I hate being patronized. My temper got the best of me as I said, “I understand, and I don’t need to show this to anyone else. I can sign the contract.”
“Hey, sweetheart, I don't care if Ponce de León himself signs it. I get paid either way.” He went back to playing with his phone.
Grabbing a pen from my purse, I took a deep breath and signed all three copies. “Your turn,” I said, handing the contract back to the real estate agent. Any minute now, surely he'd realize I wasn't the person he thought I was.
But he didn't. He scribbled his name next to the seller's already executed signature. He started to pass me one set of papers, and then he remembered. “The check?”
“Oh,” I dug around in my purse again and came up with my checkbook. I wrote the check. Hal Humberger didn't even glance at my check or the contract as he stuffed the papers into his briefcase.
“You'll need these for the inspection.” Mr. Humberger pulled a set of Yale keys from the pocket of his pants. Rubbing his pudgy hands together, he said, “Okay, don't let your boss forget, I'll want to get back into the building one more time and look around. Tell your boss that he owes me big time for coming and meeting you while he's off playing golf. What a life that guy has. Remind him that he would have never gotten council approval for this deal without our help. Philomena and me.”
I nodded.
“Congratulations,” he said, with a nasty laugh. “You've got yourself a dump full of trash.”
“Dump? Trash?” I reached out and put a hand on the door of Essie's shop. The big display windows looked back at me like two sad eyes. The trim sagged, the molding over the lintel was chipped, and the door was splintered. The awning drooped like a flag of surrender.
Even so, something about the building spoke to me, stirring a deep longing I didn't even know existed. My dad used to chuckle, “Cara Mia, you have the strangest ideas. Where do you come up with this, my darling? Things are things, but to you, it's as if they had souls.”
Dad had been right. I tend to get attached to inanimate objects. The Treasure Chest, Essie's old shop, held many fond memories for me. And suddenly I realized that this wasn't just about saving Poppy's business.
“Mr. Humberger, this isn't trash. It's a treasure.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
I fought the urge to smack him.
“Remind your boss that everything is still turned on. All the lights, water, electricity, and utilities. Can't wait to hear what happens when Cooper springs this on old Dickie bird,” Hal Humberger said, as he jingled his car keys.
“Cooper?” My heart lurched in my chest. “Cooper Rivers?”
“Who else?” Hal Humberger burst out laughing. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Oh, Lord. What had I done?
CHAPTER 6
I wobbled around in some sort of shock, heading in the general direction of my grandfather's gas station. “Of all the gin joints,” I muttered to myself, quoting that famous line from Casablanca. How was it possible that I'd purchased a piece of property intended for Cooper Rivers, the boy I'd fallen in love with when I was fifteen? A man I hadn't seen in more than twenty years?
“What should I do now?” I whispered.
I tried to call Kiki Lowenstein, but my call went immediately to voice mail.
I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up my dad. He would have smiled and said, “You did what you thought best at the time. Take a deep breath and review your options.”
I'd probably saved Poppy's bacon, even though I had double-crossed Cooper.
“I've really stepped in it.” Giving myself a good shake, I started walking again. Slowly, so I could think.
What I needed was an attorney. He could read over my paperwork give me good legal advice.
“But it was supposed to go to Cooper!” I said to my-self.
What had my choices been? There was no way that I'd walk away and let Poppy lose his business. None. Dad always said, “Family first,” and I'd put my grandfather's needs before mine.
Thinking more logically, I considered the financial obligations of the building. Given my current footloose circumstances, I didn't need much money to live on. Fortunately, the restaurant and catering business were both do-ing well and depositing money in my checking account regularly.
My ex, Dominic the Creep, was paying for Tommy's college education. So I was off the hook there.
That got me wondering how my son was doing during his first week of school. Digging in my purse, I found my cell phone. As usual, Tommy's number went immediately to voice mail. I started to leave a quick message for my son, telling him that I loved him, but one last beep told me my phone was dead.
