Melbourne Memories (Heart of Australia)

by Marion Ueckermann

  His grin faded as he retrieved the coins and dropped them into his suit pocket. He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.

  That’s right, mate. It’s not your lucky day. It wasn’t only because his insulting gesture irked her. She didn’t give out her number. Period.

  The man stopped and turned as he opened the door. “I’ll be back…for coffee and that phone number.”

  Barely hearing him over the din, she smiled and shook her head, grimacing on the inside. In your dreams.

  His gaze still on Ella, briefcase man stepped forward and collided with the guitar case coming through the open door from outside.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going with that thing!” Mr. Generosity snapped. “Idiot.” He pushed past.

  Ella could set her clock by the man walking through the door with a guitar case. Well, the musical instrument was an interesting addition to the mysterious foreigner who had frequented her coffee shop daily for the past two weeks. Ella couldn’t put her finger on the reason her heart suddenly beat a little faster this time every morning. Or why she couldn’t shake the notion she knew this man, even though that was impossible. He was a stranger.

  Today, Ella planned to change that.

  The bearded man joined the queue near the door. Ella couldn’t understand why, as he never took his coffee to take away. He could take a seat and order from the waiter. But he didn’t. Every morning he’d join that queue and place his order up front with Ella.

  Thankfully Mackenzie worked the machine beside her, helping to push through orders for the steady stream of customers—those waiting in line, and those seated. It didn’t take too long before he stepped up to the counter.

  It was easy for Ella to smile now, although hers was probably bordering on a grin. “Hi.”

  “Morning.” He tipped his baseball cap then hitched the small backpack further up his shoulder. His constant companion. What did he carry inside? His worldly possessions? Surely not. He may be unshaven, but he looked far from a vagrant.

  “What’ll it be today?” She could’ve asked, ‘the usual?’ and had his flat white ready to go before he even opened his mouth, but she loved hearing his posh London accent, such a contrast to his appearance. Behind all that facial fuzz was a good-looking guy just waiting to be seen.

  “One flat white,” he said, without making eye contact. “Please.”

  With the London coffee culture still in the grip of the flat white craze—even though there were other great espresso drinks like piccolo latte, Melbourne’s drink du jour—she wasn’t surprised by his unchanging daily order.

  “I placed a reserved sign at one of the window tables for you. I couldn’t help noticing you like sitting there.” Had that been presumptuous of her? What if he took his coffee and left without spending his usual hour? “With only nine days to Christmas, the place fills up fast.”

  He looked over his left shoulder, then his right. Barely a seat was open at any of the tables or couched areas, and every bar stool beside the long counter running along the wall had someone seated at it.

  The window tables offered a great view of the promenade with its entertaining street buskers and the Yarra River, where ferries, kayaks and dragon boats glided through the dark water—the ferries overflowing with sightseeing tourists, the dragon boats filled with teams training for their next regatta. No wonder he liked sitting there—so much to see. And yet he never raised his head, from the instant he sat down each day to the moment he left an hour later. All that view gone to waste.

  He turned back to Ella, still avoiding eye contact. “Thank you.”

  “Um…we’re a little stretched this morning. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring your coffee to you in a few minutes?” Sheesh, as if he wouldn’t see through that and wonder why she’d bring him his coffee when they were busy. Would she spook him into bolting, never to return?

  He hesitated for a moment, then picked up his guitar case and made his way to the reserved table without saying a word.

  Ella took the next customer’s order and filled it first before turning her attention to the flat white. Everyone came to Ella’s for her elaborate latte art, the foam paintings which made her café famous. Melbournites were willing to spend their hard-earned dollars for the prestige of artsy coffee dates at Ella’s. But the stranger never requested her specials. Just the no-extra-charge simple leaf pattern in the velvety microfoam. Today she’d give him a special because today she’d seen something different about him, something which gave her a glimpse into his life. And an opportunity to speak with him. Hey, she’d throw in a free muffin, too.

