Page 14 of Britta & the Beach Boy
Karen nods to a black woman behind the counter who has spiral braids peppered with gray. She’s wearing a brightly patterned caftan that reminds me of a sunset.
“Hi, Karen! You got company with you?” The woman—who I have to assume is Annie—asks with a wide smile that doesn’t hide the worry in her eyes.
Karen introduces Stella and me as out-of-towners. At the same time, people walk out the exit calling out, “Thanks, Annie!”
She says goodbye to them by name, which really makes me missBritta’s.I miss knowing people’s names, making small talk as I get their orders ready. I miss meeting new people who may just be passing through. I miss comping someone a good cup of coffee and some ebelskiver because I can tell they need it. Mom taught me that was the most important thing about running Britta’s. It’s not just about the coffee.
We don’t have a homeless population in Paradise, but we have people with mental illness and other problems that, anywhere else, might leave them unhoused.
Like Lynette, who wears a tinfoil hat to protect herself from aliens and has squirrels for friends. I give her free ebelskiver and coffee almost every day even though she has money, but she doesn’t always have the wherewithal to take care of herself. I take care of her in my small way, as do other people in town. But she’s one person.
I’m a little embarrassed at how distant this problem is from me in my safe little town. And how very present it is here.
My family doesn’t do vacations very often, but after my conversation with Karen, the fact they’ve arranged for me to not work for six weeks hits different. I’ll still have food and shelter when I go back to Paradise. A couple of missed paychecks won’t put me out on the streets, living in a tent, washing in public restrooms.
I wonder how many people Annie is training. Behind the counter with her are two employees who look a little lost, and not just because they’re staring at the order screen with wide eyes. Both are missing a few teeth, and uncertainty drips off them like water from a leaky faucet.
“I’m ordering for the office today,” Karen says and hands a sheet of lined paper to the pierced and tattooed barista, whose eyes go even wider.
But then Annie says in a soothing voice, “that’s a big order. I’ll get it while, Diva, you take this order out to those gentlemen, Joe and Paul.” She points to two men sitting at a table in the corner. “Don’t let them give you a hard time,” she jokes. “Mitzi, you come take the next order.”
“Really nice meeting both of you,” Annie says to Stella and me. “Sorry about the wait. I hope you’ll stop by again while you’re here.”
“I can help you!” I blurt as Annie is about to turn toward the espresso machines.
She blinks a few times. “With what?”
“Britta!” Stella hisses, but I step in front of her and lean over the glass covered display of pastries.
“I saw your sign.” I point toward the chalkboard, even though it’s out of sight. “I own a coffee shop in Idaho. I can make that cappuccino for you. Or take the drinks to the customers. Whatever you need.”
With a serious expression, Annie studies me before finally saying, “Why? I thought you were on vacation.”
“Because you have a help wanted sign up, and I’m good at helping. But mostly because you’re doing a good thing.
Annie turns to Karen. “What does my lawyer say?”
“Your lawyer wants her coffee, so she says yes. As long as it’s ‘volunteer’ and not paid work. That saves you both a lot of forms to fill out.” Karen glances at me, then back at Annie.
“Totally volunteer.” I can’t stop the excited grin spreading across my face.
Annie reaches under the counter, then hands me an apron. “You can start by taking orders out.” There’s hesitation in her voice, but she adds, “And thank you.”
I slip the apron over my head, then meet Stella’s annoyed gaze.
“Really?” she says.
I slowly lift my shoulders in a shrug. I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into either, but in the middle of my sternum, there’s an inkling of the purpose I used to feel before Mom died.
“Only for a few hours.” It’s not a question, but the words come out sounding like I’m asking for permission, and Stella’s face softens.
“Get me an iced mocha. I saw a bookstore next door. I’ll find something to read and hang out while youworkon vacation.”
“Thank you!” I squeeze her close, but she keeps her arms by her side.
I let go and hurry to pick up an order before Stella can change her mind.
From that point on, I’m so busy, I barely notice when she leaves or when she comes back intoAnnie’s.For two hours, the line of customers never shrinks. As soon as one person leaves, another two or three fresh faces show up to replace them, and Annieseems to know them all. The energy is familiar and invigorating but lacks the bittersweet aftertaste I get being atBritta’swithout Mom. I’m doing what I love without missing someone I love, and it’s exactly what I need.