I must have forgotten to recharge it while I was driving.
“Proof positive that it's past my bedtime,” I said to no one in particular. By my calculations, I'd been up for nineteen hours straight, not counting my brief nap in Georgia. A cloud of gloom infected all my thoughts: When did Cooper Rivers turn into such a jerk? Why on earth had he decided to put my grandfather out of business?
That sure didn't sound like the Cooper I knew. Not at all.
But then, things change and people do too.
“I hope I don't lose my shirt on this real estate deal,” I mumbled. I reviewed my reasoning one more time. I couldn't let some fancy new franchise come in and run Poppy out of business. On the other hand, maybe he was finally tired of working. Maybe he wanted his life to slow down. That would explain shy all of his gas pumps were out of order. Perhaps that was why he hadn't cleaned the tank full of dead fish. Possibly, he quit caring. All the hallmarks were there. The negligence. The lethargy. The lack of attention. He'd actually been doing a crossword puzzle when I drove up!
Maybe Poppy wasn't as involved in his work as he had once been. Maybe he needed an excuse to retire?
If so, I’d made a very, very bad impulse buy. While other women splurged on purses and shoes, I’d gone and bought a building. What on earth would I do with an old tear down? A dilapidated piece of property?
CHAPTER 7
Black Beauty wasn't sitting where I'd left her at the front of the gas station. As I approached, my grandfather stuck his head out the door.
“Your car's around back. Fuel pump's dead. Took it out. Had to order a part. It'll be here first thing tomorrow. That Camry ain't going nowhere.”
I fought to keep my emotions in check. I hate being without a car. Absolutely hate it! I might go three days without hopping in a car, but knowing it's there and that I can drive away is what matters. Not having a ride makes me feel cooped up. Vulnerable. Despondent.
It took all my self-control, but I kept a smile on my face.
“Poppy? I have something to tell you,” I said, gearing up for the big reveal.
But he wasn't listening. He turned away from me and started talking. “Looks like you're spending the night here in Stuart. Unless you need me to give you a loaner so you can get to Miami. Seeing as how you're in such a hurry.”
There was a touch of malice in his offer, and it side-tracked me.
“Heavens, no,” I lied. “This'll work fine. Just fine. Unless I'd be an imposition? I mean, maybe you're really busy?”
“Never too busy for you, Granddaughter. Let me close up and we'll go get some chow. I'm so hungry I can't think straight.”
While I stood in the open door, he ran detail tape on his cash register and filled out a daily sales report. I tried not to heave at the smell of the dead fish.
“Great! Glad we can visit,” I said, talking to the top of his baseball cap as he licked a pencil and wrote down numbers.
So much for my plan to get some much needed rest and relaxation. Instead of sunning by the Biltmore's gigantic pool or strolling around in South Beach, I was stuck here in the land of stinky fish. Rather than eating at five-star restaurants, I was escorting my grumpy grandpa to the local delicatessen.
Whoop-de-do!
Life was cruel, and I was overtired. Every disappo
intment grew disproportionately.
I fought to keep a happy expression on my face. It wasn't just the fact I was now obligated to stay in Stuart—heck, I'd already done that to myself by buying a building—it was also the fact that I felt ashamed for wanting to drive on past Poppy.
Things would be different now that I owned the building around the corner. For a while at least, we'd be neighbors.
“Guess what happened while I was out walking?” I asked, eager to spill my news.
“Durn it. You made me lose count.”
I turned my face toward the fresh air and waited as he totaled up the numbers on his pad. A half an hour ticked by slowly as he puttered around.
“Alrighty then,” he said finally, as he slipped the money into a bag and deposited it in the floor safe under his desk. But when he got to his feet, he wobbled and made a grab at the door frame.
“Poppy? You okay?” I slipped under his arm to support him. He leaned against the door sill until I could ease him down into his desk chair. How old and frail he looked! His shoulder blades formed tent poles under the fabric of his shirt.
