Tea and Crumples

by Kinard, Summer;

  “Sienna, I have been trying to call you for hours.” Marnie’s words rushed out as fast as her drawl would allow. “I found the only spot in this valley that has a signal, and it’s pouring rain. I have to make it quick. I just called to say, Peter is going to make it. It’s going to be hard, but you two are going to be okay.”

  The signal cut out before Sienna could respond. She hoped her friend was speaking a prophetic truth, but Marnie had been wrong before.

  NOTES FROM SIENNA’S TEA FILES

  Peter Bannock, architect, wonderful husband, 33: Assam with honey and cream. Golden, malty.

  Sienna Bannock, tea master, stationer, shop owner, 32: Keemun with half and half and 1 teaspoon turbinado sugar. High aroma best; floral.

  Greg Tippett, priest, musical theater tenor, 38: Moroccan mint tea in a glass cup, so sweet it’s cloying. Mint sprig in cup. Pour tea from height.

  Chapter Two

  Eyes burning, Sienna unlocked the back door to the teashop and pushed it open wearily. Lights were already on in the office and stationery section.

  “Tovah?” she called.

  Tovah popped her head around a corner, assessed Sienna’s bedraggled face, and rushed forward. “Before you tell me what happened, let’s get you a cuppa. You need some serious caffeine. Yerba mate?”

  Sienna nodded and allowed Tovah to guide her around the tea bar service area in the shop to a round pink barstool.

  “Sit,” Tovah ordered. She busied herself making tea. Sienna watched detachedly from her haze of fatigue. A doorbell rang at the back, and Tovah scurried to answer it. She returned, beaming, pushing a large baker’s rack covered in rich, nutty pastries and croissants. “Perfect timing. I was going to make you eat one of your experimental scones, but the Hearth delivery saved you that trial.”

  “One of the benefits of being a Christian,” Sienna teased, perking up a bit as the smell of the pastries mingled with the chocolaty cloud of steeping tea. “Save us from the time of trial and all that.”

  “Drink,” Tovah commanded, setting a huge bone china mug in front of her business partner. She laid a napkin on the counter next to the tea and plopped a raspberry pastry on it. “Our second order of plates didn’t come in, I see, so you have to be a little less formal.” She poured herself a mug of tea, added honey and coconut milk, and leaned forward, waiting.

  Sienna swallowed three hot sips before she looked up. “Peter has cancer. They cut a tumor out of him last night that was bigger than they suspected based on the scans. We don’t know how bad it is till the tests get in later today. But it’s probably stage three.”

  “Oy, vey,” Tovah said, grasping Sienna’s forearm softly. “And you found this out last night?”

  “Yes, and I have to be here today.” She sniffed back the tingle in her throat that preceded tears. “It’s opening day.”

  “Tell you what. Lettye will be here in an hour, and Jessie is coming in at 9:30. I’ll call Nina right now and see if she can get here this morning. You stay through lunch, maybe, but let us handle the rest of the day. You should be with Peter.”

  Sienna nodded. There was no use in arguing with Tovah when she was right. “I’ll do what you say, but while I’m here, I’m here.”

  “Okay. Good. Then finish your tea and pastry, and come help me rearrange the sample books in the stationery section.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Are you still determined that the front cubby has to be computer free?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, no. We’re good. But we should test that the outlets behind the booths actually work. I’m not going to fight a bunch of angry graduate students on our first day in business.” Tovah threw up her hands in the air as though exasperated from doing just that, then walked rapidly around the counter. She surprised Sienna with a firm hug as she walked past.

  “Thanks,” Sienna said, her voice strained with suppressed tears.

  “Eat!” Tovah called, already across the room.

  Tea and Crumples had been Sienna’s dream business since she first took up tea drinking in college. When she and Tovah met in a midrash class six years before, Sienna was impressed with the woman’s rapid mind and exquisite taste in stationery. They had only been in class together a month before the tea and stationery shop was a shared vision. For four years, they tinkered with business plans and casual location scouting. After Tovah survived meningitis with the birth of her third child, the dream congealed. They began preparations in earnest, raising capital, planning inventory and menus, attending conferences, and developing a brand. For six months, they renovated the old downtown office space, working alongside contractors and volunteers.

