The New Hope Cafe

by Dawn Atkins

“She reminds me of my grandmother.” She’d been brusque but tenderhearted, and Cara could tell that was Rosie’s way. “She died when I was fourteen.” Cara had been devastated. Her grandmother had loved her unconditionally.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I miss her.”

  Jonah looked at her in a way that made her feel really seen. Seconds passed like that and it happened again. Zing. Another jolt of desire. She caught an answering flare in his eyes. What was going on here? Sex was the last thing on her mind. Part of it was that Jonah was handsome, with longish dark hair, a square jaw and dark eyes. He reminded her of a young Russell Crowe.

  He was older than her, maybe mid-thirties.

  Barrett’s age.

  Jonah had made her think of Barrett when he’d grabbed her arm to keep her from getting burned. Barrett had squeezed her arm so hard her fingers tingled, showing he had power over her, that he could hurt her if he wanted to.

  The thought of Barrett snapped her out of it. Cara whipped her gaze to the window. “You don’t use the vegetables in the café?” She could make out cabbage, peas, tomatoes and peppers, some low vines—melon or squash—and maybe strawberries.

  “Rosie sells the stuff to a restaurant in town—one of those places with puny entrées, kitchen-sink salads and every cheese labeled artisanal. It’s not a café, mind you. It’s a bistro.”

  She looked at him. “Not your kind of place?”

  “Not even close.”

  She smiled, staring out the window. “I would kill for a garden.”

  “So plant one. Wherever you’re moving.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Nothing in her life would be simple for years to come. Her mother’s house had been a stopping-off place at best. Now they’d been set adrift, taking only the belongings they could fit in their bags.

  Cara longed for a permanent home, safe and private, where a garden would be as easy as Jonah made it sound. Right now it seemed impossible.

  Back near the trees, she saw a round-cornered silver trailer with a redwood deck, lots of furniture and strings of white lights. “Who lives out there?”

  “Whoever’s cooking. Right now that’s me.”

  “Before you, your brother? The one who charred the hamburgers?”

  “Yeah. He lives in town at the moment.” He frowned and there was tension in his voice.

  Why had Jonah taken over? Had they fought? She sensed he wouldn’t welcome the question. Just as well, she guessed, since she couldn’t say much about herself either.

  “I thought the Quonset hut was an auto shop.”

  “Used to be one. Right now it’s my woodshop.” He turned toward the bed. “Let’s clear a path to the door.” He obviously didn’t welcome more questions. He picked up a box from the bed. She did the same.

  Together they cleared out boxes and furniture and rearranged what was left so she had room to move. The work forced them to be physically close, the way they’d been in the café. Each time their bodies brushed, Cara felt more tingles and jolts. By the time they were finished, she was out of breath and not from exertion. So strange. It must be a primal drive sparked by being on the run.

  Beth Ann’s room was equally crowded, but what caught Cara’s eye was a long shelf with toothpick structures—a fort, a biplane, an elaborate marble run, a bridge and more. “Who made all these?” she asked.

  “My brother, Evan. This was his room for a couple years when we were kids.” He surveyed the collection with a look that seemed both sad and wistful.

  “So the room I’m staying in…?”

  “Was mine, yeah.” He shrugged. “Let’s get to it.”

  When they’d finished clearing the room, Cara went to the window to open the blinds.

  “Does Bunny like to read?”

  When she turned, Jonah was so close that strands of her hair caught in his emerging beard. She brushed the hair away just as he did. Their fingers tangled for a second and she rocked into his chest. The chrome-stemmed floor lamp he held rattled. They both took shaky breaths.

  “Y-yes. She loves to read.” Her face felt hot.

  “Good.” He angled the shade so light would hit the green fake-fur pillow, then turned to her. “Is Bunny short for something?”

  “No. Just Bunny.”

  He held her gaze. Didn’t he believe her?

  As they left the room, he bent to the plug by the door and flicked on a night-light. A peace sign lit up. “So she won’t get lost on the way to the toilet.”

  Jonah was gruff, but thoughtful. He paid attention. She liked that. It made her feel better about her decision to stay. Maybe they were in good hands.

  They returned to the kitchen. When Jonah offered to follow Cara to the auto shop to drop off her car so Rusty could get to it as soon as he returned from Yuma, Rosie asked him to pick up take-out chicken for supper on the way back.

  Cara and Jonah left the café and headed for Jonah’s truck. He put a light hand to the small of her back to guide her. Barrett used to do that. When they were first married, she had loved the feeling. It made her feel protected and cared for. But she’d been young and inexperienced. He’d been ten years older and a lawyer. She’d admired him, hung on his every word, tried to be the wife he wanted her to be.

  As the years passed, she matured. The minute she began to make her own decisions and plans, she discovered the trap she’d fallen into.

  Barrett hadn’t been protecting her, he’d been controlling her, locking her away from anyone but himself, tearing down her self-esteem with every word he pretended was for her own good—to keep her from failing, getting hurt, embarrassing herself.

  Jonah’s hand on her back felt nice, especially since Barrett’s release had sent her self-confidence plummeting. She wanted to lean into it, let him take over, direct her steps.

