From the Grounds Up (11 page)

The restaurant that last occupied the space had used the windows for looks only. Uncommon Grounds II needed them to be functional.

'OK,' I said, 'but let's leave this far right one as a separate window. We'll be using that as an Express Line for just regular coffee, so it should work.' I walked over to the window in question. 'Can we keep some of the lattice-work up top?'

'Sure.' Ronny joined me at the window and knocked on the wooden trim. 'And I can cut this back some to give you more width.'

'Did your layout show a counter there?' I asked, indicating a now blank wall.

'Yes, and a dishwasher and sink, too.'

'Isn't there already a dishwasher and sink?' The space had been a working kitchen and both were required by law.

'There are, but we need to switch things around, so we can build you a storeroom and office behind it.'

Just a couple of essential 'details' I'd forgotten about. 'Thank God you're thinking,' I said, patting Ronny on the arm. 'How could I forget we need an office?'

'The space will look out on the parking lot and you'll lose some square footage in the kitchen, but it should work for you.'

Which reminded me. I needed to call Luc and Tien later, if they hadn't already left me a message.

Ronny turned 180 degrees and swept his hand toward the dark, wooden tables and chairs now in front of the ticket/service windows. 'I'm picturing this area full of small, round tables. Mostly deuces, I think, but maybe a couple of four-tops.'

He was talking about tables for two and four people. 'Have you designed a lot of restaurants?' I asked.

'A few.' He cracked a grin. 'But I bussed tables in a lot more of them while I was in school.'

I got that. 'I did, too, and my son Eric is working in a Minneapolis restaurant right now.'

'Everyone should be on the serving side at least once,' Ronny said. He indicated the front corner closest to the tracks. 'We can put the condiment cart there.'

'Perfect,' I said, impressed. 'That will move people away from the service window, but keep them out of the boarding area.'

The boarding platform was at the far end of a long narrow space that, when combined with the seating in front of the service windows, formed an 'L'.

'I think we should use those tall stand-up tables here,' I said, 'for people who just need someplace to lean or set down a coffee cup while they're getting out their tickets.'

'Great idea.' Ronny made a note. 'That way we won't be putting chairs where people are lining up for departures.'

'God, I hope they do.' I said, sinking into a chair myself.

A puzzled expression. 'You hope they'll queue up for the train?'

'I mean I hope there are enough of them to even
form
a line.' I was dying for a cup of coffee myself, head cottony from all the wine last night. Not to mention switching to white after we ran out of the pinot noir.

Never mix sugars, Sugar.

'Oh, I think there will be,' Ronny said. 'Enough customers, I mean. That's why Art Jenada is so upset about his lease not being renewed.'

'Somebody was thinking ahead,' I said. 'Was it your father or Vi?'

'My father, probably. The old man liked to make a buck and he was pretty certain the commuter line would be approved.'

'But then your aunt died and her half of the depot went to Sarah.'

"Did it? That must have corked the old man.' Ronny dropped into the chair across from me, looking tired. 'How do you think Sarah is doing?'

I patted his hand. 'Have you forgotten what you told me?'

'I don't think so.'

'Then repeat it.'

'We can't help her with Sam and Courtney,' he parroted. 'All we can do for Sarah is to get things done here.'

He finally looked at me. 'Sorry. I guess I just identify with them.'

'Because of your own mom?' Ronny's mother hadn't died, but abandonment was abandonment, however imposed.

'That, and because we all were lucky. I got Vi and they got Sarah.' Ronny squeezed my hand and rose to retrieve two of the drawings he'd left on the other table.

'What are these?' I asked as he handed me the papers.

'Face-on drawings of the way I'm picturing the equipment set-up. Since I've never brewed coffee in a big urn--much less made a cappuccino--you should take them with you to be sure I got it right.'

'Of course.' I stood up. 'How quickly do you want to hear back? I'd like to run it past Amy, our head barista.' Our only barista. I wondered if Sarah was planning to work the counter.

It didn't bear thinking about.

'You think you could have it in a couple of days? I'd like to draw up plans for the electrician. To do that, I'll have to know where the urns, grinders and espresso machine should be.'