  At last, on the first Thursday of September, they were opening to the public. Even if Sienna had not quite worked out the kinks in the gluten-free scones—they were too grainy for her taste—she felt that they were ready for the big day. Her staff could all pour tasting teas, arrange frou-frou tea trays for the nostalgic afternoon tea crowd, brew a stout, dark tea for the hardy types who drank from thick mugs, steer adventurous students toward pu-erh, and make a perfect Darjeeling without oversteeping.

  Then there were the special gifts each employee brought to the shop. Lettye’s effortless poise put people at ease, and her competence and hospitality made her an ideal manager. Jessie, a musician who looked like no one so much as a young female Willie Nelson who favored dark pink dresses to go with her cowgirl boots, was great with children. When Sienna had hired Jessie, it was with fond ideas that Jessie might lead toddler tea groups including Sienna’s own future children. Jessie was exactly the kind of tea hostess to convince you that your life was filled with serendipity while she moved dancelike around you; she made sipping into song. Then there was their youngest staff member Nina, hardworking and bright, eager to learn, and possessed of a genuine philanthropic spirit that made everyone feel respected and honored when they were in her presence. Together, they would bring grace beyond what any could put forth alone. Their camaraderie reminded Sienna of recipes, the way so many ingredients were better together.

  Sienna went to the cold case and arranged a few trays of sandwiches on bread from Hearth, a bakery that was their near neighbor in downtown Durham. After much back and forth, she and Lettye, the floor manager, had decided not to order in the tiny tea sandwiches they would use for trays. Instead, they bought pounds of dark yellow butter and tangy goat cheese from local vendors, slathered them on freshly sliced bread, and paired them with local greens, fruit, and meat.

  Sorting out sandwiches distracted Sienna from her anxiety over Peter, for a little while, at least. She felt the tightness rear up in her chest again as she straightened the last row of country ham biscuits in the refrigerated counter case. The biscuits were Peter’s favorites. She pulled her hand back as if burned and stared emptily at the rows of teacups on the wall where customers were allowed to pick their own cups. Her eyes focused on a narrow white mug adorned with a small red heart. The improbability of red in the emptiness was just like hope. She moved her feet to chase it around the shop.

  The tables were in place, all except the chess table, which had come in late the day before. Sienna wanted it set up before the door opened at 10:00.

  “Nina, could you help me?”

  The knobby young woman had rushed in directly after Tovah’s call, eager for the extra work hours.

  “Sure, Miss.” Nina carefully finished prepping the last coffee press pot, set the laden tray into its spot, and walked to Sienna eagerly. “Are we putting that in the front window?” She pointed at the gleaming table.

  “Yes. I think we will. Adds a bit more community to the game, don’t you think?” Sienna noted the girl’s good instinct for flow. Nina would be as valuable for floor service as behind the tea bar.

  They set up the table in the larger of the two front windows, to the right of the door looking out. It was specially made for café crowds, with wide empty space to the sides of the inlaid board so that players could have their bev
erages nearby. The smaller window nook held the head of the manuscript table—a long, wooden, communal table reserved for people watchers and those who write by hand instead of computer. The manuscript table had been Sienna’s dream child, the one place in the dining area that most wed the two sides of the business, stationery and tea.

  “Do you have the pieces, Miss?” Nina asked, closing the built in-drawer where one might have expected the chess pieces to reside.

  “Um, no.” Sienna knit her brows and stared hard at the windowsill as if doing so would cause the chessmen to materialize. Gradually, she became aware of a man standing on the other side of the glass. He was tall, with a warm brown complexion and a dignified carriage. She looked up, returned his friendly expression, and went to the door when he nodded at it.

  “Hello. We’re just about to open. Would you like to come in?” Sienna asked.

  “Hi, there. My name’s Cleotis Reed. I’m seventy-four years old. I speak my mind.” The man nodded and grinned widely, putting Sienna at ease despite his abrupt introduction.

  “Sienna Bannock, proprietor. Thirty-two years old. I make tea.” She offered her hand, and he shook it warmly.

