"Let me guess. You were on your way to take this lover dog for a potty break." I reached down and patted the floppy ears on the black and white giant.
"Uh-huh. Care to come with? You can tell me how you've been."
We hadn't gotten halfway around the block when I broke down and started crying uncontrollably. Kiki and I perched on a low concrete block restraining wall so I could sob while Gracie sniffed and peed. Kiki put her arm around me, and I wet her shoulder with tears while she patted my back and murmured, "Get it all out, Cara. You'll feel better."
When I'd cried me a river (the Mississippi, I'd guess from the muddy look of it), we started back to the shop. Once inside, Kiki put Gracie in the doggie playpen and grabbed a Diet Dr Pepper for me and a bottle of water for her.
"It's done. Everything's going into storage. I couldn't stand being in that big house night after night by myself," I said. "I don't want to see the restaurant again, either. It doesn't matter whether it's called Cara Mia's or not. That was our place, our family place. Now that Mom and Dad have passed away, and Tommy's left for school, there's nothing to keep me here in St. Louis. Besides, winter is coming and I've always hated cold weather."
"Time to make a new plan and move on down the highway." Kiki smiled at me, her curls framing her round face. One hand rested protectively on her belly.
"But I'll be leaving so much behind."
"Yes, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Come on back to the store. I have a little gift for you."
When I was seated at her work table, she handed me a gift bag filled with tissue paper. I reached inside and pulled out a memory album of my years in "the Lou."
"This is just grand." I paged through the album. "I could never have done anything like this."
"We all save our memories in different ways. You are just as sentimental as I am, Cara. Look at you! I bet those are Tommy's old jeans you're wearing, right? Your son grew out of them and now they're yours."
"That's right. At the restaurant, I always had to wear a little black dress, so in my free time, I like dressing down." My belt was once my father's, but I had it shortened to fit. These rings on my right hand are my mother's engagement and wedding rings."
"May I remind you of all the redecorating you did at the restaurant, and how you came in under budget?" Kiki grinned. "In addition to all that, you always smell like sandalwood. Is there a memory associated with that?"
"Sandalwood brings back good memories of summers in Stuart, Florida. My grandfather lives there. My parents used to rent an apartment above an antique store called The Treasure Chest. The owner stocked the rental with bars of sandalwood soap."
As she had predicted, that long crying jag had been cathartic. With my gift under my arm, we walked to Kiki's car. She reached in and handed me a heavy shopping bag.
"Another gift?" I squealed.
"There's a surprise for you to enjoy on the road so you'll think of me."
"Like I could ever forget you!" I took the sack and thanked her.
With her hands on my shoulders, Kiki looked at me with moist eyes. "I expect you to stay in touch."
Nodding, but too choked up to respond, I turned and walked to my car.
I waved once more, pulled out of the parking lot and tried not to look back. The hardest part of my journey was just ahead, as I'd have to drive past the Arch, that magnificent silver rainbow in the sky. It had always been a talisman, a welcome mat. But this time, it seemed to wave goodbye.
2
As I crossed the Mississippi into Illinois, I struggled against the lump in my throat. From the Illinois side of the river, you get the best view of the Arch. For a while, I tracked it in my rear view mirror, craning my neck to see that sparkling silver band. Finally, it disappeared.
I went barreling down I-57 heading south, staying exactly five miles per hour over the posted speed limits. As darkness fell, I had the road all to myself except for the truckers. This suited me fine, although I hit construction outside of Nashville that really slowed my progress. I stopped only to fill the gas tank and open the shopping bag from Kiki. She'd packed it with bags of Cheetos, a small Styrofoam cooler of cold Diet Dr Peppers, and six bags of trail mix.
Boy, would I ever miss Kiki.
After twelve hours on the road, including a long patch of moving at a slug's pace through another construction zone, my head was nodding. I pulled off and checked into a motel somewhere in Georgia. I slept in my clothes and woke up with a crick in my neck, but there was this marvelous sense of freedom. A lightness of being. Perhaps the idea of having a new adventure was proving to be the tonic I needed.
