Читать книгу Under An Adirondack Sky - Karen Rock - Страница 9
ОглавлениеREBECCA DAY SHRUGGED on her raincoat and eyed the rain tapping against The Koffee Kat’s storefront window. It turned SoHo’s block-paved streets into an impressionistic blur, the sidewalks uncharacteristically empty of tourists, the iron-trimmed buildings seeming to slide down like melting wax. A cab lurched along the road, sending up fans of dark spray.
Should she splurge and grab one instead of taking the subway? Given her crazy end-of-spring cold, it’d be justified. Given her overdrawn bank account, however, she knew better. A heavy rush of air escaped her.
“Toots, we need to talk.”
At her boss’s voice, Rebecca’s fingers stilled on her top button. So close to a clean getaway. After her twelve-hour shift, she needed a bowl—no, an IV bag—of chicken soup. Stat. Tomorrow she’d return to her primary job as a school psychologist after the district’s spring break vacation. Ten days off and she could use ten more, though she didn’t dare ask for sick time, not with her overdue tenure still an undecided question by the stalling school board.
Were they planning to let her go?
She swallowed painfully and forced her mind off of possibly losing the dream job she’d sacrificed so much to finally land.
“Sure. What’s up?” She eyed her employer’s hangdog expression and tried to ignore the flutter of nervousness in her stomach. Given the steadily dwindling business this past month, accompanied by her boss’s grumps and his wife’s sighs, she’d been preparing herself for what could be bad news.
“You’ll need a seat for this.” Mr. Roselli’s baritone echoed in the now empty coffee shop. How many customers had she served today? Fifty? Seventy-five? Not even close to their usual draw. Since the Death Star of all cafés—JavaHut—opened across the street, the mom-and-pop SoHo business at which she moonlighted had been hemorrhaging clients.
“Sure.” She reopened her coat, pulled out a chair and glanced up at a Leaning Tower of Pisa wall clock. Midnight. “Is something wrong?” Once she sat, she dabbed at her running nose and clamped a hand on her jittering knee. Counted the black-and-white hexagon floor tiles. Tried not to look scared.
Mr. Roselli let out a long, deep breath. “Rebecca. We’re closing The Koffee Kat.”
Her mouth dropped open. No. Mr. and Mrs. Roselli had owned this establishment for over forty years and his father another fifty before that. She glanced at the framed pictures of their hometown in Italy and generations of family members. This was more than a business. To her and to them.
A faint waft of fresh roasted beans whispered through the air as a painful silence descended. She struggled to speak and, despite the remnants of warmth coming from the bakery ovens, she shivered. Now that she thought about it, she should be tasting the first batch of lemon-almond biscotti Mrs. Roselli baked for the morning rush. But instead of pans clanging, she heard a muffled sob from the kitchen.
Her heart broke. Why would this happen to such kind people? For a fleeting moment she imagined calling her Fortune 500 CEO aunt for help. It wouldn’t be breaking the moral code about taking favors she’d made for herself when she’d left her guardian’s privileged nest. This was aid for someone else. A very good cause. And so deserving.
“Mr. Roselli, I’d like to help.” Rebecca’s words ended in a coughing fit that she muffled with the crook of her arm.
The older man’s weathered face creased in a sad smile. “I know you would, sweets.” His thick eyebrows knitted. “But me and the missus have made up our minds to buy one of those Florida condos. Our daughter lives there in a gated community. Keeps out the riffraff.”
Rebecca imagined living in such a safe, predictable environment and suppressed a shudder. She liked chaos. Choices. Freedom to live by her own rules rather than the constrictive ones she’d grown up with in her aunt’s Upper East Side penthouse and elite world. Despite Aunt Kathryn’s infrequent appearances in Rebecca’s childhood, her caretaker had known of each of Rebecca’s infractions, especially the one that’d nearly landed her in jail and destroyed her life...
“But you’ll be losing your home, your friends, everything...” Her aching throat closed. NyQuil. She should have paid closer attention when she’d grabbed it instead of DayQuil when she’d sprinted to the convenience store earlier to replenish her supply.
