by Casey Dawes
“I don’t know.”
“What will make the difference?”
“I think I need to meet her,” Elizabeth said, taking a big gulp of air. That was going to take more strength than she thought she had.
“A good idea,” Carol said.
The doorbell rang as soon as Elizabeth hung up the phone.
Annie pushed it open and said, “It’s only me.” She was carrying a large white bag emitting sweet chocolate odors.
Grabbing Elizabeth in a big bear hug, she murmured, “I’m so sorry. What a thing to hear after all these years. You really didn’t need to know this about Joe.”
“But now I do,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, now you do. And that definitely deserves chocolate croissants.” Annie waved the bag and walked into the kitchen.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust a man again,” Elizabeth said after they settled at the kitchen table with coffee and bakery treats.
“I understand,” Annie said. “But everyone isn’t Joe. You were too young and too buried under Catholic guilt. You’ve said that before. Sounds like Joe was unhappy and didn’t know how to deal with it honestly.”
“But to have a three year affair? And a child?”
Annie shrugged, “Too many people have affairs rather than confront problems in their marriage. Humans have been doing it for centuries.”
“I didn’t.”
“No, you’re one of the rare ones. Loyal as they come.”
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee. She put her coffee back on the table and examined her hands. She needed a manicure badly. Definitely before Marcos came.
“Marcos. I can’t see Marcos. What if he turns out to be the same?”
“You’ll never know unless you take a chance.”
“That’s all life seems to be these days,” Elizabeth said. “Taking risks. Marcos, my product line, and now this Serena woman and her daughter.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to see the girl and then decide.”
Annie nodded. “Did you tell her mother?”
“Not yet.” Elizabeth stared at her friend. “Would you stay here while I make that phone call? In case I fall apart again?”
“Sure, honey.”
Elizabeth’s hands trembled as she picked up the phone and dialed the number Serena had given her. “Hello?” she said when the woman answered.
“Yes?” Serena asked.
“It’s Elizabeth. Can you bring your daughter … what is her name?”
“Alicia.”
“Alicia. Can you bring her to my store today at about five? I’d like to meet her.” Elizabeth fired off directions to Beauty by the Bay.
“Gracias.”
“I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Elizabeth said quickly. “I just want to meet her.”
“I understand. We we’ll be there.”
Elizabeth hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “Done.”
Annie stood up and gave her another hug. “You’re a brave woman, Elizabeth Ladina.”
• • •
By the time Elizabeth got to the store, it was after eleven. She straightened up and checked the appointment book for the afternoon. Now that school had opened, walk-ins had slowed down and she had too much time on her hands. Maybe she should close the shop a few days a week?
She shook the idea from her head. Starting to close a few days a week was an indication that a store was in trouble.
She stared at the numbers on the credit union application. Financing a loan would be tight, but it was doable, she knew it was. She tucked her hair behind her ears. What she needed was an outside opinion from someone she could trust financially.
Bobby.
He’d handled her finances for years before they started dating. But would he help her now that they were no longer together? Or would he see her questions as an excuse to start dating again.
Drumming her fingers on the table, she came to a decision. If she wanted to make her dream a reality, she was going to have to take some risks. She’d stand firm with Bobby. If she could handle a blowhard with a mini-van, she could handle Bobby.
No time like the present to make the call. The store was empty.
“Hi, Bobby,”
“Elizabeth!” Bobby’s warmth traveled over the line.
She wished for a moment that things could be like they used to be. “Bobby, I was wondering if I could pick your brain.”
“Absolutely!”
They set a time to meet at the Costanoa Coffee Roasting Company the following day. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief when she hung up the phone. Their conversation was light and cordial. Hopefully, it would stay that way.
The rest of the day continued to be slow. She debated the merits of hiring Alicia.
On the pro side, she’d have a replacement for Lara and she could go out with Marcos, which, of course, led to the question of what she was doing with him. She pushed Marcos from her head. She’d just have to deal with that later.
If she hired the girl, she’d be helping someone who needed help. Definitely a feel-good experience.
But what if Alicia looked like Joe? Elizabeth would be faced with the proof of Joe’s infidelity every day. Could she stand it?
Elizabeth was relieved when five o’clock came around. She’d just finished up her closing chores when Serena and her daughter knocked on the door. Elizabeth beckoned them to come in.
Alicia was a pretty girl, a slightly larger version of her mother with dark eyes, long eyelashes and smooth olive skin. Her full lips reminded Elizabeth of Joe. Alicia’s long brown hair was clean and styled for the cool fall weather.
But it was the hummingbird tattoo on her upper arm and the silver ring in her nose that gave Elizabeth pause.
“Let’s sit here,” Elizabeth said, indicating a table and set of chairs by the front window. She’d made a pot of chamomile tea and set out cups before the women had arrived. “Tea?” she asked.
Serena smiled tentatively and nodded. Alicia’s posture was defiantly proud. “Yes, please,” she said.
