Page 61 of Townshipped
“Who can’t appreciate getting coffee for a few bucks?” Jayme asks, rhetorically and completely for my benefit.
I set my coffee on the table but remain standing.
Jayme addresses the room and shouts, “A few bucks! It’s a good deal, right? You know it is!”
People nod and start to turn back to their tables. Despite my momentary lapse of sanity and the fact that I pelted a woman with a pastry, my heart warms at the unsolicited solidarity these two just showed me.
“I better go grab that croissant and apologize,” I tell them.
I leave my coffee and walk over to the table where two middle-aged women sit talking. I bend and pick up the croissant. “Sorry for that,” I tell her. “I … well, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, it’s alright, hunny. We’ve got Cooter here in town and others like Ella Mae. We can’t make a bit of sense of either of them. You’re just as welcome.”
I’m not sure that’s a compliment, but with the way I just behaved, it’s better than I’d expect.
“Thank you,” I say, walking slowly toward the trash to dump the demolished danish. When I return to my table, one of the employees is placing a fresh croissant next to my coffee.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I tell her.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “You just started a rumor that’s bound to bring us double the customers over the coming few days. We owe you one.”
Great.
I take my seat. People resume whatever they were doing while Shannon, Jayme, and I start chatting.
“Okay. Just between the three of us? Did you have a reason for shouting ‘Buck Buckaroo … a buck or two’?” Jayme asks.
Shannon looks at Jayme and says, “Head trauma,” as if it’s the most natural thing to say. “There’s no shame in it. You didn’t choose it. And if Buckaroo is as bad as it gets, you can be thankful.” Then she says, “You know, Agatha Christie may have had psychogenic amnesia, though some people think she faked her fugue to retaliate at her husband for cheating on her.”
“You even know the scandals from that far back in time? You’re anomalous,” Jayme marvels.
Shannon shoots Jayme a look.
“Anomalous. You know, atypical, exceptional, not the regular, unexpected …”
“Thank you for translating,” Shannon says with a light nod. “And yes. All scandals fascinate me. And celebrities from any era.”
“So, back to this outburst,” Jayme says with a warm smile in my direction.
“I remembered something,” I explain, hoping they’ll leave it at that.
“That’s highly inconvenient,” Shannon says. “Memories just pop up at will? You don’t get to choose when they come or what comes?”
Jayme answers Shannon. “Isn’t that the way it is with all of us? I don’t know what memories will assail me when I walk into my parents’ home or drive by my elementary school.”
“I think it’s different for people with amnesia,” Shannon says as if I’m not present.
“It must be,” Jayme agrees.
I take a sip of coffee and observe the scenery outside the coffee shop window. A few cars drive by, a pedestrian or two walks here or there.
I’m engaged to Buck. I start to feel the weight of my reality—an engaged woman. Committed to a man somewhere in another place—a man who isn’t Aiden.
Only, now I see myself sitting with Buck at the table near the window. He ordered food. We were only supposed to meet for coffee—so I could break the news to him.
“I’m possibly the lowest type of person,” I muttered to myself as I walked toward Buck, seeing him through the coffee shop window. What kind of woman cancels her wedding with just over two weeks until the ceremony?
I consoled myself in that moment, telling myself I was one notch up from the person I was going to be: a woman who married a man for all the wrong reasons when he could eventually find another woman who finds predictability sexy and who would love him the way he deserves to be loved.
