Mae's Cafe (Welcome To Chance Book 1)

by Elsa Kurt

  Whatever Elise said back was drowned out by the cacophony of the O’Brien kids. And whatever she told Katie about today was her business. Bruce Grady had no interest in drama, or gossip, or anything that unsettled his steady life.

  “Just stay out of the drama, Grady, and you’ll be fine,” he told himself as he climbed into his truck and backed it into Elise’s driveway.

  Chapter 19

  TIME MARCHES ON

  “September already. Can you believe it?” Auntie Tree fanned herself with one hand and sipped her martini in the other. “Not that you can tell by the weather. Feels like August to me.”

  “Well, it was August just yesterday, so…”

  “Don’t be a smartass, niece of mine. So what’s going on with Mr. December? Get it? May-December relationship. Although in your case I guess it’s a M-a-e-December relationship.” Katrina laughed at her own joke, and Mae rolled her eyes. “All right, all right. For real, how’s it going?”

  “He turned in his manuscript to his editor this morning.”

  “Already? Damn, that was fast.”

  “It’s just a first draft, but he said the story practically wrote itself. All he needs to do now is fill in the smaller details.”

  “And I guess you two still haven’t talked about what’s next?” Katrina watched her niece with concern. She was clearly in love with the man, despite how impractical it was. But, she supposed, what was love, if not impractical?

  “No, not really. What if he leaves, Tree?”

  “Ah, honey. I wish I knew what to tell you.”

  “What, you’re not going to say, ‘I told you not to get involved with him?’ I bet you’re dying to.”

  “Nah, you take all the fun out of it when you look so pathetic. Now, on to another topic you don’t want to discuss. The kid?”

  Mae automatically stiffened. Her tone was as rigid as her posture. “Nothing new. No one’s seen her or Gina. Trailer is still on the Jenson lot—at least until they tow it away—and the van is gone.” She shrugged with an unconvincing nonchalance that made Trina narrow her eyes at her niece. Mae refused to meet her eyes, confirming something in her aunt’s mind.

  “Something tells me you’re a bit disappointed that they’re gone.”

  “Nope. Could not care less if I tried. So, what’s new with you? Still seeing the plumber?”

  “He’s an electrician, and yes. He’s very nice. So far.” She let the topic of her biological mother and half-sister rest. Once Mae had a couple more martinis, she might be willing to talk, but not yet. “If he’s still around next month—who knows—maybe I’ll bring him by.”

  Now it was Trina’s turn to fake indifference, and Mae saw right through her as well. “Oh, if he’s still around, hmm? Something tells me he is totally going to still be around. Look at you! Are you blushing? Oh my God. You’re in love, aren’t you? Confess!”

  “Oh, shut up and pour us another round, will you?”

  They laughed and spent the evening filling each other in on the latest gossip, ignoring the things neither wanted to speak of. Around nine p.m., William came home.

  “Mae, Katrina.” He nodded, his expression somber.

  “Is something wrong?” Mae sat forward, searching his face.

  “I’m afraid so. We need to take a ride to the police station.” William looked from one woman to the other then added, “I’ll drive.”

  “It’s…her, isn’t it? What’d she do now? I’m not going to bail her out of jail.”

  “Just…you’ll see.”

  Any other time, Mae—and certainly Katrina—would’ve assaulted him with a barrage of questions. But the women quietly followed him to his car and climbed in when he opened the doors for them. Ten minutes later, they were parked by the small station’s well-lit entrance. Joel Asheby greeted them as they came in.

  He gave a terse smile to the women then bobbed his head once at William. “Hi, Mae. Hey, Miss Huxley. William, thanks for bringing them in.”

  “Joel, what’s going on? I told you, anything that has to do with her—”

  “I know, Mae. This isn’t about her. Not entirely, at least. Follow me.” Joel turned on his heel and strode down the bright, fluorescent-lit hallway, past three tiny rooms with glass and wire square windows. Mae could see a small desk and two orange-cushioned office chairs in two of the cubicle-sized rooms. The third had a camera on a tripod facing the far wall, a table with black ink pads and rectangular white paper. The booking room, Mae thought to herself. Just like on television but smaller.

