Page 51 of Worth the Fall
VERY UNPROFESSIONAL
BROOKLYN
Idrove down Main Street, searching for that rare parking spot. I figured I’d used up all my parking-spot goodwill the other day when I visited Lana. It was always a challenge. Near impossible during the summer and winter months when tourists took over the town. But I pretended like the lack of parking added to the charm of Sugar Mountain, although I did kind of hate having to suffer in the dirt overflow lot. My shoes always ended up coated in a layer of thick dust, and my tires seemed to absorb a million tiny rocks between the grooves that I was convinced would pop them.
A car reversed to pull out just as I was making my third loop, and I almost stuck my arm out of my window and pumped it up and down in victory. I maneuvered easily into the space, shut off the engine, grabbed my purse, and hopped out. Even though I’d gotten a paved spot, it was at the opposite end from where the diner was, so I started my little trek down Main Street.
I absolutely adored this part of town. Walking down it was like stepping back in time. There were still wood posts out front of some businesses where people used to tie up their horses back in the day. Sometimes, it felt like I was on the set of an old Western movie, but this was the real deal. Even the original jail cell, located right in the center of town, still stood. Although now, it was a tourist attraction, where people posted pictures on social media.
Each one of the establishments on Main were locally owned, and many still had the original building materials intact with a little creative updating to keep it safe from falling down. It was a source of pride to a Sugar Mountain native like myself. Even the newer stores looked as if they’d been there for over a hundred years, like the rest of them had. Not in a dilapidated way, of course. The city council had made sure of that. Any structure located or purchased on Main followed a strict town code of aesthetics that was based on preserving our local history.
As I approached the diner, I saw a group of teenagers sitting outside, eating ice cream on an old wooden bench. I knew they’d gotten their cones from The Double Dip across the street. It wasn’t the only place in Sugar Mountain to get ice cream, but it was by far the best.
Maybe I’m partial to everything on this street?
Pulling open the glass door, I was greeted by Mrs. Baker’s smiling face from behind the counter. She’d aged since I was a teenager, but her warmth remained.
“Hey, sugar.” She smiled. “Got you set up in the back.” She gave a little nod with her head toward where she’d apparently sat Thomas and Clara.
“Thank you. It’s nice to see you,” I said as I made my way toward the booth, avoiding the prying eyes as I passed them by even though I could see them watching me with piqued curiosity.
Thomas stood and moved next to sit next to Clara, who made a sound and put up her hand to stop him.
“I want Waffle Princess to sit next to me,” she said, and I smirked at the name.
“Is that okay with you,” Thomas asked, “Waffle Princess?”
“I have no issues with being called Waffle Princess,” I teased as I scooted in next to Clara, who started coloring her menu with some crayons Mrs. Baker must have given her.
Thomas sat down across from us and reached for one of the three waters on the table, taking a sip. Facing him was a little unnerving. His eyes were saying far more than his lips ever did. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but didn’t dare ask. Especially not with Clara sitting right next to me or someone in town being able to overhear.
“So, did you come here a lot, growing up?” Thomas asked, breaking the moment of silence that had been hanging between us.
“Mostly in high school. Didn’t you?”
I tried to search my mind for memories of Thomas, but he’d already graduated by the time I started my freshman year. Plus, the diner was huge and always packed on Friday and Saturday nights. You pretty much saw whoever you were hanging out with while everyone else sort of existed in the peripheral.
“I think we all did.” He smiled, but it didn’t match the rest of his expression.
Thomas looked wistful, like he was lost in memories, and I found myself wondering how much losing Jenna had affected him. I couldn’t even imagine going through what he had.
“Did you used to come here with...” I paused because I wasn’t sure what the protocol was when it came to discussing Clara’s mom.
I didn’t know what was an okay topic to broach and what wasn’t. If Thomas and I had been alone, all bets would have been off. I’d ask the man anything I wanted to know, and vice versa, I assumed. But navigating an adult conversation was a little more challenging when a tiny person was involved.
“Jenna?” He said her name out loud, and Clara’s little head popped up.
“You used to come here with my mom?” she asked as she tilted her head and studied her dad.
“Yep,” he said, popping the P before he leaned in closer to her. “She used to love their hot chocolate. Even when it was a hundred degrees outside, she’d still order it.”
“Mom was silly,” Clara said with a laugh, but it was detached. Like she was talking about someone in a TV show that she’d seen one time. “Did you know my mom?”
“No, not really.” I shook my head because I’d only met Jenna a few times when she used to work at the boutique in town. “I mean, I knew who she was, but we weren’t friends, if that makes sense.”
“Why weren’t you friends?”
“Because she was older than I was. Like your dad. I went to high school with your uncle Patrick. I knew his girlfriend better.”