The Coffee Between Pages

“Trouvaille,” I said. “Quite a word, right?”

“Uh-huh,” the little girl replied, eyes half-open.

“The first time I encountered the word, I thought about some fancy French furniture.”

“And?”

“With a dictionary’s assist, the word meant one thing, but came in different names.”

“I doubt that,” she said.

I smiled. “We all need a little of that, yes. Doubt. It gives us something to overcome.”

“I also doubt that you’ve cleared your to-dos for the day, Mr. K.”

“Oh, right,” I replied, reaching for my phone. “There. Postponed today’s last reminder for tomorrow.”

“Which was?”

“Pick up dry cleaning.”

“Really? You would cancel your group call session with your marketing director and brand manager first then keep wondering if you could cancel ‘Pick up dry cleaning’?”

“Well, I don’t think anyone would prefer to see me naked at tomorrow’s presentation.”

“Please, please keep me away from thoughts like that. Father would want you to keep a young mind like mine safe.”

“It’s safe, kid. It’s been through worse.”

***

Susie took the long way home. Her detour always started with the flower vendor, Mr. Kotcher. Three—she always bought three peonies. Mr. Kotcher assumed it was all she could afford and knew her to be the sweetest girl ever. Sweet enough to stray from her friends to eat alone? Sweet enough to keep mum and keep walking despite getting a warm greeting from Priscilla, from Ms. Marghast? Sweet enough to ignore any good-willed invitation that came her way?

The final bell had rung minutes ago, and Susie had gone as far as this crowded neighborhood was from the school, the three peonies safe in her arms.

*** 

“Are Mondays always this busy with you?” she asked, her hands on her cheeks, elbows on the café table. “Hey, thanks for telling me what a Zoom call is. Who knew I’d learn something today?”

I chuckled. “It’s always me and the keyboard, me and the screen, me and words—thousands upon thousands of them. It’s me with the working hours of the strong and praying that multiple revisions will not be tomorrow’s job order. Clients knocking on my door despite having a full-time job.”

“Not just Mondays, then. Well then, it’s a wonder you put away that folding thing you always look at, Mr. K.”

“Laptop,” I said before failing to stifle a laugh. “It’s not impossible. You did ask nicely.”

“Why so busy? Doesn’t a counting writer like you need some space to breathe, to think?”

“That’s content writer to you, kid, and to… everyone else. And don’t worry, I do get the space to think while I have this staring contest with this glowing empty white page. Breathing, on the other hand… Gah, who needs that?”

The delightful sound of joy intertwined with innocence came out of her in beats. If I could keep her laughs in a bottle, I would.

“But why so busy?” she asked again.

I raised my coffee mug, took a sip, and looked at lights that bounced off the hot chestnut-colored surface. “Because I don’t know who I am if I were not; I may not like him. Someone still would, though. Maybe.”

“Why are you crying then?”

“It’s been a long month, kid.”

***

When Susie first started walking past the street of Daughton Drive, she had to endure the curious stares of such a crowded neighborhood. She would even give her peonies shade using her free hand as if doing so would shield them from ill intent. But after the fourth time, she had become part of the neighborhood’s ‘business as usual.’ And the relief of walking, flowers in hand, without fear came after the courage.

“Well, lookie, lookie at the little flower girl,” a raspy voice said from behind. Tattoos on muscles came out from the shadows and into daylight. “Don’t your home have enough of the pink ones yet, missy?”

“Hey, Tanner,” said Susie. “Got some more ink on you lately?”

“Tsk, I told you it’s Slash. And no. No new art for this painting. Still short of a few bucks, dammit. And Douglas too snobby to help a brotha out.”

Despite Tanner convincing the girl to call him by his nickname, Susie went with ‘Tanner’ endlessly. Giving up, he said nothing more about it and escorted the girl past Daughton Drive.

“Such a gentleman,” said Susie. “Chloe should be proud.”

“Nah. Big brothers don’t get even a thumbs up from their sisters no more.”

Susie took a deep breath, then handed Tanner one of three peonies. “it’s not a thumbs up, but it’s—”

“More than a flying kiss, ain’t it?”

Susie smiled, hugged the tattooed teenager, then checked her skin.

“Don’t worry, yeah,” Tanner said after snickering. “Doesn’t work like that, little flower girl.”

*** 

“‘Clusters of tiny dove wings that blushed when the sun came to kiss them.’ That’s how he described them.”