  “I think you have something missing here,” Cleotis said drily. His clear dark eyes were sharp and bright, giving the impression that he could see straight into every corner of her heart and mind.

  Sienna was caught off guard. Could he know about Peter? About the baby they had lost? She swallowed and recalled herself from such ridiculous assumptions. The man was a stranger. He must mean something in the shop. She looked around, wondering if they had overlooked the obvious.

  “Your chess board is empty,” Cleotis supplied, at last. “Do you offer senior citizen discounts?” His rapid change of subject had landed on a topic that Sienna had rehearsed to herself.

  “Are you retired?” she asked easily, thinking of the phone app Peter had programmed for her.

  “Retired in 2007.”

  “Alright. Then I’ll give you prices from 2007. How’s that sound?” It felt good that Peter’s app allowed her to answer with such confidence. She had the chance to remember him as strong and supportive instead of drugged and weak in the hospital bed.

  Cleotis Reed nodded once without breaking his penetrating gaze. “Sounds fair. I’ll be right back.”

  Sienna plunked a blue mug full of rollerball pens on the manuscript table, triple checked that the hot water reservoirs were filled, and flipped the door sign to “Open.” She prayed the only prayer that her weary mind could muster, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us,” and turned to walk toward the stationery alcove. Before she got far from the front of the shop, while the words of her repeated prayer were yet on her lips, the light bell on the door tinkled. She turned to find Cleotis Reed backing into the room, an open cardboard box filled with substantial chessmen in his arms.

  “Tell you what,” he said, walking to the board and arranging the pieces with startling speed, “I’ll let you keep this set here. On loan, understand? And in exchange, I hope you don’t mind if I have a few friends by here for a game now and again.”

  “Not at all. Thank you.” Sienna smiled. The pieces gave the board, and the room, elegance. She did not want to appear gauche by examining the chessmen for their value, but she suspected that they were worth more than the hardwood and rosewood inlaid table on which they rested. “Seeing as you’re our first customer, how about I get you something hot to drink. On the house.”

  “I’ll have a pot of lapsang souchang with half and half and lump sugar, if you have it.” Cleotis Reed made himself at home at the chess table, in the chair farthest from the door.

  “Right away,” Sienna said and began to assemble the tea. A low, mellow soundtrack started as she laid a spoon on a napkin next to a small bowl of brown and white sugar lumps. By the time she returned with the tray, Cleotis Reed had company.

  “Thank you much,” he said, nodding graciously. “Sienna Bannock, allow me to introduce my oldest friend,” he smiled at his own pun, “A.C. Whitmer. A.C. here is a coffee man, God bless him.”

  A.C. stood for the introduction. “How do you do?” he asked, his thick Eastern North Carolina drawl at odds with his friend’s lilting clip. He shook Sienna’s hand and sat back down.

  Sienna smiled and nodded, unable to bring herself to say she was well. “Thank you, Mr. Whitmer. Would you like a mug of coffee, or a pot?”

  “Well,” he considered, “I think I’d like a pot, if it’s an insulated one. I like my coffee scalding hot. Keeps my mouth closed and me out of trouble.” He was quiet for a long moment but held Sienna’s gaze, clearly not finished speaking. “And please, call me A.C. I still think of my granddaddy as Mr. Whitmer, and he’s been dead fifty years.”

  Sienna agreed and offered that the men should call her by her first name as well, though she already knew that Cleotis Reed was one of the Southern personalities who would always be addressed by his full name, even in thought. When she returned with a mug and a carafe of dark coffee, the men had already captured several pieces from one another. She set down the mug, as unobtrusively as possible, and Cleotis Reed said, “Checkmate” in the sort of low, strong tone that indicates long habit.

  “Come on, now, Cleotis. I haven’t even had my coffee yet,” A.C. joked. He turned to Sienna. “Cleotis here has been whooping me at chess since 1964.”

  “Here. Don’t you let on to everybody about my age,” Cleotis said gruffly, resetting the board.

