Can’t Let You Go

by Jenny B. Jones

  “The day seems to call for it.”

  “It’s your tips at stake.” Loretta gave a half smile. “Not mine.”

  I joined her at the counter and took my first drink, hot and black.

  “The committee met after the town hall last night.” Loretta stirred in more sugar.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “With you getting engaged, your ex-boyfriend showing up in town, and discovering your beloved is a corporate Grinch, we thought you might need some alone time.”

  “I spent the entire evening watching infomercials and eating Chunky Monkey. I could’ve penciled you in.”

  “We decided you need to stay engaged to Charlie Benson.”

  “We’re not really engaged.”

  Loretta wrapped her wrinkled hands around her mug. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. You said you don’t want that Englishman to be sniffing around, and the more you’re with Charlie, the more likely you can glean information.”

  “I don’t really think there’s any secret ammo. His company wants the property. The city is letting them have it. The end.”

  “Is it? Is it the end? Where’s your sense of sleuthing?”

  “There’s no mystery here, Loretta. What we need is a miracle.”

  “We got one. It’s you. If there’s any loophole, any kink in their armor, you’re gonna find it.” Loretta stood up and handed me her mug. “Sure hope you can do that better than you can make coffee.”

  The closed sign got flipped at one minute ’til five, and customers trickled in, eager for their breakfast and any gossip that might’ve bloomed overnight like evening primrose.

  Kourtney with a K and I hustled it, both of us running back and forth from the dining room to the kitchen and back. It got so busy, Loretta had to leave her register to refresh empty coffee cups and bus some tables.

  The Garden Club ladies were at their usual table, and after losing three rounds of rock-paper-scissors with Kourtney, I hustled over to get their order.

  “Good morning.” I flipped open my order pad. “I see Loretta’s already got your drinks. What can I get you to eat?”

  Mrs. O’Reilley lifted her menu to cover her mouth, as if secrets were about to be shared. “We get what you’re doing.”

  “I’m taking your order.” I had five other tables waiting on me, and I did not have time for their nettlesome conversation. “Mrs. O’Reilley, did you want bacon or sausage?”

  “Marrying the enemy to get insider secrets,” Ms. Delmonaco said with a dreamy air. “Just like a war spy.”

  Mitzy Kipper nodded. “You’re so brave.”

  “I’m not marrying anyone, and Charlie and I are not speaking, so unless he can give up some info through smoke signals, charades, or homing pigeons, I won’t be sussing out anything useful for our case. Now what would you like to eat?”

  “I once dated a judge to get some assistance in a little public disturbance case,” Mrs. O’Reilley said. “Cleavage and cobbler, my dear. That is all you need.”

  “Bacon it is.” I scribbled a few words on my order pad. “How do you want your eggs?”

  “And then there was the time I got frisky with a police officer who—”

  “Over-easy. Coming right up.” I scurried away from the table of flower-loving floozies, only to shoulder swipe Kourtney. Her bleached hair had a hint of green in it today. Apparently her latest root touchup had gone south.

  “Can you get table twelve please?”

  “Sure. I—” Table twelve sat in a corner by the window. It was one of the best seats in the house. It was also inhabited by Charlie Benson and his little sister. “No. You get it.”

  “Isn’t that your fiancé?”

  I wasn’t going to bother explaining the charade. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that crap. I’ll give you twenty bucks if you get his order.”

  “Loretta just gave me a ten top. Sorry.” She scurried away, leaving me with no choice but to wait on Charlie’s table. I took my sweet time getting there, taking the orders of folks who arrived after him, topping off coffees that had barely been touched, and sitting down a spell with Mr. and Mrs. Dylan to talk weather and politics, two of my least favorite topics. Fifteen minutes of stalling, I finally made my way to table number twelve.