“Ooh, goosebumps,” she replied. “Well, other than peonies, what else did Father love?”

“Hm, coffee, meeting new people… jazz. Oh, Al would plague this café’s speakers with it. I would remind him that we weren’t in any hotel lobby. Then he would reply with a clueless ‘Are you sure?’”

She laughed again. I mean, seriously, give me a bottle. “Meeting new people, huh? I bet he messed up your peace when you first met.”

“Outgoing guy, that fellow. He sure did. Seeing me write intrigued him—”

“Because he wanted to be a writer himself, only a different kind. Fiction, I think. And this long conversation between you two made him forget the orders of other customers.”

“You know it inside and out already, kid. Sorry for repeating myself. It’s been a—”

“Long month.”

I nodded, my eyes on my half-empty coffee mug.

***

“You’re home late,” her mom said when Susie walked in through the front door. “Again.”

“Sorry,” said the girl.

“Oh, what do you have there in your hands?”

“A broken kite,” Susie replied. “Found it hanging from our mailbox. I’ll see if I can fix it.”

“Did you at least ask around? The poor kid who lost it might be walking from east to west trying to find it.”

“It’s mine now,” Susie replied with attitude. “People can just say that about everything nowadays, can they?”

Her mom sighed. “Sweetie, if this is about the owner of Dad’s coffee shop—"

“It’s not his to take!

“New papers say it is!”

Silence.

The mom sighed again. “I know you miss it, sweetie. I know you miss him. But he would’ve understood, right? It’s a long way ahead of you, Sue, and there are a few painful things that might help with that.”

Susie refused a hug and instead rushed up to her room.

*** 

She seemed deep in thought. “Let me see if I remember this: you two became friends when he asked you for help with this competition piece he was working on.”

“Ah, Downfall of the Pink and Beautiful,” I replied. “A tedious one, I must say. Al loved asking questions despite the constant reminder that I’m far from the realm of fiction. I could have relocated to another café whenever I had to deal with polishing drafts and revisions, but I stayed. Odd. I never like being disturbed. I still disliked it. But I think it was an itch that I couldn’t resist scratching and somehow… purpose without the paycheck. He told me my coffee would be on the house. As a thank you. But not paying for coffee that delectable would be a sin.”

“He must have known how you liked it.”

“Of course. Three tablespoons of honey. One and a half teaspoons of creamer. A dash of salt. A pump of vanilla. Hello, Heaven.”

“Father must have loved making his customers happy.”

“Eh, you’re not wrong, kid. A lady walked into the café an age ago. Any observant eye could spot the storm cloud she bore over her head. Dog passed away? Bad breakup? No one knew why. Al bid her a beautiful morning, and then she forced a smile. She ordered her usual coffee. Al asked if there was anything else she wanted. She paused, then shook her head while keeping a long face. But during that pause, he knew where her eyes were: at this honey-glazed buttermilk waffle within the glass case of pastries.

“When the woman found that steamy waffle sitting on the tray beside her usual coffee, she protested, of course. ‘I didn’t order this.’ Her face stayed stiff but close to falling apart. ‘Oh, apologies, ma’am,’ said Al with a smile. ‘Honest mistake.’ He winked right after and left the waffle where it was. Then, at that quick moment, she lit up and matched the morning sun.”

“Wow! Do that to me and I’ll be like fireworks. ‘Ball of joy about to blow!’”

I laughed hard as if a drumbeat were playing in my throat. “I bet you would.”

***

“Something’s up, Sue,” her mom said while they shared mushroom soup and chicken chops for dinner. “What is it?”

Susie shook her head, looking down at her bowl of soup.

Her mom slipped in all the heart-sourced words she could conjure, but when she found them bouncing off Susie’s head, she had nothing but the same silence to give.

With her mom asleep, Susie opened the garage door. No one knew why she would want to reopen old wounds. Maybe they haven’t even closed yet. And as expected, when she found the heavily damaged silver sedan, tears gushed out. She waited for her shadow to lay a hand on her head and share warmth in contrast with the night, but it, too, needed saving and all the comfort in the world.

***

“Why do you have that in your ear?” she asked. “Are you that old to need a hearing aid?”

“Old? Old? Hey, I can still teach any grandpa how to log in and out of Facebook. And this? Not a hearing aid. It’s more like a, uh, hands-free call-getter for my phone.”

“I would say ‘cool,’ but I thought you wouldn’t be taking any calls while we hang out.”

