Page 83 of Dream a Little Dream

“Thank you,” I said in a strangled voice and kissed his cheek.

Christian leapt into the driver’s seat, and I turned to the person I depended on more than anyone else. The anchor to my storm. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” I whispered.

He nodded and his eyes filled. Wordlessly he opened his free arm and I moved into it, wrapping my arms around him and holding on tight. In that embrace, I let our full history wash over me. All the laughs we’d shared over chips and queso after school let out, and the quiet moments after a rough day when Jonathan had been bullied—I’d held his hand and we’d sat together on my steps, talking or not talking. We’d helped each other through some pretty difficult times. He was still doing that for me. God, this town wouldn’t be the same without him.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you, too,” I said, pulling back and saying the last part to his face. I gave his shoulders a little shake. “I want you to take it easy when you get there. You tend to get excited, overdo, and pay for it later.”

“Good advice. I promise I will.” We shared a final smile, he squeezed my hand, and he made his way to the passenger side of the truck. I stood there watching as the U-Haul pulled away and lumbered down the residential street that would always be Jonathan’s to me.

Alone in that driveway, the wash of memories swarmed in a jumble. I was dancing with my parents in the living room on my birthday, my mom singing loudly with Fleetwood Mac. I was making spaghetti with Lindy in her kitchen as I learned about spices and the way they fold into each other. I was having a sandwich on my lunch hour with Jake, shooting the breeze about how easy it was to get a fishing license these days. And then lying in Kyle’s arms when the sun slanted across our skin through the large picture windows, happy and peaceful. Jonathan was the last one to leave me, and God, I didn’t want to let go.

“Just me now,” I mumbled to myself and to no one. I kicked a group of pebbles and began my walk home as they scattered. Fitting.

Chapter Twenty-five

Safety First

January passed in a series of overcast days that made my foot ache and seemed to match my less than sunshiny disposition. I appreciated the weather-driven backup that bolstered my rejection of, well, everything warm and fuzzy. Except at work. There, I still behaved like the belle of the grocery ball because that’s what my customers deserved. With clearance from BeLeaf, I’d put a lot of my quirkier ideas into action on the floor, staying late and bringing them to life one at a time. Our store was no traditional BeLeaf Foods. We stood out, carrying a charming, small-town vibe. I pushed back against anything that felt too sophisticated or sleek. It just wasn’t us.

My first installation was a partnership with Amazin’ Glazin,’ who provided us with several dozen trays of apple cider donuts to sell throughout the morning. I’d commissioned Henry’s Humble Hammer to make me a rustic-looking stand with a gabled roof that we could nestle in the corner of our baked goods section. It was already wildly popular, and we generally ran out of donuts by ten a.m. each day. The tourists absolutely loved our Cider Shack and didn’t seem to mind the mark-up over donuts they could buy for a cheaper price just down the road. Amazin’ Glazin’ loved it, too, and was our new partner and best friend. I loved improving our business-to-business relationships, and so did BeLeaf corporate. They’d told me more than once to continue to cultivate them.

“Listen, they love what you’re doing out here,” Peter told me one afternoon. “You’re also building trust with each successful idea you implement. They also very much value the store’s unique personality. In fact, the Carmichael family is now personally encouraging its otherstores to find small ways to embrace their own communities more, using your branch as the model.”

“Really?” I sat a little taller in the break room, apple cider donut frozen on the way to my mouth. It was the exact opposite of my relationship with Donald Faber. Well, that was something to celebrate. And I was learning to relish the small joys that came my way. I needed them. “I was thinking, next, we could get one of those Chiquita Banana animatronics to sing on the wall above the bananas. People around here would eat that up. So would the tourists. We’d be all over TikTok.”

He stopped stirring his coffee and stared at me. “I’ve learned not to question your instincts, but I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

“I’m more serious than a60 Minutesreporter interviewing a Republican.”

He smiled and sipped the last of his black brew. “Write an email. Plead your banana case. As I said, you have currency these days.” He stood. “Good seeing you. Store looks great.”

“Why, thank you.”

Ten minutes later, I found myself in front of the banana section wondering if it might also benefit from an official name. What if next to the singing animatronic banana, there was a sign that read “The Top Banana” or “The Peel Palace” or even just “Go Bananas!” That last one was growing on me.

“Hey, Savanna. What kind of spell have these bananas cast over you? You been staring at ’em for a good two minutes.”

I turned to see Jake pushing a cart with nothing but ice cream gracing its depths. I squinted. “This is what I do when I market. I speak to the product and it speaks back. These are show bananas.” I motioned to his cart. “Either you have a function coming up, a really fun one, or you’ve developed a sweet tooth that might come back to bite you at your next jaunt to the dentist.”

“We’re doing a little welcome home party for Charlie. He’s out of the rehab facility and doing great. Looking at returning to work at the liquor store next month. Wanted to see if you’d join us for the celebration.”

It had been some time now since we’d learned the news from the blood test. Jake had given me a call after receiving the results. I’m sure it was a lot for him to process in the midst of his son’s recovery, or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it had been a relief. I’d never really know. He’d said all the right things. We’d promised that this didn’t have to change much, but of course, it had. We were friends now, though, andexchanged smiles and hugs whenever we ran into each other. We had a unique connection, and though he wasn’t my dad in the end, he’d been one to me for a little while. That counted for something.

Shortly after that phone call, Jonathan had turned to me from his spot on my couch and posed an important question, one that I’d asked myself from the moment I’d received the emailed results. “So, if Jake Kielbasa is not your biological father, then who is?”

“I don’t know,” I told him. “But maybe that’s okay, too. In fact, it is. I’d rather live with the wonderful memories I have of my own father than chase down some DNA I know nothing about. I have a feeling no one is going to be able to top him anyway.” I sent Jonathan a reassuring smile because there was a divot low on his brow. “Hey. I’m going to be okay. I have a dad, and I’m pretty sure he’s with me a lot of the time.” It’d taken some sleepless nights to come to that conclusion, but I was honestly feeling good with it. It was time to leave the lineage question right where I’d found it.

I turned to Jake, who was waiting on my answer. “Yeah, I like ice cream. I hope you have some chocolate in there. My mom’s favorite.”

“More than a little. Saturday at four work for you? You can come by anytime you like, really. Bring Kyle.”

I dimmed at the mention of her name. I hadn’t rebounded from the loss and thought of her more than I was supposed to, according to the new me. I saw her here and there, always surprised she’d chosen to stick around. She was still out at the beach house and still impressing everyone at the hospital, from what I heard. When Jonathan moved, she gave me a hug in line at Brewed Awakening, and my knees had nearly buckled as the scent of watermelons whisked me back to happier times, like a white-water raft in a fast-moving river.

Returning to Jake, I scanned my schedule, which was empty. Not exactly a surprise. Most of my dates these days were with wine and a murder documentary on my ever-worn couch. “Totally free,” I told him. “But it will just be me. Kyle and I are not…” I sent him a grimace that I hoped filled in the blank.

“No? But she’s great.” He seemed supremely disappointed, which I, of course, understood. Normal people don’t take a step back from a woman like Kyle, even when she’s not at her best. I was not normal people, but rather, someone cursed with endless amounts of loss who couldn’t help but expect more.

---