Espresso In The Morning

As the boy’s mother took a nervous step toward them, Lucas shook the small hand, feeling he was committing to so much more than helping Grey surprise her for her birthday or whatever, but knowing he couldn’t turn back now. “Deal.”

A smile split the boy’s face, sending a sense of guilt spiraling through Lucas. Why did he feel like he was promising something he couldn’t deliver?

* * *

GREY SIGHED as Paul Cooper plopped into the seat beside him later that afternoon. He’d been stoked about the espresso machine for most of the day, but Paul had a way of bringing him down.

“So, what does your dad do?” Paul paused only long enough for Grey to frown. “Mine is an attorney. He goes to court. He helps people. Does your dad help people?” Again, the breath of a pause before he continued. “I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but he brings me really cool stuff when he visits. Last week he took me to see the Falcons. It was so cool. Where do you go with your dad?”

Paul swatted at a stray fly that had found its way into the classroom. “He’s coming to see me next weekend and I get to spend the summer with him,” he said. “He has a place on the beach. Do you like the beach?”

Now he stopped and stared, waiting for Grey’s response. Grey stared back, his stomach tightening. He used to like the beach, but Mom said she didn’t believe in vacations anymore. Too much relaxing and peace and quiet.

He shrugged, saying, “The beach is cool.”

“My dad said if I wanted I could live with him at the beach all the time, but my mom said no way. It’s in Tybee, which is still Georgia, but Momma says it’s too far. Does your dad live with you, or are your parents divorced?” Again, the stare, while Paul waited, his eyes round.

My dad’s dead.

Grey gritted his teeth. He should just say it. It wasn’t true, but it could be. For all he knew his dad had kicked the bucket in the years since they’d last heard from him. If he told Paul his dad was dead then Paul would quit asking all these stupid questions. Grey opened his mouth, but the words refused to form.

The bell rang over the intercom, dismissing them for the day and giving Grey a welcome excuse to escape. He rose to gather his books. “It’s Wednesday. My aunt’s coming to get me. She freaks if I’m not up front when she pulls up.”

Paul nodded and said, “Tell your dad to take you to a Falcons game. Mine let me have a hot dog and popcorn and cotton candy and this ginormous soda. My mom never lets me have that stuff.”

“Yeah.” Turning quickly, Grey headed for the door.

Hurrying, he reached the front of the school in record time. Aunt Becca really did freak if she had to wait. As usual, she was one of the first cars in the pickup line. He slipped into the backseat beside his cousin, Amanda, who sat in her booster seat. Aunt Becca said he wasn’t big enough yet to ride up front. She’d lectured his mom on the danger of air bags lots of times, but Grey preferred sitting up front when he was in his mom’s car.

“Hi, honey,” Aunt Becca said and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “How was school?”

Grey shrugged. “It was school.”

“Why is it dark under your eyes? You look like a raccoon.” Amanda peered at him through circles she made of her fingers.

“Amanda, that’s not nice,” his aunt said. Again, she glanced at him in the mirror. “You do look tired, Grey.”

Grey shrugged and sank into the seat as they pulled away from the curb. “I’m fine.”

“Can we go see Daddy at his work?” Amanda asked.

“Not today, sweetie. Daddy’s busy. We’ll go another time.”

Frowning, Amanda turned to look out her window. After a while, Grey glanced up to find her staring at him again, her eyebrows furrowed. He straightened. “What?”

“Where’s your daddy? How come I’ve never seen him?”

Crap. What was it with everyone today? “I don’t have a dad. He’s dead.”

The words came out sharper than he’d intended. Amanda’s eyes widened and her lip trembled. Grey glanced at his aunt, who’d turned in her seat to see him this time. Something like pity flashed in her eyes as she quickly shifted again when the light changed.

“He’s not dead,” she said. “He’s just not around.”

“He might as well be dead. He could be and we’d never know it.” Grey stared at the back of his aunt’s head.

She sat stiffly. “Honey, maybe we can talk about that later.”

“How come he isn’t around?” Amanda sounded scared, but she shouldn’t have been. Her dad wasn’t going anywhere.

“I don’t know. I guess he just doesn’t like us.” Grey couldn’t keep the bitterness from his tone.

His aunt shook her head. “The man’s an idiot. Sweetie, what did Miss Penny say about your counting tree today?”

“Is Daddy going away?” Amanda’s voice rose anxiously.

His aunt stopped at another red light and swiveled again in the seat, addressing her daughter. “No, Daddy’s staying with us,” she said. “We’ll call him when we get home and you can say hi.”

Amanda’s chin quivered, but she nodded as she settled into her booster seat. Grey stared out the window. Why didn’t his father want anything to do with him?

Sidewalks, driveways and manicured lawns flashed by, all part of the great suburb of Roswell, Georgia. Grey pressed his lips together. One thing was for sure. If his dad were a part of their life now, he’d hate it as much as Grey did.

The hum of the engine soon lulled Amanda into sleep. Grey relaxed as the classical music on the radio settled peacefully over him. Aunt Becca hummed softly. This is what his mom needed.

They’d had this before—normal—no rushing from place to place, cramming every activity they could into a day. Maybe Mom had never been a fan of classical music, but she’d at least listened to less acid rock and at a lower volume. They’d enjoyed periods of quiet. If she could experience this kind of peace again, there was no way she’d ever want to go back to running nonstop.

If only he could get her to slow down for a moment. A thrill of excitement ran through him. The espresso machine should do the trick. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He’d surprise her with the machine on her birthday. Instead of running out every morning, they could have breakfast at home, quiet breakfasts that could set the tone for the day.

What a plan, and the coffee-shop guy—Lucas—was going to let him pay over time. He might have to snag a few more chores at his aunt’s and at home, but with his allowance, he should be able to do it. He settled back in the seat, content with his plan.

* * *

“I DID LIKE you said and I’ve been running nonstop all week.” Peg, one of Claire’s kickboxing students, puffed out a tired breath later that afternoon.

“Good, and you haven’t thought about the divorce?” Claire asked.

Her heart thrummed to the beat of the music in the background. She’d been looking forward to this lesson all day. She could only sit and work for so long before she craved physical activity. She’d be able to get a run in, too, later, while Grey stayed with his friend.

She’d dropped her son at school that morning, and then returned to the coffee shop. Her day had been filled with reviewing shipping bids and pulling together contracts. She rolled her shoulders, ready to get moving.

“Well, I haven’t given myself the chance.” The woman laughed, the sound like a nervous hiccup.

“Claire, want me to get them started with some warm-ups?” Bill, Claire’s sparring assistant, shoved his hands into protective pads.

She nodded, and then joined in. Nervous energy cranked through her. Too much caffeine and too little sleep was never a good combination, but was all she ran on most days.

Her body loosened with the repetitive movements. She’d trained long and hard for the past year, earning her black belt in record time. Now, she taught kickboxing two days a week on top of her day job, while Grey had soccer practice after school, or went to her sister’s.

After the warm-ups, Claire nodded to Peg. “Ready for some sparring?”