God, the guy was a quick study. Maybe I should hire him as a barista. Unfortunately, the pay would be about a quarter of what I guessed he made.

Then again, I didn't know how much he charged. I started to ask him, but thought better of it. Sarah was his cousin. I'd leave the financial negotiations up to her.

'Thanks a lot, Ronny,' I said, sticking out my hand. 'It's a pleasure working with you.'

'Same here,' he said, taking it. 'It's good to be busy.'

I wasn't sure if he was talking about the recent deaths, the economy or both. Not that it mattered.

'Believe me, we'll keep you occupied.' I held up the drawings, then headed for the door. 'I'll get these back to you.'

'Maggy?' he called after me.

I turned back. 'Yes?'

'Day after tomorrow will be my fave: Fabulous Fifties Friday. Wouldn't want you to miss it.'

Chapter Twelve

Frank was understandably miffed when I got home.

'I'm sorry.' I was waiting for him to finish peeing on his favorite tree, a white--or 'paper'--birch in our front yard.

I feared Frank and his tree would soon be parted, so I didn't try to rush him. Birches are relatively short-lived anyway, but dry conditions had weakened the tree and I was seeing evidence of birch-borers, beetles that not only eat the leaves, but lay their eggs in the bark. The little buggers (read: the larvae) then burrow nice and cozy under the bark and proceed to eat the tree from the inside, while the adults are working on the outside. An industriously efficient family, but not the kind you'd want over for lunch .

I stepped back a bit to look at the trunk of the tree. The birch had apparently started out life as a triple-threat--three trunks springing from the ground like a stalk of broccoli. Two trunks had already been cut off by the time I bought the house after my divorce.

Something light in weight but with churning legs dropped on my head. I jumped out from under the tree, swatting at my scalp.

'C'mon Frank. Pinch it off and let's get away from the tree.'

Frank glanced over his shoulder at me. A look that clearly conveyed 'slut'.

'I'm sorry I didn't come home last night.' I was still looking for the bug--or bugs--in my hair, 'but it's not like I was sleeping around.'

Frank grunted and dropped his leg. Then he scratched at the ground with his back paws like a cat trying to bury its handiwork in a litter box.

'For the last time, you're a dog. And besides, you didn't poop, you peed.'

If looks could kill.

Frank turned his back to me, assumed the position and let his turds fly.

I put my hand to my nose. 'Geez, Frank. What did Anthony next door feed you last night?'

Frank sniffed, a clear indication that our neighbor, at least, loved him enough to meet his needs.

What could I say? My pet was right. If Anthony gave him hot dogs and beans, I should be grateful.

Only, God: I hoped it wasn't hot dogs and beans. Frank would light up the night for days.

He finally finished and promptly sat down to clean himself.

'Shouldn't you let it dry or . . . something?'

Getting no response, I went into the house, picked up the cellphone and settled on to the front stoop for the long haul. One hundred pounds of hairy sheepdog and one tongue. You do the math.

I punched in Sarah's number. She answered on the first ring. 'What?'

'How's it going?'

'Just peachy. You?'

'Frank's mad at me, but other than that,' my dog shifted and started work on the other side, 'everything is fine. Here and at the depot. Ronny and I made some decisions so he can get started. I hope that's all right.'

'Put the cups and saucers wherever you want. You're the expert.'

A hint of sarcasm, but I ignored it. 'Are the kids there?'

'You mean have they taken off yet?' Sarah said it in a tone that told me Courtney and Sam were still with her, probably in the same room.

'Listen,' I said, 'I know you're worried, but take it from someone who has had more experience raising kids than you have. Sniping at them isn't going to make things better.'

'Kid.'

'What?'

'You raised one kid. Singular. And you worked your way into it. A baby, a toddler, an adolescent. I got them practically full grown.'

'They're not puppies,' I said. 'And even if they were, it's like smacking them on the nose with a newspaper. Not the path to improvement.'

'I'd never hit them.' Sarah sounded subdued.

'Of course you wouldn't. Are they still there?'

'No, when they realized I wasn't talking to their aunt, they went back upstairs to finish packing. I'm driving them to the airport at three.'

'You talked to the aunt . . . is it Patrice or Patsy?'

'Patrice. She apologized for not clearing it with me.'