“No need to be upset, kid. The phone’s off.”

“So, why keep wearing that?”

Though I often didn’t care for the opinions of others and how they thought about me, I couldn’t stomach the thought of looking crazy in front of them. The last thing I wanted was to get the attention of their phones and go viral. Everyone has a camera nowadays. I could imagine the headline: Is it the Coffee? Writer Losing His Wits.

The kid’s waiting. Say something.

“Can’t old people at least try to be hip in this day and age?” I asked.

“Would all of you stop trying if I said ‘no’?”

***

“We’re all out, Essie,” said Mr. Kotcher as he stuck with the nickname he has for the girl. “Try coming back tomorrow. I’ll be moving Heaven and Earth to get more peonies for my favorite customer, you know it.”

“Well, do you have a bottle I could borrow?” Susie asked. “Some faucet water would be nice too.”

Mr. Kotcher pointed at the poor-excuse-for-a-restroom he had in the back.

“They cut the water in your place too, huh?” Tanner said, holding Susie’s one-and-a-half-liter bottle of water within his tattooed arm.

Susie smiled and shook her head while walking beside him along the crowded scene of Daughton Drive.

The teenager then joked about her goal to water the whole of Fern Forrest Park.

Susie didn’t laugh. As soon as they swerved past the jampacked neighborhood, she hugged Tanner from the side, ready to bear her cargo again. She carried the full bottle past the noise of Highway Clement, into the driveway of Fern Forrest Park, and through the trail that went uphill.

She started watering the peonies she’d planted in rows and columns, a headstone casting a shadow on several of them. Every flower had been paired with barbecue sticks with knots of yarn as the binding force. Upon emptying the bottle, Susie knelt, both knees on the ground. When she scanned through the peonies, she found her eyes coming to a close. A glimpse of a dream hit her like a right hook—her field of peonies. Susie sprang up, wide-eyed, racing through her breaths.

“Sue?”

To her surprise, her mom stood behind her with an open umbrella in one hand and a bouquet of mixed flowers in the other.

***

“So, how did it end again, Mr. K?” she asked. “The story you helped him write.”

“Can’t you remember it by now?” I said.

“I love how you tell it.”

“All right. So, the mom asked Susie why she bothered planting all those peonies on and beside her father’s grave. She needed to ask why again. Then again just to melt her daughter’s hesitation. ‘It was not mine to keep,’ Susie said at last. Her field of peonies—it wasn’t hers to keep.

“She wandered, you see. Danced even. Floated past her toes whenever her night’s sleep came around and she revisited her field. It was a stretch of sun-kissed flowers, pink as can be, that journeyed as far as the sky could reach. The wind moved like music, and it drew close to carrying her. Maybe, this one time, it carried her too far.”

*** 

The thunder of a crash jolted her awake. Tire tracks had made a sharp swerve. Barefooted, standing on a street a block from their front door, Susie turned around and discovered a car that had broken its front part against an old tree, its windshield bent far out of shape. Why so familiar? A silver sedan. She knew her father would be coming home late, and it was late.

Only in an unfair world would a colossal regret or two be known to a child.

For Susie, it was the regret of not calling the police, not staying to check if her father still had a fighting chance to live, and the regret of sprinting back to the house and pretending to be asleep. She did try to sleep. She cried herself to sleep that night. But it was pitch black on the other side.

Beside her father’s grave, while she drowned in the pain of her daylit confession, her mom wrapped her arms around her little girl and didn’t say a word. And when Susie closed both eyes, all three of them huddled together in her field of peonies, a peace like no other bridging its horizons.

***

“Kid? Kid? Kid!”

“Huh? Yeah. Hey, I’m here.”

I handed her a clean handkerchief. “Still want me to tell it again soon?”

“Still not gonna buy me my own coffee?” she asked, wiping her cheeks.

“Tell you what,” I replied, “If you could get my mug off the table, I’ll think about it.”

“Help me cheat?”

I pulled a peony petal from her hair and laughed.

“You must be quite lonely to keep this up, Mr. K.”

“Not anymore, kid.”

“He would’ve won, right?”

“Trouvaille,” I said. “A lucky find. Just like his story, just like him, just like you.”

I ran out of words to say, but in my head... There you go, smile. Live and smile, Essie.

Then an unseen trumpet, trombone, piano, and bass guitar synergized to cook up such soulful music through the speakers.

I sighed, took another sip of my coffee, and leaned back. “I wish we could stay here forever.”