Mae's Cafe (Welcome To Chance Book 1)

by Elsa Kurt

  The chime over the door rang, and her last customer of the day tromped in. Joel Asheby—pulling his policeman’s cap off his bowed head and wiping his shoes on the mat—grinned over at her apologetically as raindrops splattered across the floor. Mae called out from behind the counter, “Hey, Joel. Coffee and the usual?”

  “Hey, Mae. Yes, please.”

  “You missed Charlotte and Benjamin. They were here earlier.” She smiled kindly. Joel—the carbon-copy, male version of his wife—was a solidly build blond man of average height and features who worked every double and overtime he could just so that Charlotte could keep up with Brianna and her clique. He also had Miles Hannaford on orders to call him the second anything went up for sale on or near Cardinal Lane. Not because he wanted to live anywhere near them, but because he loved his wife.

  “Yeah, I had a call over on Maple, downed line. Had to wait until line guys showed up. How’s it going?”

  “Eh, slow. The weather, what can you do?” Mae shrugged and poured his coffee. She also surreptitiously studied him. The exhaustion of double shifts shown plainly in his ashen complexion and late day beard shadow. “You know, between you and me? Charlotte’s the only one who doesn’t complain about her husband.”

  Joel gave a tired, grateful smile. “She’s a good girl. Never gives me a hard time about the hours or all the stuff I miss because of work. Not just because she wants a house on the other side of town, either,” he was quick to add. “Sometimes, Mae—between us—I think she’s happier when she’s not around them, you know? But I can’t convince her. Maybe if you say—”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Joel. Charlotte’s a sweetheart, but we’re not friends like that. Remember, those guys are a year ahead of me. I think it’s safe to say they wouldn’t even know my name if it wasn’t on the sign above the door.” She laughed to show she wasn’t bothered by it.

  “Hah, I call bullshit, Mae. The way Charlotte tells it, you’re a legend.”

  Mae cocked her head and crossed her arms. “Oh, stop.”

  “Scout’s honor. She said you were the only one in school that wasn’t intimidated by Brianna, the only one who dressed the way you did, and—”

  “The only kid in school with a gay dad?”

  They both laughed, but then Joel’s laughter died off, and he started to fidget with the sugar packets on the counter. Mae waited. Joel cleared his throat a couple times, adjusted his gun belt, and then finally spoke. “That, uh, brings me to another subject. Sorry to ask, but have you seen…the kid lately?”

  He didn’t have to say “Feather Anne.” Mae knew exactly who he meant.

  “You’re the third person to ask me in the past week or so. I don’t keep tabs on her, Joel. You know that.” Then grudgingly, “She came by last week. Grabbed an apple, copped an attitude, and left. So, what’d she do?”

  “Well, it’s not so much what she did. More like what’s being done. You know someone put a bid on the Jensen property, right?”

  Mae started scrubbing an invisible spot on the counter. “Nope.”

  “Yeah, we, uh, had to serve your mo—” Mae glanced up sharply, and Joel blanched, “Gina, I mean, with an eviction notice.”

  “That so?”

  “Yeah, Mae. Anyhow, the kid was there when we served it, and she’s made herself scarce ever since. Gina says she hasn’t slept home one night this week, and she doesn’t know where she’s been staying. She suggested maybe she’s with you.”

  “No, she’s not.” Mae shook her head and threw her rag down. “Wow. Someone ought to nominate her for mother of the year. No, the century.”

  “Word is family services is going out there on Friday. If she can’t wrangle her up by then, they’re gonna take her away from Gina.”

  Mae had begun to fill the salt shakers but stopped mid-pour. Not my problem. Not my problem. Not—

  Joel put a hand up. “I know, I know. It’s not your problem. You’ve been clear about how you want us to handle the…situation, and I totally respect it, Mae. Really, I do. But I just thought—ah, hell, I don’t know—I just thought you should know. Don’t be mad at me, huh?”

  Mae balled up a napkin and tossed it at him gently. “I’m not mad at you. I just hate anyone knowing my business.”

