She turned, walking over to a row of blenders, and I took another look around me at this, the place where Dave’s downfall began. You could hardly imagine a place less likely to corrupt someone. There were needlepoint samplers on all the walls, for God’s sake. LIFE’S TROUBLES ARE OFTEN SOOTHED BY HOT, MILKY DRINKS, read one by the sugar, milk, and cream station. Another, over the recycling bins, proclaimed WASTE NOT, WANT NOT. I wondered where they’d ordered them, and if you could get anything mass-embroidered and framed. LEAVE ME ALONE, mine would say. I’d hang in on my door, a fair warning, cutely delivered.
Once I got my smoothie, I went over and took a seat on a faux-leather chair in front of the faux-roaring fire. Dave was right: after two sips on my straw, I had a headache so bad I could barely see straight. I put my hand to my forehead, as if that would warm things up, then closed my eyes, just as the front door bell chimed.
“Welcome to Frazier Bakery!” one of the counter people yelled.
“Thank you!” a voice yelled back, and someone laughed. I was still rubbing my forehead when I heard footsteps, then, “Mclean? ”
I opened my eyes, and there was Dave. Of course it was Dave. Who else would it be?
“Hi,” I said.
He peered at me a little more closely. “You okay? You look like you’ve been—”
“It’s just a brain freeze,” I said, holding up the cup as evidence. “I’m fine.”
I could tell he was not fully convinced, but thankfully, he didn’t push the issue. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were a Friend of Frazier.”
“A what?”
“That’s what we call the regulars.” He waved at the redhead, who waved back. “Hold on, I’m just grabbing a Freaking Everything and a Procrastinator’s Special. Be back in a sec.”
I took another tentative sip of my smoothie, watching as he headed over to the counter, ducking behind it. He said something to the redhead, who laughed, then reached around her to the bakery display and grabbed a muffin before pouring himself a big cup of coffee. Then he punched a few buttons on the register, slid in a five, and took out a dollar and some change, which he deposited in the tip jar.
“Thank you!” the redhead and other guy working sang out.
“You’re welcome!” Dave said. Then he started back over to me.
Good Lord I thought as he approached. I just don’t have the energy for this today. But it wasn’t like there was anything I could do. I was in a public place, not to mention one that he knew well. It was almost funny that I’d ended up there. Almost.
“So,” he said, standing over me now, muffin in hand. “You skipping out today or something?”
“No,” I said. “Just . . . needed some breakfast. I’m about to go catch the bus.”
“Bus?” He looked offended. “Why would you take public transport when I’m right here with my car?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m . . . I’m fine.”
“You’re also late,” he pointed out, nodding at the clock behind me. “Bus will make you later. There’s no pride in tardiness, Mclean.”
I looked around the room. “That sounds like something that should be needlepointed on one of these samplers.”
“You’re right!” He grinned. “Gonna have to take that up with management. Come on. I’m parked out back.”
I went, following him down the hallway, past the restrooms, and out a rear entrance. As we walked, he continued to eat his muffin, leaving a trail of crumbs behind him like someone out of a fairy tale. I said, “What did you call that again?”
“What?”
“Your breakfast.”
He glanced back at me. “Oh, right. The Freaking Everything and the Procrastinator’s Special.”
“I don’t remember seeing that on the menu.”
“Because it isn’t,” he replied, starting across the lot. “I kind of created my own lexicon here at FrayBake. Translated, that’s a muffin with everything under the sun, and a coffee that guarantees multiple bathroom breaks for the next few hours. It caught on, and now all the counter people use it.” He jangled his keys. “Here we are.”
I watched him walk around a Volvo pockmarked with dents. On the passenger seat was one of those beaded covers I associated with taxi drivers and grandmothers. “This is your car?”
“Yep,” he said proudly as we got in. “She’s been in lockdown, but I finally got her sprung last night.”
“Yeah? How’d you manage that?”
“I think it was the lives of cells that clinched it.” He turned the key, and the engine, after a bit of coaxing, came to life. “Oh, and I also agreed to work in my mom’s lab after the Austin trip, until I go to Brain Camp. But you do what you have to do for the ones you love. And I love this car.”
The Volvo, as if to test this, suddenly sputtered to a stop. Dave looked down at the console, then turned the key. Nothing happened. He tried again, and the car made a sighing noise, like it was tired.
“It’s okay,” Dave called out over the sound of the engine making ticking noises, like a bomb. “She just needs a little love sometimes.”
“I know all about that,” I said. “So did Super Shitty.”
This just came out, without me even really being aware of it. When Dave looked at me, though, eyebrows raised, I realized what I’d done. “Super Shitty?”
“My car,” I explained. “My old car, I guess I should say. I don’t know where it is now.”