  But that was wrong, dangerous even. Leaning on a man had nearly gotten her killed. She walked faster, away from Jonah’s hand. She traveled under her own power, on her own two feet and she didn’t dare forget that.

  * * *

  “I’M NOT much for salads,” Jonah said as CJ leaned over him with the bowl of greens, tongs at the ready, smelling so pink he could hardly see straight.

  The chicken was soggy, the biscuits cold and the butter on the corn-on-the-cob congealed, all because CJ had made them wait for her to raid Rosie’s garden and make a damn salad. She’d wanted to contribute, for hell’s sake.

  “It’s not fancy, I swear. Fresh veggies and a simple vinaigrette.”

  “Vinaigrette? Isn’t that French?”

  She laughed—there was pure delight in the sound, as if humor were a rare and precious thing. Jonah liked it a lot.

  “Might as well try it,” he said.

  As CJ loaded his plate, he averted his gaze from her softly swaying breasts. The heavy locket hung in the air. What picture was inside? Her alone? Her daughter? Both of them? He was a live-and-let-live person, but this woman roused his curiosity.

  And other parts.

  Forget that, he told himself, relieved when she took her breasts and her pink smell over to Rosie.

  “Salads make me feel like a cow chewing her cud,” Rosie said.

  “Try the ketchup cure,” Bunny said, dipping lettuce into a puddle of sauce on her plate. “It works.”

  CJ smiled her thanks at Jonah, her blue eyes shining bright. He felt lit up inside. Jesus. Maybe he had been alone too long if a woman’s smile could do that to him. He got a
nother oil pop in the chest.

  “Ah, hell. Give me some,” Rosie said, watching CJ dish some salad out. “Lotta cars stacked up at Duvall’s?”

  “Some,” Jonah said.

  “No telling how long he’ll take to get to CJ’s,” she said, way too pleased by the prospect.

  “Rosie, would you let it go?” he said, though this was the liveliest Rosie had been in weeks. Some days she didn’t even open the shop. Maybe she was depressed. She’d die before she would talk to him about what was wrong. She kept asking him about the furniture show he was getting ready for in New York, hinting that he should head there early and stay for good.

  He couldn’t leave Evan yet. And Jonah had a feeling he shouldn’t leave his aunt either. Not until she was back to normal.

  “I’m just being realistic,” Rosie said. “They might not hold your job, you know, wherever you’re going.” She shot a look at CJ.

  “Have you always lived in New Hope, Rosie?” CJ asked, clearly trying to steer the subject away from her destination.

  “My husband, Eddie, grew up in New Hope. When we got married, he sold his business and moved us out here.”

  “Jonah mentioned that he died. I’m sorry you lost him.”

  “I didn’t lose him. He croaked on me. Set me up with the café, then took a powder.” She brushed her palms together, like clearing dust.

  CJ blinked at the harsh assessment.

  “It’s not like he died on purpose,” Jonah said.

  “He might have just to see how I’d do on my own.” Rosie shook her head, then muttered darkly, “It was the hospital that did it. All he had was a hernia, but once they sink a knife in you, you’re done. That’s how it was with my folks.”

  “They died of cancer, Rosie,” Jonah said. “Your dad had lung cancer from smoking like a fiend and your mom had—”

  “It was the surgeries that killed them.” She snapped her fingers. “Gone just like that.”

  “Eddie sounds like an interesting man,” CJ said, obviously trying to lighten Rosie’s mood. “How did you meet?”

  “That’s a great story.” Rosie smiled. “He caught me stealing electric typewriters from his office. That was before computers were everywhere. Instead of calling the police or coming after me with a baseball bat, he asked me out.”

  “You’re kidding,” CJ said.

  “Nope. I said yes out of pure shock. I was twenty, mixed up with druggies, on a bad path. Eddie saw into my heart. Of course it didn’t hurt that I had a great pair of tits.”

  “Rosie.” Jonah nodded at Bunny.

  “You’ve heard tits before, haven’t you, Bunny?”

  Bunny nodded eagerly.

  “See?”

  Jonah glanced at CJ, but she didn’t look upset.

  “At first I figured he was after you-know-what. But he was a complete gentleman. I had to make the first move. He was forty and thought he was too old for me. But I didn’t care about that. I never looked back.”

  “And you’ve kept the café going ever since,” CJ said.

  “Forty years. A lifetime.” She got strangely quiet. Jonah stared at his aunt. What the hell was up with her? She’d been reminiscing a lot about Eddie, too, now that he thought about it.

  Rosie cleared her throat. “So, anyway, New Hope’s a nice town. Friendly people, lots to do for such a small place. We’ve got a big old bowling alley, a couple bars and two movie theaters. Galleries up the ying-yang. Magazines are always coming out to do stories on us. The schools are decent. Because of all the artists who live here, the art teachers are great. Football team’s for shit, but you probably don’t care about that.”

  “You running for mayor, Rosie?” Jonah said.

  “I’m just saying it’s a good town. You liked when you lived here. Evan, too.” She turned to CJ. “The boys stayed with me when their father had his troubles.”