Would another dose of it hurt? She’d already thrown back a mouthful of the chalky cherry goo a half hour ago. It couldn’t be worse than the way she felt. Her body ached, temples throbbed, throat felt scraped by glass, and her nose was so raw she flinched when she touched it. She never would have come to work today if she hadn’t needed the money so badly.
The gray-haired owner shook his head. “The only thing I’ll miss are wonderful friends like you. The rest is always replaceable.”
Rebecca smiled at his brave words and agreed. And then it hit her. She’d need another job. Since her ex-roommate Laura, an old college friend she’d reconnected with when she started working at the Koffee Kat, moved out, Rebecca had been struggling to manage the rent on her illegally sublet SoHo loft. Losing was more like it. The extra income from her second job at the coffee shop was the difference between home and homeless. But more importantly, she needed these warmhearted people who made her feel like family—or what she imagined a family would feel like.
But looking into Mr. Roselli’s weary face, Rebecca realized that she wasn’t the victim. Her eyes narrowed at the glowing orange and green neon lights across the street’s shining pavement. She’d be darned if she’d apply for a position at the new JavaHut. In fact, she’d boycott the whole chain—and avoid the one in her neighborhood, too.
Goodbye to the part skim milk, part half-n-half mocha latte with extra caramel and whipped cream she ordered every morning on her way to school. Somehow she’d find a way through her fifteen-hour workday without a bag of chocolate-dipped espresso beans. Think of the money she’d save... It’d be a tough day without it, but she’d make a clean break from her habit if it killed her. Her stomach lurched. Maybe it would.
“I’m so sorry. When are you closing?” After reaching into her purse, she gulped more medicine and set down the bottle. It toppled on the granite-topped table, empty, and panic seized her. She’d drained it in—what—two hours? Three? Was that too much? She’d been so determined to return to school healthy and finally get some answers on the timing of her tenure decision that she’d lost track. Plus, hadn’t her pharmacist showered doom and gloom about mixing meds when he’d dispensed the muscle relaxers she’d been prescribed after pulling her hamstring during a martial arts class? How many of those pills had she taken to keep moving today? Her brain fogged as she fought to concentrate.
“Actually, this is our last day.” The white metal chair beside Rebecca protested as Mrs. Roselli joined them. She smoothed her floral skirt and lifted watering eyes to her. “We would have told you sooner but we didn’t think the place would sell so quickly—or that they’d want us out right away.”
Mrs. Roselli’s eyes flitted outside and Rebecca’s stomach twisted as she followed the other woman’s gaze. “They bought it, didn’t they? JavaHut?”
Mr. Roselli harrumphed and passed his wife one of Rebecca’s tissues. “What’s important is that we got a fair price and Margaret can finally retire. See the grandkids. Right, my love?”
She managed a tiny smile and gripped his hand in a way that made the familiar emptiness in Rebecca swell. Would she ever have a relationship like that? A family? Whenever she pictured it, she imagined her own, lonely version, where she’d been the last entry on her aunt’s priority list. A tax write-off each year when her relative insisted Rebecca attend expensive business trips on the pretext of “celebrating” her birthday. She’d never accept a serious relationship where she was less important than a career or a bank account.
Mr. Roselli was right. What mattered was that they were leaving together. She should be happy for them. Was happy for them. For herself? Not so much. Who did she have left? Her chubby pug, Freud, was the only plus-one in Rebecca’s life, though she loved her little mouth-breather with a passion.
She closed her raincoat and returned their hugs, careful not to get too close in case they caught her nightmare of a cold. Gratefully, she accepted the white envelope they slid across the table, then walked out into the humid, glistening world that was a spring-soaked Manhattan night. Taxis and buses flashed by in lighted, swishing blurs; though if the out-of-focus effect was from her own tears or the rain, she wasn’t sure. Either way, life was misery.
It wasn’t until she’d walked for over ten minutes, deep in thought, that she realized she’d missed her subway entrance. That figured. Could the night get any worse?
She pulled out her cell and asked her neighbor, Marcy, to take out Freud. Since Marcy had a parrot Rebecca watched when Marcy went on business trips, they’d worked out a trade once Laura left.
