by Sarita Leone
“I believe it. I can almost hear the footsteps shuffling on the floorboards and voices comparing varieties of jam for their toast. Oh, it’s easy to see this place must have been bustling.”
“It was.” Clarisse reached a finger toward a shelf, flicked a bit of dust off. She wiped her fingers together before she continued. “Like I said, we couldn’t put stuff out fast enough. By lunchtime, we had a full house. People buying home-baked bread and pies—which I made, every night after closing. Salads for the beach—macaroni and potato salad were big. Egg salad, too—for sandwiches. And drinks, they sold well. We never sold the hard stuff—you know, liquor—but we did sell some beer. Just two brands, I think—Ballantine and Schaeffer’s—because George favored both.”
Annie heard the wistful turn to the woman’s voice when she mentioned her husband. It was a tone she understood all too well.
“You miss him.”
Clarisse nodded. “Of course. I’ll always miss him. But that’s not the only thing I miss.”
She waited. It had only been a few days, but they had already learned each other’s nuances and styles of communication. The relationship forming between them was growing exponentially, a bond that felt completely right.
The older woman met Annie’s gaze. Unshed tears shimmered in her gray eyes.
“I miss the store, too. I miss being here. Talking with customers. I miss baking pies and bread. Oh, I miss it all, I suppose. It was an amazing time in my life—the best time in my life, and I just miss it all. Not only George—although he’s a huge part of it—but the whole adventure. It’s as if my life is over…yet I’m still living. The fun is gone. Done. Finished…yet I’m not. Does that make any sense?”
“It makes a lot of sense.” Annie swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat without her even feeling it. “I…wow.” She shook her head, trying to assemble the jumble of thoughts filling her mind into some kind of order.
A deep breath. This was supposed to take her mind off last night, off the confusion of having been unceremoniously dumped at the curb outside the house with hardly a “goodbye” from her date. Instead, she still had the mystery of Steve to deal with…along with the feelings stirred up by Clarisse’s admission.
The truth. It was the only way to go, and she knew it.
“I understand.” She met Clarisse’s gaze, this time knowing it was her own eyes that held the sheen of unshed tears. “I understand because I feel the same way. I miss someone—and will always miss him. But, I miss the carefree, fun days that came before all hell broke loose. I miss the way I used to be. I’m not the same person, and I miss that. I…oh, hell…”
The tears fell, sliding silently down her cheeks.
Clarisse stepped closer. Put her arms around Annie’s shoulders and pulled her tight. It felt good to be comforted, rather than comforting, for a change, so she leaned into the other woman and made no effort to squelch the tears.
Stroking her hair with a slow hand, Clarisse waited until the worst of it was over.
“It is all right, I think, to miss what is gone. But—and here is where I sometimes stumble—it’s not all right to lose yourself wishing for what’s gone, and ignoring what could be. The heart only moves on when it realizes it can’t go back, my dear. I think we both have to send the message to our hearts…we need to move forward. Become groovy chicks instead of wishing-for-the-past turkeys.”
Annie swallowed, just as Sienna poked her head in the door and hollered, “Hey, are we ready to go to the beach yet?”
“Are we ready, Annie?” Clarisse asked. “For the beach…and everything else?”
She drew in a deep breath. Then, she nodded. Turning to face her daughter, the biggest reason for her to face forward and find a happy future, she smiled.
Annie grabbed Clarisse’s hand. They went to the doorway, and she grabbed Sienna’s hand as well.
Looking from one to the other, she asked, “Well? What are we waiting for? Three groovy chicks—heading for the beach. Let’s go!”
Chapter 14
“Mind telling me what crawled up your ass and died, man? Don’t remember ever seeing you this down.”
Big Al wasn’t known for his finesse. Or his sense of style.
Steve looked up from the lunch special he’d been choking down.
The large man himself stood beside Steve’s table. The Shack was pretty full, but there were seats at the bar so Big Al’s interruption was purely intentional. Wearing his usual frayed blue jeans, faded t-shirt and untied sneakers, he waited patiently for an answer. Not replying wasn’t an option.
