Kristine Joy, Writer

Chapter 1

Week 1 – Monday, September 4

Avery Stillwater was a 48 year old widow. And just 7 months after her late husband’s accident, she became an empty nester as well. 

It was her therapist, Dr. Crystal, who had suggested she do two things on a daily basis, walk and write. Avery’s original response to this suggestion was an agreement to do both from the comfort of her home; she’d write for an hour in the morning at the kitchen table, and walk a couple miles in the afternoon on the treadmill in her basement. She had of course slipped up again and said, “our” basement before sorrowfully correcting the possessive pronoun to “my”. Dr. Crystal was less concerned about grammar than the plan itself. She and Avery both knew that Avery needed to rejoin society after a Summer spent mostly in plaid pajama pants on her family room couch.

By the time school rolled around, and her two kids were off to college for their Senior and Freshman year, respectively, Avery had succumbed to a plan. Being a creature of routine, she knew these activities needed to be on the calendar, or otherwise, would be left unaccomplished.

Her Google Calendar used to comprise a spectrum of colors that made the organizer in her giddy with delight. She actually got goosebumps one day when the respective color coded calendars appeared in a ROY G. BIV pattern; the day had started with son Scott’s Chess Club before school in red and ended with daughter Sally’s Show Choir evening performance in violet. Avery had kept AJ’s activities, always in blue, displayed until she recalled Dr. Crystal’s advice, “If the reminder brings you joy, continue to employ. If it fills you with sadness or annoy, perhaps destroy?”

Avery’s Summer calendar had been mostly a blank white slate, which was ironic, given that she had only felt darkness. 

It was a Monday morning, Labor Day actually, and she stared at the week ahead. In orange, her favorite color, there was a morning block from 8-10 AM labeled “Write” with the location tagged as Savvy Cafe and another block from 12-1 PM labeled “Walk” but lacking a designated location. The activities were listed Monday through Friday. Dr. Crystal had said daily, Monday to Sunday, but Avery’s once people pleasing perfectionistic personality had dissipated alongside AJ’s last breaths on that frigid day. 

Why she had chosen to walk during the hottest part of the day was beyond her comprehension, but she was too stubborn to change it. Once planned, it shall stand, she thought to herself, which was followed by the dawning of another thought; a shared love for wordplay being the reason that she chose Dr. Crystal as her therapist. She had failed to see eye to eye with a few others; one of them had even asked her look them in the eye, which she did in fact do, with the eyes in the back of her head as she walked out the door.

Though already behind schedule, Avery started the 5 minute drive to Savvy in her newer blue Jeep Renegade. Scott had named the vehicle, Sully, given the color’s resemblance to the character in Monsters. En route, she gave a short prayer that she not see anyone she knew, and if so, that they not give her the look of pity that she had come to recognize all too well. Yes, she was a widow, and still grieving, but she was a mountain of strength also. At least she thought that she was. After all, how was one supposed to handle their husband being hit by a car while fat tire biking on wintry roads? She still managed to pull off a Spring Break trip with the two kids, Scott’s Senior Prom, his Graduation Party and having helped Sally through her emotionally charged academic semester from afar. They had named the Spring Break trip, “What Would Dad Do?” and decided it would be an annual celebration of his life. He loved Winter sports, and especially, sharing this passion with his family and thus, the first adventure was to Park City, Utah to snow ski. 

Despite being a coffee connoisseur, but not a coffee snob, Avery had never frequented Savvy. That is part why she chose it – new grounds. The lot was more empty than full, but Avery chose a parking spot far from the door in case she wanted to discreetly duck out the escape hatch prior to take-off. The comfort of Sully in this very moment was strikingly poetic – Avery felt enveloped by a warm blue and purple furry blanket but knew the surroundings were cold. She tried to work up the courage to open the door, but excuses flowed like a river – after this song, Crystal doesn’t know what I need, I’m not even in the mood for coffee, I’ll come back when I have a book idea, etc. 

Before the sixth song was over, Avery glanced to her left. Shit, has he been here the whole time? Why did HE park so far away? After a few more minutes of racing thoughts, she watched the twenty something male of Asian descent exit his car, staring down at the blacktop, seemingly sadder than her. Avery instantly reached for the door handle, oddly worried that this stranger may have taken note of her own indecisive antics, or somehow heard part of her internal dialogue.