'She should.' It really was inexcusable to plan a trip like this and not get the permission of Sam and Courtney's guardian. Then, again, Patrice might feel her niece and nephew were old enough to be the ones making the decision.

'Patrice said she thought the kids had talked to me. And they had.' Sarah sighed. 'I just didn't think it would happen so soon.'

'Want me to come with you to the airport?'

'You kidding? With both kids and their luggage, I'd have to strap you on the roof.'

'Then why don't you come over here for dinner afterwards?'

'Afterward? At three?'

'You're going to stay with them until they go through security, right?'

'I suppose.' Sarah sounded like she'd contemplated dropping them off at the curb. Without stopping.

'You know you are. And then blubber. By the time you leave the airport and drive all the way out here, it'll be nearly five. Cocktail hour.'

'I don't blubber.'

'Good,' I said. I'd never seen Sarah cry and I didn't want to. It would be like watching hell freeze over in high-def.

On the other hand, I wasn't exactly the poster-girl for easy goodbyes. I had, according to Eric, 'totally embarrassed' him, when Ted and I had left our son at the university. Then, less than twenty-four hours later, Ted up and left me.

'We'll order pizza,' I offered. Hey, it always cheered me up.

'Would it kill you to cook?' Sarah asked, sounding more like herself.

'You're a fine one to talk,' I said. 'No, it wouldn't kill me, but it might kill you.'

I rang off just as Frank was getting back on to his four feet.

'Have a nice bath?' I asked as he walked past me to get to the door.

As I opened it, the phone rang. Pavlik.

'I swear,' I said. 'I don't know what happened to the clock.'

'That's not why I was calling, but it's good to know. Did you happen to notice if anything else was missing?'

'I don't think so, but then I'd never been in the place until that day. Sarah or her cousin might know.' I had a thought. 'Or maybe Art Jenada.'

'Jenada? The guy who looks like a frog?'

Great minds think nearly alike.

'A toad. Granted, a real hairy one. But, yeah. Jenada was the last tenant in the depot, so he might know what belongs there.'

'I'll have somebody check with him. I have to tell you, though, pretty much everyone is signing off on this as an accident. DOT, NTSB, FRA.'

'The whole alphabet, huh?'

A pause, just to let me know Pavlik didn't approve of my making light of the law enforcement acronyms.

Then, 'So what are you doing tonight? I thought we could get some dinner and go listen to a little music.'

Damn, damn, damn. The one night I have plans, Pavlik wants to go out. On a real date.

Good thing I'm not the kind of woman who ditches her girlfriends for the guy of her dreams.

Not
that I wasn't tempted. It even occurred to me to suggest a late dinner, like ten. If Sarah was here by five, she'd probably be sick of me by nine. At least that was the old Sarah. The new Sarah seemed, surprisingly, a little needier.

And a friend in need, is a friend . . . oh, hell, in need.

'I'd love to do dinner and music,' I said to Pavlik, 'but I can't. Sam and Courtney--you remember Patricia's kids, who live with Sarah now? They're going to visit relatives. Sarah's pretty upset about it and I suggested she come over here to eat after dropping them off at the airport.'

'I'm surprised Sarah is upset about the kids leaving for a few days.'

'Not just a few days, Pavlik. All summer. Besides, what she's really afraid of is that Sam and Courtney will decide to stay on with their cousins.'

'You realize that if they do want that, and their cousins agree, it'll happen. Sarah's their guardian, but older kids plus family will trump that court-created tie any day.'

'I know. And I'm sure Sarah does, too. She's also just plain worried about them.'

'My recollection is that Sam and Courtney's family wasn't exactly stable.'

That was putting it mildly. 'I think Patricia's side was OK, though.' If you ignored her mother's multiple marriages and the fact she didn't want anything to do with her orphaned grandchildren.

Pavlik said, 'From what I've been told, Patricia had a co-dependent personality. There's usually a reason for that.'

All of a sudden, the sheriff's become a psychologist. 'Are you saying Sarah should try to stop them from going?'

I checked the kitchen clock. Just after one p.m. -- still time to get hold of Sarah before they started for the airport. I bet she'd love a legitimate excuse to keep Sam and Courtney home.