Chapter Three: You Never Forget Your First
970 Words
Myra
I accepted the treats awkwardly. Weird, but I was too hungry and caffeine needy to overthink it. I smiled sincerely at Kimmie and thanked her before I lifted the cup to my lips.
Hot, sweet, perfection. It was almost enough to put me in a good mood, were it not for Anthony Kent still hovering beside my table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key that was dangling from a moose-shaped keychain.
“Make yourself at home,” he said flatly. “If anything is in your way, just move it aside.”
“Thank you,” I pocketed the key, and reminded myself, it was just for a few weeks. In fact, the sooner I got down to business, the sooner I could get away from all the ugly memories. “Um, Aunt Dot said you would know where all the books and records are?”
His expression grew even colder. “Boy, you don't waste any time, do you?”
“My entire life is about not wasting time,” I snapped, not quite understanding his hostile response. Surely Tony also had better things to do than try to keep an old lady’s bakery running? Shouldn’t he also be eager to see the thing sold, so that Aunt Dot could enjoy a peaceful quiet retirement with Gen?
“I’ll bring them up after we close,” he said, and with that he spun on his heel and stalked back to the kitchen, disappearing behind the blue swinging doors.
What a way to ruin an otherwise perfect muffin, I thought as I peeled back the paper muffin cup and took a fat bite. I was long past the time in my life when I worried about counting calories. Familiar flavors burst over my tongue, the slightly tart raspberries a perfect contrast to the sweet, moist muffin. I knew the recipe had been passed down to Aunt Dot from her mother.
I even knew the recipe, because I had spent several years working in Dot’s bakery.
I ate quickly, not because I was in a hurry, but because I wanted to avoid another encounter with Anthony. Seeing him had unsettled me much more than I cared to admit. It had been ten years, for Godsake. It should all be ancient history by now.
But like they say, you never forget your first.
Especially when your first time was complete and under humiliation.
I slurped down the coffee and went back to my car to get my small suitcase, before I climbed the back staircase that led to the apartment over the bakery-cafe. I noticed that the stairs had been cleared and salted, so they were free of ice and snow. I got to the landing and slipped the key into the lock.
Welcome home. Myra, I thought bitterly as I pulled open the door and stepped into the small apartment.
I had expected the place to be abandoned. Probably some sheets thrown over old worn furniture, the refrigerator door propped open so it wouldn’t get a funk while the appliance was switched off, maybe some stale, dusty smelling linen in the closet.
But that was not the scene that greeted me. The apartment looked very much lived in. There was a pair of giant sized snow boots on the mat next to the door. The couch was positioned in front of a coffee table that still hosted a fresh potted poinsettia and yesterday’s newspaper. There was a small TV and an internet router set up, a little two-seater round table and chairs in front of the big window that looked out over the street. The small galley kitchen was neat and clean, but clearly stocked. There were a bunch of bananas and two oranges in a fruit bowl on the counter. Clean dishes were still in the dish strainer waiting to be put away. I dared to pull open the fridge, and sure enough… There was food on the shelves and a carton of eggnog on the door.
“What the…”
I opened the door to the bedroom. The queen-sized bed was neatly made with a red plaid comforter. There was a pair of slippers beside the bed stand. There were clothes in the closet.
Enormous biker-man sized clothes.
The bathroom also had a toothbrush and a razor…and someone had left the toilet seat up.
Anthony had clearly been making use of the apartment, and without telling Aunt Dot!
I rolled my suitcase back to the love seat and sat down. What was the best course of action?
I could call Aunt Dot and inform her that the apartment was, in fact, occupied. But it seemed unfair and unhealthy to stress a woman who had a newly diagnosed heart condition with such a petty issue.
Besides, I felt like a kid again, tattling on Tony. And Tony had always been an expert at twisting the facts to make me look like the culprit instead of the victim.
Option two, I could stomp down the stairs and storm the bakery, and demand answers from the man directly. But to what end? Would he apologize to Aunt Dot for freeloading at her property? Would Aunt Dot even care? He was her only beloved nephew, after all.
I finally settled on my third choice. I sat down, put my feet on the coffee table, and waited for the bakery to close, so that I could collect the accounting books and tax files from Tony. I would then load them into my car and make the forty-minute drive back to Rutberg to look for a decent hotel.
I stretched out my legs and let my head fall against the back of the sofa.
Don’t think about the past, Myra. I coached myself. Ruminating over it won’t change anything.
- Writer
