Confessions From A Coffee Shop

by T. B. Markinson

  “Great, I forgot my umbrella,” I grumbled through clenched teeth. “And I’m not in the mood for one of Phineas’s lectures.”

  “My, you’re cantankerous today.” Kat patted my leg, setting her copy of The Big Sleep on her lap. Reaching into her purse, which was more like a piece of luggage, she pulled out an umbrella. “I don’t want you going off on Phineas today. I promise you, I’ll make it worth your while if you can pretend to be charming.”

  I nestled my head on her shoulder. “Deal. Wake me up when we get there.”

  Kat continued reading while I watched the rain splatter against the windows. Only three other people were on the train. When we rolled by Coolidge Corner, only a woman and a child stood on the platform. The child held a frog umbrella, and I secretly wished we could trade. Imagine what Phineas Finn would have to say about that! That Kat’s parents wanted to have Sunday brunch before 10 a.m. annoyed the shit out of me. Thank goodness they weren’t dragging us to church‌—‌or at least I hoped they weren’t. Kat had made it clear to them years ago that she was agnostic. I wasn’t sure what I was. For me, reconciling evolution with God was too complicated. I didn’t take the time to think about it much. My family only went to church on Christmas, so my background in theology was hazy at best. I haven’t ever read the Bible. As a literature teacher, I felt somewhat embarrassed about that, but not as guilty as I felt about not having read War and Peace or Don Quixote.

  We got off the subway and made our way to their house. They wanted us to stop by the house first, before heading to a posh restaurant. Kat’s parents lived on Louisburg Square, the prime location in the area. Some of the other houses on the square had been converted into apartments, but the Finns kept their entire house to themselves, even though it was just the two of them. I wondered if the neighbors disliked the Finns and their creepy house as much as I did, Kat excluded, of course.

  On our way, we passed Acorn Street, a narrow, cobblestone lane tourists loved to photograph. I’d read it was one of the most photographed streets in America. Even I couldn’t resist its charm. I paused, pulled out my cell phone, and snapped a picture. Kat rolled her eyes.

  With the leaves changing, the old-fashioned gas lamps, the cobblestones slick with rain reflecting the warm brick of surrounding buildings, the photo turned out pretty good.

  Kat gave me a peck on the cheek when I showed it to her proudly. “You’re a nerd.”

  “You’re dating a nerd,” was my weak comeback.

  She tugged my arm but didn’t walk away. I was the one holding the umbrella, after all. “Come on, I don’t want to be late.”

  “Why are we going to the house anyway?”

  “My father got an espresso machine, and he wants to show it off.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I’ve had one since college.”

  “You know Phineas‌—‌frugal and out-of-date. He thinks it’s the new rage.”

  Kat tugged on my arm, trying to dislodge my unconvinced feet from the cobbled beauty of Acorn Street.

  “He knows I work in a coffee shop, right?”

  “Don’t start with me. I just do as I’m told.” Kat quickened her pace.

  Relenting, I matched her stride, ensuring neither of us got wet. When I began to walk faster, Kat followed my lead. Soon we were racing, doing our best to cut the other off. When Kat beat me to the front door, giggling, I whined, “You cheated! The umbrella got in my way.”

  Right then, her father opened the door. “I beg your pardon?”

  Who still says that: “I beg your pardon?”

  “Good morning, sir.” I stifled a laugh and ignored the indignant look on his face. “What a lovely rainy day.” I made a show of shaking droplets off the umbrella, and then collapsed it and stuck it in the umbrella stand on the porch. Umbrella stand! What century was this?

  “Good morning, Cori. Kat.” Phineas never opened his mouth when he spoke, and it freaked me out. I kept looking around him, expecting to see a man with his hand up Phineas’s ass like a ventriloquist. Of course, his asshole would have been way too tight for anything like that. It was even hard to imagine someone so prim and proper taking a shit.

  We walked into the kitchen, and I heard the shrill screech of the espresso machine. Kat’s mom wore a pleated twill skirt and a white silk shirt with lace at the collar and cuffs. It made me want to burst into laughter. Phineas wore a suit and a tie‌—‌and he wasn’t even going to church.

