Which was easier said than done.
Leslie stared at the coffeepot Matt had insisted on buying several years before, with its sleek European aluminum styling, and didn’t know where to start. You’d think, for what this baby had cost, that it would make the coffee for you.
Or come with staff. A little barista in a cute apron who would stand beside the machine, be perky twenty-four hours a day (proximity to all that caffeine had to have some effect), and make coffee on demand.
Instead a red light blinked patiently on the front of the machine, signaling something imperative that Matt would understand. Maybe it was displaying Leslie’s dire need for artificial stimulants.
She had two graduate degrees, she reminded herself sternly. She had to be able to figure this out.
First there had to be water. Leslie knew that much. She managed to open the reservoir, fill it with water, and get it closed again, which was a lot harder than it seemed it should have been. The quantity was a raw guess: She’d just filled it to the top.
Was the reservoir more crooked than it had been before? Had it always jutted out a little bit at this top corner? Or had that last impatient swipe been too much for its glamorous fragility?
Maybe she’d broken it. Would Matt ever know?
Better not go there.
Next there had to be coffee. Leslie rummaged through the cupboards, ashamed on some level that she didn’t know precisely where to find the coffee in her own kitchen, then was astonished to discover that the coffee in question was whole beans.
The bean grinder was beside the beans, which was a gimme. The contraption looked easy enough to use, if she’d known how many beans to use and how long to grind them. There was no sign of a measuring spoon in the vicinity.
While she deliberated over that, she managed to open the holder for the filter and chuck out the two-day-old filter with its residue of coffee grounds.
Filters. She didn’t know where Matt kept the filters.
She looked towards the trash. Could coffee filters be reused? Could she just run another load of water through those old grounds?
Starbucks was sounding good, but Leslie couldn’t live on take-out food until Matt came back.
Whenever that might be.
If
that might be.
And it irked her to think that she couldn’t accomplish a simple task like making herself a cup of coffee, especially one she so desperately needed.
As a matter of fact it infuriated her. How could she have become dependent on Matt for something so simple when there were a thousand infinitely more complicated things that she could have depended on him for?
How could he have left?
How dare he leave, not call, and not even leave instructions for the (expletive deleted) coffeemaker?
She opened a drawer, didn’t find anything she needed, and slammed it shut. She flung open a cupboard, again without a successful find, and slammed it so hard that it bounced open again.
She began opening drawers and cupboards faster and faster, each one that didn’t obviously contain a package of filters making her more angry. Leslie left them open, moving around the kitchen like a furious whirlwind, then when they were all gaping wide, she let out a primal cry of outrage. It was the first bellow that she had ever allowed to cross her lips.
It was even an obscenity.
And it felt good. She shouted again, just for good measure. When she was done, she kicked a chair so that it skittered across the tile floor. That felt so good that she did it once more, but this time, she kicked harder and the chair fell over with a resounding clatter.
“Um, are you all right?”
Leslie froze midkick and glanced over her shoulder to find Annette in the kitchen doorway.
Oops. So, the
Perfect Decorum
box was hurtling into the abyss, as was
Keeping Up Appearances for the Child
and
Temper Control
. One glance over the kitchen revealed that
Fastidious Housekeeper
was also a goner.
If that was such a bad thing, then why did she feel so much better?
Lying to Annette would have been a shabby way to cover her mistake. And the façade was shattered anyway: The girl did have eyes in her head, so she might as well go with the old tried and true of honesty.
“No,” Leslie said firmly. “I am not all right. I don’t know how to use this coffeemaker and I don’t know where the filters are and I don’t know how much coffee to use and I need a cup of coffee, and no, instant coffee will not suffice.”
“Dad always made the coffee?”
“Always!”
“I thought you knew everything.”
“Well, you were wrong.” Leslie glared at the entire kitchen, focal point of her domestic inadequacies. “There’s a lot of stuff I don’t know.”
“I thought you never got angry.”
“Everyone gets angry. I’ve been holding it back, to work on my ulcer. If I get colitis, I might get time off with pay.”
Annette smiled tentatively. “You never make jokes.”