As the miles flew by, I formulated a plan. At this rate, I'd arrive in Coral Gables, the suburban home of the University of Miami, more than a week early for Parents' Weekend. After visiting with my son, Tommy, who'd just begun his freshman year, I would check into the Biltmore Hotel. There I would submit to glorious pampering, spending my days beside the pool, and working on a tan. If I felt ambitious, I'd drive into Miami proper and wander the shops for new clothes. By the time the big weekend rolled around, I would be looking fit, tan, rested, and stylish.
Maybe that's all I needed to get things back on track...a good tan.
Right.
The truth was—and I knew it—that I needed to get a life.
After two decades of being a good daughter and loving mother, I was finally on my own. As I had told Kiki, "I have no idea what to do next. I've never had all these choices."
"Take it one step at a time, Cara," she had suggested. "Is there anyone you'd like to visit? Family?"
"Everyone is gone but Tommy," I had lied so quickly that I surprised myself.
Actually, a drive to Coral Gables would take me right past Stuart, Florida, home of my mother's father, Poppy. I hadn't visited Stuart for years, and I didn't plan to stop by and see Poppy there now, because I was not happy with him.
He'd flown up to St. Louis for Mom's funeral but skipped Dad's. That had really honked me off. My father had made it a point to fly down to Florida and spend two solid weeks with Poppy every year, no matter what. Dad continued his visits after Poppy and his daughter (Mom) had become so unhappy with each other that they barely spoke. Yes, it had been my father, Poppy's son-in-law, who had gone the extra mile to maintain the relationship. After all that, Poppy couldn't find the time to attend Dad's funeral? Couldn't be bothered to show his respect? I found his behavior outrageous.
It hurt me that Poppy didn't realize how badly I needed him. He'd always been very sweet and loving to me, even if he didn't always get along with my mother. So why didn't he offer me his support after my father died?
That sort of calloused indifference went a long way toward explaining why my mother didn't care for her father. In addition to being selfish, Poppy could get grumpy, and at his worst, he would act like a bully. Although I lacked concrete evidence, I always figured that somewhere along the line, Mom had decided she'd had enough. As a result, she decided to keep her distance from Poppy.
My father shrugged off Poppy's ill humor. Dad believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt. Poppy and my father, Thomas, were like night and day. Dad had a sunny outlook on life and thought the best of everyone. There wasn't a negative bone in his body.
When he got in one of his moods, Poppy could make the Grim Reaper look downright cheery.
I wasn't exactly eager to spend more time with my grandfather. That's why I lied to Kiki about having family. I wasn't sure that Poppy really qualified as such, even though we were blood kin. When he let me down, I decided that I, too, could do without him. As my father always said, "A little bit of Poppy goes a long, long way."
If I were being totally candid, there was another reason for me to bypass Stuart. That could be summed up in two words: lost chances. Stuart forced me to think about what might have been. How my life might have turned out if fate—in the guise of my mother—hadn't intervened.
I shook my head to clear it. I couldn't handle any more h
eavy thoughts. Not as tired as I was. But even as I worked on pretending none of this mattered, I knew that it did. It mattered terribly. I might look like my mother, but I am my father's daughter, and therefore, I couldn't ignore my grandfather entirely. As a compromise, I decided I would stop on my way back and check in on Poppy. Our visit could wait until after I spent a week at the Biltmore drinking up sunshine and chugging down cocktails. My decision quelled my sense of guilt as the miles flew by.
Jacksonville marks the northernmost big city in Florida. The traffic clotted thick as corn pudding there. As I threaded my way south along I-95, I admired the billboards for Cocoa Beach. I pulled off the highway and stopped at the Ron-Jon Surf Shop. There I bought a couple of tee shirts for Tommy. It felt good to stretch my legs, as a creeping sense of weariness worked its way through my body. Twenty miles south of Vero Beach, my black Camry burped. Actually burped, making a noise like a caller might report on Car Talk.
I decided to ignore it.
Ten miles later, my car hiccupped and lost power. Luckily I-95 is four-lane, and I didn't need any pick-up. Had it been two-lane and if I'd been passing, well, I would have been bruschetta.
