One Last Thing by Rebecca St. James

Author:Rebecca St. James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2014-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Saturday was Wendy’s day off, so it was mostly Ike and me working together. The afternoon was a steady stream of students, sometimes more a typhoon than a stream, and we didn’t get a break until after six. Ike turned the counter over to one of the less spacy SCAD guys and invited me to have coffee with him in his office.

I offered to make it but he insisted I go on in and sit down and he’d bring me something. I sagged wearily into a leather chair that had obviously sat several generations of buns and played with a slit in the fabric as I looked around.

The office was a lot like Ike himself: relatively neat but with the occasional surprising touch. A bust of Edgar Allan Poe. A pipe like the one I’d seen in photographs of J. R. R. Tolkien. A huge conch shell with the smell of sand still stuck to it. The only photo was of Ike and a black Labrador retriever that smiled bigger than he did. Although—Ike didn’t actually do a lot of smiling.

He came in then, closed the door, and handed me a mug with Flannery O’Connor Childhood Home printed on the side. “I’m not going to tell you what this is until after you taste it.”

“Should I be afraid?” I said.

“Watch it now, it’s hot. But don’t let it cool off too much. It has to be just before scalding to be appreciated.”

“You’re the only person I know who practically requires a master’s degree to drink a cup of coffee.”

I blew into the brew with its lovely coffee shop crème look on the surface and watched Ike ease himself into a faded tweed club chair of about the same vintage as the one I was sitting in. Out in the shop he didn’t look as big as he did now, shoulders passing the sides by several inches. He pushed the fedora to the back of his head.

“That should be just about right now.”

I took a cautious sip. My eyes closed of their own volition.

“You like.”

“I love. What is it?”

“A blend I’m working on. Keep sipping. Now, about that master’s degree.”

It was another one of those shifts. I was getting used to them.

“What master’s degree?” I said.

“Yours.”

“How did you know I had a master’s degree?”

“Wild guess. What’s it in?”

I felt my cheeks warm and not from the coffee. “Literary criticism—a completely worthless degree at this point in my life.”

“I don’t know.” Ike folded his hands comfortably on his chest. “You obviously learned something useful. You’re doing great here.”

I had to laugh. “If I am, that’s because of Wendy and you. I didn’t pick up any of these skills at Duke, trust me.”

“I gotta admit, I had my doubts at first but you caught right on. I’ve even seen you make some improvements out there. That’s good.”

“I can sure straighten those napkins.” I took a gulp. If I didn’t I’d start babbling.

“I’m not going to ask what a class act like you is doing working here.

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