The Reckoning

by M. K. Easley

  “It's OK. Stop apologizing.”

  “Sor--” Tristan stopped herself, scrunching up her nose, and Beckett did laugh then.

  “Hey, how did your interview go yesterday?”

  “It went well, thanks. I start Saturday morning.”

  “Congratulations,” Beckett said, and Tristan thanked him.

  “You know, Rise and Grind is my favorite coffee shop,” Beckett told her, and Tristan knew he was lying.

  “Really? You have a favorite coffee shop?”

  “Mmhm,” Beckett nodded. “Rise and Grind. I'm there every weekend practically.”

  “Interesting.” Tristan eyeballed him, amused. “What's your favorite menu item?”

  “The uh, the um, the coffee. Plain coffee. I'm not fancy.” Beckett rubbed the back of his neck, then gave her a sheepish smile.

  Tristan laughed then, a rich, surprisingly throaty sound, and Beckett just marveled. She was beautiful, and suddenly the biggest regret of his life was that he hadn't made her laugh before now. Beckett smiled at her, and Tristan shook her head, smiling to herself as she looked down at her notebook.

  ***

  “Freak news alert,” Hattie said, approaching Emmeline, who stood at the bathroom sinks, fluffing her hair in the mirror.

  Hattie leaned her butt against the counter, and Emmeline looked at her with a mixture of annoyance and disinterest.

  “Our favorite witch was just getting chummy with Beckett out by the lake.”

  “What?” Emmeline asked, looking sharply at Hattie. “Chummy how?”

  “She dropped her shit everywhere and he helped her pick it up, and they reached for the same paper at the same time and had a moment. It was just like those cheesy teen romances you’re always making me suffer through on Netflix.”

  “What happened after that?” Emmeline asked icily.

  “They were laughing together on the bench, looking awfully cozy for just project partners.”

  Emmeline’s expression cooled, and she resumed fussing with her hair.

  “I'm not worried.”

  “You're not?” Hattie said, sounding like she didn't believe her.

  “Nope.”

  “You're planning something, aren't you?”

  Emmeline just smiled.

  ***

  By the time Tristan showed up for her seven A.M. shift at Rise and Grind on Saturday morning, she was a bundle of nerves. Olivia had balked at her early start time, but Tristan, who often got up at six-thirty regardless of whether or not they had school, didn’t mind. Starting at seven meant she’d be finished by three-thirty, and, while it wasn’t like she had plans anyway, she still felt like that left her with a good chunk of the day for herself.

  Taking a deep breath, Tristan entered the coffee shop, finding only a few customers milling about. The building was small and low-slung, but the inside -- all white brick walls, pale gray hardwood floors, and white tables and chairs -- was clean and cheerful, and smelled incredible. There was also a striking black mural of the New York City skyline on the wall behind the counter, upon which was written the cafe’s menu.

  Rise and Grind was located at the end of a small strip of shops, which included a thrift store, a dollar store, a fabric store, and a delicatessen, and bordered a spacious parking lot. Across the street and up a ways began another strip of shops, which were also flanked at the far end by a parking lot. This pattern repeated for several blocks, including a library and a movie theatre, combining to make a zig-zag pattern of a downtown, which, in Tristan’s opinion, was really the only interesting thing about it. Lavelle was a small town, but totally lacking in the charm that steady, healthy revenue afforded other small towns elsewhere in the States, which tended to look like they’d been transplanted directly from romantic comedies and onto their permanent landscapes.

  “Hey,” Ellie said, looking up as Tristan approached the counter. “If you go through that door in the back and turn right, you’ll be able to get back here behind the counter. Clock in, put your things down, and I’ll give you the tour.”

  Tristan did as she was told, and Ellie finished up the drink she was making, handing it off to the waiting customer.

  “There’s a lull right now, so I’ll show you around real quick.” Ellie started with the equipment behind the counter, briefly explaining what each piece did, then moved onto the dessert case, which housed a variety of traditional and specialty items. She led Tristan into the back, which was basically the kitchen. She pointed to a door against the far right wall.

