I was glad to see the thaw. Mostly because I’d been missing my daily commute on my Vespa. I’d purchased the banana yellow beauty from my friend Addison Eckhart at the Secret Garden nursery a couple of years back and had been in love ever since. There was just nothing that could equal the happy feeling I got from zipping around town on my Vespa. Although bumming rides from my mother this past week was also nice—and warmer by far. Plus it’d given us more time together.
Speaking of Mama, as I looked out the window I saw her turquoise pickup pulling into a parking spot across the street. What in the world? I leaned forward, fogging up the window with my breath. I stepped back. It couldn’t be! Pulling my sweater over my hand, I rubbed away the fog and looked again. It was! Oscar Belmonte was driving my mother’s pickup truck. It was hard to miss. He looked like a clown crammed into one of those tiny circus cars, the way he was all scrunched up behind the wheel. As I looked on, he swung open the truck’s door, unfolded his bulk onto the curb, and scurried around to open the passenger door. I blinked a couple of extra times. What was she doing letting that man drive her truck? My heart kicked up a notch as I saw Mama take his outstretched hand and step out of the passenger side, as if she were the queen being assisted from her carriage by a footman. Then she did something I never thought I’d see my mama do: She leaned forward, stretched up on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his cheek!
Chapter 12
I gasped and stepped back from the window, shaking my head to clear away the image. Then, curious, I stepped forward again, rubbed another clear spot in the pane, and craned my neck to see them walking arm in arm down the sidewalk. They were laughing like schoolkids as they entered the Catcher in the Rye sandwich shop.
Mama was going out to lunch with Oscar Belmonte? Was it a date? It looked like a date. The blushing tingle on my cheeks certainly made it feel like I was watching my mother on a date. I crossed the room to my desk, retrieved my purse, and shut down my computer. “Keep an eye on things, okay, buddy?” I told Eliot, leaving him curled up in his favorite spot as I put on my coat and wrapped my cashmere scarf—a Christmas gift from Sean—around my neck.
“I’m heading out for lunch,” I told Vicky on my way out. Bentley must have still been at the courthouse because Olive was still in the reception area, eyeing another chair leg, tail switching, ready to wreak havoc on the wood furniture again.
“Very well,” Vicky replied. Her voice held a hint of melancholy or irritation; I wasn’t sure which. But there wasn’t time to stop and find out. I was on a mission.
*
A FEW MINUTES later, I entered Catcher in the Rye and was immediately greeted by the cheerful owner, Big Ed. “Hello, sunshine.” Big Ed never actually called anyone by their real name, preferring instead to assign clever monikers to his waiting customers in lieu of numbers. Sunshine was a good start, but I couldn’t wait to see the name he’d assign after I placed my order.
“What can I get for you today?” he asked.
I didn’t even have to think about it. I simply ordered one of my favorites: the Homer—chicken souvlaki covered with shredded lettuce, diced onions, fresh tomatoes, and Big Ed’s homemade yogurt sauce, all served on toasted pita bread.
“One Homer,” he called over his shoulder. “May be a few minutes. They’re training a new guy in the back.” Ed sucked in his stomach and ran a finger along his apron strings before letting out a long sigh. I noticed that the string ends on the knot of his apron had become noticeably shorter since he and Nell from the Sixpence Bakery had tied the proverbial knot. Nell was a true baking genius. Just walking by her bakery added inches to my own hips. I couldn’t imagine being tempted by her treats on a daily basis.
“What a coincidence that you’re here,” Big Ed was saying as he scribbled out my card. “Your beautiful mother showed up just a few minutes ago.”
I eyed him suspiciously. Was I detecting a hint of goading in his voice? “Oh, she’s here?” I feigned innocence as I glanced over the crowd. It seemed like the whole town was crammed into his shop. “Sure is crowded in here today.”
“The Dirty Dozen is having their monthly meeting here. They take up a lot of space.” The Dirty Dozen was the governing body of our village’s garden club, a very active group of ladies who took their responsibility of beautifying Inspiration Valley seriously. Every year they planted over sixteen barrels in the town’s center as well as the gardens surrounding the Nine Muses fountain. I’d come to learn a lot about the club and its service to our community through Vicky, who due to unforeseen circumstances several months ago had become the club’s new president. Which explained her melancholy mood. Undoubtedly she’d planned to attend the club meeting over her lunch hour but had been waylaid by her dog-sitting duties.