“Musta skipped lunch. I get lightheaded when I forget to eat.”
It was half past six. After eating nothing but junk for a day and a half, my body demanded real fuel. Poppy obviously needed some of the same.
“Then we need to get you to Pumpernickel's,” I said.
Taking a last breath of fresh air, I helped him to his feet. Poppy started toward the back door, passing a rack designated for his customers' car keys. My own Camry key was the Lone Ranger, sitting on a hook by itself.
“Aren't you going to lock up?” I asked.
“Nah, wouldn't do much good,” he said. “Neither of the locks work.”
Even though Black Beauty wasn't running, I felt protective of her. I couldn't understand why Poppy was being so careless.
“The locks need fixing. So does the roof. Need a new flapper on the toilet, too. Gotta get a new air pump for the bait tank. Usually Thomas and I would...”
His voice trailed off.
Tears filled my eyes. My dad was such a wonderful guy; he never passed up the chance to do a good deed.
I sure missed him.
Evidently, Poppy did, too.
CHAPTER 8
Poppy took the lead, walking us out the back and through the empty parking spaces. I gave Black Beauty a tiny love pat as we went by.
“All right, Pumpernickel's here we come,” I said, right as Poppy stumbled. I grabbed him before he went down and helped him to his feet.
“Got a spot on my foot that's giving me trouble.” Poppy leaned on me hard. “Just one more thing I've been too busy to see to.”
“Dad isn't here, but I am,” I said. “I'd be happy to pitch in and help. I think that Job Number One is dumping those dead fish.”
“Yeah, I guess. The smell didn't bother me none, but everyone else seemed pretty fussy about it.”
Hal Humberger had been right: In its current state, Poppy's place wasn't attractive to customers. Now that I was here, things would change. It wouldn't take much work, really. Cleaning the Gas E Bait, top to bottom. Freshening up the paint. Tossing the old magazines. De-cluttering. Replacing the tattered silk flowers in the pots at the front of the station. Washing the windows. Getting the gas tanks going again. And, of course, fixing everything that didn't work right.
I smothered a giggle. I'd come all this way to do exactly what I'd done back in St. Louis. There I'd specialized in keeping the restaurant in tiptop shape. What was that French saying? The more things change the more they stay the same?
“How's business been in general?” I asked my grandfather. His gait was unsteady as he kept a hold on my arm.
“Better'n ever. That's one reason the place has gone to heck. I'm busier than a one-armed paperhanger. With the economy being so uncertain, people are hanging onto their old cars. Not a day goes by but someone's bringing in a vehicle for me to fix. Of course, I should cough up the dough and buy some new equipment. But I haven't had the chance to investigate what's what. I'd also need to take off time to learn how all that junk works. I guess it's all about them computers now. There just don't seem to be enough hours in the day. Not lately at least.”
We had arrived at Pumpernickel's before the rest of the dinner crowd. The seats at the counter were all empty. Poppy lurched past the freestanding tables and slid into the last booth against the wall.
“Hey, who's your date, Dick?” asked our waitress, as she poured glasses of water.
Her name badge indicated that she was “Skye with an E,” which tickled me. At first glance, I thought she was in her twenties, but then I realized she was nearer my age. She wore the same black pants, white blouse, and a red apron required of all the staff, but from her ears dangled a pair of sea glass earrings. Even with her blonde curls twisted into a knot on the top of her head, a few escaped to frame her heart-shaped face.
“My granddaughter from St. Louis,” said my grandfather.
“Hi, I'm Cara Mia Delgatto.” I offered Skye my hand and we shook, taking each other's measure and deciding we both liked what we saw.
“Could you cut the chatter? I skipped lunch,” grumbled my grandfather. “Better get me something fast.”
His rudeness shocked me.
“Be right back,” Skye said.
When she returned, she had a tall glass of orange juice in one hand and plastic packs of Saltines in the other. Poppy's hand shook as he picked up the glass and chugged the drink.
