Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe Read Online Free PDF Page B

morning, that it was awfully busy back there, far more than breakfast for the family would warrant.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I asked my sister, who was behind the white Formica counter refilling her own coffee. Clint reclaimed his chair at table three and began pouring maple syrup over a stack of pancakes around a foot tall. I looked quickly away, my stomach jumping, and snagged a stool near Jilly.
    â€œRich said there’s a party of twenty heading over for lunch today. Some guys he used to know. I guess they’re at the campground and heard we serve a damn good fish fry.” Jilly leaned the small of her back against the stainless steel sink near the coffee maker and took a long drink. “Mmmmm.”
    I sipped cautiously. From behind the ticket window, Tish’s face appeared. She was my early riser, a true morning person, and she grinned brightly at me, visible only from the shoulders up.
    â€œMorning, Mom. Aunt Jilly said we should be nice to you since you’re hung over this morning.”
    I groaned, giving Jillian the evil eye. She rolled her own back at me, as Tish continued, “Grandma said we could all help out this summer in the café.”
    â€œStarting today, if you like,” Mom called, appearing behind Tish. She was dressed in a flowered blouse, her hair piled into a serviceable bun on her head. Both she and Tish were sporting earrings made from feathers, two pairs for my daughter.
    â€œWhere’d you get those?” I asked, twirling a finger near my own earlobe.
    â€œAunt Ellen makes them,” Tish informed me. “Are you gonna help out today or what, Mom? There’s a twenty-top at noon.”
    â€œWe’re here twelve hours and you’re already spouting restaurant lingo,” I observed, deciding not to make an issue about the earrings. I was all about picking my battles these days. “Yeah, that’s fine, Mom, I’ll help.”
    â€œBetter get some shoes first, Aunt Joey,” Clint said, indicating my bare feet with his fork.
    â€œRight, thanks, Clinty,” I told him, curling my toes over the rung of the stool.
    â€œHere comes Gran,” Jilly observed, peering over my shoulder.
    I turned in time to see our grandmother come whacking through the screen door, a small, wiry woman in pink pedal pushers, her wispy hair resembling nothing so much as a dandelion gone to seed. She used a cane these days, and wore thick-soled orthopedic shoes, but her voice was as strong as ever, her eyes snapping as she reached with her free arm to give me a hug. I wrapped my own about her and hugged as hard as I dared; she felt so frail in my arms. I clung for a long moment as she rubbed her hand over my back, briskly. Then abruptly she pulled back and said decisively, “Joelle, you look good.”
    My heart softened. “Thanks, Gran, you too.”
    â€œWhere’s that son of a bitch, Jackson?”
    I didn’t even flinch, I was so used to this attitude. Gran, to be fair, had never been overly fond of Jackie, even back in our dating days. She always claimed he was too charming for his own good, which I’d resented. I leaned and pecked her on the cheek before replying, “He’s home in Chicago, Gran. He won’t be here this summer.”
    â€œHow are the girls taking it?” she asked, lowering her voice a smidge. Her shrewd gaze would harbor no bullshit from me.
    â€œTerrible,” I admitted, following at her side as she moved to join Clint.
    He mumbled, “Morning, Gran,” around a mouthful of pancakes.
    I went on, low-voiced, “They adore their dad. They can’t see his faults.”
    â€œHmph,” Gran replied to this. But it was true; the girls didn’t know about their father’s indiscretion, though I knew Camille suspected. She hadn’t been willing to swallow the story I’d concocted about the two of us needing a break. But as much as I loved my children, and desired to