Tourist season didn't start until May, when pleasure boats began to chug into the marina.
"We've finished," the mother replied. She paid her bill, then gathered her coat and purse. Her kid had picked out all the onions from his soup and had piled them on the table.
"So, Katrina, what's new in school?" Ralph asked.
"Not much." I wiped the table's oilcloth as the mother and son left. "Hey, did you guys know that Mr. Darling is sponsoring the Solstice Festival?"
"Well, he'd better not come in here and ask for a donation," Grandma Anna said, sticking her head out the pantry curtains. "I've already given him most of my customers. I'm not about to help him decorate his shop!"
Ingvar chuckled, sliding his pipe across his mouth.
"That man's shop is a blight," Odin said, claiming one of Lars's game pieces. "All those kids hanging out there all the time, crowding the sidewalk. You can barely get past the place. Thank God no kids hang out here."
Odin's comment drifted back toward the pantry and I waited for my grandmother's reaction. Financial worries came in second to her constant worries about my social life. What's wrong with having only two friends? At least I didn't have to buy their friendship with Mocha Frappe coupons.
"Katrina." My grandmother emerged from the pantry. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the onslaught. "Why don't you ask a nice boy to go to the Solstice Festival with you?" She wiped her hands on her apron. "You're such a pretty girl. I'm sure there are lots of nice boys who would love to go. You just pick the best one and ask him."
Grandmothers can tell you that you're pretty, and they will. They can tell you that you're talented and special and the best darn thing that ever walked on two feet. That any boy would be lucky to breathe the same air that you breathe. But those comments don't count. Grandmothers have to say those things.
Here's what a grandmother probably won't tell you. That it's great to be blond if you're perky and outgoing, but if you tend to be untalented and shy, it doesn't help much.
That sixteen-year-old boys don't like to date girls who tower over them. And that those same boys steer clear of girls who hang out with only one particular guy, even if he's just a best friend, because they figure that something else is going on.
Then throw in a bunch of rumors about a guy in a skirt and a "good deed," and you might as well just slit your wrists.
"Forget about working, Katrina. We can manage one night without you. This year you should go out and enjoy the festival."
"I'll think about it." I wasn't going to think about it. Who would I ask? The only boy I ever did anything with was Vincent.
Five o'clock came, closing time at Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffehouse. The Boys rolled up their game mat, put on their coats and hats, and bid good night to Grandma Anna and me. Then, with especially tender voices, they bid good night to Irmgaard. She smiled shyly but didn't look up from her soup pot. The Boys headed off to the pub for a "snort," which is what they called a shot of whiskey.
Just as I was about to flip the open sign, Mr. Darling sauntered in. Like his daughter, he kept his hair in a pony-tail, only his didn't bounce. It hung kind of limp and thin.
He snickered at the word "poop," still etched on our front window. "New item on your menu?" he asked.
"What do you want?" my grandmother asked between clenched teeth.
He smoothed his navy sweater with its Java Heaven cloud logo and surveyed the empty room. "I'd be happy to send a few of my customers over if you need the business, Anna. What's a neighbor for?"
I hated the way he called my grandmother by her first name, as if they were friends.
"We're closed," I told him. "That's why we don't have any customers."
"I see. Just offering my help."
My grandmother rose to her full five feet three inches. "I've been in business for over forty years," she said. "And I've managed quite nicely without your help."
"Over forty years?" He acted as if he didn't know that fact. As if he hadn't bothered to read the sign above the door: Anna's Old World Scandinavian Coffeehouse, Bringing the Old Country to Nordby for over forty years.
He pointed a finger at me. "Say, don't you go to school with my daughter?"
I'd gone to school with Heidi since the first grade. We'd played in the same piano recitals, had joined the same Girl Scouts troop, had read poetry in the same school pageants. But Mr. Darling never seemed to remember me. Which brings me to another thing a grandmother won't tell you-- You just aren't memorable, sweetheart.
"What's your name again?"
"Katrina."