“You must have been busy today, Dick.” Skye watched him carefully. “Forgetting to eat isn't good. I'll give you two a minute to look over the menu. The specials are on the chalkboard.”
I glanced over, made my choice, and said, “I wanted to tell you my news.”
“Can't it wait? My head hurts.”
That shut me down. Of course, it could wait. What difference would it make?
Skye came back to take our orders. Poppy wanted a roast beef sandwich on rye with horseradish. I ordered a Reuben with a side of fruit, while he opted for sweet potato fries. We both wanted bowls of matzo ball soup, the house specialty.
While Poppy munched his crackers and finished his juice, I sipped my water and enjoyed the cheerful ambiance of the deli. The decor was simple but effective with bright aqua on the walls, a black and white tile floor, and pink toy flamingos on the tabletops. I started to feel excited about the prospects of sprucing up the Gas E Bait.
And The Treasure Chest?
Hmmm. Maybe.
The tables started filling up. Customers took seats at the counter. Poppy waved to a big man who walked in.
“Who's that?” I asked.
“Lou Murray,” he said. “A detective.”
The clank of silverware and the sound of water being poured into glasses brought a smile to my face. All of this reminded me of our family restaurant and happier days.
While my parents had been on a second honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast of Italy, I had re-decorated the restaurant. I repainted the walls a warm, bluish red. A pleasant gray pattern carpet replaced our tired oatmeal Berber. Our gold napkin rings kept “walking off,” so I replaced the remaining rings with lengths of dark red ribbon. That allowed us to wrap white damask napkins around the place settings and tie them into a bundle. As a result, it was easier to set the tables.
By the time my parents returned, all we needed was wall art. I had the best of their photos blown up and printed onto canvas. My parents and most importantly our customers loved the results.
Skye visited our table to warn us it might take a while for our food. They were finishing up with a big “to go” order. In the meantime, she offered us a complimentary plate of carrot and celery sticks with ranch dressing.
“How's Tommy?” Poppy asked.
I'd been wondering when he'd mention my son. It hurt my feelings that Poppy didn't seem interested in Tommy, and once again, I keenly missed my dad. I told Poppy what little I knew about Tommy's first week
at school. Then I let Poppy guide the conversation until our salads came.
Skye cleared our salad plates and served us each a bowl of matzo ball soup. After my grandfather downed most of his soup, he seemed more focused, so I took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Something happened while I was on my walk.” I told Poppy about my accidental meeting with Hal Humberger.
During my recitation, Poppy didn't look at me. In fact, he looked everywhere else but at me as he continued to munch his crackers. I explained how Mr. Humberger had mistaken me for someone else.
“Is there a point to this? Other'n how he figures as how I'm done for?” Poppy crushed the empty plastic wrappers in his fist.
“I tricked Hal Humberger into selling The Treasure Chest to me. I guess that makes us neighbors,” I said.
Poppy still didn't look me in the eyes, but he worked his jaw furiously. He picked up his spoon, tipped his bowl, and scooped up the last drop of his soup. After he drank it, he set down his utensil, lining it up on his paper placemat. Then he turned angry eyes on me.
“So you just up and bought Essie's store? That building she's been trying to unload for years? Cara, that was pure foolishness! Old Hal Humberger pulled a fast one on you!”
“No,” I said. “I'm the one who put one over on him!”
“Ha! That's what you think!”
“But Poppy, I saved your business!” My cheeks grew hot.
“Oh, you did, did you? You are just like your father, aren't you? That apple doesn't fall far from the tree! Got to meddle, don't you?” he screamed. “Can't leave well enough alone? You think you have all the answers!”
All the air went out of my lungs. It felt like I'd been punched in the gut. Heads turned and people stared at us. Skye was taking an order, but she paused long enough to glance our way. I caught her eyes, and her look was soft with compassion.
Second Chance at Love Page 3