  “Hey, that’s assaulting an officer, you know.” He chuckled and tossed back the napkin. “And listen, I promised you back then that I wouldn’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Mae wondered if he’d even kept it from Charlotte but decided not to ask. Joel’s walkie-talkie chirped, then the crackling transmission of Lucy Hatch, daytime dispatcher, halted all conversation.

  “Joel, are you still in the Old Main district?”

  Joel rolled his eyes and exhaled noisily. Lucy, after ten years in dispatch, still refused to follow protocol. “Roger that, Dispatch. What do you need?”

  “Yeah, there’s a complaint about someone lurking around the dumpster behind Lucky Loos. I told her it was probably just a raccoon, but she was like—”

  “Copy that, Dispatch.” Joel stood, pulled out a ten from his wallet, and said, “Hope I didn’t mess up your day, Mae. And if you do hear from her, call me direct, if you want.”

  Joel was out the door a second later, and Mae was left wondering why she didn’t mention Bruce seeing Feather Anne walking into the library with William. She flipped the open sign to closed and began pulling the blinds down over each of the wide, long windows. It gave the café a dark, sleepy look that made her recall nap time from childhood. Her dad had always pulled the blinds just so then tucked her into her princess canopy bed, kissed her forehead, and said, “Gimme an hour, sunshine, hmm? Daddy’s gotta work.” Or some variation of that.

  She’d close her eyes to the comforting sounds of her father’s footfalls down the hall, the record player clicking on followed by the low, smooth sound of Rosemary Clooney crooning through the speakers in the living room. Sometimes he sang along, but most often a hush fell over the house—save Rosemary Clooney’s voice singing “Half as Much,” “Beautiful Brown Eyes,” “Tenderly,” or some other dreamy tune—and Mae would drift off into a cloud of peaceful slumber untroubled by worry or fear.

  Mae sighed, a soft, sad smile touching her lips. As if on cue, the music on the speakers tucked into the ceiling corners began playing “Half as Much.” Mae closed her eyes, swayed to the music, and sang along. When it was over, she went back to the task of tidying up and closing the café, taking her time. She told herself it was to avoid riding her bike home in the rain, but deep down it was because she was avoiding confronting William.

  Chapter 13

  WHAT IT IS

  William had left the café smirking and shaking his head. Those women were characters. Literally and figuratively. From under the blue awning, he glanced up then down the lane, debating his next destination. In one direction the ivory columns of the town library were just visible at the bend in the street and, in the other, the tasteful but large clothing store where he needed to pay a visit. He’d packed light and needed to expand his wardrobe.

  He made the quick, easy choice of the warm, old-fashioned reading room over the clothing store for the simple reason that it would be much more enjoyable. The black umbrella snapped open with a whoosh and pop, and William strode out onto the sidewalk. As he walked by the window of the café, he paused briefly, looking in. Mae still stood over the women, her expression one of tolerant amusement. One smooth hand cupped the shoulder he’d touched as he passed by her on his way to whisper in Brittany’s ear, and her head was tilted, exposing her neck and collarbone.

  William’s chest felt momentarily constricted at the sight of her so. How, he wondered, could she look so vulnerable and yet so mighty in the same instant? Mae turned away from the women, toward the window, and William abruptly resumed his stride away from the café. Away from that daunting and confounding young woman.

  “Lemme guess, you got the hots for her too?”

  William looked for the sound of the small, s
cratchy voice. He knew who it was before even seeing her. “Hello, Feather Anne. I’ve been wondering when we’d meet.” She stepped out from the recessed doorway of Whimsy’s Toy and Hobby store—not before giving whoever was inside the middle finger—and his smile faltered.

  “Yeah, I know, she got the looks in the family,” she said resignedly.

  “No, that’s not it, sweetheart. You reminded me of someone for a moment, that’s all.” A little girl who was blown up in front of me. William bit down on the thought the way you would on a sour lemon and spit it out. There was no resemblance at all, save the hair color. Merely a gift from PTSD, or so the mandated therapist warned him about. He added, “And you, my dear, are as lovely as your…sister. I’m sure you’ve heard comments about your eyes your whole life, haven’t you?”