"Hmmm." He looked doubtful. "Well, I'll try to remember that." Then he sat on one of our stools and folded his hands on the counter. "Forty years is a long time to run a business, Anna. And every business has its life span. I bet you're tired of this place."
My grandmother closed the back curtains, hiding the mess of wet towels. "Why would I be tired of this place?" Then she busied herself with the percolator, emptying the grounds into a bucket we kept under the sink while I cleaned the tables and Irmgaard worked on her soup. A group effort at snubbing.
Once a month, Mr. Darling came over to rub our noses in the fact that his coffeehouse, which had only been in business for two years, overflowed with customers. The laptop crowd liked the hip music. The at-home moms liked the whipped, iced coffee drinks that were basically milkshakes. And everyone on the planet liked his organic fair-trade coffee. Our coffee wasn't organic. Nor did it come with a fancy label that said it had been picked by a native cooperative, that the bags were recyclable, and that 10 percent of the profits went back to the coffee farmer.
No sireeeee.
Our coffee came in a big plastic bag from Bulk Supply Company. The label just said Coffee.
Mr. Darling cleared his throat. "Anna, I've made a decision that affects both of us."
"I'm too busy to talk right now," she snapped, dumping the remaining coffee down the sink. "Unless you're here to buy something, I'd like you to leave."
Irmgaard grabbed some potatoes from the pantry and began chopping. I wished that Mr. Darling would leave. I always felt self-conscious when he visited, well aware of our total lack of trendiness. Organic coffee is a great thing. We should have served it too. But Grandma Anna said nothing was wrong with the regular coffee, plus she didn't want the additional expense.
"As a matter of fact, I would like to buy something." Mr. Darling pivoted on the stool.
"You see that wall?" He pointed to the wall that separated our two businesses. A portrait of the King and Queen of Norway hung there. They had once visited Nordby.
"I've decided to tear down that wall so that I can expand my business."
Irmgaard gasped. A few potatoes rolled off the counter.
"What?" I cried.
Mr. Darling smiled. "I'll need you to vacate as soon as possible."
Six
Vacate?" My grandmother dropped the old percolator into the sink.
Mr. Darling fiddled with his ponytail. "It's progress, Anna. Nothing personal."
"Of course it's personal. I own this business."
"You can't tear down that wall," I said. "She has a lease--a lifetime lease."
"That's right. I have a lifetime lease. When my husband sold this building, we were guaranteed this space and the upstairs apartment at a fixed rent for life. And I'm fit as a fiddle."
Like a gunfighter in a Western, Mr. Darling took his time rising from his stool. He towered over my grandmother, and I'm not just referring to his height. While he prospered, we eked out a living. While he met the growing demand for earth-friendly products, we handed out styrofoam coffee cups. While he marketed, we waited and hoped for a crowded tourist season. Crossed fingers don't work as well as coupons, team sponsorships, and a "flavor of the week."
"You'll find, if you reread your contract, that life refers to the life of your business, not the life of its owner. Only as long as your business is in operation do you receive the fixed rent."
He folded his arms confidently. "And let's be honest. Your business is dying. I spoke to the landlord this morning and she said that if you vacated, remodeling could begin without delay. Once I rip out the kitchen and open the back room, I figure I can squeeze in two dozen more tables. I'll give you a fair price to leave. It will certainly be more money than you're making now."
My grandmother's face ignited. She gripped the edge of her embroidered apron. "My income is none of your business."
As much as I despised Mr. Darling, perhaps his offer was not such a bad thing.
Grandma Anna was seventy and she always said she couldn't afford to retire. And she wasn't fit as a fiddle. She kept seven different bottles of pills on her bathroom counter.
I knew about the high blood pressure and arthritis, but she hadn't told me what the other pills were for.
Mr. Darling cleared his throat. "Think of the money, Anna. This place is falling apart.
Look at those old percolators and that old stove. The countertops are peeling and the single-pane windows are fogged. I'll give you a nice sum to move out. Take a vacation. Buy a condo in sunny Florida. Wouldn't that be nice? My mother is moving to Florida. Florida's a great place to retire."