The entrance door had a straight tiled walkway that lead directly to the registers and baristas behind them. Avery took a few steps and found herself in line behind Sad Thad (she often gave people rhyming nicknames but kept them to herself upon realizing that others found it more annoying than entertaining). He appeared as if he had just come from the gym, sporting a white cut off tee and blue shorts with a pink flowery pattern that were short enough to show the lower half of his quads bulging from them. If her friend Mya were with her, she’d have a one liner at the helm, “At least that’s the only thing bulging out.” When the Gen Z ordered four hard boiled eggs, and a strawberry smoothie with an extra scoop of vanilla whey protein, Avery knew her read was spot on. Definitely a gym rat, but only because there wasn’t an ocean to surf within a 1,000 miles. The barista flashed his white teeth at the Asian and Avery wondered if the friendliness had been overly so.

When it was her turn to order, she asked for, “A house brew, just black, please. And a blueberry bagel toasted but plain….as in no cream cheese….not plain cream cheese.” The smell of cream cheese made her sick, and she’d been taken by mistake once before, and that was once too many. The barista, a clean shaven boyish male with a Marvel Ironman tee under his apron, seemed annoyed at the spewing of unnecessary details, but smiled and said, “It’s on the house!” just as Avery was reaching for her credit card. Avery’s look of confusion gave way to the barista’s next move and further, but still vague, explanation, “I cannot say more other than to give you this.” He handed her a sunshine yellow colored business card that was blank, excepting the following quote in turquoise text:

While waiting for her order, Avery stood repeatedly flipping the card forward and back, as if the third turn would magically make words appear that did not exist there before. The Asian, whose name had just been called out as Martin, grabbed his order from the counter, and gave Avery a contagious smile with a shoulder shrug, “Let me know if you figure it out,” as he moved towards the exit. His head being upright now, and coupled with his disciplined nature regarding nutrition and physique, rang out a new nickname in her brain – Spartan Martin.

She was baffled, but loved a good riddle, and had great expectations of herself to solve this one. Avery gently lifted her tray and found her way to the South wall. To the right of the entrance door and tile walkway, where she had stood in line, there was a small carpeted area with five two person booths back to back. Though there were some windows that made this area inviting to a degree, the view was that of the drive thru and the in house register traffic was too near to instill coffeehouse calm. But, Avery was selfless to the point of anti-self and thus, even on this slow Labor Day Monday, there she sat – in the middle two person booth facing the front door and awkwardly locking eyes with a drive thru customer here and there, finding solace that they were separated by two panes of glass.

Maybe the mystery giver was Spartan Martin himself and he had given the barista a signal? Maybe it was a marketing scheme thought up by the owner of Savvy to create lasting intrigue or future touches with each spread story? Maybe there was a patron among them that signaled the barista from across the cafe? What if I had been with my kids and the total had been closer to $20? Would the mystery giver still have given? Avery slipped the card into the taupe belt bag that Sally had gotten her for Christmas, insisting she would be a “cooler Mom” with it in tow.

She then took her MacBook Air out of the manilla envelope that she had carried in with her as if it were a piece of mail or package out for delivery. Before becoming a stay at home Mom, Avery had been a Marketing Executive. She appreciated marketing brilliance to the point that she still quipped, “it fits in a manilla envelope,” each and every time that she removed her laptop from the sheath. Of all the uncool things she did, her kids thought this was the absolute worst; the addition of the belt bag might not even be able to overcome her nerdiness. As always, she audibly chuckled as she set the computer in front of her and the envelope next to it. The basic white girl (as Sally would call her) standing in line, who had been born after the infamous commercial aired, turned in her direction just long enough to display an eye roll before returning to her Insta.

Ok, I’m here. I didn’t see anyone that I know. I have my laptop open. I’ve always wanted to be a writer and as Dr. Crystal said, new chapters may await. But, no ideas came to her. Her mind was racing, but the thoughts were of AJ; the one thing that she didn’t want to write about. Avery stared at a blank page for over an hour before deciding to throw the towel in. As she closed the screen, her calendar flashed in front of her with a horizontal line showing that she still had thirty minutes of blocked out time.