  She turned to Mackenzie. “I have something I need to do. Grab Andy for me—I need him to take over from me as soon as I’ve made this order.” Probably wasn’t the best time to desert her station, but she might not get the opportunity again.

  Mackenzie nodded and moved toward Andy.

  Ella picked up her latte art pen, added more foam to the smooth, hot surface, and began to not only paint, but sculpt in a race against time, unable to shake the thought that the customer this masterpiece was intended for faced his own ticking bomb.

  Justin hadn’t planned on setting foot near Ella’s Barista Art Café.

  Ever.

  But after lying low for three weeks, he couldn’t stand being cooped up any longer. So he’d gone for a walk and when he’d looked up, he was at Ella’s. And once he’d stepped inside, he had to return. Daily.

  Having his quiet time at this quaint coffee shop on Southbank Promenade with its colorful vintage furnishings and steady stream of clientele was something Justin had come to look forward to. About the only thing modern in the place, besides the customers, were the fancy espresso machines that churned out cup upon cup of the dark brew. Even Ella and her staff had a uniformed vintage look—beige barista aprons with Ella’s Barista Art Café embroidered in dark red in the middle. The two ‘L’s curved like steam from the espresso cup just beneath Ella’s name. Clever.

  He stole a glance over his shoulder at Ella, hard at work behind the counter. The vintage look suited her. Especially with her long strawberry-blond hair. Seeing her every day seemed to soothe his soul, and made him feel closer to Pastor Jim.

  The thought of his pastor stung Justin’s eyes. He missed his friend. And he missed London. He was alone in Melbourne. And lonely. But if he’d stayed in England, he would’ve only endangered the lives of those he’d come to love. He’d seen what happened to those who went against Danny Delaney.

  Billy, I’m so sorry.

  He pressed himself into the striped wingback chair, blinked away the past and offered up a short, simple prayer. Lord, give me success today. Jim Anderson had constantly reminded him to pour out his heart to God, whenever, wherever, even if it was in small sporadic sentences. God always listened.

  He opened his eyes and glanced through the Christmas-trimmed window at the buskers on the promenade. Could he pull this off? It was a different stage to what he’d been used to. And a different audience.

  Suck it up, Justin. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.

  Not that he regretted his fate. If he hadn’t lost it all, would he ever have found the One who had given it all?

  Justin lifted the baseball cap from his head and raked his fingers through his shoulder-length hair then set the cap back in place. He tugged at the right cuff of his denim jacket. He hated all these disguises—the cap, the beard, the jacket—but if they prevented him from being recognized, he’d gladly endure the discomfort on these hot summer days. Why hadn’t he fled to Siberia where it would’ve been easy to go around all covered up?

  Justin looked at the clock on the far wall. What was taking so long? He should’ve waited for his order. He’d have to start his quiet hour without his new fix for the day.

  Leaning over he dug inside his backpack then pulled out the small New Testament. Thankfully it included Psalms and Proverbs. Where would he be without the comfort of the poet’s words, or the wisdom of the king? />
  He placed the Bible on the table, opened its pages and turned to Psalm 54. He rested his cheek on one hand, and with the other he held open the pages. Time to meditate on God’s Word.

  Once again, Justin drew comfort and strength from David’s pleas, no different from his own.

  Save me, O God, by your name; vindicate me by your might…ruthless people are trying to kill me… God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me.

  He closed his eyes and allowed the words to wash over his soul. By now they’d become so familiar, so ingrained, he wondered why he opened the Book at all. He hummed softly as he read. Was the tune he’d composed anything like the one David played on stringed instruments, so long ago?

  “Here you go,” a familiar sweet voice interrupted. “Sorry it took a little longer, but I’m sure you’ll agree the results were worth the wait. Nice song, by the way.”

  Ella’s face held the widest, brightest smile he’d seen on her yet. And he’d seen some stunners in the past two weeks. She’d removed her apron, and in her hands she held a tray with two cups of coffee and a muffin.

