From the Ashes by J.D. Fondry

Author:J.D. Fondry [Fondry, J.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-02T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kennedy

My first day off in three weeks feels strange. I’ve been so busy at Buckey’s and with Palmer that the downtime feels very needed.

So today, I’ve grabbed a tea at Peet’s, planning to take my time. I even ordered a breakfast sandwich to enjoy at my own leisurely pace.

Nowhere to be and nothing to do feels nice for a change.

Bush serenades me with their soft beats as I people watch and thank God for being inside where it’s cool. This summer is turning out to be a damn scorcher.

I grabbed a window seat so I could people watch as I peruse through my social media, catching myself up on what everyone else is doing with their summer vacations.

Just as I happen to peer out the window, I do a quick double take, my eyes clearly playing tricks on me. The caffeine must simply be going to my head. I squint as the cars pass idly by the street corner I’m seated at, and I watch as none other than Rebecca Darling crosses the street, making her way toward Peet’s.

She’s dressed fairly casually for her; some pressed black pants with matching black, practical sized heels and a fitted yellow blouse covered by a dark gray cashmere sweater. Her mousy brown mane is secured neatly at the base of her scull in a perfect ballerina bun, not a single hair out of its rightful place.

I sit in silence, completely still, and honestly afraid to move. Maybe if I make no sudden movements, she’ll pass me by like a predator missing its next meal as it camouflages itself within the brush.

The door to the coffee shop opens, the bell overhead chiming its sing-song tune, and I watch. I watch and wait as my mother’s eyes scan the room. They search until they meet mine, and she freezes. A weak, barely there smile crosses over her features and she holds a hand up in a delicate wave. I think my jaw might actually be resting on the table, because…what?!

Did my mother just wave and smile at me?

Her shoes tap against the linoleum in a steady rhythm until she’s standing before my small table.

“Can I sit here?”

I honestly cannot form words.

Can I sit here? What is this? Are we in the fucking twilight zone?

The best I can manage is a small nod.

My mother sits in one of the two seats across from me, unrolling the cheap silverware from the brown paper napkin as she places it atop her lap. A young waiter approaches, and I inwardly cringe, already feeling sorry for the tongue lashing he’s unknowingly about to receive from her.

“Can I get you something to drink, ma’am?” He stands erect, smiling down at my mother, none the wiser to the lioness in his midst.

“I’d like a tall, upside down, non-fat, iced caramel macchiato. Three skim, two sugar, one pump of vanilla and one pump mocha. Shaken, light on the ice with a turbo shot of espresso.”

Our eyes meet across the table, mine practically

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