  While some of the townsfolk were shooting Charlie the hairy eyeball, most just left him alone. A few people had stopped to say hello, which clearly identified them as Team Thrifty. Charlie had been smart to bring his little sister. Tensions were high, and many people were fighting mad. And to not only have a target for that anger, but to find out it was your own native son, was just too much. But the good people of In Between would not stoop so low as to show their ire in front of the little girl in braids drinking orange juice to Charlie’s left.

  “What can I get you?” I addressed this question to Sadie.

  “Hello, Katie.”

  Charlie had the good graces not to look polished and well-rested. In the place of his usual button-down, he wore a t-shirt from his college alma mater, his hair was still slightly damp from a shower, and he clearly hadn’t shaved. He still looked handsome as ever; meanwhile, I had puffy bags beneath my eyes, my ponytail and headband combo barely contained my bed-head, and my makeup could only be described as minimalist spackle.

  “Do you know what you want to eat yet?” I asked Sadie.

  Sadie was no slouch in the brains department, and from the way she hesitantly looked to her brother, I knew she was picking up on the tension pinging like a divining rod.

  Charlie nodded at his sister. “Go ahead. Tell her what you want.”

  “I’ll have the happy face pancakes and sausage.”

  “Happy face pancakes it is.” I jotted it down then spoke to the space near Charlie. “And you?”

  “I’d like to apologize.”

  “Not one of our menu options today. How about angry face pancakes? Loser face pancakes? Back-stabbing jerk who withheld information face pancakes?”

  Charlie leaned near his sister’s ear. “Sadie, I see our neighbor Mrs. Tanner over there. Why don’t you go say hello?”

  “She doesn’t like me.”

  “Now’s a perfect time to win her over.”

  Sadie plunked both elbows on the table, rested her chin into her hands, and leaned in. “This is more interesting. Keep talking.”

  With an aggravated growl, Charlie dug into his wallet, pulled out a ten spot, and slapped it into his sister’s waiting palm. “That buys me ten minutes.”

  Sadie gave her brother a smacking kiss on his stubbly cheek. “See ya in five.”

  She toodled off, leaving me standing awkwardly beside Charlie’s table, torn between wanting to update him on every angry and well-composed comeback that had come to me in the middle of the night, and wanting to freeze him out with silence, not giving him one single word.

  “Will you sit down?” he asked. “Just for a minute.”

  “I’m working. Either order or I’m walking away.”

  “Excuse me,” interrupted a male voice.

  I turned to find Dr. Kapoor.

  “Can I get you something?” I asked.

  “I hear congratulations are in order for you two,” he said much too loudly. “I’d like to offer you a year’s worth of free pregnancy tests.”

  My cheeks flamed red as his words echoed in my ears. “Dr. Kapoor, what are you doing?” I whispered.

  He smiled at the nearby tables as his voice dropped conspiratorially. “I’m Team In Between. Your grandma told us to do what we could to support your fake engagement.” He handed me a business card and patted my back. “Congrats!”

  “My ex-boyfriend isn’t here.”

  “Oh.” He snatched his card back. “In that case, they’re only half off.”

  I watched him walk away, completely horrified. “How is this my life?” When the committee had told me they’d help with the engagement sham, I should’ve known it would not end well. I now lived in fear of one of them popping ou
t of the shrubbery with champagne, CrockPots, and poorly delivered lines.

  I counted backwards from ten before turning back to Charlie. “This is your last chance to order.”

  “Katie, I know I’ve hurt you,” he said.

  “You knew you would, so don’t act like you have a problem with it.”

  “In my head, I’d planned it differently.”

  “In my head, I sell you and your boss to a tribe of aboriginal cannibals who want to roast you over the spit like stuffed pigs.” I pushed a chunk of hair from my face. “Do you want the special?”

  “If I didn’t work on this deal, I was out at the company.”

  “That’s too bad. I’d hate for you to have to find a different job. I’m so glad you chose to shut down half a street of our city so nobody would be inconvenienced.”