Instead of leaving, Avery sat observing the few other patrons seated in the roastery and those coming and going. There was an Indian woman with two boys sitting in a booth, probably twins, one with brown eyes and the other blue. The mom was reading a book, and the pre-teens listening to music with a shared pair of AirPods; each had one ear bud. There was a business woman in a pants suit typing numbers into a spreadsheet. And in the center of the brewhouse, sitting next to the wood burning cylindrical fireplace that extended from floor to ceiling, was her therapist with a forty something white male with dirty blond, slightly curled hair. Avery did a double take to certify that it was in fact, Dr. Crystal.

Dr. Crystal was black, also forty something, distinguished in appearance and carried herself with grace. Grace was also what she gave her patients; Avery sensed this the moment she sat down on the navy blue sofa in Dr. Crystal’s office. Avery had also been impressed with her sculpted athletic build, and was surprised when Dr. Crystal told her that she followed her own advice, low impact walking for an hour each day, but did little for exercise on top of that. Upon first glance, Avery had assumed that she had a second job as a bodybuilder in the bikini competitive division.

Did she see me? She must have seen me when she was in line. Is that her husband? Probably. Wait, is she checking up on me? No, that isn’t possible; I didn’t tell her where I planned to do my writing…err, or lack thereof at this point. And, I don’t think detective work falls under the definition of “follow-up” nor is it professional. Definitely a coincidence.

Dr. Crystal had said from the start, while sitting in her corner cream colored chair, “If I see you out and about, I will not initiate interaction. But, if you acknowledge me, I’ll return the greeting with Vegas being off the table.” Dr. Crystal had followed up this statement with a hand gesture in the direction of a framed picture on the wall. She must have had it custom made because it looked like the Hollywood sign, but said LAS VEGAS, with a quotation under the lettering, “What’s said here, stays here.”

After giving it some thought, Avery started to hope that Dr. Crystal had seen her and would be proud of her for having taken steps in a positive direction. Or maybe not; Avery slid down meekly in her seat and wished that she hadn’t taken those steps in her purple plaid pajama pants.

Chapter 2

Week 1 – Tuesday, September 5

Though Avery did not get any writing done the day prior, she had felt productive just getting herself there. So, she trudged out of bed on Tuesday morning. The first thing she did, for fear that she would otherwise forget, was to change out of her plaid green pajama pants and into her periwinkle colored shorts with zippered pockets. The shorts were cargo shorts to a degree, but feminine in appearance. She added to that, a looser fitting sleeveless aqua top with a V neck. Avery had disliked V neck shirts for years, but menopause coupled with the Iowa humidity had created a new appreciation for breathability. Avery thought a little rhyme to herself as she dressed: I’m starting to show cleavage; just as it appears to leavage.

She entered Savvy at 8:02, much sooner than she had the day prior. There were 3 people in front of her. At the front, and in the midst of ordering, was a drop dead gorgeous blonde flipping her hair back and forth as if she belonged in a shampoo commercial. Avery didn’t mean to, but she actually laughed out loud at the imagery. The business suit alpha male in front of her confusedly turned and made eye contact with her. She gave a half apologetic smile, he turned back to his phone and she continued with the script as she’d write it.

everyone in the coffeeshop was about to enter a hypnotized trance as “Start Your Engines” begins to play over the loudspeaker

Avery’s thoughts jumped back to reality when she heard the same voice and phrase that had been spoken to her yesterday said to Clark the Shark. “I cannot say more other than to give you this.” The barista, who she now saw had a name tag that read Mark, handed him a sunshine yellow colored business card. For the second time, the navy blue suit, wearing an expression of befuddlement on his face, turned and made eye contact with Avery. Caught off guard, she blurted, “It wasn’t me.” Realizing her defensive tone, she followed her statement with a softer one, “The same thing happened to me yesterday, and I haven’t the faintest idea who, what or why.” 

He smirked at both Avery and Mark before taking steps towards the pick-up counter. With his back to them, he began humming Shaggy’s song, It Wasn’t Me. 

Avery: Wait, does he think it was me?

Mark: It’s not.

Avery: Well, I know that and you know that….but wait, if you know that, then you know who?