  “I suppose. Hey, you’re not a creeper or anything, are you? Gina warned me about old guys creepin’ on young girls.”

  William chuckled. “Well, no, I’m most certainly not a ‘creeper.’ However, for future reference, I’m confident that someone who is would not confess it, don’t you think?”

  Feather Anne scratched her head in such a classically comedic way that William had to wonder if it were deliberate then said, “Eh, I suppose they wouldn’t,” and shrugged as if already bored with the topic. Brightening again, she asked, “So where you goin’? I can go with you if you don’t hog that umbrella.”

  “I’m on my way to the library straightaway, Feather Anne. You are most welcome to join me.”

  With another shrug, she strolled out, impervious to the rain, and took up space beside him. “Sure, why not? Hey, you talk strange, you know.”

  “Oh? I suppose I do sound a bit different, don’t I? That’s because I was raised in England until I turned twenty-three. My father was American, and my mother was English. So I suppose I adopted a little of both their vernacular.”

  “Vernacular? That means, like, the way you talk?”

  “Mhm,” confirmed William.

  “Oh, so why didn’t you just say that, then?”

  “You are a precocious thing, aren’t you?”

  “See, there you go again. I bet that means you think I’m a smartass, right?”

  A laugh burst from William, and even the stoic Feather Anne smiled. “Yes, that’s about right, sweetheart.”

  They went on like this the whole walk. William mined small gems of information about Feather Anne’s life from which he could paint a bigger picture. The writer in him was enthralled. The human being in him was saddened. The child existed like a shadow, a ghost. She lived on the fringe of not just the town, but of life itself. She had no friends to speak of, a mother who was borderline negligent, no family connections, and she was starving for all of it. Of course, she was. A spark of anger flared in him at Mae. How could she be so dismissive of a child just because of the mother they shared? Guilt welled as quickly as the anger had. Who was he to judge anyone? He couldn’t possibly know what he’d do or how he’d feel if he’d been blasted with the same shocking information.

  At the shallow, rain-battered steps of the library, Feather Anne paused. William had to step back a few paces to shelter her under the umbrella again. “I think I’ll stay out here. I got stuff to do anyhow,” she mumbled.

  “Nonsense. Come inside where it’s dry. You don’t have to hang around me, by any means.” Still, she hesitated, but her longing glances up at the warmly lit windows spoke volumes. “What’s the problem, Feather Anne?”

  “What if—what if they kick me out?”

  “Kick you out? Why on earth for?” William had the not-so-fleeting thought that perhaps she’d stolen something in the past. He was quickly put to shame.

  “Because I—because I don’t have a library card. You need one of those, right?”

  The tough little waif now looked like the child that she was—small, uncertain, innocent—and William had to fight the urge to hug her. As casually as he could, he said, “Oh, that’s no trouble at all. In fact, I need to get one as well. We can do it together.”

  “But what if they won’t give me one?”

  There were questions under the question. Ones that sounded like, “What if they think I’m trash or a thief?” And, “What if they won’t give me one because I’m Gina Byrd’s kid?” Those questions were in her big grey eyes, and William felt confident in that moment that if anyone tried to deny this child a library card, he’d kick their ass.

  He put his hands on his hips and said, “Oh, they will. Don’t you worry. Let’s go.”

  The librarian—a wispy, skittery-moving, white-haired woman with an overbite—dashed around behind the counter and darted glances at the two of them.

  “I’m late. I’m late. I’m late for a very important date,” said William from the side of his mouth to Feather Anne, who in turn stared at him blankly. “It’s from Alice in Wonderland. The white rabbit?” Again, the blank stare from the child. William sighed, “Well, that will be the first order of business, I think.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were the proud owners of matching laminated, rectangular, dark blue Chance Public Library cards. Feather Anne had ogled hers with a reverence that surprised and delighted William. “My own card. I can come in here any time I want, right?”

