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1
JOSEPHINE
Irub my eyes wearily, slumping against the steering wheel of my car. If I could just find the energy to put the key in the ignition, I could at least drive myself home.
For a moment, even just starting the car seems like a noble but unreasonable dream. I settle for lifting my arms to cushion my head, resting it on top of the wheel as I rest my eyes. It’s terribly uncomfortable, but I’m too tired to care.
Finally, I rouse myself enough to pick up my cell phone, calling my dad. While I wait for him to answer, I turn the key to start the engine. After five rings, I know he must be working at the coffee house.
“Hello?” he answers, his voice rushed.
“I won’t keep you,” I start. “Just wanted to say I’m leaving the hospital. She’s sleeping. Are you busy?”
“I was waiting on someone. Not a lot of activity today, no,” he replies.
A part of me feels guilty at being relieved to hear it. If the shop was bustling, I’d feel obligated to hurry down and help. Now, with my mom sleeping anyway, I don’t need to stay with her or rush off to work. Maybe I can cram in a nap before I head in.
It’s a reasonable thought, and the only reason I feel guilty for it is that I know we need the business. I shouldn’t be happy things are slow, not with the medical bills we are facing.
“I’ll head down a little later,” my dad says. My mom doesn’t need constant companionship, of course. Still, we try not to leave her for too long. She’s been sick for awhile, and we know she’s bored of what seems to be an endless string of days stuck in a hospital bed. Keeping her company and providing entertainment is the least we can do.
“Okay,” I answer. “I think I might take a quick nap before I come in?” It’s phrased like a question, leaving him room to argue that he needs me right away. He doesn’t.
“Good. You need more rest than you’re getting. You’re going to end up in the bed next to your mother,” he warns.
I chuckle darkly at the thought. We areallstretched too thin these days. “You’re one to talk.”
He laughs, but the sound of the shop doorbell chiming in the background alerts me that a new customer might be coming in. I quickly say my goodbyes and hang up the phone.
The drive home feels like it takes forever, possibly just because I am bored of doing this day after day. I finally arrive, moving as fast as my tired body can toward my pillow. I need food, I need fresh clothes, I need a shower. But I don’t need any of them as badly as sleep.
Still, I set my alarm to ensure it’s only a brief cat nap. When it goes off, I can’t say I feel rested, but I feel better. It’s a start.
I hurry around the house to get ready for work, noting he still isn’t home. Maybe things picked up at the coffee house after all. Of course, it could also just mean someone didn’t show up for their shift, and he can’t leave the crew short-staffed. I hope for the former, but even the latter would save us money on payroll.
I rush out the door just in case business is booming and they need me. It’s a wishful thought, I know, but it’s there. Call me an optimist.
I wave hello to the skeleton crew as I walk in the door. We run bare bones these days, without adequate money to pay for more workers than absolutely necessary. Of course, this means my father and I are stuck picking up the slack.
I don’t see my father and make my way through the back rooms to find him. When I finally locate him in his office, he is staring anxiously at a piece of paper. My heart skips a beat, his nervous expression apparently contagious.
“What is it?” I ask quietly, already dreading the answer. My mind spins with possibilities. A new bill from the hospital? Bad results from one of mom’s many tests?No, it can’t be that,I think.The doctors would deliver that news in person…wouldn’t they?
He looks up from the paper in surprise, noticing me for the first time. Quickly, the glum look settles back on his face as he reflects on my question. “An eviction notice,” he finally says with a sigh, not even trying to hide the problems from me anymore. How could he? There are too many.
I rub my hands across my face fretfully, feeling my pulse race at this newest bit of bad news. It is bad for all of us, but my heart really breaks for my poor parents.
They started their business fresh out of college, putting their blood, sweat, tears, and every dime they had into it. Over time, it became a success – not the instant kind, but the hard earned kind that made them glow with pride when they got to tell others they had expanded to a second shop. Maybe someday, there would even be a third.
Most of their money went toward future progress, but the business did provide a more than adequate and comfortable living. My childhood could not be considered deprived, by any stretch of the imagination, even though my parents expected me to contribute to the family with age appropriate chores around the shop.
And then mom got sick. Not only did the bills pile up like snowflakes, but she could no longer help out. Running two buildings quickly became overwhelming. The second coffee house was sold, a painful but necessary decision to reduce our workload and pay for her care.
We had thrown ourselves into the one that remained, determined to at least keep half their legacy alive. This one bore my mother’s name with the moniker Amy’s Coffee and Pastries. The idea of losing it stole the breath from my lungs and felt like a poignant, bitter reminder of the very real fear we still might loseher.
Finally, I just walk around the desk to give my father a hug, unsure what else to do. “How can I help?” I ask simply, even as I know this is a question that we are all desperately trying to answer.
He pats my back, taking another deep breath. “You just do what you do best. Get behind the counter and let me worry about the rest. This isn’t a problem a child should need to deal with.”