“Tell me about yourself,” Elizabeth said to Alicia after the tea was poured.
“I’m pregnant. And, no, I’m not getting married. I will get my diploma and then go to cosmetology school.”
Ah, the source of the defiance. Alicia must feel alone and scared. Elizabeth’s heart ached for her.
“Yes, your mother told me your were pregnant. I don’t know if she told you that I, too, was pregnant at your age.”
Alicia’s jaw dropped. “Really? You? Did you marry the boy?”
Elizabeth flicked a glance at Serena and then cleared her throat. “Yes. We were married for several years. He died suddenly about ten years ago. Our daughter, Sarah, is in college.”
“He died about the same time my father did. How strange,” Alicia remarked.
Elizabeth shifted in her chair. “Yes.” How was she going to be able to do this?
She didn’t like to reveal so much about herself to a stranger. But this wasn’t really a stranger. It was Joe’s daughter. A young woman in trouble. Just like she had been.
“Why do you want to be a cosmetologist?” Elizabeth asked.
Alicia’s face brightened. “I like to make women feel beautiful, pampered. I give my mother facials and she finally relaxes after she works so hard. It’s good to make her feel that way.”
Elizabeth’s heart warmed to the girl. Alicia saw what she did — women who were tired and showed it. Facials, massages, even a pretty scarf could lift a woman’s spirits and enhance her femininity.
“And what have you learned so far?”
Alicia told her about the few courses she’d taken. As
she did so, Elizabeth’s mind began to whirl. Alicia could be a gateway into a new population of clients — younger, Latino clients. Women who definitely cared about how they looked.
But could she work with Joe’s child?
As Alicia went on, talking about her dreams for herself and her unborn child, Elizabeth realized she had to give her a chance. By hiring Alicia, she’d begin to walk the road to forgiving Joe and Serena.
“Okay,” she said when Alicia finally took a breath. “I’ll hire you on probation for three months. When can you start?”
“Gracias!” Alicia slipped into Spanish as her face lit up with a wide grin, a smile that lifted a weight from Elizabeth’s shoulders.
• • •
The next day an unexpected rain darkened Elizabeth’s spirits. She wrapped her raincoat around her as she walked from the car to the coffee shop to meet Bobby. Were her clothes business-like enough? After three tries, she’d finally settled on a pair of tailored beige slacks and a sunflower yellow turtleneck that didn’t draw too much notice to her breasts.
She hoped.
Bobby gave her an appreciative glance as she walked in the door.
So much for dressing for success.
He stood and pulled out her chair. “I got you a cafe latte. I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you.”
She did mind, but since he was doing her a favor, she’d let it go. “Thanks, Bobby.” She slipped her raincoat over the back of the wrought-iron chair and sat down. Once the noise from a blender died down, she continued. “I really appreciate you taking the time for me. Here are the papers I filled out for the credit union.”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” Bobby said and closed his hand around hers.
“Yes … well … ” She slid her hand out from under his and picked up her coffee spoon wondering if she could use it as a weapon if he became too aggressive. “I realize you don’t do this kind of work anymore. I just need a general opinion. Should I invest my own money? Or let it go?”
“Give me a moment or two,” he said. He looked at her as if he wanted to say something more, but put his attention on the papers.
While she waited, she sipped her latte and thought about the upcoming time with Marcos. Their dinner in Italy had been the stuff of schoolgirl dreams. Could they sustain the pleasure for a whole weekend?
Bobby cleared his throat, interrupting her daydream. “I can see why you didn’t get the money,” he said. “You’re a good businesswoman, Elizabeth. The fact that you’re company is still in the black selling high-end services in this economy is a credit to your ability.”
“That’s what all the banks say, but they still won’t give me money.”
“One of the problems is that your experience is with retail, not manufacturing. And you don’t have a partner or advisor with manufacturing experience. The risk is higher for the banks.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. A partner in anything would be really nice right now.
Just not Bobby.
Bobby leaned closer. “Are you really passionate about this, Elizabeth? If you are, I have a solution.”
Her suspicions were on full alert. “What is it?” she asked.
He took her hand again. “I’ll invest. I have the money and you know I care about you. Let me help you.”
She pulled her hand away again and picked up the spoon. “Thank you, Bobby. That’s very generous.”
“I can afford it. And we can brainstorm about the manufacturing, just like we did in the old days.”
That would be the problem. She wouldn’t just be getting Bobby’s money. She’d be getting Bobby.
“I have to think about it,” she said. “I really do appreciate it, though. You think there’s no hope from the banks?”
He slowly withdrew his hand from the table center and picked up his coffee cup. “No, I don’t.” He drank his coffee.
She slumped back in her chair, put the spoon down, and stared into her cup, surprised to find it empty.
“Would you like another?” Bobby asked.
She shook her head. Bobby’s question circled her brain. Was she passionate enough? What did she really know about manufacturing? Did she resent the bank’s attitude because her ego was taking a bruising? Or because they were pointing out something she didn’t want to admit to herself? She glanced at Bobby. Taking his offer was out of the question.
