It was late on Sunday morning, a beautiful day in early May, and I had yet to decide what to do with myself. Eddie and I had stayed in bed for a decadently long time, him snoring, me reading a lovely long mystery by Charles Todd and wishing for a restaurant that delivered breakfast.
But eventually I’d crawled out from under the covers into a bright blue day, showered, and walked up to the Round Table, where I’d indulged myself with their new offering of sour cream blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon brushed with maple syrup. The food was remarkably tasty, and the only problem was now I didn’t feel like doing anything.
“Vacation mode,” I told Eddie. “That’s the problem with going out to breakfast. It makes me feel as if I’m on vacation. Now I don’t want to do anything except play. Which is tempting, but there are things I should be doing.”
Eddie turned his head and, this time, looked directly at me.
“Not you,” I assured him quickly. “I’d never expect you to do anything. Honest. It’s me who should do something productive with my day. Since I have thumbs and all that.” I waggled said appendages at Eddie.
He stared at me with unblinking eyes. “Mrr!” he said sharply, and returned to his seagull contemplation.
Smiling, I slid into a comfortable slouch on the booth’s bench and peered at the stack of books I’d piled up during the week. Eventually I’d get up and do some laundry. Go for a walk. Go see Kristen. Something. But for now I was content to sit and read.
I was three chapters into All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr when my cell phone, which I’d put on the table, beeped with the incoming text tone. Since I was a happy little reading camper, I wasn’t sure I felt like responding to whoever was on the other end, but since you never knew when an emergency might turn up, I twisted my head around to look at the screen.
Tucker.
I pulled the phone toward me and tapped at the screen to view his text.
Hey, guess what? Been invited by boss to go to his condo on Lake Tahoe!
Multiple emotions flared at once. Pleasure, that Tucker got along so well with his boss that he’d be invited to a vacation home. Annoyance, that I obviously wasn’t part of the invitation. And puzzlement, because while I was sure Lake Tahoe was beautiful, why would you bother traveling so far to a lake when there were plenty in Michigan?
“Sitting on top of one right now,” I said to Eddie while I looked out at the wind riffling the tops of Janay Lake’s waves. And beyond the dunes, the mass of Lake Michigan lay just to the west. Clear water, clear skies, and not a single expressway within fifty miles. Maybe it wasn’t Lake Tahoe, but it was right here, right where my job and my life were.
I tapped out a message: Sounds like fun. When are you going?
I’d returned to my book and was half a dozen pages into the next chapter when Tucker’s next text came in.
Same week in July I was going north. Sorry, but I can’t pass up the opportunity. I’m sure U understand.
Oh, I understood all right.
I started thumbing a message full of fury and bitterness and scorn and hurt. Halfway through, my mother’s voice tapped me on my mental shoulder. Minnie, are you sure you want to do that?
“Absolutely,” I muttered, and kept tapping.
Minnie, she said, drawing out the vowels. How absolutely sure are you?
I cleared the text, tossed the phone to the table, and got up. I needed to move, to do something physical, and to not think for a few minutes.
Two hours later, every window on the houseboat was sparkling clean, inside and out. I stood outside on the front deck, hands on my hips, studying my efforts. “What do you think, Eddie?”
“Mrr,” he said.
“You’re right.” Cheerfully I patted his furry head. “I’m pretty sure they’ve never been so clean.” I went inside and picked up the phone, ready now to do what needed to be done, what couldn’t—or at least shouldn’t—be done via a text message.
I entered his cell number and, when he answered, started talking before he even got in a greeting. “Hey, Tucker. It’s Minnie. I think it’s time we call this relationship quits.”
Chapter 14
Kristen took one look at me across the crowded kitchen and grabbed the closest bottle of wine. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m sure it will be better with a hefty dose of Merlot.”
I plopped myself on a tall stool and eyed the stemmed glass she was filling. “Alcohol does not cure problems.”
Without a word, she whisked away the glass and the wine bottle. “How about a big bowl of chocolate ice cream?”
“Can I have chocolate syrup?” My voice was plaintive.
“And whipped cream—the real stuff, not the kind you use—and chocolate sprinkles and a cherry on top.”
I sighed. “You are the best friend ever.”
“Of course I am.” Kristen nodded to Harvey, her sous-chef, and he went to work on what Kristen had ordered for me. For a couple of years, I’d thought that Harvey was in love with Kristen, but he seemed unfazed by her attachment to Scruffy.
“So, what’s up?” she asked. “Family issues? Are your parents okay?”
I’d already told her about the book fair cancellation, so there wasn’t much use in pretending that was what had drawn me to her restaurant hours ahead of the time I usually showed up on Sundays. “It’s Tucker,” I said, and her face went quiet.
Around us, the kitchen staff kept on doing kitcheny things. Misty, the head chef I’d greeted on my way in, kept slicing big bits of meat into smaller bits. The two seasonal hires, a middle-aged woman and a young man, both of whom I had yet to meet, continued to chop whatever it was they were chopping. Harvey placed a perfectly presented bowl of ice cream and a spoon in front of me and wafted away.
“So . . . ?” Kristen asked.
I picked up my spoon. Not so very long ago, when I was washing windows, I’d been sure I was making the correct decision. So how was it that now I was waffling? I picked up the spoon and shoved a far too big bite of sugary goodness into my mouth.
“Broke up with him,” I said through the ice cream. Speaking with my mouth full was a transgression my mother would never have tolerated, and one I did try to avoid ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, but somehow telling Kristen I’d ended a semi-long-term relationship with my mouth stuffed full of her food made it easier.
She muttered something I didn’t quite catch. “What was that?”
Kristen grinned, showing her teeth, white against the tan she’d accumulated in Key West. “I said it’s about time. You’re far too good for him and he didn’t deserve you. No, don’t go all sympathetic and say your schedule was just as wacky as his and half of the problems were your fault, because I won’t believe any of it.”
A small smile tickled one side of my face. “You won’t?”
“Not a chance. How many times did you make plans with him and then cancel? Zero, I bet, yes? Yes. And how many times did he make plans with you and then cancel? No, don’t start using your fingers and toes to count, because I’m sure you don’t have enough digits.”
“It wasn’t just that,” I said, shoveling in another bite.
“No, it was also because he thought his job was the one that counted. And that attitude was turning into whatever he wanted was what counted, whether or not it had to do with his job.”
I blinked at her. She was right and I’d never seen it. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because I am the best friend ever.” She thumped herself on the chest.
Once again, she was right. If she’d told me what she really thought about Tucker, I would have gone all defensive and stuck to him just to prove her wrong. It was a part of my personality I didn’t care for, and someday I’d try harder to do something about it.