  “You tell everyone you meet how old you are, and you know it,” A.C. rejoined. “Bark’s worse than his bite, this one,” A.C. said to Sienna, with a nod toward his friend. “Unless you’re playing him. Then it’s the other way around. My advice,” he dropped his voice low and leaned toward Sienna conspiratorially, “is not to lay money on the other guy. Meaning me.”

  “Come on, now. I don’t always win.” Cleotis doctored a fresh cup of tea and sipped it. “Every now and again, you beat me.”

  “1964, 1971, 1985 and ’87, ’93, ’98, ’01, twice in ’03, four times in ’07 when you had pneumonia, and twice in 2011 when you had the cataract surgery.” A.C. seemed happy about his long losing streaks.

  “Look here, Ms. Sienna, A.C. is my best friend and too humble to tell you how often he lets me win.”

  “Not today, old friend. I’m about to add to my list.”

  The men settled into a gentle rhythm of banter and rapid play. Sienna happily met several new customers as Nina and Lettye bustled about serving them. To her count, Cleotis Reed won every game at the chess table, though the only real indication was A.C.’s laughter whenever he succumbed to another checkmate. The shop was in order and running well. Even the scribe table was being put to good use. She smiled when she saw a thirty-something young man sit down to write a pile of postcards across from a young woman filling page after page in a battered red journal.

  Content that she would be leaving the shop in good hands, Sienna went to find Tovah. “I’m heading back to the hospital. Email me if you want to catch me up. Peter should have a room by now, and I will probably be able to use the browser on my phone.” Tovah stood from the desk where she had just entered their first custom stationery order, but froze as she hugged her friend.

  “May I help you?” Tovah asked tersely as she addressed someone over Sienna’s right shoulder.

  Sienna did not have to turn to know who it was. Her spine tensed with the knowledge of being watched. She forced a polite smile onto her face and turned to meet him as casually as possible. His direct gaze disquieted her; it was the expression of someone looking for what they knew you couldn’t give. She had the uneasy sense that he wasn’t only looking for stationery.

  “Well, hello,” Greg burred. “I came to see about those scones and journals.” A slow smile warmed his handsome face, and he turned with obvious effort to Tovah. “Greg Tippett.” He extended his hand. “I happened in on Sienna here yesterday, and she gave me a hot biscuit on her way out.”

  “Ch
armed.” Tovah was curt in her handshake, clearly not at all charmed. “Tovah Rosen, shop co-owner. May I help you?”

  “Well, I’m heading out,” Sienna said to Tovah, with a tense smile toward Greg. “Tovah is the one you want to speak with about those journals.”

  Tovah stepped between Sienna and Greg and gave her friend a big hug. “Take care, honey,” she whispered. Then she gave Sienna a little push toward the back exit and planted herself so that Greg could not speak with Sienna again.

  Sienna blinked into the late summer sun. She breathed deeply to steady her racing pulse and leaned against the old red brick of the alley. Why had Greg affected her so? Because he’s attractive and he likes you, she thought. Her breath caught, and she coughed. For a fleeting moment, she tried to convince herself that she was imagining things with Greg. But Tovah’s hackles had been raised by his attentions, too. Maybe he does like me. He came back, just as he said he would. She pulled her rebellious thoughts back in line. It shouldn’t matter to her if he showed up every day; he was just a customer who liked stationery and had an overly easy air with strangers. She took a deep breath and shook the memory of his gaze from her head.

  “Peter. I need to go see Peter.” Wearily, she pushed away from the wall and went to her car.

  The trip to the hospital was brief, and she drove it automatically. Distantly, she was aware of the grace in going somewhere by rote. She had only driven to Peter at the hospital once, but she could go there without conscious thought because he was there, drawing her. This must be how geese make it through their migrations, she thought, weaving through foot traffic and up an elevator to Peter’s ward. She was surprised to find her exhaustion-stung gaze focused on a nurse’s face. The nurse wanted something. What had she asked?

  “May I help you?” the nurse asked again, not unkindly.

  Sienna started and gave Peter’s name and her own. The woman nodded and spoke to a male nurse behind her in low, coded language.

  “Mrs. Bannock?” he asked. “I’m David. I’ve been looking after your husband today. Come this way, please.” He walked down two hallways and pushed open a heavy door.