The Reunion

‘Molly? Molly Moseley?’ Is that you?’

I look up to see a pair of steel blue eyes watching me, a flicker of recognition in them as my eyes meet their gaze. It takes me a moment as I study each compartment of the man’s face. The straight lips that curl up slightly at the edges, the slender nose with a lopsided bump at the bridge, the almond eyes framed by the lines of time. Do I know this man? I wonder to myself, before his expression erupts into a warm smile.

‘Yes, it’s you! Of course it is! Molly, it’s me, Mr Rafferty, from Cotton Street,’ he says, eyes aglow with excitement.

Aah Mr Rafferty from Cotton Street, the home where I grew up many years and many miles from where we now stood, face to face, yet on opposite sides of a wide counter filled to the brim with an assortment of flaky, dusted and frosted baked goods. I feel my cheeks warm at the sound of his long-forgotten name, a nervous undercurrent swelling in my belly as he extends his hand toward me.

‘Oh. Hi, sir. It has been a while,’ I say, giving him a gentle smile back as I reach out to shake his hand. It didn’t seem right to leave his hanging in the air like that.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, casting his eyes over our surrounds. I can sense the growing impatience of the crowd around us, imaginary thought bubbles filled with expletives and curt suggestions to perhaps continue this conversation elsewhere floating overhead.

‘Just dropping by,’ I say lightly as I attempt to quickly end the chat. But no such luck.

‘Dropping by? Don’t you have people to do that for you now?’ He eyes me curiously before whispering into the ear of the woman standing beside him. She looks at me, her eyes wide with surprise, then grins and nods back at him before he makes his way to my side of the counter and ushers me towards a table.

‘But I…I haven’t paid,” I stutter.

‘It’s on me,’ he says. ‘Come, sit.’

I follow him and take a seat in the chair opposite his, a tad nervous at this impromptu reunion, recalling the last time we’d been in each other’s company – November 7, almost six years earlier. Whilst his looks were unremarkable, Mr Rafferty’s warmth had always captivated me and made me feel at ease. But it had been a while since I’d see him, so I now buffered that warmth with a bitter frostiness of my own at the memory of our last encounter.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘But you really don’t have to do that Mr Raff…’

‘Nonsense,’ he interrupts. ‘It’s not every day I get to use my family and friends discount you know.’

I smile at him again, suddenly realising the more pressing question here. ‘Mr Rafferty. What are you doing here? Are you…um…working here?’ I glance at his chest where the words Be Gone are embroidered on the navy-blue apron he's wearing.

He nods his head a couple times before confirming. ‘I do Molly, I do.’

I don’t mean to but I know I’m staring at him in quiet disbelief as he chuckles lightly.

‘Quite the fall from grace, isn’t it?’

I glance down at my hands that are sat in my lap for a second. ‘Well, I mean, no, uh…’. I’m lost for words and even more lost in my attempt to hide my surprise.

‘It’s alright Molly. No need to sugar coat your shock. I’ve nothing to hide.’

Mr Rafferty from Cotton Street had been the Mayor of the picturesque little town of Mayetteville the last time I saw him. He was an insightful and reputable engineer and town planner, responsible for a multitude of municipal and commercial buildings, and had been instrumental in keeping the town profitable, drawing in the out-of-town crowds each year. From summer festivals to autumn carnivals, he was committed to keeping the local stores and services running. So why on earth was he here, serving coffee and croissants to film makers in LA?

I clear my throat. ‘I don’t really keep up with news from Mayetteville…from home...these days.’

‘Oh,’ he says.

I’m unsure if it’s a question or a statement.

‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ he continues. ‘No point in looking back when your life is so bright here.’ He smiles softly and I know it’s a genuine nod to my progress in life since leaving town.

‘It’s just that, with my parents moving away and after what happened, I didn’t see the point, you know?’ I shrug.

‘After what happened?’ he stares at me curiously now, eyebrows furrowed. ‘The way I remember it, nothing happened.’