"What's wrong, Black Beauty?" I patted the dashboard. "Do you need a new oil filter? Hang in there, babe. I'll get you one in Miami."
My car chose not to cooperate. Five miles north of Stuart, the Camry shuddered violently as if I'd hit a deer.
Now that put a scare into me.
"I give up!" I said. "You win! No break-downs on the highway!"
Reluctantly, I followed the Cove Road exit that would take me to Poppy and his gas station.
3
As the exit turned into Cove Road proper, I didn't recognize a thing. Nothing. Nada. In my mind, Stuart was still a sleepy little fishing village, but as clearly the place had grown into a bustling town. Oh, there were a few familiar sights: the building shaped like a giant vanilla soft serve cone, the old cemetery, and the crumbling houses painted blue to frighten away evil spirits. The railroad tracks still jostled tires angrily as I crossed the rails and turned north toward the business district, following Old Dixie Highway. It had once been a barren stretch of asphalt, but to my surprise, shops now muscled each other for space along both sides of the highway. I might have passed up the turn for the business district, except for the classy blue and gold signs directing me to "Historic Downtown Stuart."
My jaw dropped as I drove past a cluster of shops, eateries, and little salons. Back in my youth, there had been open fields. Blank spaces between buildings. But not anymore.
Downtown Stuart sported a new round-about featuring a fountain topped by a statue of a leaping sailfish. No wonder the town had recently been named one of America's most beautiful cities. Like an awkward teenager who becomes a pretty young woman, Stuart had grown into a lovely, vibrant town.
"Wow," I said, patting the wooden box with Sven's ashes. "Sure doesn't look like Kansas, Toto."
Fortunately some things never change. It didn't take me long to spot Poppy's place: Dick's Gas E Bait.
That stupid sign never failed to turn my mother beet-red. Not only did she hate the wording, she resented her father's cavalier reaction to the bad joke.
Poppy had hired a cut-rate sign painter. The poor guy had confused the ampersand, that squiggly little symbol for the word "and" with a capital "E". Mom begged her father to get the sign fixed, but Poppy thought it a hoot and flatly refused. That was Poppy, stubborn as they come and very, very pleased with himself.
"Why mess with perfection?" He'd waggle those caterpillar-like eyebrows of his.
Mom's nostrils would turn white with anger, and she'd stomp away. During every visit to Stuart, Mom and Poppy would quarrel with each other at least once or twice.
My father was different. He knew exactly how to manipulate the old man. Dad would buy a piece of junk for us to drive down to Florida. A car on its metaphorical "last legs." Once we arrived at Poppy's place, Dad would turn the keys over to my grandfather. While Dad and I went fishing—Stuart is the Sailfish Capital of the World—Poppy would work on the car. Mom would shop or curl up with a good book in the apartment above The Treasure Chest. After receiving two weeks of Poppy's careful attention, the dilapidated vehicle would be "good as new." Dad would drive us back to St. Louis where he'd sell the car for a small profit, usually to someone who desperately needed reliable transportation but didn't have a lot of money.
"One man's trash," Dad was fond of saying, "is another man's treasure."
That was my Dad.
How I missed him. It wasn't that I hadn't loved my mother. It was just that our relationship was so much more complicated.
As I parked my Camry, I noticed OUT OF ORDER scribbled on dirty sheets of typing paper and taped to all the gas pumps.
What was that about?
The sight of my car had caused Poppy to look up from his crossword puzzle. The dirty glass of his front window made it hard for him to see, so he squinted and then slowly got to his feet.
Grabbing my purse and climbing out of the car, I met him halfway, noting as I did, the familiar tang of saltwater and tar. The St. Lucie River was less than two blocks away, and just beyond that lay the ocean. Sewall's Point, a narrow spit of land, divided the two bodies of water.
"Cara Mia! What a surprise."
He looked thinner than ever, a state confirmed when I hugged him.