As my grandmother stomped around the counter, her loafers--still soggy from the dishwasher explosion--made little farting sounds. "I'm not buying a condo in Florida.
Nordby is my home. My husband took his last breath in this town. And I have employees who rely on me." Irmgaard hung her head, avoiding Mr. Darling's intimidating gaze. "I'm not selling. Not to you. Not to anyone."
"Oh, I think you'll change your mind," he said, smugness pushing at the corner of his upper lip.
"You can think whatever you want to think, but I won't change my mind."
The lip fell. "We'll see about that."
Grandma Anna put her hand to her chest. "Is that a threat?"
"My heart is set on expanding my business. I don't like to be disappointed."
I stood close to my grandmother. Her shoulders trembled slightly. "You will leave,"
she told him.
He did, but he made us wait while he cleaned a spot off his shoe. Once he had gone, my grandmother slammed the door, turned the closed sign outward, then crumpled into a chair. Irmgaard and I hurried to her side.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I should call Officer Larsen and report that man." She slapped her palm on the table.
Then she sighed. "But he's right. How am I going to fix everything that's falling apart?
The Boys buy a few cups of coffee and sandwiches. That's not enough to keep us going during the winter months."
"We'll make some money during the Solstice Festival," I said. "We always have a long line for our hot chocolate."
"Not last year."
"Oh, right." Last year the line to get into Java Heaven had been so long that it had blocked people from entering our shop to buy my grandmother's famous Norwegian cocoa.
"We can't rely on the festival," she mumbled.
"We'd get more people in here if we got an espresso machine," I suggested for the millionth time. Irmgaard nodded.
"I'm not getting an espresso machine. This is a Scandinavian coffeehouse, not a French bistro. Espresso machines don't make egg coffee."
I thought about saying That's the point, but didn't. Norwegian egg coffee is a disgusting combination of boiled coffee grounds, sugar, and a beaten egg. Yep. A beaten egg. It's an Old World recipe and that's who asked for it--old people. Didn't much matter, anyway. Good espresso machines cost thousands of dollars.
My grandmother patted my hand. "Don't you worry, Katrina, or you'll get worry lines all over your face, just like me. You should be thinking about your grades and about college. That's your future. That's what a sixteen-year-old girl should be thinking about. And finding a nice boy to take you to the festival."
"I'm staying here and working the festival, with you. We'll bring in good money, I know we will. I'll make sure that Mr. Darling's line doesn't get in the way this time."
With a grunt, my grandmother pushed herself from the chair. "You spend too much time in here." She patted my cheek. "It's all my fault. Your parents, rest their souls, wouldn't want you working so much. Maybe I should close for good."
I didn't know what to say. The coffeehouse was my home and, in many ways, it was my sanctuary. I may not have loved all its odd flavors, but its dusty charm was a part of me. Outside, I was an average student, with average grades and average looks. My name did not grace any trophies in the gym case or any murals on the school walls.
Five years from now, no one would even know that I had been at Nordby High. But once I stepped inside our coffeehouse, I knew exactly what to do and exactly who I was.
I was an important part of Anna's. I worked the cash register, ordered supplies, made sandwiches, and chitchatted with tourists. As my grandmother slowed down, I sped up, taking on more responsibilities. Sure, it was not an ideal situation. Ideal would be going back to when we had lots of customers, more employees, and fewer demands on my time. When locals came in and I knew exactly what they were going to order.
When business was conducted at the counter, and book groups and knitting clubs met on set days of the week.
I didn't want to see Anna's close down. That would be like losing my family all over again.
We finished our evening chores. I opened the door that led to our upstairs apartment.
Ratcatcher waddled down the stairs. She wasn't allowed in the coffeehouse during the day. I crouched and scratched her head. She pawed at my jean pocket, the one holding the coffee bean. I had forgotten all about it.
"Grandma, if you could have what you most desired, what would it be?"
"I'm not sure."