  “If the library is open, you may come in anytime you want,” William confirmed. “Besides the books, there are computers, audiobooks, and videos for your education and enjoyment. The children’s department is that way, down those stairs. I’ll be over there,” he pointed vaguely across the room, “should you need me for anything. Might I suggest—”

  Feather Anne clutched his wrist in both her small, cold hands. The library card held tightly in one of those little hands dug into his skin. “Stay with me, okay? I don’t—there’s so many—”

  The tough little girl was not quite so tough at all. “Okay, Feather Anne. I’ll walk you downstairs and get you in the right direction. Once you’re there, I suspect you’ll be fine. Better than fine, actually.”

  Her tense posture relaxed, and she slipped her hand—the one without the card—into his and held it tightly. William looked down at their clasped hands and thought, So this is what fatherhood would’ve looked like. He chanced a glance back at the hoppity librarian. As he imagined, she stared with open curiosity. Upon being on the receiving end of one of his smoldering stares, she snapped her gaze away and busied herself with a stack of books. Hers was not the only head turned in their direction, he noticed, and tried to ignore.

  “I bet they all think you’re, like, my long-lost dad or something,” Feather Anne said knowingly.

  “Do you—have you ever—”

  “Nah. Gina says he wasn’t nobody worth knowing, so whatever.” She didn’t look at William when she said this but rather straight ahead, and a hard glint in her eyes let him know it was much more than “whatever.”

  “Anybody,” corrected William automatically.

  “Huh?” Feather Anne looked at him like he’d gone senile in the brief walk from the librarian’s desk to the children’s department.

  “You said—never mind. What kind of stories do you like to read?”

  This took a bit of work for them to determine. William pulled age-appropriate books from the shelves, most of which she snubbed her nose at. By the time they’d reached the “L” rows, she’d only agree—reluctantly—to Alice in Wonderland, and that was at William’s insistence. She abruptly stopped at a shelf holding an out-turned book with a picture of a young girl in a flower garden on the glossy cover.

  “This one,” she declared. “Gina has a book like this on her dresser. Flips out if I touch it.”

  William pulled the book from the shelf. “Ah, yes, The Secret Garden, a very beloved story.” And a book that sits on a shelf in Mae’s living room as well, he did not add.

  “Cool. I think I’ll read that,” she said, her eyes never leaving the cover.

  In all, they chose three books, the two classics plus the first Harry Potter story. William
made Feather Anne carry her finds to the children’s department librarian, who smiled conspiratorially at her as she leaned in and whispered, “The Secret Garden is still my favorite.” She drummed her fingertips together rapidly. “I think you’re going to love it so much,” she exclaimed.

  William smiled at the young woman’s enthusiasm. Feather Anne gave her the same look she’d given him upstairs. He thanked the librarian and gently nudged Feather Anne to do the same. Afterward, and with her prized, borrowed possessions in hand, William said, “All right, my dear. I really must go and get some work done upstairs. Will you be okay on your own?”

  Feather Anne scoffed, “Duh, yeah, totally. I’m not a baby, William.” Then, in a softer voice, “Uh, thanks for hanging out with me and stuff. You’re okay for an old guy.”

  “Ah, well, you’re okay for a kid, Feather Anne. I’ll see you around town, yes?”

  She shrugged. “Sure, why not? See ya.”

  Without a backward glance, the slight girl with long, damp, dark hair, a too-big t-shirt, and bike shorts clomped away to a far corner of the children’s department in what was probably her mother’s flip-flops, based on how far they stuck out past her heels. Once she’d folded herself crossed-leg into one of the oversized chairs, William headed back upstairs. He needed to write it all down.

  “Excuse me, sir? The library will be closing in ten minutes,” said a soft voice above him.

  William startled and looked at his watch. Time had run past him at a hare’s pace while he wrote. He thanked her—a different woman than the two he’d met earlier in the day—and began gathering his belongings. He peered over at the large window as he reached for Mae’s umbrella. The already dismal day had gone from steel-hued skies to a tarnished pewter while his back was turned, and the rain had yet to relent. A pang of regret struck him as he remembered he’d walked and would now have to walk home.