Mark: I do.

Avery: Who?

Mark: If you knew, that’d make a few, and there can be only two, so we must be through my dear lady in blue.

Avery: Might you give me a clue?

Both Avery and Mark raised an eyebrow at each other before breaking out into shared laughter.

Mark: How can I help you today?

Avery: Unsweetened iced tea and a toasted cinnamon raisin plain bagel.

Mark: You want that plain plain, right? As in no cream cheese and not plain cream cheese?

Avery: Yes, plain plain please.

Avery would have been embarrassed by his quip, but after their adlib exchange, she felt like Mark was a longtime friend and they now had a new inside joke between them. She was waiting for him to say that it was on the house, but instead he gave her a total of $6.12. Avery wondered if she had been the 25th customer yesterday, and the gentleman in front of her seconds ago, had been the 25th customer today. Or, 50th or 13th? She decided that she’d arrive earlier tomorrow so she could secretly observe and note take.

While waiting in line, Avery had seen that her same booth from the day prior was vacant. As she made her way back towards the front of the house, a Mae West quote popped into her head, “I’ll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure.” And that decided it; when she arrived earlier tomorrow, her seat was predetermined.

She set her manilla envelope on the far side of the small table, directly in front of where a dining friend would sit had that occupant existed. She then sat her appetizer size plate and drink in front of her as she sunk down into the forest green cushioned booth. She was again, facing the front door. 

Upon taking her first deep breath each morning, Avery’s thought was always the same. I wonder what Sally and Scott are doing at this very moment. She knew Scott had an 8 AM and so pictured him in a lecture hall studiously scribbling notes; but really not scribbling at all since he had the neatest handwriting West of the Mississippi. 

Sally lived off campus with three other Aerospace Engineering majors. They had a veranda overlooking the Wabash River where Sally usually had her morning spoil chai latte. Avery reached for her iced tea and imaginarily toasted Sally, to you, lily-of-the-valley Sally, a symbol of joy, sincerity and luck in a sometimes unlucky world. 

As Avery ate, book ideas started to materialize to the point that she felt a sense of reassurance and maybe even….purpose? The feeling was one she hadn’t experienced since her days as the Chief Marketing Officer for Bee Fit, a wellness app in which your phone vibrated (“buzzed”) each time you clicked a Dimension of Wellness pie piece to designate fulfillment on a given day.  

She had signed on with the company thinking it a mere stepping stone in her career, experience in tech, but it seems the stone washed away – the app itself and her working days. The fact that Avery had chosen to be a stay at home Mom, as she often told people, may or may not have correlated with Bee Fit being fiscally unfit. But, she had felt worse for the woman behind the app more than herself. Unruly Julie and Scary Larry made one decision after another that seemed to move the company in a one step forward, two steps back direction.

Avery started to type ideas (and always used the Courier font because it made her feel as if she was Jack London in the year 1912, looking out her log cabin window onto the tundra of the Yukon, clicking away on a typewriter surely creating the next great adventure novel):

• A modern day adventure novel about a woman (me!) who spends a year tent camping as she makes her way from Everglades National Park to Lake Superior, titled,??????????.
• An autobiography detailing how I came to be, and aptly titled, Alone.
• A sane woman’s belief that she is “losing it” when she is actually being gaslit by those she most loves and trusts, her family. Her suicide is by intentional vehicular crash in which her gas tank ignites, causing an explosion. Ironically titled, Gaslit.
• A woman’s daily excursion to a cute small town coffeeshop in which she observes 6 strangers over the course of a year, with each stranger ultimately representing one of the 7 Deadly Sins as she connects the dots. The remaining sin is a mystery that will be realized by only the most insightful readers. Titled, DEADLY Sins.
• A season on record of the local minor league baseball team, The Lancers. The main character is the center fielder, locally considered the most eligible bachelor, De’von Tucson. His promise to make the big leagues, both in ability and by actual statement, had attendance projections at an all time high. Titled, Sir Lancealot.

Avery’s thoughts were in line with her ideas, all over the place. Do I know anyone associated with The Lancers? Why would they trust a claimed to be writer that has no books to her real or pen name? What should my pen name be? Should I spend a year traveling? Now would be the time. My life has not been interesting enough to be book material. I love that his name rhymes; that’s so me. My pen name needs to rhyme. Like Bren Penn.