  “Rosie, don’t.” Heat washed through Jonah. He did not want their private mess served up with supper.

  “Your dad was my brother and I can talk about him as I see fit. He was an angry man and a mean drunk and we all suffered for it—especially Evan, who got the booze gene from him. The disease took my brother, God rest his soul.”

  “That’s enough.” The words came out harder than he’d intended.

  Rosie shot him a familiar look. Don’t tell me what to do, young man. “What’s the big deal? Evan’s sober now. All’s well that ends well.”

  But the fight was far from over. Alcoholics were always in recovery. One day at a time was what they taught in AA. Jonah had sat through plenty of meetings with his brother, learning all he could to stave off the next setback.

  “Every family’s got problems, right, CJ?” Rosie asked. “You’re divorced, aren’t you?”

  “Leave her alone, Rosie,” he said.

  “Kids complicate things. At least you didn’t have that, Jonah—” Rosie caught herself, remembering too late about the babies.

  He wished to hell he hadn’t told Rosie when Suzanne got pregnant. He’d been so proud he’d gone and crowed to her over the phone. Twin girls. He hadn’t been able to believe it. For those months it seemed like he and Suzanne both walked six inches off the ground, grinning at each other like fools whenever their eyes met.

  She was seven months along when it happened. Complications due to uterine crowding. Not uncommon with multiple births, the doctor said.

  “Divorce is hard,” Rosie mumbled. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  “You managed to say a lot more than that.” He grabbed his plate and stood, scraping his chair against the floor. “I apologize for airing our laundry in front of you, CJ.” He took his dish to the kitchen sink and ran the water hard. He hated that she knew something so private and painful.

  When he turned around, CJ stood there. “Fresh-picked strawberries for dessert. All I have to do is whip the cream.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay.” She colored. “I picked too many. I could bring them down to the café. I have a great French toast recipe, if you’ve got the bread I need.”

  “Just wait tables. That’s plenty.”

  She blanched, so he knew he’d been too blunt. He was always saying the wrong thing the wrong way. When he’d told her she was in good hands with Rosie, her eyes had gotten so shiny he was afraid he’d made her cry.

  “Night,” he said, wanting to get out of there before he made it worse.

  “When do you want me?” she said softly.

  “When do I…” Her words caught him short, gave him that hot spark again.

  CJ flushed. “In the café. In the morning.”

  “Sure. Yeah. Deliveries start at five, but I don’t need you until—”

  “I’ll be there at five. And I can do more than wait tables, Jonah.” There was that glint again. He had a feeling he hadn’t heard the last of that French toast.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN CARA WENT to say good-night to Beth Ann, she found her in bed staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, holding Bunny tight.

  She took a cheerful approach, since her daughter wouldn’t welcome sympathy or comfort. “Look at you, all cozy in the toothpick room.” She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the sheet up to Beth Ann’s chin. “And Star Wars sheets. I’ve got race cars on my bed. It was Jonah’s room. This room was his little brother’s.”

  “It smells weird here,” Beth Ann said in a scared voice. “Dusty and old.”

  “You’re not used to it
.” Cara brushed her daughter’s hair from her forehead—one kindness Beth Ann allowed her mother. “Remember the first night at Grandma Price’s? You hated how it smelled like cigarettes and hairspray.”

  Beth Ann didn’t look convinced.

  “This smell is old wood,” Cara said. “I like it. If you add in baked bread, that’s how my grandmother’s house smelled.” She paused. “Rosie is kind of like her.”

  “Did she teach you poker?”

  Cara laughed. “Nope. She taught me how to cook. She did like jelly beans though. She used to bake them into rolls. Each color meant a different fortune.”

  “Really?”

  Beth Ann seemed cheered, so Cara kept talking. “Green meant good luck. Red meant you’d fall in love. Pink meant you’d make a friend.”

  “That’s cool. Could you make those rolls?”

  “When there’s time, sure.” She hadn’t baked in more than three years. Barrett had poisoned that pleasure. His first act of violence had happened over a burnt batch of banana muffins.

  He’d come home early and found her registering for college online. In her excitement, she’d forgotten the muffins. He’d thrown the blackened rolls at her, one by one, berating her for neglecting her family, for being selfish and foolish. That had been the beginning of the end.

  “You used to let me cook with you,” Beth Ann said.

  “I did.” Thankfully, Beth Ann had been out of hearing range for the fight. Barrett had swept everything from the counter, shattering Beth Ann’s special cooking bowl.

  Cara didn’t want to think of that. “Anyway, my grandma was a great teacher. So patient. No matter what little dish I helped make, she always said it was the best part of the meal.” Dinners at her grandmother’s had been celebrations, warm with love.

  “I wish I could have met her,” Beth Ann said.

  “She would have adored you.” Cara swallowed against that sadness. Losing her grandmother had sunk her very low. It was only when she went to work at Dolly’s that she bounced back. Dolly picked up where her grandmother had left off, teaching Cara tons about the restaurant business, too. Cara had soaked it up like a sponge.