Wishing on Willows: A Novel (3 page)

The front door swung open. Lenny and Caleb marched inside, gave them another salute, and made their way into the kitchen. The sight of her
son loosened Robin’s muscles. If Linda wanted to get back out there again, good for her. Robin didn’t need to feel left behind, not when it was a race she had no desire to run. Her attention wandered toward her only customers—a middle-aged couple finishing coffee and conversation.

The woman stood and hitched her purse over her shoulder while the man brought both cups to the counter. “I’ll be right back, ladies,” Robin said.

She processed the couple’s payment and watched them walk toward the door. Their clasped hands and matching gait stretched something inside her, but she pushed the sensation away and pinned her gaze on the mayor’s vacant spot.

“Does anybody know where Mayor Ford is?” she asked, coming around the counter.

“He won’t be here today.” Cecile swallowed a mouthful of muffin and paused, long enough to make Linda lean forward in her seat. “Richard says the mayor’s working. We all know that man can’t read the comics when he’s in work mode.”

“Working on a Saturday?”

“I guess he’s preparing for a lunch meeting with a developer. Something about building condominiums in Peaks.”

Bernie laughed. “Why in the world would a town the size of ours need condominiums?”

“Didn’t you hear? That software company—Fixtel? They confirmed last week that they’re going to build outside of town. Mayor Ford is ecstatic. He’s hoping for a population boom.”

“Population boom?” Robin sat down, a little too hard. “In Peaks?”

Cecile’s bobbing head made her earrings jiggle. “Richard’s been swamped lately. Town council’s been working on a development plan. Something about revamping parts of the business district. Heaven knows the place could use a facelift.”

Robin frowned.

“It’s supposed to be the topic of our next town meeting. Condominiums will be great for business. At least for those still around.”

Something about Cecile’s ominous tone made Robin sit up straighter. “Your jewelry store’s doing all right, isn’t it?”

“If you consider all right ending each day in the red, then sure. We’re doing just fine.” The woman rested her chin in her palm and sighed. “Richard put a For Sale sign in the window this morning.”

“What?” Arton’s Jewelers was one of the oldest businesses in Peaks. If they closed their doors, it would leave Willow Tree Café sandwiched between an abandoned jewelry store and a run-down antique shop. Not exactly good for business. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“We’re ready to retire, especially now that he’s so busy with council. And since none of our children are jumping in to take over, we thought it was time. We made the decision last night.”

“I know things have been slow.” Robin looked around her empty café. The problem was not unique to the jewelry store. “But are you sure you’re not jumping into this too quickly?”

“Honey, you’re our only regular customer. And all you ever do is polish that ring.” Cecile examined Robin beneath overly plucked eyebrows.

Robin checked her watch. The big hand crept past eight and they hadn’t accomplished any of the things they normally covered during their meetings. “We should probably discuss Jed Johnson before I leave.”

Bernie fixed her steel-gray eyes on Robin. “What about him?”

“He’s not doing well. I visited him yesterday and he looked terribly thin. I thought we could arrange some more meals for him this month. And if somebody could go check on him today, that would be great.” More clanking sounded from the kitchen, followed by a round of Caleb’s giggles. If only Robin could bottle that sound and sell it on eBay, she’d be able to fix the entire town’s financial woes. “I’d be happy to do it, but I promised I’d help set up for my brother-in-law’s birthday. Caleb can’t wait to get out to the farm.”

“Jed’s wife passed away four months ago,” Bernie said.

“Yes.” Robin drew out the word. What was Bernie getting at?

“How do we know he’s not playing this out to get free meals?”

Robin blinked at the old woman. “Playing it out? Bernie, there’s no
timeline on grief. If anyone should understand that, it should be us.” Four months after Micah died, Robin was a complete wreck. If she hadn’t had her friend Bethany urging her to eat, who knows what would have happened? Especially to Caleb, who had been growing in her womb and depended on her for nourishment.

Linda patted Robin’s hand. “I’d be happy to visit him today.”

The kitchen door swung open and Lenny came out with Caleb. “The oven’s fixed.”