Avery was laughing out loud at the visual of her book cover, when the glare of her watch face caught her attention. She had been productive for over an hour. Avery looked up from her screen and looked right into the eyes of an all brawn maybe brain gentleman entering Savvy. Avery nervously darted her eyes back to her own table and downward, pretending to be more interested in the remaining crumbs of her plain plain bagel than his tanned biceps and jawline. He could pass for 50 but was probably nearing, if not past, the age of 60. Despite the age gap, it was the first time since AJ’s passing that the sight of another man, albeit ever so brief, had excited her to the point of giddiness. Whatever you do, don’t look up.

Her instinct apparently had a faster relay than her brain wave because she looked back up at Brawn Shawn standing in line. He turned and smiled at her; it was a soft smile that contradicted his physique. She smiled back, pretending their locked eyes had been happenstance, and hoping that her red flushed cheeks were mistaken for blush.

Though her back was to the register, she could hear parts of the interaction between Brawn Shawn and Snark Mark (his nickname designated because of the playful banter that she had shared with him rather than the word’s connotation as dismissive or disrespectful). Avery could tell “the new guy” to her was not new at all based on their back and forth.

Mark: You’re early for a Tuesday.

“Shawn”: The Reid’s are out of town so I didn’t detour in their direction.

Mark: You want the usual?

“Shawn”: Yes, thanks. How was the date last night?

Mark: Short.

“Shawn”: And sweet?

Mark: I wish, but no.

“Shawn”: Keep your chin up, kid. 

His baritone voice is silvery, like his satin soft hair. I could base a “stranger from the coffeeshop” character on him, no doubt! He’d be lust because who wouldn’t lust for a sexy beast? Avery turned her attention back to her keyboard.

Shawn (find out his real name and replace) seemed a genteel gentleman; his back and forth with Mark was indicative of a long-time regular that had genuine interest in the regulars in his life. And his encouraging fatherly tone was the perfect amount of deep, leaving any right minded woman (or man for that matter) to sign off on him to father their own child.

A shiver ran up Avery’s spine at the thought of “Shawn” in boxer briefs, before she chastised herself to snap out of it. Looking up, she realized “Shawn” had sat down along the West wall. His window looked out over the parking lot, but his chair pointed directly at her. She didn’t fear locking eyes with him, but only because he had a newspaper blocking the contour of his chest and face. And that’s when she saw it, a wedding band. She had never spoken a word to the man, but her heart sank a sliver at the sight of the silver. The mental note in her head instantly scripted and the post-it was slapped on the frontal lobe: In sight, out of mind.

Chapter 3

Week 1 – Wednesday, September 6

As Avery approached the front door, five minutes earlier than her designated calendar time, she could see “Shawn” through the window pane, sitting at the same table he had graced the day prior.

Avery: Everything bagel plain please and a Coke, regular.

Mark (chuckling): Everything bagel plain. Get it?

Avery: Get what?

Mark: It’s oxymoronic. 

Avery: That it is. 

Mark: He asked about you.

Avery: Who?

Mark gave a head gesture in the direction of the wedded knight in shining armor.

Mark: John.

Avery: Excuse me? He doesn’t even know me, plus he’s married.

Mark (smiling): So, you noticed him too?

Avery: Um, no, maybe, but….what are you, his wingman? Shall I call you Goose?

Mark: He’s widowed. He’s here every day of the week except Fridays because he visits the cemetery on Friday mornings.

Avery: Oh (in a much softer tone than the one she had used to cross examine). I moved my ring to the right hand (flashing her hand in front of her sternum).

Mark: John and Mark noticed.

Avery: Illeism, really? Well, John and Goose are not cleared for take-off because he has a ring on his left hand, meaning he’s clearly not ready to move-on and neither am I for that matter.

Mark: He keeps it there as a test. Look at the guy. Women fawn over him. But he won’t give the time of day to a woman that doesn’t respect the ring.

Avery felt the impatience of the line that had formed behind her, and started to make her way towards the pick-up window. She glanced back at Goose, but his attention was on the next customer. I now have three mysteries to solve – which book idea to pursue, whodunit / whodoesit when it comes to literally paying it forward and what to do, if anything, with Goose’s intel.