  Justin folded his arms, covering the New Testament as Ella placed the tray down on the table, and then slid into the wingback chair opposite. She removed one cup and pushed it toward him.

  “Enjoy.”

  What should he say? If he ignored her, would she go away? Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her—just this once. He craved company like he’d once craved his next fix.

  He drew in a breath. “That’s impressive.” For days, Justin had looked on with envy as customers enjoyed Ella’s foam artworks. He’d never seen her do anything before like the perfect miniature foam guitar that rose from his cup, magnificent attention to detail in the powdered lines. A true work of art, to be enjoyed for only a brief moment. Something like the euphoric highs that had once been a part of his life. Thankfully, the comedown after this artistic caffeine rush would hold no devastating effects.

  Justin shook his head. “But I—”

  “This is my treat.” She touched his hand for a brief moment before taking the muffin from the tray. “Triple chocolate?” She slid the plate with its dark muffin toward him.

  Had he just died and gone to heaven?

  “Your treat, too?” He had to be certain. He’d only budgeted enough for one flat white here a day.

  Ella laughed. “My treat, too.” She reached for a sachet of brown sugar. “Do you like your coffee? I couldn’t help noticing the guitar case you brought in with you today. It inspired me a little.”

  Justin glanced down at his cup of coffee and raised his brows.

  “Okay, it inspired me a lot.”

  “What you’ve done… I’m gobsmacked. I don’t want to drink it, but I’m dying for my caffeine shot.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I’ve never done a design like that before. I’m pleased it turned out okay.”

  “You’re talented.”

  Don’t befriend Ella Anderson. Dismiss her and get back to God.

  Justin pushed the thought aside. They were talking, and it felt good. Plus, she was cute—there was no getting past that fact.

  Ella tore open the sachet and dumped the sand-like contents into her plain-faced coffee. “So, you’re a musician?” She tipped her head toward his guitar case as she stirred.

  “Of sorts.”

  “And this is where I say, ‘I think you’re being modest.’” She looked at his hands. “I’ll bet you can make that guitar sing.”

  If you only knew. I can make it sing, screech, howl…even talk.

  Justin shrugged and stared at his cup. The foam guitar had started to melt. She’d gone to so much trouble for him for just a moment’s pleasure. Why?

  “I’m Ella, by the way.” She stuck out her hand.

  He looked up at her, making eye contact for the first time. Her eyes reminded him of the rolling hills of England. Was that verdant color for real?

  “The Ella?” He knew, of course. He just didn’t know what to say.

  A delightful giggle spilled from her lips, and she nodded.

  He reached out and shook her hand. “Hello.”

  Without releasing his grasp, Ella held his gaze and leaned her head to the side. “And you are?”

  “I… Uh. I’m uh… Jus— Phoenix.”

  Her nose wrinkled as a grin spread across her face. “Just Phoenix? Nothing else?”

  He nodded. Phoenix? Stupid. He might as well have told her his life story with that one word. But those green eyes had thrown him, and he couldn’t think straight. It would’ve been better to spurt out Justin and leave it at that.

  Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s logical that Phoenix would’ve been the first name to come to mind. That’s who you’ve been for so long.

  “Such a beautiful name, with a beautiful meaning.”

  Here it comes—the whole bird rising out of the ashes stuff, followed by the prodding to explain the significance of that in his own life. Justin opened his mouth to stop her from asking.

  “God is my strength.” She smiled.

  Too late.

  “I’m sure many people wish that was the meaning of their name.” Ella lifted her cup and took a mouthful.

  “That’s not the meaning of my name.” What baby name book had she been reading? And why had he corrected her?

  She placed her cup back on its saucer. “Actually, it is.”

  “First time I’ve heard that explanation.” Justin lifted his spoon, filled it with the creamy topping, and brought it to his mouth.