  Charlie’s jaw was locked so tight, I wondered if those perfectly straight pearly whites might turn to dust. “I can’t explain this right now, but I need to talk to you.” He glanced at the prying eyes of the tables around him that weren’t even pretending not to stare. “Somewhere alone.”

  “That doesn’t work for me. I think we said all we needed to last night. I’ll bring you the three egg special and have Loretta refill your coffee.”

  “Katie, wait—”

  I sprinted toward the kitchen, nearly barreling over a three-year old playing in the floor, and completely ignoring Mr. Pickens rude call for more coffee by raising his mug to the sky like Thor’s hammer when I sped by.

  The kitchen door swished as I pushed through. I clipped Charlie’s order to a clothespin suspended on a wire contraption, then slid it toward the cooks.

  “You okay?” Loretta asked, balancing six plates as if they were glued to her arms. The cook’s twangy country music drifted from a radio nearby.

  “Charlie Benson’s table needs refills.”

  She opened her mouth, probably to tell me how much she appreciated being told what to do by an underling, but then changed her mind with a slow nod. “Okay.” This was a woman who had seen a handful of husbands and heartaches. She knew pain when she saw it. “I’ll take care of that. You step out back and get some air. I’ll handle your tables.”

  I didn’t argue.

  Outside the clouds gathered in gray clusters, threatening to sprinkle more gloom into my world. I sat on an old plastic milk crate, right next to an oversized coffee can filled with cigarette butts. I currently had a little insight into why people gave into the urge to light up. Life was hard. And it seemed to be this snowball of mishaps, as if God thought one singular bad event deserved some company.

  I had barely rested my feet one full minute, when the door swung open, and out walked Charlie.

  I made to leave, but he only blocked my path.

  “Please, Katie.” He wasn’t going to let me ignore him, and resolve flashed in those eyes. “You’ve got to hear me out.”

  A wave of weariness rose over me like an ocean billow, and I let it take me under. I was too tired to argue anymore. I had used up all my fighting words.

  I crossed my legs and leaned my back against the building. “Go ahead.”

  Charlie studied me for a few moments, like he was not quite certain I wouldn’t bolt. He began to pace, his long legs making quick work of the limited walk space in the alley.

  Finally he stopped. He lifted his eyes toward the dreary sky, as if scanning it for help, then finding none there, turned his attention to me. “My uncle is vice-president of Thrifty Co.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Back in high school, my dad made some bad investments. We lost. . .everything. Or we would’ve. Things were bad. If he had gone under, he would’ve lost his bank job, our home, and maybe even lost my mom. My parents separated for the better part of my senior year.”

  He’d never told me.

  But, no, I didn’t care!

  At least that’s what I reminded myself.

  I knew poverty. Before living with James and Millie, I’d had nothing. Charlie didn’t know anything but wealth. Even if they’d have lost everything—which they didn’t—his family certainly wouldn’t have been reduced to living in their Cadillacs.

  “My uncle gave my dad a huge loan. One he’s yet to fully repay. He saved our family, and. . .I owe him.”

  “You could work anywhere,” I said. “With your school credentials, you could’ve gone to any company.”

  “There was never really a choice,” Charlie said.

  “That’s an unfortunate perspective.”

  “My family is in Uncle Steve’s debt.”

  “Until when?”

  Charlie paused, as if he hadn’t ever asked himself this same question. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s your father’s debt,” I said as a raindrop hit my arm. “Sounds like it has nothing to do with you.”

  “My father and uncle would disagree.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on our senior year?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “I told you everything.”

  “This was. . .” Charlie rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “This was different. I had to keep it confidential.” His expression darkened. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

  “Some legal issues?”

  “If my dad didn’t make the money reappear quickly, he would’ve gone to prison.”