  “In there is the cooking equipment for our allergy-friendly food. Most of that type is prepackaged, Joe comes in on Sundays and makes it all for the week, but once in a while we'll get a hot food order that will need to be cooked, like a breakfast sandwich or something. I'll handle those for now, but just know that when your time comes, there are specific precautions you'll need to take before you even go into that room, like washing your hands up to your elbows, putting on a smock, taking off your hat, and putting booties over your shoes.”

  At Tristan's surprised face, Ellie elaborated. “Joe has a nephew who's extremely allergic to nuts, like fatally allergic, so he takes the issue of cross-contamination very seriously.”

  “I see.”

  “That's pretty much it. We have a short order cook, Amos, who is here most days. If he's not, one of us will have to run the grill. He's here today, just stepped out for a minute. Our menu is mostly drinks, but we do offer some hot food, and then of course the baked goods. If you'll follow me out front, we'll get started on learning you the menu.”

  Overall, Tristan would call her first day a success. She mainly watched Ellie, though sometime after noon Ellie had her make the drinks while she watched. Tristan, as she suspected, created the beverages with ease from memory, and Ellie leaned against the counter, looking flabbergasted.

  “I’ve literally never met anyone who picks things up as fast as you do.”

  “I have a photographic memory,” Tristan explained, shrugging.

  “You have an eidetic memory,” Ellie corrected. “Which I didn’t think was actually a thing outside of sci-fi movies.”

  Tristan laughed, and Ellie looked at her thoughtfully.

  “I don’t really remember you too much from Jamestown. Who do you run with?”

  Ellie had graduated Jamestown the year before, going on to pursue a degree in digital arts. Tristan didn’t remember too much about her, either -- just that she’d been relatively quiet and studious, and had very much kept to her artsy friend group.

  “No one,” Tristan replied truthfully, feeling a little awkward. “I’m sort of a loner.”

  “I thought so. I remember your sister and brother, twins right? They were pretty popular, even as freshmen and sophomores. I always liked your brother.”

  Tristan raised her eyebrows, and Ellie’s cheeks turned faintly pink.

  “I mean, like, I thought he was funny. The lunch table I used to sit at was right by the one he used to sit at, and there was a lot of interaction between our groups.”

  Tristan nodded politely, not really sure what to say to that. Thankfully, a customer entered the shop then, saving the conversation from getting any more awkward.

  Tristan left Rise and Grind that day with a smile on her face. She'd been anxious over nothing, really -- the customers were fine, the job was easy enough, and Ellie seemed like she'd be very easy to work alongside.

  She arrived home to an empty house and showered, the smells of the coffee shop clinging to her hair and skin. When she was finished, she took her backpack out into the yard and sat down at the spacious patio table, spreading out her schoolwork. It was a beautiful day, and Tristan never could pass up an opportunity to sit in the sun. She opened a playlist on her phone and, as she worked, she sang along, feeling happier than she had in awhile.

  Chapter 10

  Beckett held out for three whole weeks before dropping by Rise and Grind to see Tristan, which he thought showed good restraint, considering he'd alm
ost shown up every day since she'd been hired. He rode his bike over on a Sunday morning, entering the shop to find nearly all of the tables occupied, one by Georgiana Luker and her family. Beckett nodded at her after she'd waved to him, wondering how she managed to look normal after all the drinking she'd done at the party they'd both been to the night before, then stepped up to the counter.

  “One sec,” Tristan said, not yet having seen him. She finished the drink she was making and placed it and a straw on the opposite counter, then looked over, her eyes going round when she saw Beckett. “Beckett, hi.”

  “Morning,” Beckett greeted, as Tristan approached. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I like your hat.”

  Tristan touched the black baseball cap, emblazoned with Rise and Grind in white, self-consciously.

  “Thanks. What can I get you?”

  Beckett scanned the menu, which he realized he could have been doing earlier, instead of staring at Tristan. She waited patiently, watching him, and Beckett had to force himself to focus on the wall behind her. There was a song playing in the café about how if something was meant to be it would be, and all he really wanted to do was watch Tristan watch him.