Upon sitting, Avery realized that she had forgotten a book in the car. Though she’d had plenty of ideas the day prior, she ultimately felt unprepared to write. She didn’t feel sharp when it came to the language. Having spent most of the last two decades managing a household in the orange – very high fire danger – due to constant chaos, she’d dedicated little time to herself. And that meant she hadn’t read literature since Bridget Jones’s Diary in the mid 1990’s. Avery had gone to the library the afternoon prior, opting to “walk” the stacks instead of sidewalks. She checked out The Book Thief, The Time Traveler’s Wife, The Kite Runner and The Help. These had been at the top of her list on Goodreads. She wondered if she should change her user name to NeverReads since some of these books had already amassed a shelf life of more than a decade.

Avery had also asked the librarian to direct her to the “books about writing” section. The librarian seemed to find this funny, though Avery couldn’t fathom why; surely, her request hadn’t been all that far fetched because the section spanned two six feet tall shelves from floor to ceiling. Perhaps they had found humor, she had thought, in a chicken and egg paradoxical sort of way – was it books about writing or written books that came first?

The books were stacked in her passenger seat. This made a trend in the Titles jump off the page. THE new deal seems to be Titles beginning with The. Hmmm…The Coffeehouse, The Five Tool Guy, The Journey Northward.

As Avery closed Sully’s front passenger door, she noticed Spartan Martin at the far side of the parking lot. Again, sitting in his car. Interesting…for who knows how long or how much longer? Well, I guess HE knows and maybe I’ll find out. Mystery number four. And perhaps stranger number two? He certainly takes PRIDE in his body. And I forgot about Mark; I just need three more characters. Is it immoral of me to start observing these individuals and base book characters on them that are part fact, part fiction?

Avery made her way towards the front door for the second time in fifteen minutes. John was no longer in the window. Her eyes remained on the window as she tried to process this fact, causing her to stumble on the curb and into a man, John, who stood holding the door for her on his way out. The embarrassment factor allowed only a half-heard apology since it was only half-said. Shit. John continued to hold the door, and to observe her out of sorts state, which he found rather cute, until she was safely through both sets of doors. He released the door handle and a chuckle before starting his ten mile walk home.

As Avery tried to collect herself emotionally, she watched John’s backside fade away on a Southwesterly sidewalk. She swore that he turned around and waved in the direction of her window when he was a quarter mile out, but thought herself crazy for believing that this had been reality. Wishful thinking! 

Avery held The Book Thief in front of her aging eyes, and smiled. She had missed the joy of reading in her life and was happy for the reuniting. She was a moment away from being pulled into the narrative, it never took long, when her eye caught a toothpick slender twenty something with straight jet black hair that ran down her back, stopping just above her waistline, entering Savvy. Avery screwed up her mouth and nose as she ran her hand through her own split ended flyaways and frizz, always having yearned for the shine and sleek that this girl possessed.

The front door opening once again interrupted Avery’s longing and the secondary thought that she had maybe seen this woman once before. In walked a casual Spartan Martin. He gave the stunner a “‘sup” head nod as she briefly turned to see who was at her heels. Haha, stalker much? That mystery was an easy solve. Can’t blame the kid for trying though. Either way, she could be stranger number four?

The Russian beauty’s profile stood in line to Avery’s right. At one point in her life, Avery would have instantly hated this girl because of her own deep rooted insecurities; she was more of a plain Jane (whose palate apparently matched her appearance as evidenced by the plain, plain, plain bagel in front of her). But, an acceptance, and the confidence that pairs with self-acceptance, had reshaped her thought process. Beauty on the outside was to be appreciated, and if this young woman was staring at Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night, the stars within would stare back at her.

Chapter 4

Week 1 – Thursday, September 7

Avery’s heart sank a bit when she didn’t see John in the window on Thursday morning, and that feeling was followed up with a pang of guilt over looking for him in the first place. She was somber as she approached Mark:

Mark: What’ll it be Ms. Stillwater?

Avery: How do you know my last name? 

Mark: Relax. It’s on your credit card and I only remembered it because it reminded me of my tattoo (flashes underside of wrist). The symbol means tranquility.

