was. It was.”
“Do you know that’s what brought me to Bellamy Creek? I saw the sign on the highway advertising the best apple pie in the Midwest since 1957, so I got off the road and came looking for it.”
“Isn’t that something?” Mr. Frankel looked pleased.
“Of course, I was sad to learn the pie doesn’t exist anymore.”
He shook his head. “No one can replicate it, although plenty have tried. But Betty had a secret recipe she never shared with anyone. It won a national contest. That’s how she got such a big reputation.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“I always told her she should open up her own bakery, but she never wanted to. She said she was content baking pies and things in small batches for the diner just like her mother had, and raising her family. She volunteered a lot too. She loved this town. And people loved her.”
“I can tell.”
“She was special,” he said, getting misty-eyed. “And I want people to remember her. If just anyone could bake that pie, they’d forget her.”
I reached out and put my hand on his arm. “I don’t think this town will forget her. I never even met her, but I can picture her behind the counter just like you described, with her big brown eyes and curly dark hair, wearing a white apron and waiting every day for you to come in for a chocolate soda you hated.”
The smile was back on his face. “She knew I hated it too. Later she confessed she and her sister Louise would laugh about how funny my face looked as I choked the last of it down.”
I laughed, patting his arm before rising to my feet. “Thank you for sharing your memories with me. I needed to smile today.”
“Anytime.” He stood too. “I’m sad you’re leaving, Blair. I’ve really enjoyed your company, and we’ve talked all about me the entire time.” He shook his head. “Betty would be in fits!”
“That’s all right. I don’t really have a story to tell yet anyway. I’m sort of . . . a thirty-year-old work in progress.” I smiled and felt my throat catch. “But I hope I find a happily ever after as wonderful as yours.”
He smiled. “You will.”
“You think so?”
“I know it. Now you might have to be a little patient,” he said as he walked me down the porch steps toward my car. “As my wife would attest if she could, sometimes it takes boys more time than it takes girls to work up the kind of courage you need for a love story. I mean, even two people who are meant to be together are going to have their trying times and misunderstandings. You’re going to say things and hear things that sting. But you don’t give up.”
I turned to face him. “I won’t.”
“Thank you for coming to see me today. I don’t get many visitors.”
Something occurred to me. “Mr. Frankel, do you know Doris Applebee?”
“Sure, I know Doris. She grew up over on Elizabeth Street. I knew her husband Roy too. He passed a few years back.”
“Well, Mrs. Applebee was in the garage the other day, and she happened to mention how much she loves chatting about local history. In fact, she mentioned some interest in putting together a walking tour of the historic district.”
“Did she? That’s a good idea.”
“I think so too, and with your knowledge of the homes on this street and your family’s heritage, I think you’d be a real asset to her. Maybe you could invite her for tea sometime.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mr. Frankel looked distressed. “People might talk.”
“So let them!”
“And she might not want a partner on the project.”
“Well, you can find out, can’t you?”
“And I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was trying to replace Betty.”
“I don’t think a single soul would imagine that.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll consider it.” Lost in thought a moment, he gathered himself and focused on me. “Now don’t be a stranger, okay? You come back and see me. Turn off the highway when you see the sign for the pie.”
Laughing, I rose up and kissed his cheek. “I will. But they should probably take that sign down, don’t you think?”
His cheeks turned red. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“That’s my sign. I keep it up because I want people to remember her,” he said sheepishly. “But I’m sorry that it led you off course.”
“You know what?” I smiled at him, even though my heart was heavy. “I think the best journeys have a lot of twists and turns, don’t you? They’re not just a straight line. And you have to be open to following your heart and seeing where the road takes you. My heart brought me here, and I’m not sorry.”
But as I drove out of town and got on the highway, I cried like a baby.
Twenty-One
Griffin
The night after Blair left, we lost our baseball game to the Mavericks.
It wasn’t the championship game or anything, but it was the final game of the regular season, and losing to them sucked.
The entire game was a shit show. Moretti reinjured his groin sliding into third, Cole threw more balls than strikes thanks to his sore shoulder, and I got into it with the first base ump after he made a bad call in the bottom of the ninth. The Mavs’ runner was clearly out—I know I was on the bag with the ball in my glove when he ran past me, but the call was “safe.”
Since I was already in a shit mood, my temper flared and I argued it, getting in the guy’s face, poking my finger against his chest, asking him if he was fucking blind or just stupid.
Of course, he threw me out of the game, and I called him some other names I regret, because then he started threatening to ban me from the league.
