Page 21 of The Hampton Beach Café 2
“The name...we haven't come to a decision on that yet, but I had the good fortune to try out one of FreeFrom's creations. I don't know if you've heard of them? They were a local small-batch brewery that has become more interested in zero-alcohol versions of classic drinks. They're really tasty but have zero alcohol. We thought we could stock them in the bar, so even when we do have an evening event when alcohol is purchasable, there is an alcohol-free option.”
Kennedy pursed her lips and stared into the distance. “Cocktails and the suchlike, but completely alcohol-free? That sounds interesting. You'd have to ensure they are on good display––there's no point having them if you don't promote them.”
“Absolutely. We would have them on the same menu as the cocktails, beer, and wine.”
Kennedy nodded. “You really need a name.”
“I know,” Frances said. “I just can't think of anything...special enough. Everything sounds too casual or cliché.”
“Well, you'll need one soon,” Kennedy said. “You can't have a grand opening without a name.”
“A grand opening?” Frances said, confused.
“Yes, I assume you'll want a grand opening? You've passed my inspection. The waiting period still applies, and you'll need to submit your signage––and name––for final approval, but unless you go and rip out what you've done or try and add a cigarette vending machine...”
Frances stood up abruptly. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Kennedy said somberly.
Somehow she managed not to do something unseemly in celebration––that would have to wait until Kennedy was out of the café. Instead, Frances held out her hand to shake Kennedy's.
To her surprise, the woman took it and shook her hand firmly.
“I'd also like to take the opportunity to apologize…” Kennedy said, “…for my unprofessional behavior at lunch. I allowed my personal feelings to get the better of me. When you mentioned renovating the recycling bins, it touched a nerve. They were one of the first projects I worked on, and despite my best efforts, they were less than attractively designed. When you, of all people, brought it up, I lost my temper. I think it would be a very good plan to relocate the Cherry Street one outside your café and have Vincent design a better exterior. Perhaps we could use it as a starting point to renovate them all. Have a good afternoon.”
Frances stood and gaped as Kennedy made her own way out of the door and down the street.
“Did anyone else hear that?” she called out to the café.
“Yes!” a chorus of voices replied as Lucinda, Alex, and Vince emerged from the kitchen and from down the stairs.
She felt like a tackling dummy as her friends enveloped her in a group hug, jostling her from side to side.
THIRTEEN
Day 470:he was in Chicago last year. I knew it. I spoke to a woman at church today. Her son is a truck driver out of Chicago and apparently sends her cards from Atlanta and Memphis all the time. Every four weeks, though, he's back in Chicago for check-in and to have a few days off. I asked her if she thought her son might know the other truckers, and I said I was hoping to track down my ex-husband's brother. No sense in letting her know it's actually my husband I'm looking for...everyone seems to think we divorced, and I just don't disagree with it. Others assume he's dead and I'm a widow, but that invites too many questions. I don't like it.
Day 498:that woman's son, he knew him. Stopped trucking out of Chicago last year. Moved to Detroit. What's he going to do in Detroit? How did that weasel even get his trucking license––he couldn't even back into the driveway properly! I'll find him this time.
Her mom's diary entries had become more sporadic. It seemed like she went through patches of time where finding him was her only focus. However, Frances was shocked to find out that they were still married nearly two years after he left. She was limiting herself to only a few pages a night––she had too much to do to let herself be sucked into her mom's tragic past. She picked up Bruno. He had been guarding the diaries and letters just like she used to sit him next to her piggy bank as a kid.
“Is that who I think it is?” Alex asked as he leaned on the door frame of her room.
She jumped and turned to face him. “Don't you know it's rude to come into a woman's bedroom unannounced.”
“My bedroom, I think you'll find,” he said. The rumbling tenor of his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
She did not know what to do with that.
“Twenty years ago, I think your claim to the lease is well and truly dried up.”
He laughed, nodding. “Suppose yeah, is that actually Bruno?”
Frances nodded. “Sure is. I picked him up when we went to Salem. I can't believe he's survived all these years.”
She picked up the dog and studied him. He was in very good condition for something at least forty years old, if not more.
“He could be our Mascot,” Alex said.