Robin exhaled. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Now before you go getting too happy on me, the prognosis isn’t good. You need a new oven. Either that or update the electrical. Perhaps you oughta do both. Because those two together will keep short-circuiting and if you don’t do something about it soon, I swear this place is going to catch fire.”

“Just as long as it doesn’t catch fire tomorrow.”

The front door chimed. Amanda breezed inside, her hair swept up in its usual perky ponytail. Robin met her halfway and wrapped her in a hug. “You’re a Lenny. Or a Linda. Either one works.”

“What?”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“And you’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I’m so sorry to ask you to do this. It’s just that Joe called in sick this morning and you know Caleb will be unbearably cranky if I stay and work.” She looked over at her son, who was talking with great animation to a very attentive Lenny. “Molly should be here by eleven to take over. I really need to get to the farmhouse and make sure Bethany isn’t concocting any unholy mixtures with her cake baking.”

“Please hurry.”

Robin grabbed the empty plates from the table. “I’m sorry I have to cut this short today, ladies. I’ll go put those cinnamon rolls in right now. Bernie, you make sure and take two before you leave.”

She made her way toward the kitchen, stopping twice. Once to straighten the crooked canvas—a picture Micah took outside Café de Petit
eleven years ago. Again to remove the newspaper she had laid out on Mayor Ford’s table.

She wasn’t eager to see her town lose any of its small-town charm, but perhaps the new residents would bring more customers to her café. Sharing the place she loved with more people could only be a good thing. Robin dusted her hands and pushed through the door into her kitchen.

Condominiums in Peaks.

She wondered where they would build them.

Ian McKay found himself in the real-life version of Andy Griffith’s Mayberry, with paint-chipped streetlamps and mulberry trees forming a crooked line on either side of Main Street. A bike path meandered through a riverfront park, and well-worn businesses boasted faded awnings and an assortment of window displays. He half expected all color to fade to black and white and Barney Fife to make an appearance.

He welcomed the change of scenery. Something about being out of Peoria in this small Iowa town, away from the mess of his past, bolstered his spirits and filled him with optimism. He speed dialed his father and stuck his free hand in his pocket.

To his right, a For Sale sign hung in the door of a jewelry store fresh out of the nineteenth century, and to his left, an eyesore disguised as an antique shop bookended the business district like a pathetic caboose ready to collapse on top of itself. Sandwiched between the two, Willow Tree Café possessed a charm the other places lacked. But the lone Honda Civic in the otherwise deserted parking lot told him all he needed to know.

“That was quick.” Dad’s voice lost none of its vibrato through the phone line.

“Traffic was light.”

Dad chuckled. “What do you think about the location?”

Ian peered at the sign hanging in the window of Arton’s Jewelers. One of the businesses was already closing shop. Judging by the looks of things, the other two weren’t far behind. “Mayor Ford was right. The area could definitely use some improvements.”

“We have a lot hinging on this.”

Ian plucked the cuffs of his sleeves and pictured his father, dressed in his Saturday khakis, poised behind the mahogany desk in the study while he drummed a pen against his knee and examined the framed picture taken last Christmas, the one of Ian and his mother. He could almost see the stubborn set of Dad’s jaw, as if enough determined belief in his son would restore what had been lost.

“I believe in you, Ian. I wouldn’t have given you the deal if I didn’t.”

The bloated words sat on Ian’s shoulders. Dad had made it clear—this would be the biggest deal of the year. Big enough to chase away the threat of downsizing that hovered over all of their spirits, Dad’s most especially. He was a good boss. He cared about each of his employees and didn’t want to lay off anyone. With everything going on, after all that had happened, sparing him from the burden was the least Ian could do.

“Can we expect you for dinner tomorrow evening?”

“I think I’ll stick around Peaks for a while.”

A drawn-out pause lingered over the phone line. Ian scuffed his shoe against the ground and connected with a small rock. It skittered across the cement and landed in a flower bed. “Is that a problem?”

