Peace of pie, p.5
Peace of Pie, page 5
Clyde Metcalf had started the accounting firm when he returned to Fieldstone fresh from Harvard, two years before Bryony and Paul finished high school. By the time they walked across the stage to receive their diplomas, Clyde had enough work to take on employees. Both Paul and Bryony started working on a Monday, still reeling from a weekend of graduation parties.
“How did you find out?” she asked, trying to soothe him. Paul adjusted at a slow pace. Updated software gave him hives. Bryony hoped a change in leadership would not upset him for too long.
“The new receptionist told me,” Paul said. “She overheard Clyde talking to the new owner as he walked her out the door.”
Bryony scoffed. “The new receptionist doesn’t know her place yet.” She would have a talk with the young woman later, but right now the elusive numbers glitch beckoned. Bryony swiveled back to the screen, determined to find the error before the work day ended.
“Clyde’s a smart guy,” Paul said. In her peripheral vision, Bryony saw him lean in farther. “He’s getting out while he still has the stamina to enjoy retirement. I bet he’ll buy a yacht and sail the Mediterranean.”
“Lucky Clyde.” Bryony scrolled both screens to the next set of numbers.
She knew little about Clyde other than his fairness as a boss. He had trained them from the ground up, paid for their associate degrees, and provided beyond adequate benefits. He kept his personal life private, having established separation of work and home life from the beginning. Bryony had no complaints.
“Lucky us, Bry,” Paul said. “We’ve been here so long we can afford to retire. Aren’t you itching to get out of here?”
“No.” She itched to have Paul vamoose so she could solve the numerical mystery in front of her. As long as the new owner did not cut pay or benefits and allowed Bryony to do her job without micromanaging, she couldn’t care less who stood at the helm. Her direct customers were her main focus.
“I’m ready for something new,” Paul said.
Bryony turned only her head this time. “You’re thinking about leaving?” Others came and went, but Paul had been a constant. “Are you serious?”
“You bet I am.” Paul stepped around to her side of the divider and leaned against it, hands clasped in front of him.
“Doing what?” Bryony asked.
“Library Science. I can finish my bachelor’s degree in anything and complete my MLS online.”
She swiveled her chair again to face him full on. “You’re quite serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I am!” His grin matured into a full-fledged smile.
He’d talked about that for years, but she never thought he would follow through. Such a bold move had never occurred to her. And Paul, of all people, to consider an undertaking like that at his age both stunned her and unsettled her.
He continued to stand there, looking more confident than ever before.
“If you go, I’ll miss seeing you around here,” she said. Though a bit fidgety at times, he did his job with accuracy and speed. He had been the perfect colleague.
Paul unclasped his hands, crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaned down, and said, “You might not want to stay after you hear who bought the business.”
“Who?” Whatever could Paul be thinking? Bryony had no enemies.
He straightened his back and pronounced the name of the rumored new owner with precision. “Charity Henderson.”
Bryony paused, looked back at her screen, took a breath, pushed her chair away from the desk, and stood. “Excuse me.”
After confirming Paul’s assertion with Clyde, Bryony tendered her two-week notice in a brief resignation letter with no typos centered on a fresh sheet of plain white paper. Then, she called her best friend. Lillian lamented not being able to meet in the evening and begged Bryony to stop by in the morning.
The next day before work, Bryony arrived at BeanHereNow alert and ready. She chose the table with red chairs. Red for two shots of adrenaline and a future with no plan. Bryony’s mind was on fire. The vase in the middle of the table held fresh pink freesia and a few sprigs of baby’s breath. Leafless thorny stalks with sharp tips would have been more apt.
Lillian moved toward Bryony’s table from the back of the work area. Her husband, Rick, followed close behind, a white apron covering his shirt, plastic gloves on his large, strong, capable, brown hands. His real job was managing a construction company, but he pitched in to help when needed.
Stopping on the other side of the order counter, Rick asked, “Did you ask her yet?”
Without answering her husband, Lillian placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of Bryony, a bowl of strawberries in the middle of the table, and another mug in front of the empty chair opposite.
“What did you say, Bryony?” Rick asked, his eyes now directed at her, his brow furrowed.
Lillian went to the counter, stretched her arm across its surface, and put her finger to his lips. “Shh, baby, we haven’t talked yet. Go back there and finish the sandwiches. I’ll let you know what she says.”
“Ask me what?” Bryony asked.
“My bad.” Rick walked backward with his hands up. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll get back to my general man-duties while you two talk business.”
“What’s he talking about?” Bryony asked.
Rick resumed his stance at the table in the back of the employee work area. His arms moved as he assembled, cut, and bagged sandwiches. He raised his head to look toward them, and lowered it again when he saw Bryony watching him.
“I was wondering,” Lillian said, lowering herself to the waiting chair. “It wouldn’t be anything near what you’re making now, but would you like to help out at the coffee shop until you decide what you want to do next?”
“Yes, I would.” The answer came fast and hard. “I can start right away on weekends.”
Lillian sipped from her mug and lowered it before saying, “You do understand the pay is not much above minimum wage, and we’d split the tips?”
“You don’t have to pay me,” Bryony said. Spur-of-the-moment job offer acceptances weren’t her style. But neither were spur-of-the-moment resignations, and she had been awake all night wondering how she would fill her days. The offer was heaven-sent.
“I’m not going to let you volunteer, dear.” Lillian bit into a strawberry.
“Whatever you want to pay me is fine.”
“It won’t be what you’re worth, but I’ll do what I can.” Lillian turned to the work area behind the counter and announced, “You can come back over, Rick. She said yes.”
Bryony heard a knife clatter to the floor and watched Rick skirt his work table.
“Great!” he said, gliding around the order counter and rushing toward them. When he reached her, he patted Bryony on the back and said, “Welcome aboard!”