After the call, she contemplated her contacts list and scrolled to her aunt’s number. Kathryn Lindon. How easy it’d be to press that dial button and see if her connected relative could help her find a second job. She owed her aunt a thank-you for the gifts she’d sent while on a recent Paris trip—something she always did when traveling—an expensive raincoat and purse delivered yesterday. They were the kinds of items she tried never to sell in a consignment shop, since her aunt would consider that the ultimate insult.
Yet if Rebecca phoned, she’d only get Kathryn’s voice mail, followed by a call tomorrow from the cowed assistant through which Rebecca and her aunt usually conversed.
Nope.
No support there, unless the expensive flowers and a card bearing the generous check her aunt used to discharge (pay off?) her obligations would suffice. The cash would help. The I-told-you-so’s that’d come with it...not so much.
No doubt Aunt Kathryn would repeat the doom-and-gloom prophecies she’d made when Rebecca graduated from her master’s program three years ago.
“Use your head,” Rebecca could hear her aunt say over a glass of pinot. “You’re working a low wage job and spending nearly all of it to share a space slightly bigger than a walk-in closet. Start a private practice and move home where you belong.”
And the worst thing? It’d been tempting. Taking the hard road was...well, hard, and getting more difficult by the day. Especially with her school dragging its feet on granting her a permanent position. Denial of tenure was a scarlet letter D on your résumé, alerting every other district that you weren’t good enough. Made even getting an interview near to impossible.
If she didn’t get tenure at her current school, she’d fail at her bid for independence and not have the life she’d dreamed of, one filled with people who made time for her...put her first. Was that too much to ask? Laura had joked that Rebecca’s expectations were so high no one could reach them, but she’d rather be alone than compromise, even when her chances looked worse by the minute. Somehow, loneliness was more bearable when you were actually alone.
Rebecca sighed and shoved her phone back in her pocket.
No. She wouldn’t call.
Aunt Kathryn’s way of helping was money. Rebecca, on the other hand, wanted to make a difference by doing—exactly why she used her psychology degree to work in a public school system with at-risk teenagers. She didn’t want anyone else growing up feeling as though their problems didn’t matter...that they didn’t matter.
She’d just lost one job that mattered a lot to her. Tomorrow, when she confronted her principal about why the school board still hadn’t voted to grant her tenure, something they always did months earlier, in January, would she discover she might lose two?
Suddenly the rain picked up and a gust flipped her umbrella backward. If the car heading Rebecca’s way hit the huge puddle beside her, she’d be—
She shook her drenched self.
—a drowned rat.
Gross. How many toxins swam in that street soup? She mashed her broken umbrella closed and took deep, calming breaths. Guess this night could get worse. What she really needed was a friend. When a rivulet of cold water snaked down her back, she ducked beneath the nearest awning, and her breath caught at the bright sign in the window.
The White Horse Tavern.
She’d heard of it...but where?
The place looked friendly enough, at least, and was a good spot to take temporary refuge from the storm. Rebecca reached for the wrought iron handle and her hand slipped, missing it completely. She stepped closer and wobbled, tilting to the left. Why was she so woozy? A couple whisked open the door and paused, eyes wide as they took in her weaving form.
“Sorry,” she muttered, and stumbled to the side. The berth they gave her spoke volumes. If only they knew cold medicine was her drink of choice—the effects of which, combined with her muscle relaxers, were kicking in with a vengeance. Everything seemed fuzzy. She needed to get her bearings before heading home. Maybe she should splurge and grab a cab. Rebecca felt less and less sure she’d make it on her own, after all.
* * *
AIDEN WALSH RETURNED the departing couple’s wave and leaned against the wooden bar. It was 12:40. A little early for closing time, but this was Sunday. His younger siblings returned to school from their break tomorrow. Besides, it’d be just like rebellious Connor, his fourteen-year-old brother, to still be on the Xbox. With a superintendent’s meeting tomorrow, Connor’s expulsion on the table for a school yard brawl that’d happened the day before vacation, the kid needed to toe the line. Help, not hinder, what was already an impossible family situation.
Aiden squeezed out a washcloth over the cleaning fluid pail, hard. If his brother wasn’t readmitted, how would Aiden pay for private education, or worse, home school the kid? Money and time. Two things always in short supply.
“Excuse me,” a young woman’s voice called from the open door. “Are you still open?”