“That’s not true.” Leslie took a deep breath. “I haven’t made any recently, but I used to make jokes all the time.”
To make Matt smile. She sat down heavily and fought the urge to weep again.
“I’ve watched him,” Annette said, then took a tentative step into the kitchen. “I could make coffee for you, if you like.”
Leslie looked up, surprised by this offer. “And if you did, I would love you forever.”
Annette smiled. “Aren’t you supposed to anyway? I mean, you are my mom.”
Leslie smiled in her turn and exhaled, reassured by just the promise of real coffee. “It’s true that moms are required to love their children, but I’m talking about love in excess of Mom-Love. A bonus offer. Limited availability, contingent upon the timely application of coffee, but oh, it’s worth the trouble.”
Annette’s smile widened. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Leslie crossed her heart and touched her fingertips to her lips.
Annette headed straight for the demon machine, showing an astonishing intimacy with it. “It’s not hard, once you know how.” She plucked a package of filters from the back of an empty cupboard where Leslie had never seen them, ground beans, moved with an easy economy that smacked of Matt.
Soon the blissful smell of fresh coffee was filling the kitchen. There was a deity after all, and apparently Leslie wasn’t on His/Her hate list after all.
That had to be a good start.
“T
hank you,” Leslie said when she sipped of the nirvana of the first cup. She even closed her eyes for the second sip and if she saw the olive green walls of the Java Joint, a young Matt earnestly trying to persuade her of something, well, let’s call it a weakness. “Anything you want is yours, my child. Name your reward.”
Annette poured herself a glass of milk, then looked around. “There aren’t any more muffins.”
Right. Leslie should have stopped at the grocery on the way home the night before, but she’d been in too much of a hurry to check the phone. She had gotten so used to Matt buying groceries and making dinner that she hadn’t thought about it.
“Fire that muffin fairy,” she muttered, then winked at her daughter. “She’s been living off our mercy for too long.”
Annette giggled, watching Leslie over the lip of her glass. “You’re not usually funny.”
“I warned you that the job descriptions were being re-evaluated.” She felt much more human now that there was coffee flowing into her belly. “So, what’s your price, Queen of the Coffeemaker?”
“Okay, if I can’t have a muffin, then I want to ask you something.”
Oh, here it came. Leslie braced herself for a soul-scorching question. “Shoot.”
“Is it okay to not be sad about Grandfather?”
Leslie considered this. She knew the right answer, but she liked the new accord between them. She chose to seek more information before she answered. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I didn’t really like him very much, you know?” Annette sat down, letting her hair fall across her face. “And I’m not really sad that he’s dead. Is that awful?”
“Well, it’s not very nice, but you’re right: he was a difficult man to like.”
“I just remember that time that we were there for his birthday and Auntie Phil had—”
“Philippa. Aunt Philippa.”
Defiance flashed in those eyes. “Uncle Nick calls her Phil and she said I could, too. It suits her better. Philippa is a frumpy name, but Phil is cool for a girl. And Aunt Phil
is
cool.”
“Well, if she’s okayed it, who am I to argue?” Leslie sat down opposite her daughter. “Is Leslie a frumpy name?”
“It’s a serious name.”
“What about Annette?”
Annette smiled. “It’s a pretty name. I like it a lot.”
Leslie saluted her with her mug. “At least I did one thing right.”
This confused Annette for a beat. “But you do everything right. Always.”
Leslie laughed. “Hardly. Go on, tell me about Aunt Phil.”
Annette studied her for a moment, considering this morsel, then shrugged. “Anyway, I remember the first time Aunt Phil brought Uncle Nick to Rosemount, it was for Grandfather’s birthday, and he was so mean to her. I mean, Aunt Phil is so nice. How could anyone be mean to her?”
Leslie remembered that night well. It had started badly and got worse, mostly because Robert had been impossible. He had been a man who hadn’t been able take it in stride when everything didn’t go his way.
Had Matt been right to show him that he was wrong instead of declining his offer?
Had Matt thought that she was like his father?
Was she?
