Page 9 of The Sea-Mist Cottage Inn
“Yeah. It’s been short for a long time now. How are you, Mr. Mendoza? How’s Mrs. Mendoza? How’s Gabriel?” His son would be grown now; he’d been only a baby when I’d sat him.
Mr. Mendoza’s expression darkened dramatically, and he gave his head a brisk shake. Something bad had happened, maybe divorce. I was curious, but I didn’t pry. I knew what it felt like to be asked painful questions.
When he spoke, the cloudburst had passed, but he didn’t answer my questions. “I think you can call me Roman now, Leonor—I mean Leo. You’re not a kid anymore.”
How much older than me was he? Maybe something like ten years? He’d seemed a lot older when I was a teen, but mainly because he’d had a wife and a kid and a mortgage—and a minivan. The complete Dad Mode starter pack. Now, though, despite the kiss of tinsel in his dark hair and scruff of beard, and the rays of lines at the corners of his eyes, he seemed much closer to my own age. The span between eighteen and twenty-eight is considerably wider than between thirty-seven and forty-seven, I guess. Obviously, it was silly to keep calling him Mr. Mendoza.
I laughed. “No, I haven’t been a kid for a long time. So hi, Roman.”
“Hi,” he echoed with a small, warm smile, his dark eyes caught with my own. Then he looked to my right, and I remembered I had a child. “Hello,” Roman said, “and who are you?”
“This is my son, Wyatt.”
Roman offered his hand. “Wyatt. It’s good to meet you. I’m Roman.”
Wyatt shook with him, and I smiled internally at his studied, firm grip. “It’s good to meet you, too, sir.”
As they released hands, Mr. Mendoza—Roman—focused again on me. “Are you back to stay?”
The complexities of my escape from and return to town landed on me all at once. I’d fled in the night without a word. Then, years later, my mother had died and I hadn’t known it for a year afterward. I doubted I’d have come back then even if I had known right away. I did not mourn that death, and I’d thought I’d left Bluster behind for good.
But the residents of Bluster had had a different relationship with my mother. Though she’d been difficult and demanding in general, only I had been an actual target, and most of the folks around here had considered Marilyn Braddock to be at least a neighbor. No doubt they were appalled that I had ‘abandoned’ her.
Reminding the first person I’d seen in town about all the reasons people might be angry at me or even disgusted would be an inauspicious beginning, certainly.
“Um, I’m not sure. We’re ... we’re at the Sea-Mist, and we’re going to get the place cleaned up. But I’m not sure if it’s better to open it again or sell it. We’re feeling our way, I guess.”
He gave me a closed-mouth smile and nod, and I wondered if I’d picked up a hint of judgment in that reaction or if I was simply paranoid.
“Understood. Well, I need to get my coffee and get back to the shop. If you need anything, let me know.”
The abrupt conclusion to our encounter suggested I was not paranoid.
“Sure. Thanks, Roman. It’s good to see you.” A kick of intuition stopped me from sending his wife my regards.
“It’s good to see you, too. And it’s good to meet you, Wyatt. I hope you like Bluster.”
“I already do, sir,” my perfect son replied.
“Leonora Braddock? Is that you?”
We all three turned to the reedy voice I remembered, though it had gained some cracks since I’d last heard it. Catherine stood at the cash register, looking at me with naked shock.
“She goes by Leo these days,” Roman informed her with a smile.
“Hi, Catherine.” Though I had been raised to always call my elders by their honorific, Catherine was the exception. She would not countenance being called by anything but her first name, insisting that surnames were for bureaucrats.
“Well, hi, honey!” The slim old woman hurried around the counter and didn’t slow until she’d wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. “You’re home! Finally!”
Out of nowhere, I was in real danger of crying. I’d forgotten Catherine’s wholehearted and uncomplicated affection and the way she and her diner had been a safe place to be when home was not. Then, I’d understood only that much and no more, but now, looking back, I saw that Catherine had known young me had needed that safe space. Maybe she’d even known why.
I’d forgotten a lot about Bluster, it seemed. In my memory, the whole town had been buried under my disdain for my mother and my desperate need to forget her.
“Hi, Catherine,” I said again, my voice muffled against the older woman’s shoulder. “I missed you.”
“Oh, honey,” was all Catherine said in return.
FOUR: Rekindling
