For the Best (19 page)

“You and Benny.”

“But…he isn’t my boyfriend.”

“But you hook-up?”

She became defensive, “Well, yeah, but I
don’t get what the big deal is.”

I shook my head. “When you realize why it is
a big deal, call me.”

Tanner

It was an hour and a half drive from
Gainesville to St. Augustine, farms and run down shacks dotted the
landscape. I entered the outskirts, merged with the heavy traffic
departing the interstate and crossed to Anastasia Island. Following
a procession of cars to the historic district, we all became
trapped as the Bridge of Lions, the span that linked the island of
beaches to the downtown, rose to allow a sailboat with a high mast
to pass. Shutting off my car I got out and stood on the sidewalk,
enjoying the dolphins playing in the vessel’s wake.

When the bridge lowered and traffic resumed
I entered the mecca of tourist shops, pubs and restaurants. Coquina
and stucco in varying shades of earth and sun covered the
buildings. An imposing fort cornered the bay. I veered away from
the horrendous traffic in search of limited parking. Zipping down a
one-way alley I pulled up at the address she’d provided and shook
my head.

“Not impressed Hanna,” I muttered to
myself.

When I opened the door, on the inside was a
vast improvement to the exterior. The walls were loudly painted in
azure blue, white machines stacked across most of the room. Several
college students were milling around waiting out loads. A big
screen TV was mounted and those who weren’t wired to an earbud were
entranced. Most had a cup of some sort in their hand.

The back was a bar area that was a poor
version of Starbucks but inside the glass case were several cakes,
cookies and muffins on display. An espresso machine, a grinder, a
coffee decanter, a convection oven, and a mini-fridge lined the
back wall. I leaned over the glass seeing the dark brown head of
hair crouched below loading supplies.

She stretched and her top pulled higher
allowing a good deal of skin to become bare on her lower back. I
snuck around the counter and reached my hands around her.

Startled she jumped. “God, you scared the
crap out of me.”

I kissed her soothingly. “You looked so
beautiful I couldn’t hold off touching you another minute.

She leaned back. “So what do you think?”

“I think when Clay gave you free reign of
the business you didn’t hold back. From your previous description,
this must be a vast improvement.”

“Clay bought the kitchen stuff and flat
screen, but I painted everything.” She pointed to the display case.
“I found this at the rehab store.” She came out from behind the
counter and placed her hands on the back of one of several purple
stackable chairs. “These came from the community college. They were
only $5 each. Those two old leather couches were at a moving sale
down the street. Clay gave the guy $100 for both.” She rushed over
to two diner booths in metallic silver I hadn’t noticed yet. “These
were already here, totally rusted but I buffed them up and now they
gleam.”

“When you were recapping it all over the
phone I didn’t quite get all the work you were putting into this
place. I was kind of reluctant about Clay pushing off a dilapidated
business prospect on you. I figured he was trying to shirk some
family responsibilities.”

She didn’t hide her frown. “Clay isn’t like
that. He pays me and I get the apartment for free. He’s even
changing the sign out front to
Bubbles and Brews Laundromat
so people get that it’s a coffee shop as well.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “I was
wrong.” A thought crossed my mind. “Wait
Bubbles and Brews
Laundromat
sounds like the place Glade told us stories about.
Where he could get a beer, watch a game, pick up a chick and wash a
load all in one night.”

She smiled. “That’s where I got the idea.
Clay said getting a liquor license would be a pain in the butt and
expensive. The limited food permit wasn’t difficult to obtain past
a mountain of paperwork and a small fee. So I’m testing the waters
with coffee, cappuccinos, and pastries on donations.”

I swallowed. “Donations?”

“Yeah, people pay me what they think it’s
worth.”

“You’ll go broke. College kids take
advantage of that crap. Why do you think they frequent the bars
that offer free nachos and pizza?”

“So far that isn’t the case.” She pointed to
the counter jar overflowing with dollar bills. She put her hands on
her hips. “Some are so conscientious they bring their own
mugs.”

The front door opened and the rush of air
blew stray locks of hair from her ponytail into my face. I pulled
her in for a hug. “Don’t be mad. I just worry about you is all.” I
inhaled a deep breath of cinnamon wafting off her. “You smell
fantastic.”

When she teased me back, I knew the moment
had passed. “It’s my own scent. Downy freshness, vanilla, and
cinnamon.” She leaned back and kissed my cheek.

I heard a deep voice mumble, “Dude, she has
a boyfriend.”

I commented, “So a lot of these customers
are male I see.”

“Some.” She shook her head at me
smiling.

“Well, I’ll concede you to this occupation
until I get out of college.”

The frown was back. “You don’t think this is
good enough, do you?”

I hesitated. On one hand I wanted to
encourage her but on the other hand I didn’t. Mostly I wanted her
to think of our future and I didn’t want to marry a woman whose
aspirations were so limited. I answered, “I think you are very
creative.”

She walked behind the counter, reached down
and held up a bun of some sort for me to taste. “I might have a
future in culinary arts. At least all my patrons tell me I do.”

Taking a bite, filling my mouth full of
food, I spurted crumbs in my compliment, “That is good. Oranges and
caramel?”

Her hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. “You
seem surprised. I get more dollars for these than the chocolate
ones.”

I hesitated, suddenly at a loss for words. I
swallowed convulsively. “I didn’t even know you could bake.”

She laughed. “Come see my bedroom.”

She led me back into the suite. The floors
were polished concrete matching those in the common area. The walls
were plum colored and there was no window. An open door showed a
tiny bathroom with a small square window for ventilation of the
shower.

“Where is your bed?”

“Right here.” She opened a teak stained
cabinet and pulled down a vertical bed. “It’s an old Murphy bed.
Cool huh?”