With a suppressed sigh, Aiden glanced up and spied an unsteady woman bracing herself in his doorway. He tried not to stare, but she looked like she’d face-planted in a puddle then fallen asleep in it. With her eyes at half-mast, her nose and cheeks red, and the ends of her blond hair dripping, she reminded him of his cat, Grinch, when he got caught in the rain: woeful and bedraggled in a way that made Aiden chuckle and then scold himself...and want to make it better.
“Come in.” He strode forward, his pace quickening as she swayed. No one passed out in his bar. Especially not a lady. His hand snaked around her waist and held fast as her exotic scent washed over him.
There was no other way to describe it: she looked and smelled expensive, from the satiny feel of her coat to her leather purse. In fact, noticing the designer plate plastered across the top of the bag, he remembered seeing the same kind in a Fifth Avenue window, a purse his sister had pointed out. Three thousand bucks. Enough to pay for Connor’s braces, Ella’s much begged for dance classes, or remodeling the bathroom with safety gear for his Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother.
Pick a bill, any bill, he’d often thought, after his father had died ten years ago and Aiden started struggling to keep the family and their business afloat as the eldest of seven children. Sometimes it seemed like he was the one drowning; his feverish, crazy work schedule was all that kept him and his family above water.
The woman blinked up at him with wet-spiked lashes and the sudden flash of blue eyes knocked the wind out of him. “I need to dry off.” Or at least he thought that was what she said. She slurred slightly, enough to make him wonder how many bars she’d visited before wandering into his. Uptown girls didn’t usually venture into a small operation like the White Horse.
“This is the place for it.” He helped her to a wooden bar stool, the dampness of her coat seeping through his shirt and slacks.
She blew her nose and swiped at the water dripping down her cheeks. “I look like a drowned rat.” Was it his imagination, or were there tears in her eyes? He’d seen plenty of people weep into their cups at his tavern, one of the many reasons he never imbibed himself. Yet her sorrow looked deeper than that.
“Here.” He handed over a bar towel and squinted at her. “And you don’t resemble a rat. A cat maybe,” he mumbled to himself, then clamped his lips shut. What an idiot. “I’m Aiden.” He flicked his eyes her way, but she seemed lost in her own world, running the cloth over her hair and face. In her state, she’d never remember what he said.
“I’m Rebecca. So how do I look then?” She shoved back her hair and peered at him with questioning eyes.
Under the soft glow of the antique light fixtures, her skin gleamed, her heart-shaped face prettier than he’d first thought. Her small nose flared above a mobile mouth with a generous upper lip. And those eyes. He couldn’t look away from them. “Fine,” he blurted, then hustled behind the bar.
“Loose lips sink ships,” his grandmother had always said. And his life was already the Titanic. He needed distance from his new customer. She was short-circuiting his brain, one already over-taxed with handling his chaotic family and hectic business.
He had no room in his life, or thoughts, for romance. Letting himself imagine otherwise was a fool’s path he’d gotten lost on once before. He’d never risk it again. But a lost girl caught in the rain had a way of making a lonely man dream.
He pulled out two mugs and filled them with coffee, a warm mist washing over him as he poured the black brew. Rebecca needed the wake-up before he settled her in a cab heading for home and out of his complicated life.
“How do you take your coffee?” He passed a mug her way and reached into the mini fridge below for the milk.
“Caramel and whipped cream.”
His chin slammed into the bar edge. “What?”
When she shook her head, a long lock of hair fell across her high forehead. Fetching.
“Something sweet then.”
He pushed a sugar jar her way. “Help yourself.”
“I’m trying.” Her words came out in a half sob, half laugh.
He threw back a gulp of the bitter brew and burned his throat. How long had that pot been sitting? Mary Ann usually came down after tucking in their siblings and changed it before heading home on the weekends. But he hadn’t seen her in hours. And he could use her right now. Rebecca looked seconds away from inviting him to her pity party and he had no intentions of RSVP’ing.
She leaned over and slurped from her overflowing mug, the quantity of milk and sugar she’d added making it spill on the newly wiped counter. She wasn’t kidding about wanting a fancy concoction. Where she came from, they probably served it on a china saucer instead of a soaked cocktail napkin. The light gleamed on her golden hair as she straightened and suppressed a grimace with pressed lips.