  “Let's go with the Milky Way,” Beckett said finally, settling on a chocolate caramel coffee drink. “Iced.”

  “A solid choice. Though I thought you were a plain coffee guy.” Tristan’s lips twitched as she wrote his name on his cup.

  “I usually am,” Beckett played along, paying for his drink. “But today feels like a good day to switch it up.”

  Tristan shook her head, smiling, and gestured with his cup.

  “I'll meet you at the other end.”

  Beckett moved down to wait, and a few minutes later Tristan handed him his drink.

  “There you go.”

  “Thank you. So are you liking it here so far?”

  “I am,” Tristan nodded, checking to be sure no customers were waiting.

  “It seems like it. I think I even saw you smile over there, but I don't know, it mighta been a mirage.” Beckett sipped his drink and grinned at her.

  Tristan feigned outrage. “Smiled? You must be mistaken. I don't do that.”

  “I saw what I saw,” Beckett said, and Tristan laughed, rolling her eyes.

  “I like smiling Tristan. I like laughing Tristan even better,” Beckett told her, looking at her in a way that made her breath catch a little.

  “What about confused Tristan?” Tristan asked, pulling a face. “Or just saw a spider in the bathtub Tristan?”

  Beckett laughed. “Those too. I even like angry Tristan, and I've never seen her, but I reckon I'd also like Tristan doing Shakespeare in the park.”

  Tristan acted out the emotions Beckett mentioned, adding a few of their own, until they were both cracking up.

  “Safe to say I like all Tristans,” Beckett said, his gaze lingering on hers until she’d looked away, blushing. He glanced toward the shop door. “Looks like you're gonna have to get back to work. I'll see you at school tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Tristan watched him go, waving to someone as he left. It was then that Tristan realized Georgiana and her family were still in the shop, and their table had a clear view of where Tristan was standing, which meant Georgiana, who never missed anything, had probably watched the entire interaction between Tristan and Beckett. This also meant, of course, that Georgiana would be reporting what she'd seen to Emmeline immediately.

  Tristan went to greet the new wave of customers, as well as Ellie, who sailed through the door in a rush of hellos and apologies that she was so late, putting any thought of Georgiana and Emmeline out of Tristan's mind.

  ***

  “Morning Tristan,” Beckett greeted the next day, as they passed each other on the way to homeroom.

  Jason, who was walking beside him, looked at Beckett in surprise, but made no comment.

  “Morning Beckett,” Tristan replied, returning his smile as she kept going. She'd seen him coming, had watched his eyes crinkle up as they often did when he saw her, and Tristan had told herself to be cool. She was reasonably proud of her effort, though she knew she'd probably smiled at him like a goon; their encounter the day before was still fresh in her mind, and Beckett's words had been the first thing she'd recalled when she'd woken up that morning. Safe to say I like all Tristans, he'd drawled. Gods help her, it was safe to say she liked all Becketts.

  Tristan was about to enter homeroom when Emmeline stepped in front of her in a suffocating cloud of perfume, blocking her way.

  “Did you hear the good news?”

  Tristan backed up a step, just looking at her.

  “Beckett and I are back together. Officially.”

  “What?”

  “That's right, Saturday night at Jason Dalton's early Thanksgiving party. Why else do you think Beckett was in such a good mood yesterday morning when you saw him? You didn't think it was because of you, did you?” Emmeline looked over her pityingly.

  “Ms. Strandquest, get out of my doorway and to your own homeroom, please,” Mr. Johnson, Tristan's teacher, called from his desk.

  Emmeline, smirking, moved out of the doorway, and Tristan shook her head, going into the classroom and taking her seat. So it had finally happened. Beckett and Emmeline had officially gotten back together.

  Tristan told herself to pay attention to morning announcements, to not be bothered by what she'd known was inevitable anyway, but it was no use. She was having feelings about the bomb Emmeline had dropped -- feelings she didn't care to explore, but feelings all the same.

