“Oh, so now I’m crazy? Crazy Rick from the Toast & Tide, trying to poison you.”
“If you want me to trust your freakish concoctions, you’re going about it in the worst possible way,” she snaps.
“Yeah? Tell you what. I’ll drink some too. Here.” I snatch the cup from her hand, toss the lid aside, and take a gulp. It’s way too hot. It scorches my tongue, but I swallow manfully.
“Oh gosh,” she exclaims, her eyes widening. “What did you—”
“Not enough? Okay.” I take a couple more burning swallows. “There. Now I’ll be weeping and swearing through my work day, and it’s all your fault. Thank you very much. Enjoy your drink.”
A few Crescent Cove residents have drifted closer, hovering within earshot, watching us argue. I shove the cup back into Marlowe’s hand, turn on my heel, and march back toward the diner.
“Show’s over!” I shout to the onlookers. “Go about your business! Be sure to tip your server!”
I slam back through the door of the Toast & Tide, greeting my guests with a ferocious grin and snarling, “Welcome! Let’s find you a table.”
The next few hours are a whirlwind. I have to keep stepping away from the bar, dodging into the kitchen to mop the tears coursing from my eyes, or rushing to the alley to punch a garbage can instead of venting my anger on the customers.
The lunch rush dies down around half past two, at which point I take the time to wipe down the bar top again.
Tae pokes his head out of the back. “Hey boss, don’t you have that appointment?”
“Appointment?”
“Yeah, it’s on the whiteboard back here in the kitchen. Therapy at two forty-five.”
“Crap, I forgot.”
“It’s cool, I got this. Honor is stopping in at three to help out for a couple hours.”
“Honor is sixteen and barely knows how to tie his apron. Keep an eye on him, you hear me?”
“Will do, boss.”
I finish up a few things, then leave the diner and head up the street. Dr. Ellis’s office is a couple blocks away, and I cover the distance quickly. Not that I’m looking forward to therapy, or rather, grief counseling. I set up a couple appointments right after Lou passed. Figured it was the adult thing to do when someone special leaves your life.
Crescent Cove’s main streets are nice. Picturesque, I guess. Like a stereotypical New England postcard. The buildings are all painted different colors: pale blue, blush pink, light yellow, sage green. The one I’m headed to has white storm shutters and fancy white curlicue décor along the eaves. White steps lead up the side of the building to the office entrance on the second floor. For folks who can’tclimb the stairs, Dr. Ellis will come to their house or workplace for a session.
I trudge up the steps, noting spots where the paint is thinning and peeling. The whole stairway needs to be stripped and re-painted. That would probably be a better use of my time than all the talking I’m about to do.
Anger boils in my chest, and I take a second to feel it, move through it, and let it dissipate. Grief comes right after it like a cold wave, leaving tears at the corners of my eyes.
“God, I’m a mess,” I mutter, wiping the moisture on my sleeve. With a deep breath, I enter the office waiting room.
There’s no receptionist. Just two couches, a coffee table bearing a glass dish of butter mints, and a tiny front desk with an old computer and a sign-in sheet.
As I write my name on the sheet, my eyes skip to the line above, where someone has scrawled, in barely legible cursive,Marlowe Reilly.
My brain clicks the puzzle pieces together just as the office door opens and Marlowe emerges. She heads straight for the coffee table and plucks a butter mint from the dish with obvious relish. I bet she’s been looking forward to that mint during her entire session. She has probably enjoyed a butter mint after every therapy session for months, maybe years. It’s a ritual. Something that staysthe same, which is apparently important to her.
After hesitating a beat, she grabs a second butter mint, then looks around to see if anyone noticed.
That’s when she spots me.
She does a double take and blinks like she doesn’t trust her own eyes. “Did you follow me here?”
“What, like I’m some kind of stalker who’s obsessed with you?” I snort. “No, I did not follow you. I have an appointment.”
“You have an appointment.” She eyes me with suspicion. “At my therapist’s office.”