Leslie became aware that Annette was waiting for an answer. “You’re right. That was a really difficult evening. It turned out that having no potatoes was the least of it.”
“I didn’t remember anything about potatoes.”
“Your grandmother forgot to cook any, and your grandfather wasn’t amused.”
“How could she forget?”
“She was drunk.” Leslie smiled. “But she has such good manners that you have to know her to see it.”
Annette frowned at her milk. “Did you like him? Grandfather, I mean.”
Leslie held her daughter’s gaze. “Promise not to tell? Not anyone? Not even your father?”
Annette crossed her heart and touched her fingertips to her mouth.
Leslie held her daughter’s gaze. “I thought he was cold and a bit mean, though I’d never say that to your dad. Robert was his dad, after all.”
“So, you’re not sorry either?”
Leslie shook her head, then crossed her heart and touched her fingers to her lips again. They shared a conspiratorial smile that Leslie would never have believed possible twenty-four hours earlier.
Then she opened the fridge and surveyed the limited array of options. “So, what do you say to yogurt and fruit?”
“Blech!”
“Well, it’s that or nothing. The grocery fairy is slacking off, too.”
“Off with their heads,” Annette said in a growly voice. When Leslie looked at her in surprise, she clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. Annette was so abruptly cute that Leslie caught her breath at the glimpse of the little girl she once had been.
* * *
“Coffee?”
Matt opened one eye and groaned under his breath. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the head as well as the gut. He was rumpled and hot and had a crick in his back from sleeping on a wicker settee.
In his suit.
Sharan was in front of him, offering him a steaming cup of what looked to be a café au lait, milk frothed on top. Her hair was as long and shiny and golden as it had always been, she was tanned and lithe, and really, he had to look twice to see that she was almost twenty years older than the last time he’d seen her. There were a few lines around her eyes and her mouth, maybe some new shadows in those eyes, but he wasn’t going there.
She was wearing a floral sleeveless dress that came only halfway down her thighs and followed every curve so closely that it might have been a second skin.
“Good morning,” she said, her smile turning wicked. “Or is it?”
“Very funny. Maybe you could feel sorry for the injured and keep your voice down.”
She laughed, as he’d known she would. “But your wounds are self-inflicted, from the look of you. It’s tough to feel very sorry for you.” She bent to kiss him, but he turned aside so that her lips just brushed his cheek. “Shy boy,” she teased. “I thought you were an illusion when I came out the door.”
“No illusion.”
She still used the same perfume—he recognized it right away. “Was it at least a good party?”
“The ending was a bit of a downer. I was mugged.”
“No!” Her eyes widened with shock and Matt was surprised to feel so little response in his body. There had been a time when that expression on Sharan’s face had awakened even the dead parts of him.
“Yes, it’s true.” He moved and winced at the pain in his back. “I was stupid and paid for it. I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I planned this...”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s good to see you, Matt, no matter what shape you’re in. It’s been too long.”
He averted his gaze, feeling uncomfortable with the glow in her eyes. “Thanks for the coffee. You’re a lifesaver.” He took an appreciative sip of the coffee and was startled by the taste of chicory.
“I remember how you love your coffee.” Sharan sat down on the chair opposite. She seemed to be assessing him. “Are you staying long?”
“I don’t know. My brother’s in jail and I need to find out what I can do for him.” Matt frowned. “And I guess I’ll need to cancel my credit cards and go back to the hotel.”
“Oh, you can’t stay in a hotel! Not when we haven’t seen each other in so long!” Sharan eased closer, the move making her skirt hem slip up a few inches. “You have to stay here. I insist.”
It wasn’t hard to be persuaded to do what he had told himself he wanted, though Matt made a token protest. He suspected that his reasons for accepting weren’t fully aligned with her reasons for offering. Not anymore, though that didn’t make a lot of sense.
It’s tough to think things through with a whopper of a hangover.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to be any trouble...”
Sharan stood up and waved off his protest. “Old friends aren’t trouble. Especially not you.” She put her hand on his thigh, slid it a bit higher, and her voice dropped. “It’s good to see you, Matt.”