Page 2 of All the Way
I drive the truck up to a little hill. Annoyed at myself, I remember how slippery this hill gets, and I wish I’d gone another way. I hit the gas pedal to the floor, and miraculously, I make it up and over with minimum sliding. My heart’s in my throat, and I realize I haven’t been breathing as I finally exhale a big breath. I say a silent thank you to granddad and turn onto the main road in town.
All I needed was a little drive to get out of the house for a few minutes. I used the fact that I wanted to go pick up some pastries as an excuse, and I think my sister Jamie was the only one who knew I really just needed to get away from it all for a few minutes.
I’m glad I came home this year, but we don’t really do much celebrating any more. When granddad passed away a few years ago, we stopped putting up a tree. It all seemed a little silly to celebrate with him gone. And there would be no fun in it. He used to sit on his favorite chair and instruct us grandkids on where to place the ornaments, pointing out any gaps or where we could use another green or red ball. It just wasn’t the same without him.
He was always special to me. He raised my mom on his own, so he was like a super dad to her, which made him a super granddad to me, my brother and sister.
I even suggested putting up a tree this year, because I thought he would want us to, but no one felt like it.
But delicious baked treats? That’s something everyone can agree on.
The mix tape ends as I drive up to the bakery. I reluctantly cut the engine off, afraid that I won’t be able to start her back up again. But I have no choice, because the scent of warm sugar, cinnamon and vanilla is filling up my truck, and I hop out quickly, heading straight to the door of the bakery.
“Hey, you!” my best friend Kaitlyn says, coming out from behind the counter to wrap me up in a warm, sugar-scented embrace. “When did you get back in town?”
I grin at her, so thrilled to see one of my oldest friends.
“Just got in this afternoon. It’s so different in California. I didn’t wear my coat onto the plane, but I had to wear it when I got out of the airport here.” I walk over to the display case where she’s got every fabulous type of cookie and pastry on display.
“I hope they have Italian bakeries in LA, but even if they don’t I’ve got you covered, missy.” Kaitlyn goes around to the back of the counter and disappears, ducking down to put an assortment into a large white box. “And you look cold. I’m making you an espresso.”
“That sounds amazing right about now,” I say, pulling off my hat and sinking down into one of the booths along one wall. “I’ll tell you, everything in California is different. I can’t find a good bagel. The coffee is okay, but overall the food is so different from here.”
Kaitlyn laughs and pops up from behind the counter, measuring a length of red and white bakery string and wrapping up my box with care. “I think what you’re missing is the dirty water dogs and soft pretzels from the city.”
While Kaitlyn busies herself with the espresso machine, I gaze out the window to the street outside. The snow is starting to fall harder, and there aren’t many people out. Just a few people in the liquor store across the street, and in the mini-mart of the gas station. People are probably picking up a few last-minute items and getting ready to go home to their families to have their Christmas Eve supper.
“Honey, you look distracted,” Kaitlyn says, sliding into the booth across from me with two steamy-hot espressos in pretty white mugs. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“You know how granddad passed away four years ago,” I say, blowing on the edge of my mug.
“Damn. It’s been that long?” Kaitlyn asks, flicking at a few sugar packets and stirring them into her drink.
“Yeah. It’s just a hard time of year for everyone. And, on top of everything, I’m thinking of Chris a little bit right now.” I put my hands over my face and peek at her through the crack between two of my fingers. “You mad at me?”
“Mad?” She puts one of her hands over mine. It’s so comforting and soothing, but the pain is still there. “Of course I’m not mad. But I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“I know. It’s just that I found the tape --”
“You found the tape?” Kaitlyn groans, shaking her head and crossing her arms in front of her. “I thought you threw out the tape. I thought we were never going to talk about the tape again.”
“Well, I couldn’t help it. I found the tape, and I listened to it.”
“Why would you listen to it? Have I taught you nothing?” She shakes her head sympathetically but a little bit judgmentally, even though I know she’s just trying to protect me. And she’s right. The situation with Chris was examined from every angle, and all of the evidence was weighed, and Kaitlyn, Jamie and I all decided that it would be in my best interest to throw out the tape.
“Look,” I say. “There are some good songs on there. Weezer? There's classics on that tape. You can’t just throw it out like an old newspaper.”
“Yes, you can. Download those songs on your phone if you really need to hear them,” she says, smirking.
“Ah ha, but there’s the problem,” I say, getting up and walking over to the window. “My truck doesn’t have wifi, or bluetooth, or whatever it is that’ll get the music from my phone and into the speakers. So I had no choice. I had to keep the tape.” I look up at the sky, and it’s almost completely whited out with snow. I decide that it’s just about time to go home.
“It’s really coming down out there,” Kaitlyn observes, coming over to stand next to me. She puts an arm around my shoulder, and I rest my head into the crook of her neck. “You think anyone else is going to come in to buy anything?”
“Probably not. You should close up and go home. Everything’s closing now.” The liquor store across the street is sliding down its metal gate, and all of the straggling customers are getting into their cars. The street is lighting up with headlights, blocked out and muted with the swirl of icy snowflakes.
“Let me lock up and I’ll walk you out. I’ll wash the mugs tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.” Kaitlyn puts our empty mugs in the sink in the back, locks up the cash register, grabs me a large shopping bag, and flips over the sign on the door so it readsClosed. Leaving the Christmas lights on in the windows, we huddle under the green awning as she locks the front door.
“We need to see each other again,” I say, giving her a hug. “What if I came by the day after tomorrow?”
