“Thanks.”
“You know, this job doesn’t pay a lot. If you’re counting on it for expenses or something …”
I shook my head. “I’ve got some savings.”
He took another look at my sorry application and I held my breath until he met my eyes again. “Okay, Cassandra …”
“Cassie.”
He smiled. “Okay, Cassie.” He stuck out his hand and I shook it, his skin warm as if he’d just set down a pot of java. “If you want it, it’s yours.” He went over the details then. It wasn’t much money, he was right, but it was enough to help with groceries and whatnot and, more importantly, it gave me somewhere to go every day. A purpose.
It had been less than a week, but I was pretty sure Doug wasn’t sorry he’d taken a chance on me.
I handed the Café American to the lady across the counter, scooped raspberries and ice into the blender, and started on Doug’s three mochas. It was still an hour before the lunch rush, but we had steady traffic anyway. People began their mornings at all different times, I’d learned. First in were the businesspeople with newspapers under their arms, cell phones affixed to their ears, and barely a glance at me as they whisked their insulated cups away. The next wave ran from about seven to eight. Middle management, Doug called them. Like the businesspeople, but with older suits. They looked less stressed, but somehow more harried, like they couldn’t ever remember where they’d left their wallet or car keys. The assistants and retail people were next, taking us up to ten o’clock. After that it was mostly college kids who’d stuck around for the summer and randoms—taxi drivers and graphic artists and mothers—groups on no set schedule, breaking up the waves of suits and sweats.
I jammed out the three mochas without looking up, thankful Doug hadn’t called another order on top of this. Mochas and a smoothie were the kind of stuff that could really put you behind. I poured the pureed fruit into a cup, made a perfect whipped cream swirl, and expertly picked up the other three cups with my remaining fingers, setting all four on the bar together.
“Couldn’t get enough of that coffee smell, eh?”
The floppy hair was slicked back and he wore a T-shirt instead of a button-down, but those green eyes behind dark-framed glasses were instantly familiar. It took me less than a second to place him. The guy I’d passed on my way in the first time I’d come to Cuppa.
“Well, I figured if I was spending all my time here, they might as well pay me for it.”
His smile was uneven, charmingly lopsided. “I think they’re getting their money’s worth.”
The bells, hung on silver cords from our wooden door, jangled and I glanced over his shoulder, feeling my knees go weak. I don’t know why I was so surprised. I’d been waiting for this since Nan died, though I’m not sure I’d understood how bad it would really be. It was like I’d been standing at the edge of a cliff, thinking it was just a short drop. Until I started to fall.
The light around the woman walking slowly to the counter and smiling at her companion was too bright to be a reflection or sunlight or anything but the glow I knew only I could see.
“Are you okay?” The guy was looking at me closely, his eyes more intense.
“Fine,” I answered, barely hearing my own voice.
“You don’t look fine. You’re very pale.” He followed my gaze toward the door, but she had moved to the counter now. Not that he could see anything anyway. He turned back to me. “You should sit down.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I will. My break’s in a few minutes.” Doug was talking to the woman, taking her order. She was utterly ordinary. Nan’s age or a little younger, with gray-brown hair and a slight stoop. She was pale, but not exceptionally so, thin, but not in a way that suggested illness. The kind of person I’d never notice. Except that she had the mark. I realized he was still watching me, glasses guy, his fingers loosely wrapped around the cups I’d set on the counter. “Really,” I said, forcing a smile, “I’m fine. Probably too much coffee.”
A blond woman approached the counter. “Lucas? Need help with those?”
“Uh, sure.” He passed her two of the drinks and picked up the other two. “You sure you’re all right?” he asked, lingering. His eyes were magnetic, the green of dewy grass, with thick, dark lashes. If I hadn’t been so distracted, I’d have been happy to look at them all day.
“Chamomile tea, light, and an espresso,” Doug called.
“Fine,” I said to Lucas. “I’ve got to go.”
He nodded and followed the woman, petite and very pretty, back to a table where they joined another couple.
My mind raced and I stole glances at the two women while collecting the makings of their drinks. How would it happen? Car accident? A fall? A tumor? I watched her as I brewed tea. I couldn’t help it. She leaned her cheek against her hand, elbow propped on the table, listening to her friend with a slight smile on lightly wrinkled lips. She wore no wedding ring and I wasn’t sure if I was more relieved or saddened by the idea that she would leave no one behind. Not that I knew for sure. There could be children, a boyfriend, maybe even a husband and she’d forgotten her ring today. Of all days.
“Cassie?” Doug stood a foot away, watching me stir the tea aimlessly.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I, uh …”
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“We’ve got a little lull. Why don’t you take five and let me finish this order?”
I glanced back at the woman, talking quietly, still surrounded by that soft light. “Yeah. If you don’t mind, maybe I will.”
The back room at Cuppa was cluttered with castoffs from the front. I slid into my favorite: an easy chair whose purple velvet had been worn away completely from the seat. I spent a lot of my breaks relaxing back here, but there was nothing restful about it now. It was almost worse than being faced with her. Out front, at least I had tasks. Here I had only the anxiety in my gut and a white cinder-block wall where I swear I could see images of Mr. McKenzie, Nan, the West Lakes Elementary kids flashing like a slide show. I felt like crying, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I was sorry for the woman or if it was thinking about Nan and the last time I’d seen the mark or if it was the reminder that as hard as I tried to be normal, make friends, hold a job—no matter where I lived or what I did, this awful thing would always be with me.