Failed Moments

Chapter 2: The Reflektions Café

Chapter 2

The Reflektions Café

PATRICK NEEDED A way to process his thoughts as they headed toward the hotel café. Logic didn’t help and imagination made matters worse; he was about to enjoy a cup of coffee with his dead Aunt Grace. Am I dead too, or is this some type of terrible dream? As Patrick realized there were no good answers to this question, his arms started to shake and his lips began to quiver. He knew he needed to relax by thinking about something else, and his mind turned to the café. First, he considered the name—Reflektions. Probably not a misspelling. The Boigen is a Swedish Hotel, and this must be the Swedish version of Reflections. Not a bad name for a café, he thought.

The small footprint of the café enabled Patrick to survey the entire operation in an instant. He started with the limited menu, which consisted of coffee, tea, and assorted cookies. Not up to the standard of a Manhattan hotel. Patrick quickly developed a short list for additions—muffins, cakes, and a selection of sandwiches. Yes, that would be a good start. Next he reviewed the clientele. Couples sat at the few occupied tables. Some were older, some younger, and a variety of ethnicities were represented. The only area of commonality involved the lack of audible conversation. Why aren’t they talking? The more Patrick continued to focus on the café, the less his arms and lips shook and quivered. He searched for something else, anything else, to analyze.

Finally, they settled in their chairs.

“So, how’ve you been enjoying your apartment? Sorry, I’m not being specific enough. You’ve probably lived in at least two or three places since I passed away. Tell me about your latest place.”

“Tell you about my latest place?” It hardly seemed relevant.

“Patrick, you’re an anxious mess. If I can’t calm you down, I won’t be able explain what you need to understand. So tell me about the place, and start with a deep breath...” Grace wasn’t usually sharp, but sometimes with Patrick it was necessary.

Patrick recognized he needed to calm down and he did enjoy talking about his apartments. Despite his wealth, Patrick always rented and insisted on one-year leases. He didn’t believe in being locked in and sought out upscale apartments in luxury buildings with either a balcony or a terrace. As much as Patrick needed the outdoor space, even in the cold New York winter, he didn’t need much of it—only Patrick and his laptop computer needed to be accommodated.

“Okay.” He took a breath then stopped, unsure why he was hesitating. “I—I moved to the other side.”

She laughed. “Let me guess, for you the ‘other side’ is the East Side. Were you growing tired of the West Side, Patrick? Or was there another reason? Perhaps it was something about a terrace?”

“Well, yes.” He looked at her for a long moment. How did she know? “I’m on the thirty-fifth floor facing midtown and my apartment has two terraces. The first has a beautiful, unobstructed view of the Manhattan skyline, but the second is the special one.”

“What makes it so unique?”

Patrick smiled as he started to describe his favorite terrace, the best he ever had. “Well, first of all, it looks like a castle. Of course, the top is open to the elements, but then the sides have four walls with cut-out windows reminiscent of those you would see in a medieval castle. The windows are large, so my view is still unobstructed, but the walls block strong winds and prevent me from getting sunburned. The castle is my favorite part of the apartment.”

“So while you can look across the city from the vantage point of your chair in the castle, it would be very hard for anyone else to look in. Is that right?”

“Well, yes, but I burn so easily. The walls give me protection from the sun.”

She hid a smile. “Yes, protection from the sun. Irish skin is so sensitive, but is this really the reason you like the walls?”

“Yes, the sun can brutal at times. What are you trying to say?”

“Isn’t it true that these walls enable you to sit out on your terrace with your computer, trading your stocks without interruption?”

“Well, yes, but you say that like it is a bad thing. Trading stocks is how I made my money, it is what enabled me to quit my job as a professor. I need to give it respect. This is how I make my living.”

“Yes, Patrick, respect. I see. Perhaps the fact that you are able to do this all alone with no personal interaction with the world is just an added benefit. No more need to deal with inquisitive students and needy colleagues or family. Maybe this is for the best.”

“What are you talking about? You make me sound like a hermit! I go out most nights. You know how I enjoy restaurants and walking through the different neighborhoods. I always find great new places every time I wander the city.”

“Patrick, my dear boy, don’t you see? You move every year to a new neighborhood, so you’re always the quirky new neighbor and never the trusted old friend. What about girlfriends, Patrick? I was so upset when things didn’t work out with Kasandra. I thought she was the one.”

“Why are we talking about me? Why are you bringing up Kasandra? How is any of this relevant? You died five years ago. I’m not the one who should be answering questions. What’s going on here?”

Patrick was on the verge of losing his cool. Aunt Grace was the only family member he’d been close with and somehow she was back, sitting with him in this unusual café. He closed his eyes and thought of all the times he visited her to fix little things around her house. They talked while he worked and Patrick always left in better shape than he arrived. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, smiled, and asked, “Aunt Grace, please tell me what is going on here.”

“Of course, Patrick, but let’s first order some coffee and then we can talk.”

An elderly, well-dressed man interrupted. “No need,” he offered as he placed two paper cups with lids on the table. “A chamomile tea for the lady and a black coffee for the gentleman.” Patrick had noticed this same employee earlier at the front desk and admired his neatly sculpted white beard, perfectly tailored three-piece suit, and monogrammed “P.S.” on his shirtsleeve. The gentleman continued with an air of authority, “I think it might be best if the two of you finished your chat in your room. Here is your key card.” The man turned to Patrick, paused for a moment, and then said, “And Patrick, I wish you the best of luck.”

As the man walked away, the big ring of keys dangling from his belt jingled, and Patrick became even more confused. Who was that man? How did he know my name? Why do we need a room? Why did he wish me luck? Aunt Grace seemed to hear his thoughts and responded, “Patrick, you’ll get all of your answers upstairs. Let’s take our drinks and go up to the room.”