  I didn’t pry further. I didn’t know if it was shady stock trading or bank embezzlement. All I knew was that nothing had really changed. “I’m sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry most of all that you feel the need to do all the sacrificial dirty work for your father, while he’s sitting pretty in a nice office with no complaints. You’re pulling the plug on our town, on my theater—”

  “You think I want to?”

  “No. I don’t. But I also don’t think you get what it’s like to watch something taken from you that has your whole heart and means everything. And no matter how much you love it and want it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You have no idea what it’s like to lose something that important.”

  “I’m pretty sure I do.” Thunder rumbled in the distance as Charlie lifted those gray eyes to mine.

  And when the sky opened up and poured out rain like tears, I was still standing in the alley.

  Completely alone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On Sunday morning, I decided to go to church. My hope was that while I sat there in a stiff-backed pew, and Maxine belted her off-key renditions of praise songs, God would beam down some wisdom and show me what to do like Moses and the Ten Commandments.

  If nothing else, I would sneak downstairs to the children’s area and get myself a handful of cookies.

  The In Between Community Church was where my father preached the gospel every Sunday except the few he took off for family vacations, and as in today, mission trips. The church was where I had met some of the best friends of my life, like Frances. Charlie’s family attended there as well, so it should’ve been no surprise when I saw him walk into the lobby.

  And yet it was. I guess I thought when you robbed and cheated innocent people out of their property for a living, you probably weren’t keeping up with your church membership.

  Charlie joined his mother, his little sister holding his hand. Their father was noticeably absent, but he’d always been on the Easter-Christmas visitation plan. The youth pastor’s wife chatted with Charlie’s mother while he scanned the room. Before I could look away, our eyes met, and he inclined his head in greeting.

  I turned and gave him my back, tuning into the conversation between Frances, Maxine, and a quieter-than-usual Joey.

  “No, I truly had no idea.” Frances sent her fiancé a sour look. “Someone didn’t tell me.”

  Joey shrugged. “It just never came up.”

  “I knew Charlie worked for his uncle’s company,” Frances said, “but I didn’t know what that was. Joey and I had more than a few cross words about this.”

  “One or two.” He kisse
d Frances’s cheek.

  I imagined most of the words had come from Frances.

  “Well, my dear Katie was absolutely bamboozled,” Maxine said. “And she’s been a complete mess every since.”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said.

  Maxine inspected my hair and makeup. “You keep telling yourself that. But somebody needs a little hair trim and waxy-poo.”

  “Katie, truly, I didn’t know,” Frances said. “And I know you’re angry at Charlie right now, but he is Joey’s best man. You’ll be together quite a bit during the wedding and—” Frances’s words died as she caught sight of something behind me. “Don’t turn around, but Ian’s here.”

  “My Ian?”

  “Your ex-Ian,” Maxine corrected.

  What kind of loose government was I living in, that some foreigner could just come and go without any thought to the lives of American ex-girlfriends? Ian was everywhere. How could I text immigration? Why were we letting cheaters within our borders? “What in the world could he be doing here?”

  “To hear the word of the Lord and get spiritual nourishment as a child of Jesus?” Maxine proposed.

  Frances and I answered in duplicate. “Nah.”

  “Ladies, hello.”

  I turned at that perfectly enunciated accent, dread filling my every cell. “What do you think you’re doing, Ian?”

  He stood there looking GQ in a dark suit, without Felicity the simmering twit on his arm. “I came to hear your father preach.”

  “He’s in Haiti,” I said. “Why don’t you go find him?”

  Ian ignored that. “Hello, Mrs. Dayberry, Frances.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Ian.”

  “I’m here because it makes me look good.” He straightened his tie and smiled. “Do me a favor and take some photos of me later, okay? I’m going to send those to the paper. And back to some strategic folks in London.”

  “Oh, Katie, dear!” Mrs. Livvy Hightower waddled her way to us, her flower-covered hat bobbing precariously on her white head.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Hightower.” I tried not to stare at the frayed silk rose that dangled near her ear, as if contemplating jumping off.