“Tastes good. I work in a coffee shop. The Koffee Kat. Have you heard of it?”
“I’ve seen it. Nice place.” Aiden switched off the coffeepot and grabbed a cleaning rag for the counter.
He stopped wiping the spill when Rebecca’s narrow shoulders sagged and she set down her cup. “The owners are moving to Florida. They’re like family to me. Now I’ll have no one.”
Her lonely expression softened him. Being surrounded by a large family—barraged by them, really—didn’t stop him from feeling alone, too. “What about your relatives? Friends?” He cleared his throat. “Boyfriend?”
Her laugh sounded as bitter as the coffee. “A boyfriend. Hah. That’d be the day.”
The weird tightness in Aiden’s chest loosened and he released a breath. He needed to get a grip. Her dating status was none of his business.
Rebecca brought her arm up to her mouth and coughed into it. “Laura’s gone, so that takes care of my close friends list. And as for my family...well...they’re, uh, not around much.”
He hung a mug and looked at the downcast woman, his sympathy about her family turning to guilt. Was this how his relatives viewed him? But to fill his father’s big shoes, he had to work sixteen hour days, seven days a week...and even that didn’t seem enough. How had his father managed the business and family so effortlessly?
“I’m sure lots of people care.” Aiden began lining up the wineglasses on a mirror-backed shelf, his gaze drifting to the beautiful woman’s reflection. “They just might be busy. Not have time to show it.” He peered into her eyes, then looked away, her sun-ray smile piercing his closed-off heart.
“‘How’s your day’ takes only a minute to ask.” She began sorting the remaining glasses on the counter according to size. “Maybe a couple more to listen to the answer.”
Aiden plucked a few mugs from the drier and stacked them below the bar. She had a point...only where to find those precious minutes when work demanded every second?
“At least you care,” she continued. “No one’s listened to me since my roommate Laura left.” Her brow furrowed and her smile vanished. “But that’s your job, right? To listen? So... I’ll take a—a beer.”
She swiped at her nose, then twisted her hands together atop the counter. With her eyelids drooping after drinking half a cup of coffee, she must be more intoxicated than he’d thought. And it looked like she was fighting a whopping cold. “I don’t think that’s for the best, ma’am.”
Her jaw clenched. “You said you were still open.” She glanced up at the wall clock, then pulled out a twenty.
He leaned forward. “My bar, my rules.” She might be used to giving orders wherever she came from, but this was his world.
“But the customer’s always right.” Her unsteady squeak tugged at him.
“When the patron acts appropriately.”
Suddenly her face contorted. “I just need to talk. Please.”
For the love of all—where was Mary Ann? The tear that rolled down the woman’s cheek broke through his resistance.
He poured himself another cup of caffeine and forced a weary smile. She was right. This was his job. Would always be, he thought with a pang. If given a choice, would he have picked it? He shoved down the image of the engineering school’s acceptance letter he’d received after his father died. “Fine then. Happy to listen, Rebecca. What’s the trouble?”
For the next few minutes, she unleashed a torrent of woes that ranged from problematic coworkers trying to make her lose tenure—whatever that was—to her out-of-control canine, her lost coffee shop job, not being able to make this month’s rent and, oddly enough, the torture of control-top hosiery. He struggled to keep his expression sympathetic as he nodded along to that one.
“You’re laughing at me,” she declared, her face scrunching.
“Only on the inside,” he said solemnly, then gave in and chuckled, pleased when her bell-like laugh rang out. He topped off her coffee and dodged her playful swat. “No, really. I’m listening.”
Despite Rebecca’s erratic rant, he found her charming and entertaining, even if she didn’t mean to be. Somehow closing up no longer mattered, and for the first time in a while he heard himself laugh. He enjoyed watching her large, mobile mouth, her expressive eyes, and the way she squeezed his hand for emphasis. It’d been a while since someone outside his family touched him and he was surprised at the feelings she stirred. Dangerous ones.
“Aiden,” Mary Ann called. “Connor won’t get off the Xbox, Mom wants to know when Dad is coming upstairs, Ella’s wet her bed and Daniel’s having those nightmares again. I thought you’d be up by now, and—oh...”