  At the end of the hall, he turned right. Mae and Katrina followed wide-eyed and obediently, while William merely followed in silence, looking neither over nor under impressed. At the end of this corridor, a blue door stood sentry. It too had a square window with chicken wire between the panes, but this window gave view to a tidy break room. The smell of burned coffee hit their noses the moment Joel swung the door outward, and he waved them in ahead of him.

  At first, Mae thought the room was empty. No one sat around the scarred dinette table or stirred their mud-like coffee by the coffee maker. No one played the Pirates of the Caribbean pinball machine that flashed monotonously in the corner. On the second- or maybe thirdhand olive-colored sofa there lay only a crumpled heap of plaid blanket. Mae started to turn to Joel, but Trina hit her arm and pointed to the blanket. She followed her finger back the tangle of fleece and realized with a start that there was someone—someone small—underneath.

  “Feather Anne?”

  The blanket moved, then a nest of raven hair popped up. “I told him not to call you. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you or anyone.” Feather Anne glared at Mae—at all of them—and swiped the mess of tangles away from her face. She crossed her arms over her chest and kicked the blanket off.

  “I don’t understand. Where’s Gina?” Feather Anne shrugged, not making eye contact. “You don’t know where she is? Or you’re not telling?”

  When the girl still said nothing, Mae turned the question to Joel. He threw his hands wide. “She won’t say a word. Found her on Eagle heading toward the trailer with a bag of vegetables.”

  “So that’s where they went,” said Mae softly, her eyes back on Feather Anne.

  “Yeah, well, she wouldn’t say where those came from either. I followed her there, thinkin’ maybe Gina must’ve sold the van, and they were hiding out till they came and took the RV away.”

  Katrina piped up then. “Let me guess. Gina wasn’t there, was she?”

  Joel shook his head and darted his eyes at Feather Anne before addressing William. “Will you hang out with her a minute? Mae, Miss Huxley, can I talk to you in the hall?”

  They followed him back out the door. From his breast pocket, he pulled a crumpled piece of brown paper bag and handed it to Mae. “Found this on the picnic table. She doesn’t know I have it. She kinda went a little ape-shit when I tried to make her leave with me.” As proof, Joel proffered his arm and neck for their inspection. Several cat-like scratches tattooed his skin in various places. Mae wondered how she hadn’t noticed them before. Under the bright overhead light, they stood out vividly against his pale skin. Mae and Trina winced, and he nodded grimly. “Yeah. She’s feisty for such a little thing. Anyhow, my best guess is that she’s been alone there for the past month. That was the last time anyone remembers seeing Gina’s van.” Joel’s jaw worked, and his eyes became red-rimmed. “Makes me sick thinking of a little one all alone like that. What kind of mother does that to their kid, huh?”

  “The kind that takes a cash settlement to renounce all rights to their kid, I suppose.” Mae was going for wry sarcasm, but her own, long-pent-up anger and hurt surfaced, and her words had a venomous bite. Trina grabbed her hand, and Joel apologized. “It’s not your fault. She is what she is.”

  “Mae, honey. What are we gonna do about the kid?” Trina jerked her head toward the blue door. Before Mae could speak, her aunt added quickly, “And don’t look at me, sugar. I got a one bedroom over a burlesqu
e club. Not exactly kid-friendly, you know?”

  Mae heaved a mighty sigh. Now that this day had come, she was able to acknowledge to herself that she’d always known it would come to something like this. It wasn’t anything against Feather Anne; it never was. If she let the girl into her life, then she’d have to let the mother. And that was never going to happen. That woman was dead to Mae the moment she gave her up for money, even if Mae didn’t know about it until after her father died. She stared at the door. Joel and Trina stared at her. The analog clock ticked the seconds audibly. Mae sighed again and opened the door.

  “Grab your stuff, Feather Anne. Let’s go home.”

  Mae cut her eyes to William sitting beside the girl, warning him with her eyes not to say a word, lest she lose her nerve. His expression gave nothing away, but his eyes looked up warmly at her. It somehow fortified her resolve, and she added, “We can go to the trailer tomorrow and load up anything you want to keep.”