Avery: Why did my…

Mark: Still water. So, what’ll it be Stillwater?

Avery: Black coffee. Plain bagel.

Mark: Coming right up. Cowboy coffee and a plain, sorry, plain plain bagel.

Avery: Not in the mood.

Avery felt bad for not having said thank you, nor asking why Mark had a tranquility symbol inked on his body, nor having laughed at his joke, but some days were better than others and this wasn’t turning out to be one of the former.

With her nose in a book for over an hour, Avery may have missed them, but she didn’t see the looker or her tracker. As she glanced out the window now though, and far in the distance, she saw an outline in the shape of John walking towards Savvy. She started the next chapter, making a conscious decision to read three chapters before looking up.

She held herself to this promise, but John’s distinct voice rang out in her ears nonetheless:

Mark: Do you realize that most people strive for 10,000 steps in a day, and you have 20,000 before 9:30?

John: I have more time than the average Joe. Was she here this morning?

Mark: No, not yet at least.

John and Mark’s conversation continued, but Avery’s racing mind made their words mere background noise. Who is he talking about? Not me obviously. I must have been yesterday’s special. And why? What makes this other woman’s business his business? Weirdo. And Mark’s in on it also?

Avery no longer felt bad for the morning cold shoulder that she had given Mark. And decided that her business, and book setting, would be moving to a new coffeeshop for Friday morning. 

Chapter 5

Week 1 – Friday, September 8

Though Avery had been set on finding new grounds once again, she remembered later that day that she had promised her best friend, Mya, that they’d meet at Savvy on Friday. Mya played Pickleball Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 6-8 AM and Savvy was on her way home. She had seen Avery’s car in the lot earlier in the week and immediately texted, “Coffee and Coke date Friday morning at 8 mate. I’ll be a bit late.” Mya knew of Avery’s propensity for rhyming and often played along.

On Thursday afternoon, Avery had been halfway through a text to Mya suggesting A Mean Bean as an alternative when she remembered Mark telling her of John’s absence on Fridays. She held down the delete icon and watched the words disappear. Maverick would be MIA and she’d give Mark a piece of her mind for being an overly nosy maître d’, with the known caveat that “a piece of her mind” would probably be too nice to create change. But, it made her feel better just thinking about straightening him out.

When Avery and Mya were together, people called them Iowa A&M. Mya’s husband, Evan, had come up with the nickname and it stuck. The moniker carried over from his years as a tennis coach at Texas A&M. 

Most couples move South upon retirement, but they did the opposite. This came as no surprise to Avery since it followed suit with their reputation as the oddest of odd couples. Their age gap was greater than twenty years. He was curmudgeonly and she Pollyanna-esque. He did the laundry and dishes, and she home renovations. His shoulders were broader than the side of a barn and her entire frame could fit in a kangaroo’s pocket. But, somehow, as one got to know them, a new normal materialized; judgment quickly transformed into acceptance because together, they worked.

Avery turned into the parking lot at Savvy. No John today. Stalker Spartan Martin does not appear to be present. And I can handle Mark. He’ll mind his own business come Monday. Wait, how will I know that if I’m not here on Monday? 

With each step towards the door, Avery’s courage grew. She flung the door open, stepped inside and found herself thrown off course and relieved at the same time. Mark wasn’t behind register number one, or two. Instead, a girl in her mid to late teens with short red hair stood at the helm:

Tammy: Morning ma’am. How can I help you today?

Avery: Mark. Where’s Mark?

Tammy: He’s off on Fridays. Are you here to see him?

Avery: No….but…

Tammy: I can tell him you stopped by. What is your name?

Avery: NO…..no need for that. I’ll see him Monday.

Tammy: Yup, he’ll be here. Starting at noon on Thursdays, all he talks about is hashtag gay weekend, and yes he always says and sometimes even spells out the word hashtag for us. But sounds like you know him so I’m probably telling you what you already know, right?

Avery: Yes indeed. I forgot it was a Friday. Can I get a plain bagel, avocado toast, black coffee and regular Coke? H A S H T A G please and thanks.

Tammy: Hashtag I got you.