  “Would you like an espresso, Cori?” asked Phineas. He used my name every time he spoke to me. It annoyed me.

  “Yes, please. How you liking your new baby?”

  Phineas stopped in his tracks. “Pardon?”

  He really had no clue what I was referring to.

  Kat chimed in. “She means your espresso machine, Father.”

  He shook his head and replied. “It’s a fine gadget, Cori.”

  Gadget. I was impressed that he used that word instead of appliance. He really was catching up with the times.

  His thin lips slackened‌—‌his version of a smile. Then they tightened back up as if he had just sucked on a particularly sour lemon, pulling his face taut and draining all of the life out of it (and there wasn’t much there to begin with). He resembled Lurch from The Addams Family, which was fitting because the house, although impeccably decorated with antiques and family heirlooms, hadn’t seen the light of day for fifty years. They never opened the windows and the curtains always remained closed. All that was missing was the cobwebs, because Kat’s mom was a tidy homemaker. She even crocheted thingamajigs for the couch and chair arms, and this house had many.

  When Kat was a child, she had once opened her window and a wild finch flew in. Kat was tickled pink. She had always wanted a pet. But when her father found out, he chased the tiny creature around, swatting at it with a broom. Luckily, Phineas never made contact, but when the bird flew near the phone on her bedside table, it rang, and the finch dropped dead from a heart attack. To this day, Kat can’t even see a finch without getting sad.

  “How’s school?” asked Mrs. Finn. She always treated me like I was ten and a student, rather than like a professor.

  “Fine, thank you, ma’am.” I sipped my drink. It was putrid, and I tried not to make a sour face.

  Phineas must have noticed and considered my dour look a compliment. “Glad to see you like it.”

  “Haven’t quite had anything like it before, sir.”

  Kat nudged my foot.

  Phineas handed Kat her coffee, and she looked at me like she was being forced to drink Castor oil. I smirked. What a delightful start to my day off.

  Kat choked down some coffee, and tears formed in her eyes. “Mmmm…‌this is good, Mother.”

  Phineas relaxed his lips again for a second before motioning for us to sit down at the kitchen table. After all of us sat, Phineas cleared his throat. “Cori, I asked my wife to arrange this meeting so we could talk about your billing.”

  Panicking, I wondered what in the hell I had done wrong.

  “How are you liking it, Cori?” He lifted his dainty cup to his mouth and took a noiseless sip.

  “I enjoy it, sir.”

  “Good.” He set his cup down, again noiselessly. “That’s good to hear, Cori.” He stood and retrieved a basket of fruit from the kitchen counter, placing it in the middle of the table. “Would anyone care for some fruit?”

  I passed. Kat took a banana, peeling it with trembling fingers.

  “Well, Cori, I have some good news for you. I mentioned you to several of my associates, and they want you to handle their bills from now on, too.”

  I stifled a gasp. I was already billing for two doctors, and with everything else, my schedule was full. However, if there was enough, I could quit Beantown Café. But then I would be even more connected to Kat’s father. This was a pickle.

  “That’s wonderful news, sir.” I tried hard to make my voice sound somewhat cheerful.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it, Cori?” He prattled off five na
mes. Five more clients. How would I find time to teach, let alone to write?

  Kat looked downcast but said nothing. Her expression mirrored how I felt on the inside: stifled.

  “When do I start?” I knew I couldn’t fight it. The only bright spot was that it would help me save money for the Italy trip. Stay positive, Cori. Stay positive.

  “How does tomorrow work?” He locked his eyes on me. “Now, I hope I don’t need to tell you that it’s not just your reputation at stake, Cori.”

  “Not at all. I understand completely.” I grabbed an apple and took an overzealous bite. “I won’t let you down, Dr. Finn.”

  Kat’s mother stared at the table the entire time, not showing any emotion. I felt for the poor woman.