  The angry, defiant scowl hadn’t left Feather Anne’s face, but Mae held her ground. After a long, breath-holding silence, the girl’s scratchy voice asked, “Anything?”

  Mae released the breath and said, “Yeah. All of it, if you want.”

  Feather Anne threw off the blanket, stood up, said, “Eh, most of it is crap,” and walked past Mae toward the door. “You comin’ or what? This place smells nasty.”

  William chuckled and stood as well. He put his arm around Mae and kissed her temple. “It’ll all be fine.”

  Mae exhaled shakily. “Ha. We’ll see.”

  They all climbed into William’s car as Mae and Joel spoke in hushed tones at the station steps.

  “So, there’ll be paperwork—you know, legal guardianship and stuff—and a caseworker will be assigned. We’ll have to try and find Gina, of course. She’ll probably face charges. Mae,” Joel touched her arm, “you realize what this means, right? You’re responsible for her now. Maybe till she’s eighteen if Gina doesn’t pull it together.”

  Mae paled, but her anger at Gina fueled her determination. Echoing William’s words, she said, “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. In fact, I hope Gina never comes back. The kid would be better off.”

  “Yeah, probably so,” agreed Joel sadly. “Kid’s had a real crap deal. I’m proud of you for doing this. We all knew you’d come around eventually.” Joel realized what he’d said a moment too late.

  “Everyone? Who’s ‘everyone,’ Joel? Are you saying the whole town knew my business the whole time?”

  “I—you, I mean, it’s a small town, Mae.” Joel shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down.

  Mae blew a loose strand of hair off her forehead and put her hands on her hips. Then she did something that surprised them both. She laughed. Joel grinned cautiously, studying her face and thinking maybe hysteria—or the lingering buzz from the alcohol he smelled on her and the aunt—caused the unexpected humor.

  “That it is, Joel. What the hell made me think my secrets were different from anyone else’s? Let’s face it, we all know most of each other’s secrets, and if we don’t, we will soon enough.” She glanced over at William’s car. “I suppose everyone also knows that William and I are seeing each other.” Joel smiled and shrugged sheepishly, and Mae laughed again. “Of course, they do. All right, well, thanks for everything, Joel. Really. I better get the kid home…and in a shower.”

  “See ya, Mae. Someone will be in touch either tomorrow or the next day. Social Services is stretched pretty thin.”

  With a final wave, Mae climbed in the car beside William, and the unlikely foursome drove through the sleepy town. A fine, light rain had begun to fall, making misty haloes around the streetlamps. Both Mae and Feather Anne had their foreheads pressed against the cool glass and Katrina, from the backseat, met William’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

  Chapter 20

  VAGABOND KID

  William watched the procession of Huxleys move down the hall. He went to the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and sat at the end of the long butcher block island. From down the hall, he heard doors opening and closing then the start of the shower. After a few minutes, Mae joined him. William pushed a steaming cup toward her and set two ibuprofens beside it. She smiled but bypassed the offering and went to him instead. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and Mae took his stubble rough face in her hands and kissed his lips. She pressed her forehead against his and whispered, “What the hell am I doing with this—this vagabond kid?”

  He stood, gently pushing her to the chair and tucking her hair behind her ear. “The right thing, that’s what. Drink your coffee. I’ll get you water for the ibuprofen.” When he set the cold glass before her, he asked, “Is Katrina with her?”

  “She’s getting my father’s room ready for her. This is surreal. I don’t know her, William. She doesn’t know me. We’re strangers who happen to share some DNA, that’s it.”

  “Oh, now you’re overthinking again, sweetheart. We all have the same basic needs. Food, shelter, water…love.” The air grew heavy in the kitchen, and everything seemed to pause. Stop, William. Remember your promise to yourself. “I—you’ll figure it out, I’m certain.”

  Mae nodded without looking up. “We need to talk, William. About us.”

