She paused for a split second, and three things flashed into my mind: (1) Now, maybe they’ll call the Fire Brigade. (2) Why didn’t I just call the Fire Brigade? Goddess knows this call wasn’t going the way I thought it would. (3) Is this chick not happy to see me every morning? Is it really all about the boys?
Oh, and number four” Why the hell do I care? My shop is on fire.
Then the Tigress added, “And you Martha. I so look forward to seeing you in one of your bedazzled T-shirts and inhaling the scent of brewing coffee and freshly baked goodies. It is the…"
Interrupted by the pop and static of a radio, I head the operator talking to someone on the radio right before Maisie loudly announced directly into my brain, "She’s dispatching all available trucks. She told them to hurry like their lives depended on it – ‘cause they just might. This girl is so sweet, Martha. We really have to give her free coffee for life… Maybe even a Danish or cinnamon roll, too.”
“We?”
Ignoring that I had even spoken, my youngest sister, the baby of the family, and I stress ‘baby’, just kept right on talking. “You won’t believe what she said. It was the sweetest thing. She just told the firemen to hurry because our little town won’t be the same without your coffee. She said that you– you, Martha, keep a lot of people happy, smiling, and upright. She literally said that nobody makes java like Marvelous Martha.”
"Oh!" I didn't even try to keep the happy surprise– or immense pride– out of my voice. It made my whole damned day a million times better when people said they liked my shop, especially my coffee. My love affair with java had been long and wonderful, and going on since before it was cool. Seattle had nuthin' on me. Yeah, they were broody and cool walking in the rain with a scarf around their necks and takeout cups of coffee in their hands, but I sold coffee in the Texas desert. Beat that, Baby!
More importantly, I was an admitted coffeeholic. Yep! I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to– and I don’t. Oh, and I had not one aspiration to ever stop drinking that wonderful dark liquid. It was a breath of fresh air to the soul. It got people up and going and kept them going all day long. It was delicious hot or cold, straight up or with cream, and it went with absolutely everything.
Yes, my friend, I was a coffee addict with no aspirations to ever recover. Sharing my favorite drink, in all of its iterations, with others just made me giddy. So much so that all thoughts of the small blaze– the one slowly trying to destroy my perfect little shop– behind me was pushed to the back of my mind as I bubbled, “Thanks so much.”
“How did it start?” the Tigress asked, to which my little sister, the one who will be out of the will when I get around to making a will sighed, “Oh, brother, here we go. Buckle up, Buttercup. Martha loves telling this story.”
It was my time to ignore, and that was exactly what I did as I told my story. “Well, to be honest, it’s a really old idea. Coffee shops have been around since the late fifteen hundreds. Started in Turkey of all places. Can you believe that?" I giggled like a schoolgirl. In my world, talking coffee ranked right up there with buying shoes, tasting a new brownie recipe, and finding the perfect color of lipstick. I could do it all day, every day. "But I had the idea about fifty, maybe it was sixty years ago to combine coffee, homemade baked goods, and beautifully bedazzled, painted, and tie-dyed bags of all shapes and sizes in one shop. Then we expanded to t-shirts and tennis shoes and a bunch of other goodies. You see, I've always loved coffee, and…"
“No, ma’am, Miss Dellencourt,” the Tigress chuckled to which Maisie added, “See? I told you she would forget all about everything when you asked her about her shop. If you can count on one thing, it’s that my big sister loves to talk about her shop and her boys.”
“Not to worry,” the Tigress was still chuckling. “I enjoy listening, but I did mean the fire. I’ve dispatched all units, but I always try to give them as much info as I can. It helps the firefighters be prepared and hit the ground runnin’ when they get there.”
“Oh… umm… well, you see…”
Shit! Shit! Shit! I knew it was coming. I knew there was no way to escape the inevitable. But I had hoped. I mean, somewhere in my crazy brain, I had convinced myself that I could just keep talking and somehow, I wouldn’t have to tell the horrible tale.
But that didn’t happen. She asked the one question I’d prayed she wouldn’t ask. I mean, I knew sooner or later I would have to tell Maisie. She was like a dog with a bone. She never let anything go until she had all the facts, but somewhere in my deluded brain, I was sure by the time we got around to her badgering me into telling her what happened I would have a story locked and loaded.
But that didn’t happen. The Tigress was asking for details, and Maisie was right there.
Oh, why did she have to ask that? We were getting along so well. I had a good feeling about the sweet, happy woman on the other end of the phone, and even thought Maisie had tried to throttle her with the cord to her headset, in the end, she liked her too.
Let’s face it, that Tigress had that special something, the extraordinary talent that made people like her, drew others to her, made even me feel comfortable. I actually felt like I could trust her with all my secrets, and that shit just didn't happen for Martha Dellencourt. Or any other Dragon I knew of for that matter. We were a broody lot, used to playing our cards close to the vest. But it felt like I’d known the Tigress for years, and I just knew she affected others in the same heartwarming fashion.
It was a quality few had, and most ignored, but not this woman. Oh, hell, no, this operator used her unique talent to help others, and that was something I admired…a lot.
She was just a delight. Hell, she turned Maisie around, and that was something I’d been trying to do for years. No, seriously, that Tigress was amazing and that’s coming from a woman who was watching her life’s work… or at least one of the things she’d truly loved in her very long life, one of the many things she’d accomplished that she was really proud of …go up in flames.
“You okay, Miss Dellencourt?”
“Call me, Martha.”
“Oh, wow, really?”
“Yeah, well, you’ve met two-thirds of the family, seen our unique brand of crazy firsthand, and you haven’t hung up. So, yes, you can most assuredly call me Martha.”
“Oh, wow, I am honored.”
See? There it was again. That extraordinary quality that not only me but Aideen, the Dragoness with whom I shared my soul, and my little sister who was the hardest nut of all to crack, greatly appreciated. This. Operator. Was. A. Good. Egg. I liked her already and hadn't even laid eyes on her. Hell, I was just about to make good on Maisie’s offer of free coffee and a Danish for life, along with one of bedazzled, one-of-a-kind bags and the shoes to match. I was literally entertaining the idea of asking her if she'd like a side job answering the phones for my soon-to-be baked goods delivery service, Marvelous Martha's Munchies. Her sweet voice would be the perfect pairing for my sweet treats. I had a head for these things. When I got an idea, and all the pieces started coming together, I'd learned not to ignore it. I had to act. Quite simply put, it was Magic and Kismet all rolled into one and always came up a winner.
“But…” I mumbled under my breath. “she’ll laugh right in my face– especially after she hears my effed-up tale of woe. Her next call’s gonna be to Bailmore Hall, and that’s all I need. Not only will Max and her Flock show up on my doorstep, but they’ll for sure lock me in a padded room at the world’s most renowned Home for the Shifterly Insane. And after it took me almost five years to convince Fate that we could trust those feathered females for some many reasons, including the best guacamole and homemade tortilla chips I’d ever tasted. Although a vacation might be…"
Letting a hushed but manic laugh slip through my tightly clenched teeth, I added, "Or laugh at me. Yep! That's what they'll do. Laugh their freakin’ feathers right off their cute little tails. And, then I’ll be laughing right along with them, and Edna will make margaritas and queso, that wonderful guacamole, and don’t forget the salsa… Hell, it could be fun…”
“What was that, Miss Dellen… I mean, Martha?”