I look at him, and into his kind eyes. He wasn’t wrong. Nothing had happened, but that wasn’t how others saw it and no amount of trying to make people see the truth helped at all. They only saw what they wanted to see – a high school senior having a torrid affair with the Mayor of Mayetteville, and all whilst dating his son. It was the scandal of the decade despite there not being an ounce of truth to the rumours, but that’s how it had played out. I feel my chest tighten as the pain of the final few weeks of my senior year resurface, as I hear the echoes of my parents’ voices reminding me to just push through, to block out the noise, to fight the stares, the gossip, the innuendo, to pursue a life as far away from home as possible. A life as far away from them as possible, shattering their hearts as much as mine.

The truth though, whilst kinder to me, would have destroyed The Rafferty family reputation. The alcoholic wife who made up stories to hide her reality but feed her agenda; the cheating son who in the eyes of the local community was catch of the town and had been too good for me to start with; and the manipulative daughter who had befriended me yet had done nothing to help get me out of my predicament, fuelling the lies instead of extinguishing them. Seeing Mr Rafferty here now though, was the family’s undoing inevitable?

‘I’m really sorry Mr Rafferty, Ian, if I can call you that.’

He nods.

‘That night, I was so devastated at having discovered what Liam had done. I just refused to believe it,’ I say.

‘I know,’ he replies.

‘And you were just there, at home, when I came to see him, to confront him. I didn’t mean for anyone to see me, see us, not that it mattered because there was nothing to see. You were just comforting me, understanding what it was like to have your heart trampled on.’ I feel myself start to tremble at the memory of that night. ‘Are you here now, because of it? Because of what people thought?’

He leans back in his chair and sighs. ‘Molly, I’m here working in this coffee shop for a number of reasons, but I’d be lying if I told you that night had nothing to do with my undoing.’

I bite my lip, guilt spilling from my pores.

‘But don’t you dare for a second think any of it had anything to do with you, that any of it was your fault. I could have fought harder, to clear my name, to clear yours, but I didn’t. I think in a way, I liked people believing something had happened between us. Whilst my life, my family looked perfect from the outside, I knew it was on the verge of self-combustion, so I played the advantage to see where it would lead, and well, here I am.’

I sit in silence taking in his truth. I’d often thought he could have done more, should have done more to clear my name if not his own. But regardless, I’d always felt I’d been the one at fault for not being more careful about my emotions and actions. Considering the position he’d held in the town, how stupid I’d been to accept his offer of a simple hug, a comforting gesture, misconstrued by those small-town folk with nothing better to do with their time.

‘Small towns, sometimes you outgrow them, you know,’ he says, as if reading my mind. ‘And it doesn’t look like the move out here has done you any harm at all. Seems to me that you’re flourishing.’

I feel my cheeks warm just as a hand lands gently on my shoulder and a deep voice whispers into my ear. ‘Everything OK here Miss Moseley?’ Blake, my bodyguard, hovers close behind me.

I nod. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. Just catching up with an old friend.’

Blake eyes my companion as he tries to work out the intricacies of our old friendship, not that he’d ever ask about the details, but I see his mind wander, before he nods his approval at him. Mr Rafferty replies with a two-finger salute and a soft smile.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt then,’ Blake continues, ‘But your interview is scheduled for 11am and your stylist is due to arrive at the house in 15 minutes so it might be an idea to wrap things up here?’

I nod at Blake and turn back to Mr Rafferty apologetically. ‘I have to go, sorry.’

Mr Rafferty stands and straightens his apron, which now reads Bean & Gone. I chuckle to myself as the full name reveals itself across his chest. Be Gone didn’t seem very inviting for a coffee shop. He hands me my extra-large coffee to go as I stand to join him and smiles broadly at me. ‘Be on your way Molly Moseley. Keep living your life unapologetically and do yourself proud.’

And for the first time, I know in my bones that’s exactly what I’ll do.