  I tried to envision what it was like going to bed with Phineas Finn every night. I imagined he lay on his back with his eyes closed like a corpse, never moving during the night. Before they had Kat, I guessed he had rigidly climbed on top of his wife once a week, thrusting his seed inside her before rolling onto his back without saying a word. Copulation was probably a disgusting act that neither partner enjoyed. When Kat was born, there were complications, and her mother nearly died. It wasn’t possible for Mrs. Finn to fall pregnant again. Phineas probably felt relieved that he didn’t have to denigrate himself further by forcing his wife into such a disgusting, “common” act.

  I was pretty sure Phineas thought Kat and I lived like nuns. It was just too hard to imagine the Finn patriarch knowing the first thing about lesbian sex. After all, they never went to the movies and they only turned on the TV to watch the nightly news or documentaries on PBS. I bet the man never had a blow job in his life. To be honest, he probably didn’t even know they were possible. I doubted the young Phineas had made any friends at high school or college to educate him.

  “Shall we go, then, now that our business is concluded?” He looked to Kat, and then to me, his thin lips pursed together in a Phineas-smile. It gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  Kat and I nodded meekly. I felt like a future-son-in-law in a 1950s sitcom: the rich father setting up the hopeful young man in business so he could provide for the daughter. It made me want to vomit. Thank God my parents weren’t like this. When I stood, my knees felt wobbly. How had such a creature as Kat come from these two repressed, rigid people?

  * * *

  After we escaped her parents, Kat turned her sad, gray eyes on me and said, “Take me some place away from here, where I can let my hair down.”

  Being around her parents always suffocated her. She was a free spirit, an original. They wanted her to be a cardboard cutout.

  It was noon, and I didn’t have much time to prepare a getaway. I considered our family home in Cape Cod, but the place was full of rich snobs, and traffic on a Sunday would be brutal on the return journey.

  “Okay, let’s grab the train to Salem.”

  She shot me a look that asked, “Are you serious?”

  I put both palms up. “I know it’s a cheesy tourist town, but it’s probably gearing up for Halloween. It might be fun, in a completely asinine way. Besides, I kinda want to go to The House of the Seven Gables. I haven’t been in years.”

  I knew that would be the kicker. Kat loved that novel.

  Smiling, she agreed, and I took her hand. She rested her head on my shoulder as we made our way to the station.

  “Every time we leave your parents I try to imagine what it was like growing up in their house. It must have been hard. Phineas reminds me a lot of my grandfather.” I learned early on not to call him her dad. She almost always called him Phineas. I think her father preferred it that way. Actually, I think he would have preferred if Kat had called him Doctor Finn, but he probably felt others would find that over the top. When it was just the four of us, she always called him Father‌—‌in a subservient tone. Around me, she called him Phineas, and her tone was always unpleasant.

  “It was probably like you imagine. There weren’t a lot of laughs. I wasn’t allowed to have many friends. When I dropped out of college, I thought he would disown me completely. Phineas actually wanted me to move back home and live out my days as a spinster, locked up in that home. My father has no idea it’s the twenty-first century. He doesn’t know that women no longer patrol widow walks, awaiting the return of their husbands.” Kat slipped her arm around my waist and pulled me close. “I know your family drives you crazy, Cori, but I envy you. When your mom accepted me and treated me like a daughter, it was wonderful. It might be one of the reasons I keep you around.” She flashed me a smile and patted my arm lovingly.

  “So, what you’re saying is I have to keep my mom in the picture or its splitsville.” I mussed her hair.

  “And your aunt. I can’t live without either of them. You know, I don’t even think my parents are jealous that we spend a lot more time with your family. They probably don’t even notice I’m not around. It wasn’t like we talked all that much when I did live there.” Her voice remained even, but I could tell it upset her. I wanted to take all of her pain away. Few people saw this side of Kat. They only saw the vivacious bombshell with a bubbly personality. Like the rest of us, Kat was human. She has her own demons to battle. I didn’t completely understand all of her battles, but she was slowly letting me in.