Spotting Rebecca, his sister pulled up short on the staircase from their upstairs apartment.
“Hey.” Rebecca waved, and then, with a clunk, passed out, her head hitting the bar.
Aiden rushed around the counter and Mary Ann flew to the girl’s side.
“Ouch. Why didn’t you cut her off?” Mary Ann scolded, her expert nurse’s hands—from training he’d made sure she received—running over Rebecca’s temples and prying open her shut eyes. As the second oldest, Mary Ann had always been one to challenge his authority...and the only one he could turn to when he dared admit to a problem.
“She came here this way.” Aiden held up a mug. “And I’ve been trying to get her to drink this.” Luckily, she hadn’t hit the hot liquid. He should have noticed she was close to passing out. Mary Ann was right; he’d been distracted by Rebecca and had dropped the ball. “I was going to call her a cab.”
“In this condition? You can’t let a woman travel alone like that. Remember what happened to Gemma after the family reunion?”
Aiden shook his head. “I didn’t go to the reunion.”
Mary Ann’s harsh expression softened. “Right. You had to work. Sorry, Aiden.”
He shrugged. “Goes with the territory.” He’d spent so much of his life in the pub, it barely registered anymore. Though he would like to get out. Meet someone like Rebecca...
“Come on. Lock the door and help me.” His sister already had his client’s lolling head on her shoulder, her flame-red hair bright against Rebecca’s gold. “We’ll put her to sleep in the office. She won’t be any threat to the family in this state.”
Aiden turned the bolts, then scooped up Rebecca and carried her upstairs. She weighed no more than a crate of Guinness and felt as soft as a down pillow. For a moment he fantasized what it would be like to take her to his room, but swerved into the office and the futon that awaited.
“I’ll get some sheets to make it up.” Mary Ann shot him a narrow-eyed look as he sat at his desk chair and held Rebecca tight. He wouldn’t risk her slipping and hitting her head again.
“Who’s that pretty lady?”
He glanced up, hearing his youngest sister’s voice. “A new friend who’s not feeling very well. And you should be in bed, Ella. School’s tomorrow.”
“I had an accident.” Her thin frame was wrapped in a towel, her hair wet, her mouth trembling.
Aiden mustered a reassuring smile. “Well, you’ve gone a long time. It’s been months...so things are looking up, aren’t they?”
Ella’s dark hair, similar in wave and thickness to his, slid in a tangle as she bobbed her head. Her long face transformed into a relieved grin. “Not since February.”
Aiden angled his body around an inert Rebecca and held out an arm for the little one. “There you have it. I’m proud of you, Ella.”
She smelled of soap and toothpaste as she nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Aiden,” she whispered, then took off in a flash, passing their wandering mother in a series of twirls.
“Ellison!”
Aiden flinched, hating it when she mistook him for his look-alike father.
“What are you doing with this woman?”
“Mom. It’s me. Aiden. And this is a customer who’s had a few too many.”
“Is it Mildred again?” His mother’s anger faded to confusion and her hand wandered up to tangle in her white, shoulder-length hair. “For an Irishwoman, she can’t hold her liquor. Your father adds water to her whiskey, you know.”
“Oh, there you are, Mother.” Mary Ann entered with linens, dropped them on the futon and put an arm around their parent. “Let’s get you off to sleep now. I’ve got your pill and no spitting it out this time.”
Their voices faded and Aiden shifted Rebecca on his lap, gazing down at her peaceful, angelic face. If only his life was as worry-free as she looked, and that he could get to know a girl like this. But no woman would ever take on his responsibilities, and he’d never give them up. Didn’t have time to pay attention to one more person in his life on top of his family. And families stuck together, no matter the sacrifice.
A nightmare-induced shriek, Daniel’s by the sound of it, made Rebecca murmur and twine a hand in Aiden’s hair, her body snuggled so tightly against him he couldn’t breathe. He stood and gently laid her on the futon, savoring this quiet moment before dealing with Connor’s Xbox defiance and whatever other family crisis-of-the-moment waited—the worst of which would come tomorrow morning at the hearing.
For this moment at least, he’d be selfish. It felt good to imagine what life with a woman like Rebecca would have been like, before reality’s undertow sucked him under.
