She did not engage in or condone magical thinking, and she would not be taking guidance from a tip jar. Besides, someone like Cal Forster would never be interested in someone like her.
CAL STUMBLES FORWARD
The second day of school had been a breeze. Cal stayed late to listen to a group of students who seemed eager to please while communicating their needs for extra help. Two said they had ADHD. Another, a shy senior named Todd, said he was dyslexic.
These kids were cool. So far, the greatest threats to Cal were falling asleep after lunch and remembering where he parked his car, though he did have an awkward moment with the principal right after lunch when he casually asked about his sister.
“Bryony?” Mitch had answered. “She’s a little fragile right now. Let herself get all worked up about being dumped by a guy who seemed okay at first, but I never really liked him. She needs to get her life together. She’s not in a good place, if you know what I mean.” He’d eyed Cal with meaning.
“No worries,” Cal had said. “Just curious.” He followed up with a few questions about the sports trophies in the hallway display case which, yes, did belong to Mitch, and which Mitch did enjoy talking about in detail, including yards, touchdowns, rival games, game-winning plays, and championships. From Cal’s perspective, after the uncomfortable exchange about Bryony, they had shared what might be Fieldstone’s version of a real bonding moment.
On his way to the parking lot, three students said, “Have a good evening, Mister Forster.”
“I think I’m going to like it here,” Cal said to himself as he hit the remote to unlock his doors.
The ride to his rented home took ten minutes. Bailey greeted him at the door, tail wagging, tongue hanging out.
“Hey, buddy!” Cal chuffed the dog under his chin and patted his head. “How was your second day of school?”
Cal answered for Bailey with a low growl. “I was a good doggie. Didn’t eat the couch. Slept most of the day. Barked once, when the mailman rattled the box.”
“Oh, you are a good dog,” Cal said in his own voice again. “Shall we walk?”
He put on his walking shoes and secured Bailey’s leash. “Let’s go for a big walk, shall we?”
Since moving into the amazing brick Tudor at the beginning of August, Cal and Bailey had explored in all directions many times. Most of the houses in the immediate neighborhood were built in the forties and fifties, likely for managers of businesses which sprang up during and after the second world war.
A few blocks farther, he could see the effects of income distribution, siding instead of brick, smaller houses, some with no garage. Bailey visited every tree within three feet of the sidewalks crisscrossing the well-established neighborhoods. The trees were fat with years of sunshine and rain. Cement heaved up from strong roots below. Branches overhead provided shade and dropped various forms of seed pods, sticks, and leaves.
The ambience sure beat the sterile condominium Cal had purchased twenty years earlier in a Cleveland suburb. A former student now rented his condo as she completed her first year of teaching. He would be back there in June, but he was not wishing the time away. This place appealed to him. He liked the choice he made to come, the decision to rent a house instead of an apartment.
“Come on, Bailey,” Cal said.
They arrived at the place where Cal would typically turn around, but tonight he crossed the street, continued down the block, and came across something he hadn’t seen in years—a root beer stand with car window service.
“Bailey old boy,” Cal said. “It looks like we just found our dinner!”
After ordering three hot dogs, a large root beer, and a to-go bowl of water, he and his dog took possession of the provided picnic table. Cal chopped up one hot dog into swallowable sized pieces for Bailey, and commenced to chow down on childhood memories.
“There used to be this great root beer stand close to our house,” he said as he chewed. “I think I lived there until they closed down when I was twelve or thirteen. They sold frozen peanut butter cups. You haven’t lived, Bailey, until you’ve worked your way through one of those.”
He glanced down at his dog. Bailey’s food bowl was empty, and he slurped at the water.
“Can’t afford to do this too often,” Cal said as he moved on to the second hot dog. “I don’t even want to see the ingredient list for these, and the salt content’s probably high enough to de-ice our entire driveway.”
The carhops continued to wait on customers as Cal finished off his meal. He watched them walk with purpose to take the orders, return to the window, and carry trays or bags back to the cars. Someone had trained them well. Too bad the stand would be closed for most of the school year. Otherwise, he would have investigated placing a student there.
Depositing their trash in the plastic lined barrel, Cal thought about how many calories he had just ingested and decided on a longer walk. The town square was only a half mile or so farther on. He headed back to the sidewalk and said, “Let’s explore new territory!”
Bailey wagged his tale and picked up speed.
“Good boy! New trees, new scents, it’s a whole new world out there!”
Bailey agreed by lifting his leg on the next stop sign.
Downtown Fieldstone clung to its retail past with a diner, a gift shop, a florist, and a used book store. There were a few windows covered in brown paper with “For Rent” signs. Other storefronts housed a plumbing business, a bank, and BeanHereNow, the coffee shop where the principal’s sister worked. The lights inside were off. The sign on the door said, “Closed.”
“What kind of coffee shop closes at five?” Cal asked. “Lattes and bagels are twenty-four hour necessities.”
He sauntered along the main street, looking up at the three largest buildings, all built in the late 1800s, a fact he learned by reading the historical plaques secured to each facade. Bailey stopped to lift his leg one last time on the second pass by the tree outside BeanHereNow when the door to the coffee shop opened and Bryony stepped out.
Surprised and delighted to see her, Cal said, “Hi!” as he stepped forward. The toe of his shoe hit the edge of a raised sidewalk segment, and he leapt forward to avoid falling, righting himself two feet too close to her brown eyes.
“Oh!” Bryony’s hand flew up to her chest and she took a step back. “What are you doing here?”
Not the greeting he’d hoped for.
“Sorry,” he said as he pulled back farther. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Bailey and I were out for a walk.”
She turned to fit a key into the lock and swiveled her head to look back at Cal. “His name is Bailey?” Bryony dropped the key into her bag and bent toward the dog. “Come here, sweetie.”
Bailey wagged himself over to where she dangled her hand. He sniffed and licked and allowed her to stroke his back.
“You’re a handsome fellow,” she said before straightening her back and returning both hands to the strap of the purse hanging from her shoulder.
“Why thank you!” Cal said. “My parents thank you, too. When I was young, they were afraid I’d never grow into my ears.”
Bryony crossed her arms. “I was talking to Bailey.”
“I knew that.” Cal stood at attention, his hands clasped in front of him, the leash dangling down from between them.
“So, what brings you here tonight?” she asked.
“Like I said, walking the dog.”
“Right.” Bryony nodded her head.
“Say, would you like to have a cup of coffee with me sometime?” Cal asked.
The minute he asked, he wished he had not. Whereas before he asked she seemed amused by him, now she looked at him with indifference, as if she had closed up for the night, maybe forever.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she answered. “By the end of the work day, I’ve had my fill of coffee.”
Tugging on the leash, Cal said, “Of course you have.” Bailey walked to his side.
