Page 23 of Of Literature and Lattes
“What’s that, Boss?” Brendon paused, then pulled another platter of muffins from the refrigerator.
“You know this started as a proverb, became a brand slogan, got picked up in a country song, and who knows what else... Now it’s descriptive of my life.”
At Brendon’s befuddled expression, Jeremy waved his hand to the front. “Never mind.”
Brendon nodded and pushed out through the swinging door.
Lucky kid, Jeremy thought. Not a thing in the world to ripple your waters. Good home life. Great town. Most popular kid at school. The full package.
Jeremy rested both elbows on the cool stainless-steel counter and ran his hands through his hair. He had pushed too hard. Again.
“There are some issues. I can see that. She doesn’t read, Krista, even the most basic words and sounds, with any comfort.” He had meant to start calm and measured in his tone, but as the words landed just as he wanted them to, he toppled over them in his anxiety. “Do you ever read with her? Have you not heard any of this?”
“Yes, I read with her. I’m a good mother, Jeremy,” Krista rushed in. “And you have virtually no responsibilities here, so it’s easy for you to point the finger at me. It costs you nothing.”
“That’s not only not fair but it’s what I’ve been asking for the past three months...Giveme responsibilities.”
Echoes of his conversations with Ryan and something unspoken but real passed between him and Krista. She shifted away—just as he had done to Ryan. Her voice confirmed it—just as his had—calm and in control, yet teetering on the edge of defensive.
“The doctor’s report isn’t in yet. I’m not going to make any decisions, and especially not label her in some way, until we know what we’re dealing with. Besides, people can get through life without being top-notch readers, Jeremy.”
“Of course they can. But this isn’t a label either. Teaching her differently, according to how her brain works, will help her in every way.”
He thought back to his own middle and high school years, and the classes he’d been required to take, not that he’d ever told Krista, or anyone. It wasn’t about learning for him; it was about recording, assessing, tracking. New home placements often came with new schools, and he was questioned, tested, and given special classes to either “come up to speed” or “acclimate more smoothly” each time. He always suspected he could track his school experience far better from his State of Washington files than from his high school yearbooks. If he were completely honest, he couldn’t separate the homes from the moves from the classes. The constant moving and endless transitioning were isolating. He feared the same for his daughter.
“You shouldn’t move.” He ground out the words.
“How’d you get back there?”
“She needs a stable home. You think moving will help, starting her somewhere new, but you’re changing everything at once. I’m not there, her grandparents won’t be there, you’ll be working all the time, and now they’re talking maybe a whole different learning track.”
Sparks shot through the air. He could feel them torpedo across the line.
“No one has said anything close to that. She’s seven. And we are not having this discussion.”
Jeremy blanched. He had heard those words and that tone only once before, and he would never forget when and where. They were delivered in a harsh staccato with a cadence unlike anything else Krista had ever said. The exact words she’d hurled at him when she walked, six months pregnant, out of their marriage.We are not having this discussion.
And they didn’t.
Nothing more was said. She didn’t engage. She didn’t relent. In fact, the closest he got as she flew home to Illinois was a call from the airport. “There is no shame in an imprudent and quick marriage, Jeremy. Think of this as a conscious uncoupling where two people are mature enough to part ways.”
At the time he’d wondered where she’d gotten those words too. But he didn’t anymore. They had become part of her lexicon.
Yet this sentence,Weare not having this discussion, still wielded power.
“We can take it slow. I won’t push—”
Krista had hung up.
Jeremy drew himself back to the present and his Morton Salt container, tapping it against the counter. He straightened as Ryan pushed through the swinging door.
“You got Brendon closing tonight?”
“Yeah, I forgot to tell you. I’m trying to take Becca more. I figure if Krista feels more supported, maybe she won’t move away.” He shook his head, unwilling to confide. “I’ve got to do something. She’s why I moved here, after all.” While he tried to make his words sound light, they fell flat.
Ryan spread his fingers on the counter. “This shop is why I moved here. I came to be your assistant. This kid has been here five days. Why wouldn’t I close?”
Jeremy pushed back from the counter. “Come on, man. You came ’cause you needed out of Seattle. We both know that.”