“How are you doing?” Bobby asked.
“I’m doing okay. It’s a little lonely without Sarah nearby. That’s why I’m excited about getting this project going.” She saw his fingers drift again and put both her hands in her lap.
“Is there any chance for us?” Bobby asked. “We had something good going.” He took a deep breath. “I could live without marrying you.”
She put down her cup and shook her head. “It’s over, Bobby. We had fun while we were together, but we want different things.”
“What? What could you want that I can’t give you?”
She wasn’t sure of the answer, but didn’t want to tell him that. “I don’t want any relationship right now. I went from my parents, to Joe, to you. I need some time on my own.”
“You’re seeing someone else.”
“No, not really.” Elizabeth realized her slip as soon as she said it. She quickly added, “Bobby, I don’t think our dating is a good idea.”
“But it’s okay to date someone else.” He sounded bitter.
She sighed and tried to soften the blow. “It’s casual — not serious. The guy I met in Italy is coming to see some vineyards. I’m showing him around and he’s taking me to dinner. That’s all.” She hoped it would mollify Bobby.
“And he’s coming all that way to see you? How can you say it’s not serious?”
She had enough. “It’s none of your business, Bobby. We’re. Not. Together.” She stood. “Thanks for the advice, Bobby. I appreciate it. Maybe someday we can be friends again.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”
She looked at the man she’d loved once, her heart aching for him. But there was nothing she could do for him without surrendering herself. And she wouldn’t do that anymore.
For anyone.
“See you, Bobby,” she said and walked out the door into the rain, letting the door swing shut behind her.
Chapter 11
After leaving Bobby Elizabeth headed north on Highway One. Her guilty conscious urged her back to the shop, but she sailed past the exit to Costanoa.
Traffic was mercifully mild and within ten minutes she found herself in downtown Santa Cruz, trolling for a parking place. A sleek new Subaru pulled out from a narrow spot on Pacific and Elizabeth slid right in, her small sports car fitting with room to spare.
She found herself in front of The Wooden Spoon, her favorite kitchen supply store in the county. Joy returned. She made the short dash to the front door, entered and lost herself in the soothing accoutrements to food preparation.
After fifteen minutes of examining bright Fiesta Ware, hand-thrown coffee mugs and arcane cookbooks, reality began to inch into her mind. Bobby had been adamant. No bank was going to loan her the money.
Even more troubling, he’d nailed her on what was wrong with the entire endeavor. She didn’t have the right business experience. And she didn’t know anyone who had manufacturing knowledge.
Except Marcos.
She pushed the idea aside.
Opening her own line of lotions had seemed like a wonderful idea in the luxury shop on the Mediterranean, but implementation was more difficult on the foggy Monterey Bay.
Idly she fingered the wooden implements that filled a large crock in one of the many corners in the store as she pondered how to move forward with her dream to help women feel and look better.
Genetics played a big role,
but she knew from her studies that good skin care could keep a woman looking younger without surgery, improve her self-esteem, and even help prevent skin cancer. Elizabeth wanted to create a line that was affordable and as natural as possible.
But how was she going to get the dream off the ground?
“May I help you?” a woman asked.
Elizabeth turned. “I’m just … ” She spotted a long wooden rolling pin leaning against a bookshelf. “What’s that?” she asked.
“An Italian rolling pin for making pasta like lasagna noodles and ravioli. Someone custom ordered it and never picked it up. I can give you a good deal on it.”
Elizabeth’s imagination stirred and she walked over to the pin. It wouldn’t help her with her business problem, but the idea of making ravioli was beginning to take hold. She ran her hand along the hard wooden surface. “How long is it?”
“About thirty inches. Have you made your own pasta?” the clerk asked.
Elizabeth shook her head, images of the soft, melt-in-your-mouth pasta pillows she’d had in Italy with Marcos flitting through her mind. “When I was in Italy, I found a ravioli press. I brought it home for a wall decoration.”
“I don’t think this would be a good decoration,” the woman said, disappointment written across her face.
She was probably right, but making ravioli was one project that didn’t need a bank loan. Annie had told her making bread was a good way to eliminate stress and think things through. Maybe pasta would do the same for Elizabeth.
“I’ll take it,” she told the clerk.
“Would you like to look around some more?”
“Yes. Yes, I would.” Elizabeth continued her perusal of the merchandise, captivated by gadgetry and gizmos, indulging in fantasies of the upcoming weekend. As she searched through the trinkets, she remembered the essence of being in Italy, the spirit of la dolce vita. That’s what she wanted to create with her lotions — the feeling that life was sweet and needed to be treasured.
Dealing with recalcitrant bankers and overbearing investors, like Bobby, wasn’t the sweet life. Neither was the cold steel of a manufacturing line. But if she could transcend those problems, she could touch the lives of many people, not only women, but men and children, too.