"Hey, Poppy. Glad to see you. Thanks again for coming up for Mom's funeral," I said carefully. Whether he overlooked my implied complaint about missing Dad's funeral on purpose or by accident, I couldn't tell. Poppy was always hard to read.
"Sad times," he said, as he held me at arms' length. As always, his nails were black with dirt that would never come out, no matter how much Lava soap he used. "You've packed on a few extra pounds, haven't you?"
Nice. Good to see you, too!
After thirty seconds with Poppy, I already wished I hadn't stopped.
"Yes, a few," I admitted, trying not to show how my irritation. "I tried to drown my troubles in pasta. All that rich Italian food we cook at the restaurant has given me a Kim Kardashian booty."
"A what kind of booty?" He slung an arm around my shoulders. Poppy smelled, as always, of motor oil and Aqua Velva. His affection was unstudied and generous. It was his temper and his stubbornness that made him difficult. A real Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde type of personality.
"Never mind. Look, I was on my way to University of Miami for Parents' Weekend and Black Beauty started acting weird."
"You were going where?" He looked hurt. "Driving right past me?"
Oops.
"I planned to see you on my way back," I said, keeping my tone light.
"On the way back, huh?" He looked at me skeptically. "Well, take a load off while I look this car over."
His open palm requested the car keys. I handed them over, as a feeling of defeat dragged me down. Already we'd gotten off on the wrong foot. While he clomped over to my car, I stepped inside the gas station, letting the door close behind me. But I didn't get far. A foul fishy smell hit me so hard I thought I'd heave. I pivoted and staggered out of the shop. Once on the concrete surrounds, I battled to keep from puking.
"Uh, Poppy?" I tapped him on the shoulder as he poked around under Black Beauty's hood. "What happened in there? It smells to high heaven."
Poppy grinned. "Pump on the shiners' tank just went out."
The pump just went out? Ha! Those fish must have been dead for a week to stink like that.
"Been too busy to see to them fish. You're just lucky I finished my last job earlier today. My services are in constant demand." His chest puffed out with pride.
Dad had always said that Poppy lived for his work. My grandfather could fix anything on wheels. Certainly, he seemed happiest with his head under the hood of a car. The old man fairly glowed with pride when he brought an old beater back to life. In truth, he only sold gas and snacks because most of his customers expected as much.
Even from m
y spot outside the station, staring in, I could see how run down and dirty the Gas E Bait had become. Tattered magazines, dirty walls, empty soda cases, and half-functioning fluorescent bulbs added to the general state of disrepair. If I hadn't been family, I wouldn't have stopped here. No way. As someone who'd grown up in a service business, I was appalled.
Then it hit me. Dad probably devoted those two weeks each year to helping Poppy keep the Gas E Bait in tiptop shape. In fact, I would have bet money on it.
If I was a better granddaughter, I'd stick around and do the same. Poppy might boast that business was good but given the dirty and unorganized state of the place, the "out of order" signs on the gas pumps, and the lack of cars under repair, I found his claims hard to believe. One sniff of that stinky fish tank and customers would run the other way.
But that was a topic for a longer visit. Although the sun was no longer directly overhead, it still beat down, so I reached into my purse for my sunglasses and Cardinals baseball cap.
"Okay!" I said with gusto. "Well! I think I'd better stretch my legs. Maybe a walk around the block is in order. I think I'll stop in at the antique store and say hey to Miss Essie."
"Didn't I tell you?" Poppy stopped to remove his own threadbare Cardinals' cap and scratch his head. "Thought sure I did. Essie Feldman had another stroke. This one finished her off. Remember? She had one about twelve years ago. I told your mom about that one, for sure. That's when her son decided to take her upstairs apartment and turn it into two rental units. Essie up and died a few days after your mama passed."
Poppy looked down and shook his head.
"I guess I forgot to mention it to you, what with the funeral, and then your daddy dying so soon after. A heck of a thing. Trouble coming in threes like that. I meant to tell you. I'm getting awful forgetful."
"Essie's gone?" A sharp pang grabbed my throat. Yet another loss. "But what about her store? What happened to The Treasure Chest?"
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 66