I continued down Main, slowing my pace and my thoughts. I pushed away each bit of work that tried to wind its way through, although I tapped a few notes onto my phone for the sake of safekeeping—and sanity. I set a second reminder to call Mr. Thomas—Henry—and a third to confirm next week’s appointments. I stood under an awning, looked up, and snapped a picture. No one even turned their head my way.
I sat on an iron bench before the sun could transform it into a frying pan. People milled about on the sidewalk in front of me. Behind me I captured the homespun scene from another angle. I didn’t remember such bustle.
I turned back and as the last of the crowd dissipated, I saw my reflection in the window in front of me. I was more fit than I’d been in my early thirties; after two years of promising myself to use the gym three times a week, I had finally done it.
My shoulders and arms had never been flabby, but now they were slightly defined. I surreptitiously curled and uncurled one arm and watched my bicep expand and retreat. I stood straighter and shifted from left to right and my dress followed. I grabbed my pockets as if to curtsy, lifting my dress enough to see a few inches above my knees. Beck had called me Chicken Legs when we were kids, but my legs—and his opinion of them—had changed over the years. I let go of my skirt.
Shit. Was that someone on the other side of the glass? I stepped forward and squinted and beyond my image saw a tall table with carafes and containers. Shit. Shit. Shit. How had I not realized I was standing in front of—wasn’t this the tailor, or had it been the shoe repair shop? I stepped back and saw the sign on the door as it opened.
PERK
HOT COFFEE FOR COOL CUSTOMERS
Two coffee-cup–toting hipsters walked out. I didn’t know what was more unsettling: hipsters and small-batch roasted coffee, or being caught looking at my reflection by someone on the other side of the glass. I turned back to smile, to accept my embarrassment head on, but the man wearing the apron just continued with his work, placing a large pitcher in the center of a high top, and rearranging the smaller ones around it, as if they were an audience. I darted away from the window.
At least I hadn’t picked my teeth.
I continued down Main and when I turned the corner, there was Miles standing by the light post, Shay standing by the wall next to him. She leapt toward me and grabbed my hand.
“Let’s go!”
“Good morning to you, too.”
Shay laughed. “Good morning, Aunt Tee. I thought you’d never get here.”
“Good morning.” I hadn’t expected to see Miles. “I thought we were meeting at the bakery.”
“Well, it’s not really the bakery anymore.”
We started walking, Shay holding my hand, being sweet. Being Shay.
“It’s a reincarnation of Chance Bakery,” Miles said. “Steel-cut oatmeal, organic muffins, gourmet sandwiches and salads. A smoothie bar. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
“It’s called Fat Chance!” Shay said.
Of course it is.
I’d scrolled past the uploaded photos on Facebook and Instagram and had read through enough comments to know that a local woman bought Chance Bakery. From what I could gather, she hadn’t concerned herself with politically correct business names and old-fashioned baked goods, it was all cost analysis, profit and loss statements, and whether gluten free was a fad or the new normal. The new owner was a CPA by training and an analyst by nature. I had a feeling she didn’t give away free cookies. Chance Bakery had always given everyone a free cookie.
My phone buzzed and I stopped short, yanking my hand from Shay’s, which startled me more than it did her. I was unaccustomed to being attached. I kissed the top of her head, grateful she was still a bit shorter than me. Miles kept walking. “One sec,” I said as I thumb-tapped my home screen and then swiped away another text from Simon.
I slid my hand back into Shay’s. “I’m hungry.”
“Here we are,” Miles said.
Bistro tables and chairs with primary-colored umbrellas had been arranged within a low white picket fence. Pots of drought-tolerant geraniums sat in the middle of each table. A few strollers crowded one corner, with toddlers sucking on straws and sippy cups and women I didn’t recognize sipping from oversized mugs. A mister was blowing a fine breeze. As if my hair wasn’t frizzy enough. I looked away, feeling like an intruder, yet wanting to capture this moment I never imagined, never could have imagined. It would be creepy if I started taking pictures so I could remember the Americana. At work, no one questioned the constant clicks and snaps, because my name tag said TEDDI LERNER, HOUSE PHOTOGRAPHER. That title made me laugh and cringe, as if I walked around taking pictures of houses.
I held up my camera anyway. Click click. The colorful umbrellas against the light blue and cotton puff sky. Flower petals. Wheels. Cracks in the sidewalk—the only thing I recognized. Shay tugged at me and mouthed, See?
“Take a picture of me and Daddy!” Shay stepped in front of the camera and smashed her cheek against Miles’s. He smiled. He’d done this before—posed with his daughter for an impromptu photo session. It was the thing to do. It just wasn’t something I’d ever done.
Click.
“Now let me take one of you and Daddy.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I know. I want to.”
I stepped next to Miles and folded my hands over my camera. He put his arm around me, tipped his head toward mine, and smiled. Perhaps Miles had forgotten I couldn’t vote in Union County.
“Look at me, Aunt Tee.” I did. Shay lifted her phone and tapped. “Done.”
Everyone’s a photographer these days.
I opened the door as Shay and Miles walked inside. I followed, and let the door close so close behind me that it tapped my behind and moved me forward. With that one step I felt as if I’d entered a hotel suite in a city I’d never been to, only to find it smelled of familiar perfume.
The space had been renovated from bland bakery to intentional vintage with mismatched chairs and patterned booths, checkered curtains and stainless steel countertops.
“Ta-dah,” Shay said. “See why I wanted to come?”
“Yes, I love it!” I never thought I’d be able to get a smoothie with wheatgrass in Chance. I loved being wrong. I could also order egg-white quiche. And a gluten-free carrot muffin, if I went gluten free in the next week.
“No, look!” Shay pointed. “I designed the logo for Dad’s campaign. There are signs in a lot of the store windows, too.”
Attached to the front of the counter was a red, white, and blue banner draped with a COOPER FOR COUNTY COMMISSIONER logo. C-C-C. Shay dipped her head and looked up at me. I winked.
Shay blushed and then a smile spread across her face. Celia’s smile. Wide and slightly open-mouthed. Genuine, unmistakable, infectious.
“Sculpture, collage, graphic design. What’s next?”
“You’ll see.”
Miles glanced at his phone. “Shay, I’ve got to go. Walk home and Vi will drive you to class this afternoon, okay?”
“Fine,” Shay said.
Miles looked at me. “I promised Vi I’d go over the seating chart with her. Again.” He chuckled.
“Stupid,” Shay whispered. She looked at Miles and said, “Sorry.”
“I’ll see you this afternoon, right, Teddi? Around two?” Miles asked.
“Sure thing.”