No. 345

I knew that there were going to be changes in Fox’s Landing, but the change that happened was not the one I was expecting.

The day began normally, as uncommon days do. My grandfather and his group of regulars had arrived at the usual time and were now well into their third round of drinks.

I lingered in the kitchen. I was trying to work up the courage to give them the news.

Dana’s Coffee would be closing for good.

 I’d planned to tell Grandpa about that much earlier, but it was hard. I suppose I’d been worried that he’d think that I hadn’t worked hard enough.

Dana’s Coffee had been my mom’s idea, and my parents died the week before we were going to open. Closing would make Grandpa feel like he was losing her again, but the store wasn’t making money. More importantly, I wanted to leave Landing.  

I was about to take one last sip of coffee before going out to make the announcement when somebody knocked on the front door.

I set my mug down and rushed to answer. I knew it was somebody new and, even on the last day, extra business wouldn’t hurt.

I opened the door and saw man who might have been about thirty. He was a pleasant distraction from the grim task I’d been steeling myself for.

“Come in,” I told him. “What can I get started for you?”

He ordered a coffee, dark roast, not some kind of flavoured latte. That surprised me a little. Most folks from out of town liked a sweeter option.

“Sit anywhere you like,” I directed the visitor. Then I left to get his drink. I knew I’d have to hurry, or Bill would start his routine about my age.

I made it back in time for the punch line. “Dana’s ninety-five years old.” I briefly considered accidentally-on-purpose spilling the coffee on him. I settled on threatening to ban him, again. It hurt when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to follow through on the warning.

Fighting tears, I hurried back to the kitchen.

For the next hour or so, I hid, emerging only to refill enough cups that people wouldn’t get too suspicious.

My misery was interrupted by a light tapping on the wall.

It was the visitor.

“Dana?” he asked hesitantly. “I’m James. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed my coffee.”

“Thanks,” I told him. Immediately, I knew that he knew.

 “Is something wrong?” he asked, taking a step closer.

I broke down, telling this stranger everything that I’d been afraid to tell the others.

He listened without interrupting.

When I finished, he came toward me and leaned back against the counter. “I see.”

I could tell that the gears were turning in his head.

“Maybe we could make a deal,” he proposed.