  He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, pressed his lips into her hair, and inhaled deeply before saying, “I know. Not now, love. You have enough to deal with tonight.” He realized too late that he’d phrased it wrong; the proof was in her stiffened posture under his hands. “Come to me once she’s asleep?” He didn’t wait for her response but kissed her once more before leaving her by the island.

  Several hours later, he awoke to the dip of the mattress and the feel of Mae’s warm bare skin against his back. He turned over and pulled her against him. Her head moved to his chest, and her breath tickled as she whispered. “I’ve changed my mind, William. I don’t want to talk right now,” and she traced her fingertips down his chest, over his stomach, and below the sheets.

  Chapter 21

  CLANDESTINE

  Rosabelle unlatched the little white gate, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and closed the gate behind her with a small clack. She looked up one length of Dogwood Drive and down the other. When she felt confident that no one was nosing about, she turned back to her little dollhouse-like home, jerked her head, and waved her hand to say, “come on, come on.”

  The lavender-colored front door opened again, first a crack, then further and further in increments until there was a person-sized opening. Miles Hannaford squeezed out and walked-ran down Rosabelle’s cobbled sidewalk.

  “Hurry up,” she panic-hissed.

  “I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying. Jesus, you do know we’re adults now, right?”

  “Oh, so you don’t care if anyone sees the great Miles Hannaford with plain, boring, Rosabelle Waterman?” Miles hesitated a second too long, his face gave away a millisecond of guilt, and Rosabelle flushed hotly. “Exactly. Just go, Miles.”

  “Rosie. Come on. Don’t be like—”

  “It’s fine. Whatever. I have to go to the library, and you have the lease signing on Mr. Villeneuve’s office space downtown at eleven. Don’t forget the spare keys. Will I—” She bit her lip.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he said quickly.” Then, “If that’s okay with you, Rosie?” There was an unfamiliar tone in Miles’s voice—was it genuine hopefulness? And an even more unfamiliar feeling, one he struggled even more with recognizing. Rosie wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever slept with. She was pure and sweet. He didn’t think she was plain or boring. Not anymore. Now he saw virgin hair, untouched by colors or bleach, that shone like silk in the sunlight. He saw that her eyes had a halo of gold-green ringing her pupils that faded into a warm, honey brown. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her cheekbones high, and she blushed adorably. In short, Miles saw that Rosabelle Waterman was beautiful. Why had he hesitated? Now it was too late to take back the moment.

  “Yes, Miles, it is.” Rosabelle smiled sof
tly and looked down.

  “Great. And Rosie?” She looked up. “I—Thanks for reminding me about the keys. I would’ve forgotten. See ya, kid.” Then he trotted across the street and halfway up the block to his car.

  Rosabelle watched until the Mercedes was out of sight. She flicked her long, mousy brown hair off her shoulder and dug around inside her oversized bag until her fingers touched her phone. Once she found the number she was looking for, Rosabelle took a deep breath and hit the call button.

  “I’ll show him plain and boring.”

  There was a click on the line, then a woman’s voice that reminded Rosabelle of a night-time radio DJ, one who played the love song requests. “Good morning. Thank you for calling Del Sol Salon and Spa. This is Dierdre, how may I assist you?”

  “Hi—I—Dierdre? This is Rosabelle? Rosabelle Waterman?” You idiot, don’t be so pathetic sounding. She cleared her throat and tried again. “This is Rosabelle Waterman. I’d—I’d like to make an appointment for today. Full services.”

  “Oh, hey Rosabelle,” said Dierdre in a more normal voice. “You don’t want just the usual trim?”

  “No. I want—I want a makeover.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line then a squeal. “Oooh, Rosabella, you don’t know how long I’ve hoped you’d say that. When can you get in here, girl?”

  “How about in one hour?”

  They confirmed the time, Deirdre added several more excited squeals—enough so that it was beginning to annoy Rosabelle—and suddenly the girl who’d never even had her hair curled was committed to a complete change. She felt a nauseating mixture of excitement and dread. On a whim, she decided to forgo the library and visit Mae’s Café for a coffee. Decaf. She was jittery enough as it was.

  Chapter 22

  MOONLIGHT AND MOZART