Chelsea looked down at a rainbow of colored Sharpie markers, searching for a cheerful spin on the bad news. But no matter how many adjectives her inner thesaurus conjured, Hancock and Emily were unconvinced that their future was “bright,” “exciting,” “promising,” or “adventurous.”
“Are we gonna be okay?” Her son’s stare cut to the bone.
“Of course we’re gonna be okay,” Chelsea said, but she wasn’t convinced. And from the fearful look in her daughter’s eyes, neither was Emily. Chelsea took her daughter’s hand. “Because we have each other. And I’m going to figure this out.”
But after hours of wracking her brain, she was still stumped. And the poster board on the dinner table was still blank. Her sister’s phone call was a welcome distraction.
“Just calling to see how you’re doing,” Sara said.
“I’m okay. I think. I hope. It’s just that this place is special, you know? I hate that it’s ending with me. I feel like I’m letting Mom down. Grandma too.”
“Well, you can’t take all the blame. Mom did leave you with a pretty hefty tab. And as for Grandma . . . I had her jewelry appraised. I figured I could sell it. Help you pay off the debt.”
“I would never accept!”
“Well, you won’t have to. It’s costume jewelry. All of it!”
Chelsea sighed. “When we were growing up I knew times were tough, but I had this fantasy it was all part of some Cinderella story. It was just a matter of time before Prince Charming would come and whisk me away. Clearly, that didn’t happen, but I at least thought my days of pinching pennies were over.”
“Hey, don’t give up on your fairy-tale ending. I have a backup plan.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m winning the lottery on Tuesday.”
Chelsea laughed. “Go to bed. I’ll talk to you later.”
Chelsea stared again at the expanse of blank poster board. And then it hit her. She grabbed the black marker. Her bold strokes squeaked across the shiny white surface.
No more sugar coating. No more rainbow-hued nostalgia. It was time to face the facts and move on with life.
Chelsea appraised her handiwork. There it was. The simple truth in black-and-white. THE HIGHER GROUNDS CAFÉ HAS GONE OUT OF BUSINESS.
Early Saturday morning, a weary Chelsea descended the stairs, coffee in one hand, poster and tape in the other. She was thankful for her first day of rest in nearly four months. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her robe and slippers. Her hair was unbrushed and her face untouched. There’d be no customers to impress. No coffee to serve. No spills to clean up. Or so she thought.
Midway down the stairs she stopped. Her coffee mug slipped from her fingers and cracked on the hardwood floor.
People were everywhere. Through the front windows she saw multitudes gathering on the porch, spilling out into the lawn in a sea of heads bent over smartphones, laptops, and tablets. The neighborhood was abuzz with activity. And at the center of it all was the Higher Grounds Café.