~ Coffee, Tea Or Love ~

by

Sherry Derr-Wille

One

“Small Town, USA,” Grant said aloud, as he pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop. The neon sign in the window glowed through the early morning fog, proclaiming the shop to be open. He wondered if April Fools Day extended past the first of the month.

“It’s not a good sign,” he muttered to himself, while shoving the gearshift lever into park. “I’ve been in town for three days and all it’s done is rain. Now on my first day of work it’s so foggy I can hardly see my hand in front of my face.”

Once inside the door, a sign on a blackboard greeted him. WELCOME TO JAVA LANE -- TODAY’S FLAVOR HUGS & KISSES.

Grant read further to see what else was on special. It was the same here as it had been in Chicago. Chic coffee shops always served java with cutesy names.

“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked.

He lowered his gaze to get a better look at her. Dark auburn curls fell softly around an oval face. More striking than her perfect complexion were her ice blue eyes.

“The scones are fresh,” she commented.

He realized she took his silence as indecision, rather than interest.

“Ah, a large coffee.”

“House blend or flavor?” she questioned.

“I’ll take the flavor and leave room for cream. This is quite a shop.”

The woman smiled, obviously flattered by the compliment. “Thank you. You must be new in town.”

“I moved here over the weekend. I’ve got the first day on the new job jitters.”

“Where are you working?” she asked, as she pumped coffee from the thermos on the counter.

“Compton Enterprises,” he replied.

“It’s a good company. You should enjoy it. So where are you from?”

Grant smiled. He remembered growing up in a town like this one, a town where gossip ruled. “Chicago. What about you?”

She seemed to stiffen at his question. “I’m a home town girl. I went to high school here and came back a few years ago.”

Several people entered the shop, cutting short any further conversation. What little information he’d gleaned, he filed away for future reference.

“Good morning, Lane,” a blond wearing jogging pants and a sweatshirt chirped, as she made her way to the counter. “For your information, don’t go jogging in the fog. Some crazy guy almost hit me when I crossed Randall.”

A vision of a much younger woman materialized in Grant’s mind. Why hadn’t he seen it right away? The eyes, the voice, all the signs were there. The only thing missing was the name. There weren’t that many women who were called Lane.

He’d looked for Lane Sacks, his high school sweetheart, for almost thirty-five years. Now, when he wasn’t looking, he’d run into her headfirst. How long would it take for her to realize Grant Price and Skip Price were one in the same?

~ * ~

Lane put her hands into the hot soapy water. Automatically, she scrubbed the espresso pitchers in anticipation of the lunch crowd who would be descending on her in less than half an hour.

Her early morning customer consumed her thoughts. Something about the man gave her an uneasy feeling. She couldn’t put her finger on anything in particular. The way he stared at her with his haunting blue eyes made her feel all warm inside. It had been a long time since anyone had such an effect on her.

The dream which had awakened her at the ungodly hour of two this morning, popped into her mind. Over the past thirty-five years, it had always signaled a life-changing episode. What could it mean now?

Questions without answers dominated her thoughts. As usual when she was dismayed, she heard Jack’s voice enter her mind.

::Don’t be so frightened, Lane. Think back on the dream. It has signaled good as well as bad.::

When she’d first heard Jack’s voice, she’d been alarmed. He was dead and buried, so why did he sound as though he was standing right next to her? Over the past year, he’d invaded her thoughts several times. Now, his words of wisdom and encouragement were more soothing than frightening.

“Are you about ready for the lunch crowd?”

Lane turned to see her Aunt Peg enter the kitchen area of the shop.

“Almost,” Lane replied.

Peg poured herself a cup of coffee. “Are you feeling any better than you were earlier?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think you know. You had the dream again. I’ve known you most of your life and recognize the symptoms. I heard you screaming at two and noticed the bedding in the laundry room. Do you want to talk about it?”

Lane shook her head. What could she say? This morning’s dream was no different than those of the past. In it she gave birth to her son, only to have a social worker rip the child from her arms. When she awoke, she’d been drenched in sweat and completely drained.

“Every time it happens I remember how easily my folks threw me away.”

Peg put her arm around Lane’s shoulders. “You know what they say, Dear, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. You were your Uncle Art’s treasure, to say nothing of mine.”

“What would I do without you, Aunt Peg?”

“The way it looks, you’d be doing the dishes. I thought you might like some time to rest, so I called Nancy. She’ll be here any minute. I want you to get out of here for a while. As a matter of fact, I want you to take the rest of the afternoon off. I rented that movie you’ve been talking about seeing, and have lunch made and in the refrigerator. Now scoot.”

Lane kissed her aunt’s cheek and grabbed her coat. It had been a long time since she’d taken an afternoon to relax.

By the time she returned to the house, her mind was spinning with memories of the past.

She’d been fifteen when she found out she was pregnant with Skip Price’s child. Her parents’ reaction had been to send her to Peg and Art’s Wisconsin home, hundreds of miles away from Southern Indiana and Skip.

All during the months Lane spent waiting for the birth of her child, Peg begged Lane’s parents to allow them to adopt the baby. Lane’s mother’s answer was always the same. “I’ll not have Lane’s bastard bringing shame on our family. The baby will be put up for adoption, but not for you. If you want a child so badly, you can have Lane. She’s no longer welcome in our home.”

Lane knew she wasn’t supposed to be listening on the upstairs extension, but she did it anyway. With the exception of the dream, it proved to be the last time she heard her mother’s voice.

Tears sprang to her eyes at the painful memory. Unwilling to dwell on the past any longer, Lane focused on the meaning of the dream.

The first time it invaded her subconscious she met Jack Allerton only a matter of days later. It seemed as though the dream came as an omen. Jack changed her life for the better, but changed it, nonetheless.

From then on, each time the dream returned, another life-altering event occurred. It had come with the birth of each of her three kids, when Uncle Art died, and finally when Jack’s plane crashed.

What could it mean now? Could one of the kids be sick? Was there something Aunt Peg wasn’t telling her?