From behind the plate, Beckett pushed his catcher’s mask up and came jogging over to first base. “Hey, hey,” he said, pushing me back from the ump. “That’s enough. What are you doing?”
“This guy’s a fucking asshole,” I said. “He can’t throw me out of the league.”
“Wanna bet?” said the ump, going toe to toe with me again.
Beckett pushed me back again and stepped between us, facing me. “My guess is that he can, Griff, so just calm down, okay? This isn’t like you. Smithy’s gonna come in and cover first. You go sit down.”
“No. Fuck this guy.”
“I said go sit down.” Beckett glared at me, and since I didn’t want to get in a fight with him too, I tugged my cap lower on my forehead and shouldered past both of them. After striding over to the dugout, I threw my glove to the ground, and plunked myself onto the bench next to Cole, who was sitting with a plastic bag of ice on his shoulder. He said nothing as the game started up again, which pissed me off.
“What?” I said angrily.
He glanced at me. “I didn’t say anything.”
“The guy was out,” I stated as if Cole had argued with me.
“Okay.”
Silence.
“What, you don’t agree with me?”
“I don’t know if that guy’s a moron or not. But I know my daughter is in the stands watching this game.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, feeling guilty for the first time.
We watched as the Mavs scored two more runs, and we struggled to get to two outs.
“We look like shit tonight,” Cole said, shaking his head. “We’re just not playing good ball.”
“The calls have been against us all night,” I insisted.
“Maybe. But we’re making a lot of mistakes too. We’re just not on.”
“Yeah.” Watching Moretti blow an easy throw to first, I shook my head. “Maybe you’re right. I know I’m off tonight.”
Cole readjusted the pack on his shoulder. “I heard Blair left town yesterday.”
“From who?”
“A few people.” He was silent a minute. “You gonna see her again?”
“I already told you. No.”
“That her choice or yours?”
“It was a mutual decision,” I lied. “And I’m done talking about it.”
“Okay.”
The game ended five minutes later when the Mavs’ biggest hitter homered with two guys on.
“At least our record still gets us into the championship game,” said Cole as we packed up.
“We better get our shit together by next weekend.” I glanced at his shoulder. “Rest that arm.”
“I will.”
The guys all wanted to go drown their sorrows at the pub, but I decided to call it a night. I wasn’t in the mood for people, even my friends. Instead, I offered to take Mariah out for ice cream and told Cole I’d drop her off at home afterward. “Is that cool?”
“Yes!” Mariah jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “Say yes, Dad!”
Cole shrugged. “I guess it’s okay.”
“Good.” Then I tugged one of Mariah’s braids. “I’d have taken you no matter what he said.”
She grinned. “Can we go to the place by the water with the waffle cones?”
“We can go anywhere you want.”
“Why don’t you come by the pub after you drop her off?” Cole asked.
“Nah,” I said. “I don’t feel like it tonight.”
Twenty minutes later, I was walking along the pier next to Mariah, who was doing her best to devour a massive amount of Mackinac Island Fudge ice cream in a waffle cone. The sun was going down, but it was still hot out, and rivulets of chocolate were running down her face, the cone, and her hands.
“We should have gotten more napkins,” I said. “You’re a mess.”
“I don’t care.” She licked the inside of her wrist. “I saw you get mad during the game.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“You said cuss words.”
“I did. Sometimes I do that when I get mad. But it wasn’t very nice.”
“When Daddy says those words, Grandma says she’s going to wash his mouth out with soap.”
I laughed. “She’s been threatening to do that since your dad was your age.”
“Did you know my dad when he was my age?”
“I did.”
“What was he like?”
“Hmm, let’s see. He was a fast runner—but not faster than me—and a great swimmer, and he loved Power Rangers and magic tricks—although he wasn’t very good at them.”
Mariah giggled. “He still isn’t.”
“But he was the nicest guy in the class, and everyone wanted to be his friend.”
“What did you guys like to do during the summer?”
I thought back to those hot, sticky, sunny summers of our youth. “We played a lot of baseball. We rode our bikes. There used to be a treehouse in my backyard, and we spent a lot of time in there.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t even remember. Talking about baseball and trying to keep out the girls.” I paused. “Until we wanted them to notice us.”
She was quiet for a minute, trying to keep up with the melting ice cream. “Did you know my mom?”
“I sure did.”
“What was she like?”
I remembered what Cole had said about Mariah being curious about her mother and afraid to ask him. My heart ached as I thought for a moment, trying to remember all the best things about Trisha. “She was really cool. She was a softball player, and we used to joke she could hit better than your dad. She was crazy smart and teachers loved her. She was our class president. And she was a really good nurse too. One time, I cut myself on something at work and she came over and stitched me up.”
