Page 27 of Mountain Man Santa

Sixteen

STACEY

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Amedium soy latte for Marsha!” Suzy calls, setting the to-go drink on the counter. Pulling her eyes from the vast array of paintings lining the walls of The Human Being Cafe, the middle-aged woman with graying hair strides up to the counter to grab her drink, thanking us both.

I run the cash register today, and Suzy’s the barista. But it’s mid-morning, and things have quieted down enough that I grab a wet washcloth and lemon-scented soap to wipe down and bus tables. I’ve worked here for half a year now, and I can’t believe how the time has both flown and inched by. For all of the heartache and loneliness of these last six months, I’m no closer to understanding what happened between Jerry and me, let alone healing from the pain.

Suzy is young with pixie-cut black hair, glittery purple eye shadow, and a nose piercing. I’ve gotten to know her decently since last December when the Silver Fork closed for good.

Every morning, I walk by the darkened building, thinking back fondly to a time that seems like it happened centuries ago.Yet, I can still touch each memory with all five senses, as though it were yesterday. Doing so reassures me that Jerry and my love for him are real. But it comes at a grave cost as the bittersweet tangle of emotions overpowers me anew, making it tough to breathe, think, or feel anything beyond soul-grinding anguish.

The last time I saw Jerry was when he wordlessly dropped me off at my house after the blizzard. Tears filled his eyes, and he hugged me so tightly and kissed me so breathlessly I knew it was over…without any explanation, any hope of understanding the sudden change. I could tell by his actions and face that he was devastated, yet he let me go. No, worse than that. He pushed me out of his life…

And then, he vanished.

Hollister has never been the same, and neither have I. Looking down at my forearm, I trace the small heart with a tail that I had tattooed on my wrist as a reminder of everything Jerry and I were together for those magical few days in December. Everything since feels like a hollow shadow of life—tasteless, uninspiring, loveless, and bland.

Suzy calls to me. “Hey, Stace, Dee needs to see you in the back.”

I nod, heading in her direction and depositing the rag and cleaner in the industrial sink behind the bar. “Are you good with the register if anyone comes in?”

She gives a thumbs up, her face frowning with late teenager angst.

“Thanks, babe,” I nod. That’s Dee’s and my unofficial nickname for the moody young woman.

Copies of vintage psychedelic rock posters plaster the door to Delilah’s office. She has a collection of real ones jealously guarded behind glass frames at her house, which I’ve admired while stopping by her house to chat or hang out. The womanwho used to fill me with jealousy now comforts me, one of my only lifelines to Jerry’s memory.

I rap lightly on the door and wait for her to call, “Come in.”

Turning the knob, I step into another world of elaborate artwork, bright colors, countless houseplants, and eclectic furnishings. Modern folk music plays softly in the background, and the redhead sits behind her desk, one to two rings on every single finger as she writes in a journal on her desk.

“Suzy said you wanted to see me?”

Her eyes widen, taking me in, and her face tightens. She looks nervous, an expression I rarely see cross her face. “Please have a seat.”

I take the high-backed Victorian chair, reupholstered in deep, rich turquoise velvet, sighing as I sink into its decadent comfort.

“What’s up, Dee?”

“How have you liked working here over the past six months?”

I shrug. “I’ve enjoyed it. Thank you for the opportunity. You get an entertaining clientele, and I enjoy working Open Canvas Nights.” My gaze drops to her silky purple and black floral top and the strings of one-of-a-kind chains around her neck.

“Yeah, those are fun.” She scowls, biting the inside of her lip. “I wasn’t sure how you’d like it here after the Silver Fork.”

“It’s fine,” I say, looking down at my hands in my lap.

“Do you ever miss the other place?” she asks. It couldn’t be a more innocent question, yet tears swim in my eyes.

“I miss everything about it,” I say quietly, wiping a tear from my cheek. “I miss everything about him, Dee.” I finger the tattoo on my wrist, trying to hold it together and utterly failing.

“I know,” she says quietly. When I look up, bleary-eyed and sniffling, tears shine in her eyes.

“The worst part is, he gave me no explanation…nothing. When I asked him how he could be so cruel, he said that crueltywas in his nature.” I shake my head, relieved to let anger gain a foothold so the torrent of sadness slows.

“And you and I both know that’s not true… Not remotely when it comes to Jerry,” she says.

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