  It just didn't make sense. Beckett seemed so… so… so normal, and so nice, compared to the company he kept. He was smart and thoughtful and observant, from everything Tristan had witnessed since she'd started paying attention, and really Emmeline's opposite in every way. Was being with the hot popular girl really more important than anything else? She was disappointed, Tristan realized, above everything else. She had thought more of Beckett, which had obviously been a mistake.

  The more Tristan thought about it, the more annoyed she became, both at the situation and at Beckett flirting with her even though he'd gotten back with Emmeline. His ego had probably been inflated to max capacity yesterday morning, coming off a night with Emmeline, and that thought tainted the whole memory of Tristan's interaction with him.

  By lunchtime that day, Tristan was well and truly disgusted. Skipping the cafeteria, as usual, she went to the library in a huff, eating her lunch in the microfilm viewing room and then losing herself in shelf organization. She had a hard time focusing in Psychology that afternoon, but she lucked out that all class was that day was watching the remainder of the movie Memento and taking notes. In English class, she ignored Beckett completely, which Tristan knew was immature, but until she could sort her thoughts, that's how it was going to be.

  Tuesday was much the same, Tristan avoiding Beckett as much as possible, to his clear consternation. On Wednesday, Beckett finally caught up to her after English class.

  “Uh, hey,” Beckett said from behind her, and Tristan closed her locker, turning to look at him expectantly.

  “I wanted to see if you wanted to get together after school today since we're out for Thanksgiving now until Monday.”

  “No thanks. I think we'll be fine to wait until next week.”

  “What's going on?” Beckett asked her, his eyes flickering over her face. “You've been acting weird since Monday.”

  “I'm sure if you asked your friends, they'd tell you I've been acting weird for a lot longer than that.”

  Beckett frowned. “OK. I'm still confused. Does this have to do with Sunday?”

  “I have to go.” Tristan turned away from him.

  “Tristan, wait.”

  Beckett waited until she looked at him again.

  “Talk to me. I thought we were starting to get along, I--”

  “And I told you, and I don't know how many times I can tell you, that we're not friends and we're not going to be, Beck
ett.” Tristan shook her head. “I'll see you Monday. Have a nice holiday.”

  And then she was gone, leaving Beckett more confused than ever and, frankly, kind of pissed.

  ***

  Tristan's alarm went off at six A.M. on Thanksgiving morning, and she reluctantly got up, dragging herself into the shower. A half hour later, she slipped quietly downstairs and grabbed her bag and her keys, closing the door with a soft click behind her as she left the house.

  Tristan drove into downtown Lavelle, to a large, unassuming beige building. She parked in the back and entered through the gray steel doors, down a hall and into a spacious, industrial kitchen.

  “Good morning Tristan!” Susan Whitaker, the head of the soup kitchen, greeted. “You're here early.”

  “I signed up to do breakfast and lunch today,” Tristan replied. “So I figured I'd come help set up.”

  “Well we certainly appreciate it.” Susan lifted a gray plastic bin of dish- and silverware, handing it off to Tristan.

  “It smells great already, Dolores!” Tristan called to one of the cooks, Dolores Hebert, who laughed and waved.

  Tristan bumped open the door of the kitchen with her hip, coming face to face with Beckett, which nearly caused her to drop the bin she was holding.

  Beckett grabbed the bin on a “whoa”, steadying it until Tristan could restore her grip.

  “Mornin’,” Beckett greeted, the plaid button down he wore perfectly matching his eyes. He smelled good, so good, like the woods after a rainstorm, and Tristan did her best to ignore it.

  “What are you doing here?” Tristan asked, trying to get her heart rate back to normal.

  “Volunteering, like I do every year,” Beckett replied, looking at her like he was trying to figure out what her problem was.

  “Every year?” Tristan echoed.

  “Every year,” Beckett confirmed, rocking back on his heels. He pointed across the room. “I stood right at the other end of that table from you last year.”

  Tristan vaguely remembered. She nodded.

  “Excuse me.”

  Beckett moved out of her way, going into the kitchen, and Tristan began setting the round tables. Beckett and the other volunteers who'd started to show up began carrying trays of food out to the long, rectangular table that ran along one side of the room. Before long, the room began to fill up with people in need.