.”
“Ain’t got all day, Caroline.”
Man, Mercy is pushy. “Jones left the Café to . . .” My voice bottoms out. “Me” is barely audible to my own ears.
“To who?” Mercy Bea’s head tilts to one side. The fingernail drum-ming stops.
“Caroline, Jones left the Café to you ?” Andy stoops over for a clear view of my face.
Our eyes meet. “Yes, Jones left the Café to me.”
Tension and silence fall like hailstones. Hard and fast.
Mercy Bea fires up another cigarette right there in the middle of the kitchen. “Great day in the morning. You? Of all the . . . What in Sam Hill was he thinking?”
“Mercy Bea, take that outside.” Andy points to her cigarette. “Caroline, do you want the Café?”
“I don’t know.” I grip my hands together. “There’s this other job opportunity . . .”
“What job opportunity? What happens if you don’t take the Café?” Mercy Bea exhales a stream of smoke in my direction.
“Well . . .” Oh, now, this is unfair. Why do I have to be the one? “Kirk will close it down, sell the property, and donate the proceeds to charity.”
Andy’s broad shoulders slump ever so slightly, and for the first time I see a break in his confidence. “Well, that’s that.” He slips the towel off of his shoulder and snaps the air. “Ten years. Not a bad run. Are the want ads lying round?”
“Un-freaking-believable.” Mercy Bea’s puffing and blowing smoke. “I protest the will.”
“You can’t protest the will, Mercy Bea. You ain’t kin.” Andy’s big bicep tightens as he lifts the trash can, searching for the Beaufort Gazette classifieds.
“Now hold on, y’all. I haven’t decided.”
“There goes youngest young-son’s basketball camp.” Mercy-Bea-the-Positive unties her apron, clamping her red lips around the filter tip of her cigarette. “Since it’s dead here, I’m going to run down to Panini’s Café and Plums. See if they’re hiring. Maybe I’ll cross the line over to Paul Mulroney’s.”
Hear that, Caroline? Jones rolling over in his grave.
“Wait,” I holler. “Did you not hear me? I haven’t decided yet. Kirk is coming back next week for my decision.”
“I’ll be holding my breath.” Mercy Bea balloons her cheeks with a backward glance and kicks open the kitchen screen door.
“Let her be.” Andy sets the trash down. The want ads are rolled in his hand. “She needs to blow off steam.”
“What about you?”
“Lost my head for a second. I’ll find something to do in this town. Gloria’s back isn’t bothering her as much these days. She can go back to work until I get a job.”
“I’ll stick around, Caroline.” Russell speaks for the first time. “I’ll find work after we shut down.”
“Shut down. Come on, y’all. I haven’t decided.” Yet? “Andy, what should I do?”
“Can’t tell you.” He taps his chest. “Only you know what’s in your heart.”
Mitch sits on the back porch when I pull up home Wednesday evening.
“Hey,” I take the steps slowly, watching as he rises from the bench swing. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes.” His easy stride is accented by his baggy shorts, oversized shirt, and flip-flops. “Well, maybe like thirty minutes. Okay, forty-five.” He stops in front of me, smiling. “Actually, I have no idea. I dozed off.”
With a laugh, I squeeze past him. Even now, he’s electric and exciting. “Dork. Why didn’t you come to the Café?” I unlock the kitchen door and head inside.
“I figured you’d be home sooner or later.” He stands by the door, his blond hair loose about his face.
“Are you coming in or just holding open the door for the flies?”There’s a note in Posey’s handwriting tacked to the fridge. Gone shop-ping in Savannah. Dad & Posey.
“Guess I’ll sit for a bit.” Mitch walks the rest of the way in, taking a seat at the table. “Does your dad still have the soda fridge? He kept the drinks so cold, ice chips floated on
“Ain’t got all day, Caroline.”
Man, Mercy is pushy. “Jones left the Café to . . .” My voice bottoms out. “Me” is barely audible to my own ears.
“To who?” Mercy Bea’s head tilts to one side. The fingernail drum-ming stops.
“Caroline, Jones left the Café to you ?” Andy stoops over for a clear view of my face.
Our eyes meet. “Yes, Jones left the Café to me.”
Tension and silence fall like hailstones. Hard and fast.
Mercy Bea fires up another cigarette right there in the middle of the kitchen. “Great day in the morning. You? Of all the . . . What in Sam Hill was he thinking?”
“Mercy Bea, take that outside.” Andy points to her cigarette. “Caroline, do you want the Café?”
“I don’t know.” I grip my hands together. “There’s this other job opportunity . . .”
“What job opportunity? What happens if you don’t take the Café?” Mercy Bea exhales a stream of smoke in my direction.
“Well . . .” Oh, now, this is unfair. Why do I have to be the one? “Kirk will close it down, sell the property, and donate the proceeds to charity.”
Andy’s broad shoulders slump ever so slightly, and for the first time I see a break in his confidence. “Well, that’s that.” He slips the towel off of his shoulder and snaps the air. “Ten years. Not a bad run. Are the want ads lying round?”
“Un-freaking-believable.” Mercy Bea’s puffing and blowing smoke. “I protest the will.”
“You can’t protest the will, Mercy Bea. You ain’t kin.” Andy’s big bicep tightens as he lifts the trash can, searching for the Beaufort Gazette classifieds.
“Now hold on, y’all. I haven’t decided.”
“There goes youngest young-son’s basketball camp.” Mercy-Bea-the-Positive unties her apron, clamping her red lips around the filter tip of her cigarette. “Since it’s dead here, I’m going to run down to Panini’s Café and Plums. See if they’re hiring. Maybe I’ll cross the line over to Paul Mulroney’s.”
Hear that, Caroline? Jones rolling over in his grave.
“Wait,” I holler. “Did you not hear me? I haven’t decided yet. Kirk is coming back next week for my decision.”
“I’ll be holding my breath.” Mercy Bea balloons her cheeks with a backward glance and kicks open the kitchen screen door.
“Let her be.” Andy sets the trash down. The want ads are rolled in his hand. “She needs to blow off steam.”
“What about you?”
“Lost my head for a second. I’ll find something to do in this town. Gloria’s back isn’t bothering her as much these days. She can go back to work until I get a job.”
“I’ll stick around, Caroline.” Russell speaks for the first time. “I’ll find work after we shut down.”
“Shut down. Come on, y’all. I haven’t decided.” Yet? “Andy, what should I do?”
“Can’t tell you.” He taps his chest. “Only you know what’s in your heart.”
Mitch sits on the back porch when I pull up home Wednesday evening.
“Hey,” I take the steps slowly, watching as he rises from the bench swing. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes.” His easy stride is accented by his baggy shorts, oversized shirt, and flip-flops. “Well, maybe like thirty minutes. Okay, forty-five.” He stops in front of me, smiling. “Actually, I have no idea. I dozed off.”
With a laugh, I squeeze past him. Even now, he’s electric and exciting. “Dork. Why didn’t you come to the Café?” I unlock the kitchen door and head inside.
“I figured you’d be home sooner or later.” He stands by the door, his blond hair loose about his face.
“Are you coming in or just holding open the door for the flies?”There’s a note in Posey’s handwriting tacked to the fridge. Gone shop-ping in Savannah. Dad & Posey.
“Guess I’ll sit for a bit.” Mitch walks the rest of the way in, taking a seat at the table. “Does your dad still have the soda fridge? He kept the drinks so cold, ice chips floated on
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