“She did?” Mariah looked impressed.
“Yes. And it didn’t even hurt.”
“Grandma says I look like her.”
I glanced down at her and smiled. “I agree. And that’s a very good thing because your mom was cute but your dad looks like a grumpy old troll.”
She giggled. “Sometimes he acts like one too.”
We walked a little longer in silence. Mariah finished the cone and licked her fingers, palms, and wrists. Even so, she was a mess when I dropped her off at Cole’s house—chocolate ice cream like a beard on her face and all over the front of her pink shirt.
“Sorry,” I said to Mrs. Mitchell at the door. “She’s a little chocolaty.”
Cole’s mom laughed and patted Mariah’s head. “That’s okay. She’s going straight into the tub. Did you have fun, sweetie?”
“Yes!”
“Say thank you.”
Mariah turned and wrapped her arms around my waist, her cheek pressed against my ribs. “Thank you, Uncle Griffin.”
I hugged her back. “You’re welcome.”
“I love you,” she said, surprising me. She’d never told me that before.
“I love you too, kiddo.” I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d told someone that. Or heard someone say it to me. I’d forgotten how deeply the words could burrow into your bones.
On my way home, I thought about how lucky Cole was to have a daughter.
Back in my apartment, I popped the cap off a cold beer and studied the contents of my fridge. Blair had gone grocery shopping while she was here, so there was a lot more to choose from than usual, but I didn’t feel like making anything. I was about to order a pizza when I heard someone knock on my door.
Puzzled, I went down the stairs, beer in hand. The door had no glass pane, so I had to open it to see who was there.
It was my sister.
She held up a brown paper bag. “I have food. Can I come in?”
“I guess. Since you have food.”
She followed me up the stairs and started unpacking takeout from the pub on the kitchen island. “When you didn’t show up, I figured you were back here nursing your sore ego, so I thought I’d play good sister and bring you dinner.”
I gave her the finger. “Want a beer?”
“Yes, please.” She took the plastic cover off a container holding a burger and fries and lifted the top of the bun before sliding it toward me. “This one’s yours. Mine has no onion.”
I popped the cap off a bottle of Two Hearted Ale and handed it to her. “Thanks.”
Cheyenne sat on one of the island stools across from where I stood, and we dug into the meal. “So,” she said after a couple minutes. “Rough game.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll get ’em next weekend.”
“I hope so.” I took a long swallow of my beer.
“That doesn’t sound like your usual cocky self talking.”
I shrugged. Took another sip.
“Poor Cole,” she said with a sigh. “Do you think his arm will be okay?”
“If he rests it.” Then I couldn’t resist a little jab. “Why don’t you offer him a massage?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”
“Come on. You’ve been wanting to get your hands on him for twenty years.”
&n
bsp; “What?” she shrieked. “I have not.”
“Please.” I took a huge bite of my burger and chewed while I watched her face go from pink to purple. “I’m not an idiot.”
She grabbed her beer and tipped it up. “Does he know?”
“I have no idea. He’s never said anything to me about it.”
“You can’t tell him,” she said. “Ever.”
“Why would I tell him?”
“I don’t know.” She set her beer down, picked up a fry and put it down again. “Now my stomach hurts.”
“For fuck’s sake, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Yes it is, Griffin!”
“So if you feel that strongly about it, why not ask him out or something?”
“Because I can’t! I just can’t.” She shook her head. “And anyway, he always says he doesn’t want to date.”
“True,” I admitted. “Guess it sucks to be you.”
Frowning, she picked up the fry again and threw it at me. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I’m kidding.” I picked up the fry from the floor and tossed it into the trash. “And maybe he does want to date, but he’s worried about Mariah.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. I’m just thinking that it can’t be easy to think about dating when you’re trying to raise a kid on your own. He worries about her all the time. In fact, I meant to ask you if you knew any child therapists. He’s looking for one.”
“He is?” Cheyenne’s face grew concerned. “Is Mariah okay?”
“I think so, but she’s dealing with some stuff, and he thought it would be helpful for her to talk about it with someone that’s not him.”
She nodded. “Totally. And yes, I do. Should I reach out to him?”
I thought for a moment. “You know what, I’ll tell him to reach out to you.”
“Perfect.”
We finished eating and opened two more beers. “So can I ask about her now?” Cheyenne ventured.
“No.”
“Griffin, come on. What happened?”
I took a long drink. “I made a mistake.”
Drive Me Wild Page 22