She saw more regret in his face than she had anticipated, but he said he did understand and would be whatever she needed him to be. She didn’t know what he meant by that, and he seemed quieter through a second cup of coffee, but he still showed interest in hearing about her life, like a friend, which is what she had wanted, she guessed.
When she asked about his family, he said she had missed a good party, but didn’t elaborate.
After paying, Bryony walked Cal to his car. He slid in behind the steering wheel, and she saw sadness in his smile, which surprised her, but he sounded upbeat when he said, “Gotta run. Bailey awaits. Have a good rest of the day, Bryony.”
“I will,” she said.
She walked back to the coffee shop and started taking her coat off as the door closed behind her.
Chuck and Charity Henderson sat with Susie Quatman, all three settled in close to the door. Bryony walked over to the table, greeted each one by name, and asked, “Do you need anything?”
“We’re good,” Chuck said. “Nice seeing you, Bryony. Great place!”
Hearing his words and taking in the warmth generated by his smile reminded her of when they had been close. “I heard you had surgery,” Bryony said. “I’m happy to see you’re doing well.”
“Thanks,” Chuck said.
“We were hoping we’d run into our friend, Cal Forster,” Susie said. “He seems to spend a lot of time in here.”
“I just left him,” Bryony said. “He ran home for his dog.”
Susie’s countenance fell.
“I’m glad he’s found a friend in you,” Chuck said. “We practically begged him to sub for me for the year, and then abandoned him when he arrived. I had no idea I’d be down for so long.”
“You’re doing great now.” Charity patted Chuck’s knee.
When Chuck looked at his wife, Bryony saw love passing between them. They were not merely aged versions of iconic high school sweethearts. They were a mature, married couple surviving a crisis together.
“I hope to see you in here more often,” she said.
Chuck smiled at her. “I hope we see more of you, too.”
Bryony carried her coat to the rack in the back of the store, lifted it to the hook, let it drop, and sighed.
Chuck and Charity Henderson were not the people she had known in high school. She was not the person they had known then either. Everybody grew up—everybody except maybe Susie—and moved past divisions related to the competitive nature of high school. They could all be friends—except maybe Susie—including Cal.
That night she made a tomato pie. Bryony had read that dreaming of tomatoes was a sign of moving in a new work direction, one that would go well. Maybe daydreaming while working with tomatoes would have a similar effect.
Over the weekend, catalyzed by Etta’s encouragement, Bryony had mapped out a vision for her pie business, a bold plan starting with a state-of-the-art kitchen sufficient to produce enough pies for both local and online sales.
After the tomato pie cooled, she removed a piece to taste test. The savory tang of new adventure hit her tongue like the spicy scene in a novel or movie. She would be fine without Cal, and he without her. They would be friends doing their own things, as it should be for two independent adults, neither of whom had ever been married, neither of whom expressed a strong desire to head toward matrimony. Why muck up two perfectly refined single lifestyles?
She took another bite, and then another.
The taste lost its tang after the fourth bite, but she kept eating, for comfort and joy, neither of which she achieved as she swallowed forkful after forkful until the entire piece was gone, leaving only crumbs on her plate.
She started to press her finger into the crumbs to eat those, too, but stopped. After a deep breath and a chance to allow for introspection, she took her plate to the sink and rinsed it.
Crumbs were not her future.
CAL CALLS FOR HELP
The time between the end of dinner and lights out constituted the hardest part of Cal’s day.
Over the past several weeks, he had settled into an evening routine of reading his way through a new detective series recommended by Chuck, who said the stories helped during his recovery.
The main character—a middle-aged man tracking crooked colleagues and various kinds of trafficking rings from which imperiled people required rescuing—mourned his wife and daughter after the author killed them off in the first chapter of the first book in the series. Cal could relate to the loss of loved ones. The drama in the stories distracted him from missing Bryony.
Though they had run into each other a few times and been cordial, he had not called her, as she had not called him. They were both wise enough, he guessed, to know when to cut their losses. But tonight the loss of her loomed larger than usual. He needed to talk to somebody.
Chuck and he had not spoken in a few weeks, so Cal picked up his phone and pulled up his contact list. He wanted to check in. He hoped to hear good news.
After observing a few social amenities related to family, sports, the national news, and which volume of the series he was reading, Cal asked, “Any word yet from the school board?”
“Nothing,” Chuck said. “Charity’s pulled out all the stops with every contact she has. Seems like someone’s feeding the board information which makes our program seem redundant, unnecessary. Charity keeps hearing the word, ‘useless,’ passed around, and the phrase, ‘no evidence basis.’”
“Didn’t they read the report you sent in?” Cal asked. “We documented the rise in student attendance and the reduction in detention over the last five years for seniors entering the program.” Did the school board know anything about the young people served by the program?
“I don’t know, Cal,” Chuck answered. His voice sounded tired, though stronger than a few months ago. “I only know it’s not looking good at the moment, which can change. They won’t vote on next year’s budget until after the new year. I’m not sure what I’ll do next year if the program ends.”
Whether or not the program continued would have little impact on Cal. He would leave after the end of the school year. The idea of staying had been short-lived and exclusively tied to his feelings about Bryony. Feeling foolish now, he was surprised he could be taken in by his need for someone to call his own. Rock ballads came to mind. To yearn for one’s own great love story may be entertaining, but not pragmatic.
“You can always move back to Cleveland,” Cal said.
Chuck laughed. “If there’s no place for me next year in this school system, I’ll retire and do something else. Maybe I’ll be a greeter at Walmart.”
