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he’s my last link to Jack and I can’t let go of him.
    It kills me that I can’t get
inside Charlee’s head to know if she feels the same.

6. Cups, Color, Candy
     
    Charlee
     
    Nana Betty is the type of
person I want to be when I’m seventy-five. She doesn’t say much to
me, just takes Darcy whenever I drop by and doesn’t ask if he’s too
much for me or if I want him to stay with someone who’s stronger
than me. For this I bring over a plate or packet of
something—usually chocolate-dipped cookies for her, Pa and Darcy—as
a replacement for my absence as I take off in my car.
    Rather than risk running into
Dexter, Dad, or any of the nurses I’ve come to know, I stop by The
Crooked Shelf, a restaurant near the hospital. It’s a
new-age-styled thing with a crooked double door at the entrance,
and waiters and waitresses who wear spiked boots, wet-look leggings
and T-shirts with stuff like upside-down monkeys on them.
    I’ve come here many times with
Mom. There was a stage when she was doing some freelance work from
home and my swim teaching was taking place during random hours. My
eyes glaze over the guests and ornaments and conversations. My legs
are taking me to the table in the corner closest to the back where
if we—I—am quiet enough, I can overhear the gossip from the
kitchen. This time, I won’t have Mom to talk with, though. Although
no one sits opposite me, I still sit on the wall seat because Mom
always gave me that “special” one. It’s the type that looks like a
couch cushion stuck to a wall. I’ve loved it since forever.
    After a while
the usual gossip, the routine, can’t stop it, and scenarios like Dad dying and
Mom’s warm body on the snow, but soulless from the first moment of
contact when she hit the ground, fill my head. Then it’s Dad’s
voice—telling me not to lie to Darcy, too. That I need to “face
facts”. That he believes in my strength to make it even when I
don’t.
    Just as I’m about to lose it, I
hear “Excuse me, ma’am.”
    I shoot up, aware that my arm
was curled around my head, my cheek pressed to the scuffed table
top, me listening to the sounds traveling up the table leg through
the wood. I think I’ve found my savior.
    “ Oh, um. Yes.
Wai—what?”
    The guy chuckles. I think I’ve
seen him before but I’m not sure. All I know is he’s the type of
guy I should like. Standing average height, with shortish blonde
hair, no piercings, and clean-shaven face he is a much better
choice than Dexter. And the only normal person here.
    “ Would you
like a menu…?”
    “ Charlee,” I
finish for him. “No, thanks. Just a bubblegum milkshake with
marshmallows and cream in a cup.”
    He pops his notepad back in his
apron without noting anything down, and says, “Hmm, I haven’t seen
you here before.”
    “ I’m an old
regular.” And that’s all I manage before my throat gets tight and I
realize what an insensitive person I am for coming back to this
restaurant. I should wait for Mom to come back with me… Okay, now
I’m losing it.
    “ And I’m a
relatively new employee,” the guy says. I sense he told me his name
before this but I’m too embarrassed to ask him to repeat
it.
    He comes back with my cup and
for a quarter hour I use my spoon to swirl it until the electric
blue flavoring mixes with the cream and marshmallows. The result is
a murky, dull liquid that’s impossible to pretend to enjoy. I sit
there like this, finger poised on my spoon, watching guests come,
eat, chat—even witnessing what appears to be a first kiss by a
couple—and then leave. My waiter walks by. The first couple of
times he smiled and tried to get me to reciprocate but has long
given up.
    At one point I
open my bag to pay for my still-full drink and notice my cell
phone. It’s somehow saying three pm, but it was only one pm twenty minutes ago.
    There’s a shadow lingering over
me, and I look up to see my waiter. I think. I do a double take and
notice his sweatpants and