“Your mother—”

“Will be fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck and eyed the ramshackle shutters hanging on either side of the antique shop windows. “Look, I’ll be back for the meeting on Wednesday, so it’s not like I’m going to be gone very long.”

“Will you be ready to present your plans?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you on Wednesday, then.”

They said their good-byes and Ian pocketed his phone. Mom would be fine. Dad would make sure of it, just like he made sure of it last time. And while his father took care of his mother, Ian would take care of the family business. He might not share Dad’s passion, but he was good at what he did. He’d earn back the respect he’d lost. Prove to himself and everybody else that he deserved to wear the last name McKay.

A breeze ruffled his hair, and a rusted-out pickup with a faulty muffler
grumbled down the two-lane road. He peeled his gaze away from the For Sale sign and strode through the front doors of Willow Tree Café.

“Oomph!”

Hot liquid splashed against his chest and soaked through his button-down shirt. He yanked the fabric away from his skin and reached out to steady the woman he’d smashed into.

She tottered before him, her hand wet with spilled coffee, light brown hair swept into a loose ponytail. Her eyelids fluttered like two hazel strobe lights. She captured her bottom lip between her teeth, her attention stalling on his chest.

“Are you okay?” Ian asked. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

She pointed to the mess down his front—lavender fabric turned rotten plum. “Please tell me that’s not a new shirt.”

“Define new.”

She slapped her palm over her eyes and groaned.

Ian smiled. “The good news is I own more than one shirt.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal.”

Her hand slid down her face and stopped over her mouth. “Let me go get you a towel.” Her palm muffled the words as she took two careful steps out of the puddle. “And something to clean up this mess.”

Ian watched her go, wiping at his ruined shirt. Classic jazz music and the smell of cinnamon and fresh coffee grounds floated in the air as he walked toward a row of marble-topped tables and studied the canvases hanging between the windows—black-and-white photographs of what looked like European cafés. The photographer had toyed with the focus and the zoom to give each picture an artsy look. His attention roamed up the tightly spiraled metal staircase to a small loft overhead, then returned to the main floor and landed on a shadowed instrument in the front corner of the room, flanking one side of the counter.

A baby grand piano.

The squeaking wheels of a mop bucket interrupted his inspection. The young woman handed him a wet towel and got to work mopping the brown
puddle off the floor. “Did you decide what you wanted? We’ve got cinnamon rolls. Iced coffee cake. The best espresso in the Midwest. Anything you want. On the house.”

How about a blueberry scone and the café to go?

He bit the inside of his cheek and followed her and her squeaky mop bucket to the counter. “I’ll take a chai tea and I insist on paying.”

“I’m not taking your money.” She eyed his shirt and reclaimed the towel. “Trust me, Robin would kill me if I made you pay.”

“Robin?”

“The owner.”

“You’re not the owner?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not even an employee. Not technically. I’m Robin’s sister-in-law. Or roommate.” A frown flickered across her brow. “I only help when she’s desperate.”

He removed his billfold from the back pocket of his slacks and handed over a crisp five-dollar bill.

She ignored it and pushed some numbers on the cash register. “One chai tea, courtesy of Willow Tree Café. Can I get you anything else?”

The owner. In a good mood. Preferably open to a career change
. “I think I’m good for now, thanks.”

She plucked a to-go cup from a stack. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you to Peaks? It’s not every day we get a stranger in town.” Her eyes roved over his apparel. “And I mean this in the most flattering way, but you sort of stick out.”

“I do?”

She traced circles along the countertop with the pad of her thumb. “You’re very fancy.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Is the owner by any chance coming in today?”

“You’re not going to complain about the service, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Then you can catch her this evening. She comes in on Saturdays before close and plays a few songs. It’s the only night the café’s open.”

“Plays?”

The woman wiggled her fingers in front of her, as if playing an imaginary keyboard.

Ian reexamined the instrument he’d noticed earlier, a hint of uncertainty stirring in his gut. “I’ve never seen a piano inside such a small café before. Jazz clubs maybe, but not this.”

“That’s because you’ve never seen this café. Music is ingrained in Robin’s soul. She loves it. Almost as much as she loves this place.”