When Avery’s order appeared in the window, she saw that the plain bagel was lathered in plain cream cheese. Only with slight exaggeration, she gagged as she picked up the tray, found her way to the nearest trash can and slid the bagel off the plate, luckily leaving no ort behind. Avery had figured “I got you,” to be modern slang to mean that she had been understood and would be taken care of, but she hadn’t considered it to have double meaning. She got me.

Avery’s two person regular (since Monday of this week at least) booth didn’t exactly stand up to the label. Two people would fit, but they wouldn’t have elbow room. Given she and Mya’s shared love for the great outdoors and specifically, a campfire, she opted to sit near the wood burning cylindrical fireplace that extended from floor to ceiling in the center of the brew house. It wasn’t sparking embers at the moment because it was early September in Iowa, but Mya would appreciate the ambiance nonetheless.

A&M hadn’t seen much of each other since the funeral. Mya made a point to check in weekly, but this fact had been obvious to Avery to the point that it annoyed her. But, she didn’t hold it against Mya personally since everyone in her life had taken to “checking in” on her. In July, she interrogated a friend who had claimed, “I was in your neighborhood,” because Avery’s house wasn’t on the beaten path. Turns out the friend was in fact in her neighborhood; her son had moved in next door. Avery knew she needed to mend the fence with her friend, and new next door neighbors; the latter being both figuratively and literally since the shared fence between them had been damaged by a fallen tree limb. She knew her friend’s arms were still open, and the newlyweds next door always smiled and waved so the damage was limited, but the physical labor was sitting idle on her Honey To Do List.

“Good job. You snagged the hot seats.” Mya’s sideways grin was indicative that she was waiting for Avery to acknowledge her riddle. Avery rolled her eyes instead but that was enough for Mya, “You may not have missed me personally, but a no pun life is a no fun life.” This lead to another eye roll as Mya sat down and thanked Avery for getting her a “Liquid Kryptonite.” 

Mya often joked that Coca-Cola was both her source of strength and only weakness at the same time. And if you didn’t know Mya, you’d think this statement quite arrogant because who thinks their ONLY weakness is an addiction to a sugar laden concoction. But, Avery thought of Mya as bionic, and once joked that her “pain receptors” must be in the off position as Mya casually watched a doctor remove small chunks of fat from an open wound, and then stitch the area back up. The sight of blood made Avery nauseous so she didn’t wish the dog bite had been to her, but she was a tinge jealous that Mya’s body fat % had dropped from 5% to 4% during the procedure.

The two quickly settled in to the booth, and conversation. An onlooker would assume they were sisters (more specifically, the type of sisters that also fell into the category of best friends) and not the current reality: friends who hadn’t truly connected since AJ’s accident and the funeral that followed. Mya would be the first to admit that empathy was not a strong suit of hers, and Avery would second that with the added commentary that “to comfort another” would be a bit more difficult to code.

Avery filled Mya in on the coffeehouse characters that she had observed since coming out of hibernation. Mya loved people watching and thus, was overtaken by the intrigue herself, and thrilled to hear Avery express excitement about something, anything. “You’ve always wanted to write. I can see it now, coming to a bookstore near you, The Coffeehouse, by Avery Story. Fun! I’m excited for you. But, you can’t write about the crazed stalker, his prey, the handsome devil and his wizard if you walk away! And you may not want to hear it, but you know I’m going to say it; just how good looking is this widowed manly man named John?”

Avery’s cheeks turned firetruck red. Luckily, Mya couldn’t sense the heat that had accompanied this cue. And Avery didn’t know herself if she was angry, embarrassed, excited or empowered – by the insinuation that she move on, by the fact that she had already had the same thought in general and about John, by the thought of a new career or a second person that believed in her to pursue that career (Mya didn’t know that Avery had a therapist, let alone that Dr. Crystal had also encouraged her to write). 

Unspoken, but on the same page, A&M tempered the remainder of their time together with small talk. Upon exiting, Mya asked if an attractive gent in the parking lot was John, but Avery shook her head in the negative. They hugged and promised to make Friday morning coffee/Coke a weekly date. 

It had been decided for Avery and took some convincing, but she was bought in. She’d be back on Monday. To observe. To note take. To play detective. To play the game; but was it hers or theirs?