Page 1 of Remembering You
1
Marty Tripp entered Elsa’s cafe, pulling off her earmuffs from her short blond bob—now admittedly streaked with some silver. And not from the snow, though she sure as hell wish she could blame her frosted ends on the frost outside. She slipped out of her black pea coat and let the shiver rock through her body as she stepped up to the counter, smiling at Elsa.
“Good morning,” Marty said.
Lila, Elsa’s daughter chimed in cheerily from behind the counter. “I think you mean, Happy Valentine’s Day, don’t you?”
She didn’t. Marty hadn’t celebrated a Valentine’s Day in the romantic sense for eighteen—going on nineteen—years. Since Jim passed away. She glanced around the small cafe at the pink and red garland and paper heart decor scattered over the walls. Small vases adorned each table with roses. “Wow,” Marty said. “You don’t mess around with this holiday, do you?”
Elsa rolled her eyes and hitched her thumb behind her where Lila was now steaming some milk. “Not me. It’s this one. Always this one.”
Marty smirked. Well, it was good to know that at least one other old broad was as jaded as she was. Even if she did her best to stifle that side of herself, it was nice to know she wasn’t alone.
“Coffee to go?” Elsa asked in a change of subject.
“For here actually. I’m meeting Cam and Lydia to help with some wedding stuff.”
Elsa grabbed a ceramic mug off the shelf and filled it with steaming hot Arabica. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” Marty said. “So… no hot date for tonight?”
Elsa wiped her hands on her apron. “Me? Yeah, right. I haven’t had a hot date in…” she stopped in thought, counting on her fingers. “Hey, Lila, how old are you?”
Lila grunted a sort of half-laugh of amusement and disgust. “What about you? Is there a lucky man taking you out tonight?” Elsa returned the question.
“Oh, sure there is.” Marty smiled and leaned closer into her friend. “Wearecounting battery operated dates, aren’t we?”
“Mrs. Tripp!” Lila looked horrified, her eyes wide, mouth gaping open.
Marty couldn’t help the snort of laughter. She and Elsa had been friends for decades. Ever since she moved to Maple Grove when she was only eighteen years old.
“Damn,” Marty muttered. “I thought she couldn’t hear us over steaming the milk.”
“She’s heard worse.” Elsa said. “Seriously, though. Any plans for tonight?”
Marty busied herself by grabbing her wallet out of the bottom of her purse and rooting around for a few bucks. “Oh, you know. Just figured I’d offer to watch Maddie for Cam and Lydia. They said they didn’t need me to, but I’m sure they could use a little alone time.”
Elsa grew quiet, nodding. “Well, if that falls through and you’d like to grab some dinner, let me know. I mean, I hate to crash your evening with the battery-operated boyfriend…”
“Richard is his name,” Marty said. “For short, I call him Dic—“
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this!” From behind them, Lila covered her ears.
Elsa chuckled and shook her head. “You’re terrible.”
“I know,” Marty winked. “Dick likes me that way.”
From behind her, she heard a low, masculine chuckle and Marty froze. She’d thought they were alone and that only Elsa and Lila could hear her. She should have known better. In this town? People turn up their hearing aids for the juicy gossip.
Marty turned slowly around, peeking over her shoulder where Dr. Christopher Foster, the new doctor from her hospital stood—‘new’ being a relative term since he’d been there a few months now.
He was a little older than Marty… likely in his late fifties… with salt and pepper hair, an angular nose and cheekbones, and one of those sexy chin dimples that Marty thought only existed on movie stars like John Travolta.
He had transferred as the new attending for pediatric surgery from Boston just a few months earlier. Marty couldn’t describe it; couldn’t put her finger on why he unnerved her to her core, but a jolt of nerves surged from her belly into her throat.
She and Dr. Foster had spoken a few times… usually very basic conversations, like, ‘How was your weekend?’ or ‘Did you see the new Batman movie?’ or ‘Nurse Tripp, please clamp that bleeder.’ But none of those conversations ever involved the topic of her vibrator.
Her cheeks heated and she didn’t need a mirror to know that she was blushing.