“Nice to see you, too.”
Steve pushed his dish back. Damn, but his appetite had blown off on the wind.
Big Al didn’t wait for an invitation to join him. He pulled the wooden chair on the opposite side of the table out, the wobbly legs screeching against worn linoleum floor, and sat heavily. Pushing his sweat-stained, wide-brimmed hat back on his head, he stared.
Shit. The guy wasn’t giving up. And he didn’t feel like playing thirty questions.
“So? What is it you’ve got up there, buddy?”
“If I say it’s none of your business?”
Gwen, with her waist-length brown braid and on near-silent feet in brown suede moccasins, stopped by the table. The waitress never carried an order pad. Her mind was, she loved to say, like a steel trap. Whatever that meant.
“What’s it gonna be, Big Man?”
Big Man. Just one of many monikers—as if “Big Al” wasn’t enough.
“Ah, the usual, I guess. A crab cake sandwich. Fries. Onion rings. And chocolate milkshake.”
He hadn’t gotten to be Big by birth.
Gwen saluted smartly, turned, and went to the kitchen to put in his order.
Like a dog with a bone, the man was on his back.
“So? You gonna spill it—or am I gonna hafta drag it from you?”
Steve sighed. He and Big Al had been friends for longer than he could remember. They’d shared high school football games. Dating local girls who only used them for movie admissions, leaving them for the rich guys from Bar Harbor as soon as they’d eaten the popcorn. And Steve had been around when Big Al’s wife had lost her battle to the big C. Damn, but a beautiful young girl shouldn’t endure suffering like Jess had.
If he was going to spill his guts to anyone, Big Al was a likely candidate.
“Chick.”
One word. Explanation delivered.
“Oh, man…that’s tough. Sorry to hear it.”
“Yeah, well…what are you gonna do? Shit happens, right?”
The meal arrived. Steve hadn’t touched his. Big Al sent a pointed look at the plate.
“You’ve got to eat.” He raised his sandwich, took a huge bite and began to chew. He swallowed, then raised an eyebrow. “I mean it. Dying of starvation isn’t going to make the chick deal any better. Eat.”
Maybe food in his stomach would stop the pain in his head. Steve took a bite of the cold sandwich. It wasn’t awful, so he chewed.
“I didn’t know you were going out with anyone. Who is she—and where did you meet a girl in this place? Seems like we’ve been dating the same chicks for years, man. Is she someone I know?”
Steve hesitated. Big Al was right. They’d all dated the same people since high school. It got old, real old, a long time ago. A way long time ago. Suppose the guy inhaling the crab sandwich across the table decided to make a play for Annie?
Annie. Just thinking of her made his gut clench.
Why hold back? It was for damn sure she wouldn’t be interested in him when she found out the truth. No way. No how.
“How’d I meet her? Let’s just say we scraped fenders.”
“What?” Big Al moved on to the onion rings. Watching the man eat was like witnessing a train wreck. Too interesting to look away, but kind of hard to see close up. He was like one of those high-power vacuum cleaners used for sucking up leaves in the fall. Anything within range of the guy’s mout
h disappeared—fast.
“I was backing out, she was driving through. She hit my Harley with her Barracuda.”
“A hit and run, eh?”
“You could say that.” He took another chunk out of his crab cake. Now that he’d begun, it went down pretty smooth. “No real damage. Just a couple of scratches that’ll sand out easy.”
Big Al grinned. He waved a French fry in the air. “So—more love tap than fender bender?”
“You could say that.”
“So? What’s the deal? She pissed over her Cuda’s scratch?”
Steve shook his head. “Nope. That ain’t it. She’s not pissed over anything—yet.”
Polishing off the fries, Big Al raised a questioning brow. He looked at his watch, then met Steve’s gaze. “Spill it. If she’s not pissed—yet—how can you have chick troubles? Don’t sound like you’ve got any troubles, man.”
Steve shoved the last of the sandwich in his mouth. He pushed his plate toward the center of the table, which was all the invitation his dining companion required. Big Al stuffed two now-cold fries into his mouth and chewed, giving him enough time to consider his reply.