  We arrived at the train station and as I set about getting tickets, Kat wandered off to buy us some snacks for the twenty-minute ride. Neither of us ate much of our brunch, out of fear we would do something to upset her parents. I never felt comfortable around them. Even though I had been trained from a young age to know all my cutlery, glasses, and etiquette, I still panicked whenever I sat down across from Phineas. If I had grown up in his home, I would have died of starvation.

  * * *

  Standing on the grounds of The House of the Seven Gables, both Kat and I stared at the ocean. It was a stunning day. The azure sky was speckled with sporadic puffy clouds and sunlight sparkled off the Atlantic and illuminated a few boats that bobbed lazily on the horizon. The view was postcard perfect; both of us remained silent, enjoying it.

  The tour of the home had been a mixed bag. Our guide was in her mid-forties, and she knew her stuff; however, she acted as though she had late lunch plans and rushed us through the house. It was still wonderful to wander through the old home, even if it wasn’t the exact home Nathaniel Hawthorne had known. Over the years, many changes had been made to attract visitors.

  “Do you ever wish we could leave everything behind and start afresh in a new place…‌a new country even?” Kat turned to me, her head cocked as she awaited an answer.

  “Funny you should ask. Every time I stare at the ocean, I have a feeling there’s so much out there and that I’ve barely seen any of it. I’ve never lived more than twenty miles from my childhood home. It’s a shame, really.” I kicked some of the pebbles near the water’s edge.

  “One day, I want to travel the world.” Kat stood tall, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Her demeanor suggested she had every intention of following through on that desire.

  “Deal. I’ll add twenty more dentists and charge them double.”

  She looked at me, crestfallen. “I want to help you with the billing. I know my father wants me to stay out of it, but it’s not right. Please, teach me how to do it.”

  I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. I thought she wouldn’t touch that kind of work with a ten-foot pole. Not to mention that she usually avoided anything that had to do with Phineas.

  “It’s easy, really. I’m not sure why your father is so afraid someone might mess it up. Yeah, some claims need some follow-up with the insurance company, but mostly you just punch in the codes and submit them.”

  Kat slipped her hand through my arm and directed us back to town. “Do you mind if we visit the memorial for the victims of the witch trials?”

  “Not at all. I think I remember the way.”

  When I was an elementary student, Salem had been a favorite destination for school administrators. The kids mostly loved
it as well. I’d been to the memorial on many occasions, and to some of the witch museums, too. The pirate museum was a joke. All you did was wander through a warehouse featuring sets that resembled Disneyland but without the Walt Disney’s props budget. Even as children, we knew it was hokey. It didn’t stop us from buying hooks and eye-patches from the gift shop and growling like pirates on the bus ride home, though.

  Still, there was something about this town. With all the shops catering to witchcraft and to the television show Bewitched, I loved Salem’s quirky feel. Kat’s seriousness slowly dissipated as she started to soak in the town’s whimsy. Many of the houses were already decked out with Halloween decorations. Both of us loved the holiday and dressed up every year. Everyone in my family participated, even my stodgy father. Of course, he would normally dress as a doctor or something, but he tried. Phineas doesn’t even hand out candy to trick-or-treaters.

  The Witch Trials Memorial was established in 1992, and Elie Wiesel, a holocaust survivor, was present for the dedication during the Tercentenary celebration. The simplicity of it was brilliant: twenty granite benches sitting on the periphery of a small park, each bench inscribed with the name of the accused and the manner in which he or she was killed, along with the date. Twenty people, all ostracized by their friends, family, and neighbors. I didn’t ask Kat why she wanted to see it, but I believed she felt a connection with the victims. With all of her privileges and her stunning looks, Kat still always felt as if she was on the outside looking in; that no one really knew her.

  We walked around the perimeter, reading each inscription in silence. A few tourists were milling about, but mostly we had it to ourselves. We slowly made our way through the Burying Point, the cemetery situated right next to the memorial, before making it back to the city center.

  “Want to have an early dinner and drinks?” I asked. The cookies we had on the train hadn’t curbed my appetite, and after such a somber stroll, I needed a drink.

  On Front Street, we strolled by a tourist trap that served lobster. “Since we’ll be rolling in dough soon, can I buy you some lobster?”