I paused before responding, “Yeah, cool.” I
dumped my duffel and looked at the rolling rack of clothes with
shoes stacked beneath. A narrow dresser rested beside it with a lot
of girly stuff on top.

I followed her back out. More people were
waiting, some at the dollar coin changer, others at the bar. She
filled some orders. I marveled at the fives and tens in her
donation jar.

With a lull in the customers, she joined me
on a couch. I put my arm around her.

“What’s your bottom line?” I asked in a
hushed voice.

“10% of all profits on the machines, all my
tips, and along with the free rent are the free utilities.”

“How many hours are you putting in? How much
are the ingredients for the food and coffee setting you back?”

“Those are my hours.” She pointed to the
open sign hanging by the door. “I bought all my ingredients at
Costco so they were in bulk. Very reasonable. I’ve already pulled
in over a grand and the first month isn’t even over. I more than
make a profit if that is your concern.”

“$1000 a month is below poverty level
Hanna,” I muttered doubtfully.

She scowled. “This will look good on my bank
application if I apply for a small business loan.”

“What is your small business plan?” I asked
trying not to dampen her eagerness with my tone.

“I haven’t narrowed it down to just one yet.
I’m going to put a whole summer of consideration into it.” She bit
her lip.

“What is this?” I held up a flyer I had
found on the couch.

“On certain nights I entertain. The place
really hops. So far I’ve organized Poker Parties, Trivia Games via
TV, Movie Nights, Karaoke, and Open Mic Night.”

“Really?” I was kind of impressed.

“Yeah, one night I reached maximum occupancy
and had to turn people away.”

Hanna

I
was
really having fun. I liked my job. I liked where I lived. I loved
when Tanner showed up at closing and spent the night. What I didn’t
like was lying awake worrying because my ex best girlfriend had
visited three times in the past week with a swollen tear stained
face, complaining that laundry detergent and baked goods made her
nauseous.

I
foggily felt my bed dip with weight. My sleep filled eyes were
having trouble focusing. I whispered, “What time is it?”

I
heard a quiet laugh and in the darkness I saw Tanner sitting
on the side of the mattress. “It’s only seven o’clock. I need to
cut a skylight in here so you have a window.”

“
I
could see the stars if you did.”

“
You
love the stars don’t you?” he whispered kissing me.

“
I
do. I love everything above me,” I mumbled lying prone on the
side of the bed.

Tanner
pushed me onto my back. “Is that so?”

Tanner

The nursery I had worked at in high school
had given me a summer job at a country club in St. Augustine
landscaping. I stopped going home to sleep, spent every night with
her. One night in bed I made my intentions clear. “I should get you
an engagement ring. So everyone knows we’re committed.”

“It takes more than a piece of jewelry to
make a commitment.”

“Not for me. I’m never gonna take the ring
you put on my finger off. I’ll be that old guy whose knuckles got
arthritic and he can’t remove the band.”

She shook her head, but she was happy with
my words.

Hanna

The first appointment I made with Della to
the OB was torture. All these women were sitting around reading
parenting magazines,
What to expect when you’re expecting,
and all this happy to be knocked up light reading. Della was
already in her 20
^th
week. I suspected Benny was the
father to be, but Della never spoke his name and I refused to
ask.

When her OB came in Della was in a paper
gown, buck naked underneath and complaining about being cold. She
shook my hand as well as Della’s and began the examination. Upon
finishing, she assured Della that the baby was healthy while
simultaneously warning her about her weight, worrying me with
future concerns of gestational diabetes.

After the appointment Della handed me the
black and white picture of a little alien with a penis. “Can you
keep this in a safe place for me?”

“Yeah, don’t you want to study it at
home?”

“No, I don’t think I should have it in the
house in case Michelle starts snooping through my stuff again.”

“Don’t you want to show Jace?”

“God no. The longer he doesn’t know the
better.”

We got in the car and she pulled a book of
baby names from her purse. I was almost positive she’d stolen it
from the waiting room.

“How long do you think you can keep this
hidden?” I lightly poked her stomach.

“I’ve always been fat. They’ll just think I
went on a binge.”

I didn’t pursue it further.

“Help me pick a name that we don’t know any
guy with so we can raise the baby without prejudged faults.”

“I’ve known guys who didn’t have
faults.”

“Name one.”

I struggled and couldn’t produce one
name.

Hanna

It is funny how when you love someone you
want to please them. To please Tanner, I was appeasing him. On a
quiet night with only two patrons, he set me down at his laptop and
had me take a fifteen minute free career aptitude test. Every other
page I had to click skip or no thanks for various online college
requests to send me application packets.

There were one hundred questions in three
parts for each where I had to click M for most interested and L for
least interested in the duties, tasks, responsibilities and
vocations listed. Some were odd like would you prefer:

• Analyzing fish intestines for microbial
  parasites
  

• Working with underprivileged children
  

• Creatively writing proposals to budget
  committees
  

I didn’t most or least like any of the
choices.

Scores higher than 70 were recommended for
consideration in your future education or career. That meant you
had a higher interest in those than the majority of the general
public. My highest score was in outdoors, particularly in
agriculture with animals and/or plants. I also scored high on
writing both creative or technical.

Tanner lighted on my past objectives.
“Sounds like Veterinary School or maybe a major in English.”

“English, really? So I waste four years and
what… write a novel then spend untold time finding an agent,
getting published only to find it does not pay my rent.”

“An English degree has more options than
that.”

“I know but,” I turned and tapped the next
page of my results that were printed, “it says right here that
scores below 30 are considered low and indicate a lack of interest
or dislike for certain activities. Specifically, it says you will
be happier if you avoid a profession that requires you to perform
tasks that you have little interest. Top of that list shows
clerical and administrative.”