He was a simple kind of guy. No pretensions. No mystery. So, he just laid it bare.
“The guy who washed up? The draft dodger?”
“Yeah—so what?”
“Our newcomer seems big on the go-to-’Nam bit. She’s kind of happy the guy drank the sea—says anyone who’s not ready to march off to this bullshit war doesn’t deserve to live. And that, my friend, is why I know I’ve got chick problems.”
Big Al stopped chewing. He gave a low, soft whistle as he shook his head. When he looked up, the truth showed on his wide face.
“Shit. I’m sorry, man. That blows.”
“Don’t I know it.”
****
Clarisse had waited as long as she could. Everyone expected that just because she was old, she was wise. Calm. Patient. Well, everyone could go jump rope—she’d had enough waiting for Annie to tell her what was on her mind. Time to find a crack in the vault.
Sienna played down at the water’s edge. A hot pink-and-white two-piece bathing suit kept her visible. Not that there was a crowd for her to blend into. Wednesday afternoon wasn’t prime beach time for most. And, the tourist season would be in full swing by next weekend. The fourth of July festivities was the first real heavy traffic, beach-wise.
They sat on an old, patchwork quilt. She took a swig from her cold bottle of Fanta orange soda. Swallowed. It went down fast on such a hot day.
“You’re kind of quiet.” An unthreatening beginning to any conversation. Hoping to not put Annie on the defensive, she added, “Is everything all right?”
Annie took her own sip of soda. She spoke, looking at the bottle she rolled between her palms.
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so. Well, maybe.” A huge sigh. She scowled at her bare, pink-toenail-polished toes. “Oh, shit.” Looked up, zoning in on her daughter. Then, “Really, just shit.”
Clarisse chuckled. She’d felt that way about too many things to let a little swearing bother her.
“Well, damn it, dear—what’s the matter?”
Annie turned and met her gaze, a tiny grin pulling her features into a vision. There was something about this woman, something that wasn’t at all ordinary or common. Once again, she gave her grandson credit for finding, and recognizing, such a treasure.
“You did not just say that!”
“Oh, but I did.” Clarisse watched as Sienna began chattering with another little girl. About her age, and wearing a one-piece bathing suit that was an almost exact match to the hot pink Sienna wore. “You can’t think that I’m so ancient I have forgotten how to swear. Damn it all to hell, my dear…goodness, but I hope I’m never so senile that I forget to talk like a sailor when the need arises.”
She gave Annie’s shoulder a gentle poke, glad that the connection they’d made encouraged such closeness. It had been so long since she’d felt connected to anyone. So long since she’d felt comfortable enough to speak so freely.
She could get used to all of it—being with people she loved and sharing good moments. Making new memories. Especially, watching the little girl grow.
“I hope someday I’m half as amazing as you are, Clarisse. Really, you’re a role model—I love it that you do what you want. Say what you mean. Tell it like it is.”
Annie sighed again.
“Your turn to tell it like it is.” Annie gave her a sideways glance, so she nodded and said, “Really. Get it off your chest. Whatever’s bothering you—it’s like an upset belly, better out than in. So, let it out.”
Spreading her hands wide, sloshing the half-bottle of soda she held in her right hand, Annie said, “I don’t know. I thought Steve and I were having a great time last night. We walked to the pier. Talked. Laughed. Got on his boat. It was a gorgeous night—stars like you can’t even imagine, just twinkling over our heads. It seemed…”
She waited. One minute. Two.
“It seemed what, Annie?”
“Perfect.”
She waited again.
“We kissed, and it was perfect…but…”
“But what?”
“He stopped. And when Steve looked like he might kiss me again…well, there was only one time, but it was there. You know, the look in a man’s eyes when he’s considering making a move.” She shrugged. “I waited. Maybe I misread him. We talked. He looked like he was going to kiss me some more. And then…”
Damn it, but the suspense could kill an old woman! And, Sienna and her new friend were saying their goodbyes. If she didn’t get the end of the story now, she might never get it.
