“Yeah,” yelled another. “We’re hungry!”
“My wife won’t let me come home until noon,” the third called out. “And the library says I can’t come back anymore on account of when I read, I have to do it out loud to myself and they objected to my . . .” He did air quotes. “Content. They said I read too much porn, that I’m addicted.”
“You are,” old guy number two said.
“Hey, I could be addicted to drugs, you ever think of that?” he asked. “Do you realize how lucky you all are?”
Greta leveled a look at the old men and they shut up as if on cue. “Everyone zip it. Time to be on your best behavior.” She pointed at Quinn. “We’ve got the new owner standing right here.”
Everyone swiveled wide-eyed gazes her way and then started talking at once.
“Please open!”
“I’m starving.”
“Can I use the bathroom? My prostrate ain’t what it used to be.”
Greta brought her fingers up to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. “Silence.”
The three old men fell silent.
Greta looked at Quinn expectantly.
Quinn wasn’t happy about being called out, but she couldn’t help but be curious. “I’d like to go in.”
Greta opened the door for her and then followed her in. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Greta, by the way. I’ve worked for Carolyn the past twenty-plus years. She was the kindest woman I’ve ever known, cared for everyone in her circle.”
A circle that hadn’t included her own daughter, but hey, whatever, Quinn was over it.
Or at least working on being over it.
“You’re from Germany,” Quinn said, knowing that her German accent was the real thing compared to Marcel’s fake one.
“I came here twenty-two years ago with my husband on a business trip of his,” Greta said. “I had no English. We stopped here for lunch and he left to make a phone call. He never came back.”
Quinn, who’d been staring at the old kitchen equipment—so old that it was a wonder anyone could cook anything decent with the antiquated appliances—turned to look at Greta in shock.
“I know,” the forty-something woman said. “He was a sohn von einem weibchen.”
“Stupid head,” Quinn translated loosely and for the first time in her life, she had something to be thankful to Marcel for.
“Yes.” Greta looked impressed as she began to go through the storage bins with an eagle eye. “I had nowhere to go, no money, no place to stay. Carolyn took me in and gave me a job. I helped her cook. Or served. Whatever was needed. This place is a mess. It’s good you’re here, City Girl. We’ll clean and reopen.”
“She’s not staying,” Tilly said, having just arrived in the doorway. She looked at Quinn’s hair and arched a brow. “Blue?”
“Don’t ask.”
“My friend did blue streaks once,” Tilly shared. “She’s on the swim team and the chlorine turned her hair from blue to pea green.”
“Good thing I’m not a swimmer,” Quinn said. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“Maybe. I’ve got to do homework first. I’ll be back.”
“But—”
But nothing because the girl was gone.
Quinn sighed and moved to check out the dining room. One wall was covered in corkboard. It was lined with a shelf upon which sat an old Polaroid camera. The board was filled with pics of Carolyn and her customers. Tilly was in there too. As was Greta, often arm in arm with another woman, the two of them in aprons with Carolyn. There were also reviews of the café, and a couple of award certificates as well. Just small-time regional stuff, not the awards and reviews Quinn was accustomed to seeing, but still. “Impressive,” she said.
Greta smiled. “Carolyn would love you being here.”
Quinn struggled with both resentment and nostalgia for her few conversations with Carolyn. She knew that much of the resentment came from how deeply hurt she was by the deception, but she found herself unable to quickly get over it. “How did you know who I was?”
“Easy.” Greta came close and took Quinn’s hands, smiling at her with a fondness Quinn had no idea how to accept. “Carolyn described you perfectly. She said you looked just like her, which is true. Although you don’t have the fret lines between your eyes yet.”
“Don’t worry, they’re coming.”
Greta smiled. “She also said that you were smart, beautiful, and successful.”
Quinn couldn’t help but be fascinated in spite of herself. “She talked about me?”
“Oh yes. After each trip to L.A., she’d go on and on. Her entire face would be lit up for days.” Greta’s eyes went damp. “Truly,” she said softly. “Your mum was the kindest woman I’ve ever known. It bothered her over the years, not knowing how you’d turned out.”
But not enough to actually look for Quinn sooner. Because damn, it would have been nice to hear all of this from Carolyn herself.
“Hey!” This was followed by a knock on the front door. Old man number three. “We’re starving. You opening or what?”
Greta looked at Quinn. “Can you really cook?”
“Yes.”
“So . . .?” Greta asked. “How about it? There’re people who need the income, you know.”
It shamed Quinn to realize she’d never even thought about that.
There was another knock, on the back door this time. The tall, dark-skinned woman from the photos with Carolyn and Greta. She walked in like she owned the place, her eyes on Greta, her jet-black hair in thick braids down her back, tied together with a colorful ribbon. “What is it, Greta?” she asked in a melodic, soft accent. Jamaican, maybe. “What’s your emergency?”
“Other than you didn’t return a single text?” Greta asked. “We talked about this, Trinee.”
“No,” Trinee said. “You talked about my dislike of cell phones. I listened. I did not agree. Why are you here bothering Carolyn’s daughter?”
Did everyone know who she was?
“I miss my job,” Greta said. “I miss being needed. I found out she was in town and I thought what the hell, go big or go home.”
“You say that like going home is a bad thing,” Trinee said. “I’ve been working my new job at the grocery store, which I hate. I don’t want to go big. I want to go home. And I want to take a nap when I get there.”
Greta tossed up her hands dramatically.
“You’ll find another job, as I did,” Trinee said. “Leave her alone, the girl doesn’t need this right now.” She then gathered up the full trash bin. “I’m taking this out, but I’ll be back.” She pointed at Greta. “And then we’re going home.”
“Hmph,” Greta said.
Quinn smiled. “You two bicker like sisters.”
“Or like an old married couple . . .,” Greta said and held up her hand with a pretty gold band on her ring finger.
“Oh,” Quinn said. “I’m sorry. You got married again. That’s lovely.”
Greta snorted. “Not always. But we’re happy. I’m happy. At least until she walks away like my first spouse did.”
Trinee had come back into the kitchen, hands empty. She slipped her arms around Greta. “Never.”
Quinn’s heart sighed for them while aching for herself.
“Hey,” someone called from out front. “You opening or what?”