Page 17 of A Heart So Haunted
What I didn’t understand was if Mom hated parenting so much, why wouldn’t she have let me stay here? Or had Aunt Cadence not really wanted me, either, and I’d built it into something it never was in the first place?
The Blue Corduroy was the only coffee shop for nearly twenty-five miles.
It butted against the library under a green awning, long since sun-bleached and worn. Burnt coffee beans, a hum of a grinder, and the hiss of a steamer greeted me as I stepped over the threshold.
A man rocked on his heels at the register, eyeing the menu. Round two-seater tables dotted the small space, every other one filled by a laptop or set of elbows. I took the spot in line behind the man, knees bouncing.
If only I had something to hold—like the box I’d dropped off with Meredith—to act as a buffer. At least that would give me the feeling of being guarded. A barrier between the outside world and me.
Halfway through my menu examination, my phone buzzed. I dug it from the depths of my purse, then stopped at the sight of CARLA on the screen.
I locked it. Tossed it back in my purse.
It buzzed again. And again.
Just as the man handed his money to the woman at the counter, I pulled my phone out. I swiped to decline the call, but the phone slipped. A minute counter appeared under Mom’s name.
“Landry?” my mother’s muffled voice came.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Then pressed the phone to my ear. “Mom.”
“You haven’t answered my texts.”
“I’m kind of busy.” I swallowed. When I opened my eyes, the entire menu melded together. “Can I call you back?”
“You won’t,” she snipped. “You never do.”
“I will, I promise.”
“You make promises just like your father. You know he called me, right?”
A needle slipped through a rib and punctured a lung. The woman at the counter—a blur of white, long hair and a diamond, wrinkled face—tapped an empty cup as a signal. “You’re next, Missy.”
I wiped a hand over my face. My body grew flushed. “Mom, I need to go.”
“You know, Landry—”
I hung up. Blinked, snappy, rapid successions to disperse the burn behind my eyes. I held the power button as I approached the counter, the barista glaring at me. “Sorry about that.”
The woman’s head cocked, the fluffed, white hair twisted atop her head shifting with the movement. Her skin was heavily creased from years of sun, the lines around her mouth deep. Her nametag read BERNICE, but the R had faded, leaving BE NICE. Her eyes suggested anything but. “What you want? Ain’t got no vanilla today. Didn’t come in on time.”
I ordered a large black coffee, extra strong, just because I felt like I’d need it. And inconveniencing Bernice was likely a sin.
I stood off to the side for four minutes. She squawked, “CODY!” followed by, “LARRY!”
Close enough.
Given the presumed Cody was already halfway out the door, I figured I must have been Larry and took the boiling, thin paper mug outside. I tightened my cardigan around me, holding the coffee in the other hand, and found an empty bench down the sidewalk in the direction of my car.
Mom was right.
I wasn’t going to call her back.
I popped off the lid and watched the steam. How could I hold this and still feel a chill? When was the last time I hadn’t felt one? When I didn’t have fine, white hairs lining my arms?
While I sipped, I swiped open my notes app and scanned my list of reno ideas for the house. It was cathartic, pulling together inspiration pictures and a list of items to order.
I used to do the same thing with my doll’s clothes when she finally got a new outfit. I’d line them up by color, maybe by style. A quiet satisfaction came with being able to do the same thing for my adult job, just on a larger scale with furniture, paint colors, accents.