“And then what? What happened?”
Annie looked up when Sienna called to them. She glanced at Clarisse and shook her head.
“Nothing happened. That’s just it. I thought he liked me…but then, he just brought me home. And no goodnight kiss, either. I-I…I don’t know. Maybe I misread him.”
“Maybe he’s an idiot,” Clarisse said, under her breath.
Chapter 15
“Mama, can I use this one? It really should be colored. White is so square.”
Annie looked up. Her daughter, all hip lingo and colt-like legs, stood on the back steps. Waving in the small sea breeze, and dangling from one finger, a white halter top. It was barely a month old, bought at a roadside sale on their trip north. It had never been worn, and had its original tags still attached. On the one hand, she hated to see a perfectly good shirt subjected to a dubious outcome. On the other, encouraging Sienna’s creative urge was worth the price of a shirt. Especially when the shirt had only set her back two quarters.
“Where’d you hear that word?”
“From the guy on the television. Last night.”
Annie had gone for a long, quiet, thoughtful walk last night after dinner, leaving Sienna with Clarisse. She hoped Clarisse hadn’t let her daughter watch the nightly news report. While she wasn’t a fan of the square box, she let the kid watch certain things, like Happy Days. The news broadcast was the only thing she felt strongly enough about to ban from Sienna’s sight. Too much violence, stirring too many memories.
“The commercial guy. You know, the Apple Jacks commercial. Mama, can we get some Apple Jacks? There’s a prize in the box that looks pretty good.”
Grocery shopping with Sienna usually meant boycotting the cereal aisle. As well as the cookie aisle. And the candy aisle. There wasn’t room in the budget for extras, particularly extras loaded with sugar and ingredients whose names she couldn’t pronounce.
“We’ll see.”
“So maybe on the Apple Jacks and yes on the shirt?”
“Right. So we’ve got the socks, the t-shirts, and baby dolls. Is that it?”
“My shirt.” Sienna skipped across the lawn and tossed the shirt onto the pile of clothing slated for the dye baths.
Annie had already mixed dye, water and vinegar in five aluminum buckets she�
�d found in the garden shed. Once hosed off and de-bugged, they were ideal containers for their little project. Clarisse hadn’t seemed to mind that her grass might be psychedelic for a while after they were finished. She’d given her blessing before heading off to the Historical Society.
She didn’t think she’d forgotten anything. They both were wearing last year’s bathing suits, so even if they were careless and splashed dye around, they should be able to come clean. And not ruin anything, a primary objective. Sienna’s creative gusto usually meant something suffered.
Pointing to the pile of rubber bands and string, she said, “First, we twist the fabric. Remember, you can make designs—kind of, anyhow—with the rubber bands and string. Wherever the rubber bands are, the dye won’t be, so that part will stay white.”
They sat cross-legged in the grass. A t-shirt, soft from washing, twisted easily into shape. She pulled a bit into a tight circle, secured the bundle of fabric with a rubber band, and then held it up.
“See? If we make little bundles all over this shirt, it will come out with lots of tie-dyed circles on it. Cool, huh?”
Sienna nodded. She grabbed a shirt, pulling it onto her lap and concentrating on bunching the fabric into place. She wound a rubber band onto it, then looked up.
“Cool. But can you show me how to make a heart?”
Oh boy. It figured her kid couldn’t be content with circles. Hearts? She almost said it couldn’t be done, but the expectant eyes staring up at her stilled the words on her lips.
“A heart? Hmm, let’s see…”
She pushed and twisted, coaxing the cotton to cooperate. When she secured the rubber band, she said, “I think that might just do it. Not a hundred percent sure about it, but maybe. It’s the best I can do, honey.”
Sienna fingered the misshapen bump in the fabric. With a grin, she said, “It’ll work. Now let’s make more. All over everything. Hearts and hearts and hearts…”
By the time all the hearts that could be fit onto any space on all of their items had been made, dyed, rinsed and hung to dry, they were both covered in subdued blotches of red, yellow, green, purple and blue.