  “I saw it on one of those birthday name plaques you can have made at the mall while you wait. Of course, the ‘rising from the ashes’ meaning is just as beautiful. What’s more amazing than a rebirth?”

  Indeed. And he should know. He was living proof.

  Ella took another sip of her coffee. “People think the phoenix is only a myth, but did you know that bird is actually mentioned in the Bible? Isn’t that awesome?”

  Justin did know. It was one of the first things Pastor Jim had taught him, after teaching him about Jesus, of course, and the price he’d paid on the cross to purchase his salvation. He’d often encouraged Justin with Job 29 verse18—I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days like the phoenix. Just like the phoenix, God had given him a new lease on life. If he’d managed to escape his past.

  He could still hear Pastor Jim’s voice. “You’ve been raised to new life, Justin. No longer does Phoenix need to carry a negative connotation for you. The old has passed away, the new has come.” He’d patted Justin’s back and told him to make Phoenix his resurrection hope, not his downfall.

  “Hey there.” Ella waved her hand in front of his face. “Where’d you disappear to?”

  Somewhere between the present and the past. “Nowhere in particular.” Justin downed the rest of his flat white.

  “What does your name mean?” His eyes locked on hers for a moment.

  Ella burst out laughing.

  “Care to share the joke?” He added a few chuckles of his own, not that he knew why he was laughing. Still, it felt good.

  She caught her breath. “My name has several meanings. The original Greek meaning is bright light. In Germany it’s derived from the Old German name Alia, meaning all. The name’s English roots has its meaning as beautiful fairy woman.”

  Justin watched the blush sweep across her face. Cute.

  “Being a short form of Elizabeth, covenant with God is the meaning I like best. And the Hebrew meaning is—” Ella rolled her eyes. “Goddess. Or a Middle Eastern tree, the Pistacia Terebinth. Perhaps that explains why I’m a little nuts.” She tried to stop her smile. And failed.

  “Well, the Jews certainly got it right, as did the English.” The words had no sooner left his lips when Justin realized his old habits of being the player died hard. Then, realizing the other implications of what he’d said, he quickly added, “Not the nut tree part—I wasn’t referring to that.”

  “Sure…” Ella dragged
out the word before throwing her head back and laughing out loud again.

  Justin couldn’t help joining in.

  When they finally remembered to breathe, Ella added, “My name can also mean silly fish.”

  Her declaration set them off again.

  After their laughter subsided, Ella asked, “Would you like another coffee?”

  He’d love one, but he’d never take advantage of her hospitality.

  “No, thank you.”

  “My coffee’s no good?”

  “Your coffee is great, and tasty, and artistic, and—”

  Ella touched Justin’s arm again. “I’m only joking.”

  “You got me again, Ella Anderson.”

  She drew her breath as if to say something then stopped. “I–I’m sorry. My dad was always telling me not to joke so much.” She stared into his eyes. “Thank you, by the way.”

  Justin couldn’t avert his gaze, much as he knew he should. “For what?”

  “The compliment.” Her high cheekbones plumped with her smile.

  He’d never been at a loss for words with a beautiful woman. This was a first.

  Ella broke the awkward silence. “So, Just Phoenix, what brings you to Melbourne?”

  “Uh…traveling. Seeing the world.”

  Ella released a sigh. “I’d love to travel, but the coffee shop consumes my life. There’s no chance I could get away.”

  “You should make time. Things that consume you aren’t good.” I know.

  She nodded through a heavier sigh, then gave him an enquiring look. “How long will you be in Melbourne?”

  Justin shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Depends which way the wind blows?”

  “Something like that.”

  Was she fishing for information on him, or just genuinely interested?

  “What part of London are you from?” Ella twirled a vintage print paper napkin around her finger.

  “How do you know I’m from London?”

  “Your posh accent.”

  “Many Brits have posh accents, not just Londoners.”

  “True, but I know that particular accent well. I have an aunt with a similar accent. She and my uncle live in Richmond. He’s a pastor.”