"Someone told me that fortune is the most common thing people ask for."
"Well, money sure would help."
"Is that what you most desire?"
She looked at me, the creases in her face relaxing.
"What I most desire is for you to have a long and happy life, sweetheart."
Irmgaard collected her coat and purse.
"Why don't you stay and have dinner with us?" Grandma Anna asked, as she always did. "There's no reason to eat alone." Irmgaard shook her head, as she always did, and left to catch the bus, a Tupperware container of extra soup tucked under her arm.
Our apartment sat above the coffeehouse. It would have been nice to have a yard and a garage. I had both when I was three, the year my parents were killed in a car crash.
But those memories were just vapors--the sound of a lawn mower, a bowl of Cheerios, a woman's scarf, soft and red.
Grandma Anna went to bed earlier than usual, upset by Mr. Darling's visit. I slipped out of my clothes and stood in front of my bedroom mirror. The first thing I always noticed when I looked in the mirror was my height. Five foot eight seemed crazy tall to me. What was good about being so tall? Supermodel tall, maybe. Basketball player tall, totally. God help me, but if I grew another inch I'd become an honorary member of the Masai tribe.
Pajamas on, homework spread across my bed, the phone rang. "Hey, I saw you standing on the sidewalk with that guy. What did he want?" It was Vincent. He was eating something crunchy.
"He just wanted to thank me for giving him some coffee. How was the meet?"
"Okay." Genuine modesty was one of the things I really liked about Vincent.
"How did you do?"
"First in the fifty backstroke."
"How did Heidi do?"
"Heidi?" The crunching stopped. "Why are you asking about Heidi?"
"No reason."
Because I saw you hanging out with her and now I'm thinking the worst. Because at some point you're going to get a girlfriend, aren't you? Of course you are. You're amazing. And then I'll have to scoot over so she can sit next to you at the movies. And what if she wants butter on the popcorn, after you and I agreed that movie theater butter tastes rancid? That could be a real problem.
&nb
sp; "It's just that Heidi's dad was here today and he wants to give us money to vacate so he can expand Java Heaven. He's such a jerk. He was really mean to Grandma. I wish the Darlings would just move away."
"Mr. Darling's a jerk, that's for sure. But Heidi's not so bad. She can't help the way her dad is. You know she does a lot of good stuff for the community. She volunteers at the food bank and I was thinking about helping her a few times. Anyway, don't worry.
Her dad can't force you to leave."
Oh God! How could he say that Heidi wasn't so bad? Why was he defending her?
I lay back against the pillows. "Mr. Darling said that he didn't like being disappointed.
I think that was a threat."
"Just keep boycotting Java Heaven. What more can you do? You know I'll never buy their coffee. Hey, you sure that guy with the skirt wasn't bothering you?"
"He's gone."
"Good. Okay. I'll come by in the morning." I stared at the ceiling for a long time.
What was bugging me more--the idea of Vincent going out with Heidi, or the idea of him going out with anyone? Would I be so worried if he started dating someone else?
I'd be fine with it, wouldn't I?
He can't force you to leave. I thought about that as I opened my World Mythology textbook. It seemed like Mr. Darling could do whatever he wanted. He had gotten the space next door, even after Grandma had begged the landlord not to rent to him. I wrapped my bathrobe tighter and stuck my feet under the quilt. Our apartment felt colder than usual. The furnace was probably on the fritz again.
The next story in the good deed chapter was "Jack and the Beanstalk." I yawned. Did I even need to read it? Everyone knows that story.
This kid named Jack trades a cow for a bean that grows into a beanstalk. Or maybe it's three beans. His mother gets mad at him. Or maybe it's his father. But I knew that they were poor. Something about a golden harp and a man-eating giant. Okay, so maybe I didn't remember the whole story. I glanced at the bottom of the page and read: "Take this bean," the strange man said. "It will bring you fortune."
Huh? What a weird coincidence.
The phone rang again. It w7as Elizabeth.
CoffeeHouse Angel Page 4