“He’s happy because now he doesn’t have to help me out so much,” Lillian said. “Come here, baby.” She put a strawberry in her husband’s mouth. “There’s your pay for all the ways you’ve helped over the years.”
Rick chewed a few times and swallowed the fruit. “Don’t let her overwork you, Bryony.”
“No chance,” Bryony replied. She loved to work. Whatever real work would come next, being at the coffee shop with Lillian would be perfect for the time being.
“Now go do your manly things,” Lillian said to her husband.
“Aye aye, Sweetie Pie,” Rick sang as he sailed back to his station.
“You two are awesome,” Bryony said.
“We have our moments,” Lillian said, a smug look on her face.
Knowing she did not face the abyss of an unknown future relieved Bryony to the point of being able to experience her body again. “I’m hungry!” Reaching for a strawberry, she realized she hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s apple and almond snack.
“Rick, honey,” Lillian called out. “Please make a special bagged lunch for our new employee.”
“Coming right up!” he called back.
Bryony put her hand on top of Lillian’s. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Lillian placed her free hand on top of Bryony’s. “I’ll always be here for you, Bry. What are friends for?”
CHARITY FOR CAL
On the fourth day of June, Cal checked in at over a dozen graduation parties for his students. On the fifth day of June, he attended his own retirement party, organized by a committee of students and teachers, and held in the high school auditorium
Rudy went through the double doors first, waving Cal through and hanging back as Cal high-fived the aisle sitters on his way to the front of the full house. He took his place, center stage, in a recliner scavenged from the theater department’s set collection, to listen to those who won the coveted speaking spots.
“Uncle Cal!” Hell-Oh called from the front row. A collective chuckle rumbled through the audience as her mother shushed her. Cal made eye contact with each of his family members as he quietly waved with waggled fingers and smiled greetings at them.
The principal gave a short introduction prior to calling up the first speaker.
So many current and former students volunteered that speakers had been selected at random. Knowing this vindicated Cal for the torture he had inflicted on every single class he taught over the years. The nature of the torture had been public speaking.
Cal posited that being able to speak in front of a group strengthened democracy. Having witnessed a fair share of excruciating first attempts over the years, Cal often shared candidly about his own struggles with speaking.
His mother had helped him overcome a slight stutter when he was young by coaching him to recite the ABCs to her before he could read. When he could read, he read out loud to her every night. When she introduced him to other adults, she expected him to speak up, though he often stumbled through his words. She continued to work with him until the stutter all but disappeared, only surfacing in moments of strong surprise or deep uncertainty.
With a similar determination, he insisted all of his students develop skill in speaking to a group, no matter how awkward, shy, speech-challenged, or resistant the student might be. He never failed to see improvement, though some required after school tutoring, which he provided on his own time.
First speaker up was Chad, a tattoo-covered bass player who, in spite of being highly intelligent, barely managed to graduate.
“In ninth grade I had Mister Forster, and I hated him.” Chad looked over at Cal, then back to the audience. “I hated him for making me stand up in front of the class. But one day he said, ‘Get up there and talk about what you love.’” He looked again at Cal and smiled this time. “I gave a speech about music. It changed my life. Thank you Mister Forster. If I ever get a record deal, you’re on my acknowledgement list. You rock, dude.” He flashed a peace sign to Cal and bowed to the audience.
Everyone clapped as Chad left the podium, dyed black hair hanging in his eyes, a too-big black leather jacket slumping down both shoulders.
The rest of the randomly selected speakers stepped onto the stage one by one, fifteen in all, with no hesitation. Each told a story about how Cal changed their life in some way, small or large. Cal teared up a few times but managed to keep any drops from running down his cheeks. He wondered if retirement could ever be as rewarding as the fruits of his labor spread before him right now.
Finally, the only chosen speaker, Prissy Bangor, walked up to the stage. The entire auditorium erupted into applause. Attendees rose from their seats. Tears ran down Prissy’s cheeks. Her willingness to show her vulnerability loosened the clamp on Cal’s emotions. After they hugged, he noticed three wet dots on the back of her shirt. So much for getting through the day with his dignity intact, but the reason for his tears outweighed his need to appear stoic.
Starting in January, Prissy had organized a group of unlikely candidates to pierce their ears in memory and honor of her younger brother who died by suicide the previous fall. Half of the football team, all of the wrestling team, and every member of the Future Teachers of America endured a pierce—for some, their first—in one or both ears.
Standing on the podium, her hands gripping the lectern or moving notecards from one stack to another, Prissy described how she had lobbied at the local, county, and state levels to increase awareness of, and funding for, programs to prevent suicide. She credited Cal with her ability to speak to groups small and large.
Cal had promised to have an ear pierced if Prissy raised $5,000 for a local suicide hotline. He hoped his challenge would push her to exceed her original goal of $2,500. Donations had added up to over $6,500 and Cal purchased a one-carat diamond for each ear.
The moment to fulfill his promise had arrived.
As Prissy led him from the recliner to a straight back chair, she carried the cordless microphone with her and talked about how Cal had bolstered her belief in her ability to help others. After addressing the audience, she asked him to hold the microphone, cleaned his ear lobe, and said, “Don’t worry, Mister Forster. I know what I’m doing.”
Right before shooting the sharpened end of a gold stud into his lobe, she whispered, “Without you I might have ended up like my brother.”
The post’s stab went unnoticed, but he would forever remember the way her words pierced his heart.
“Oops,” she said, dabbing at his shirt. “I got a tiny speck of blood on your collar.”
“I’ll wear it with pride,” Cal said. After enduring the second poke, he hugged her again before she left the stage.
Cal spoke last. He had worked on his speech for two weeks. It ended up being less than half the length of the Gettysburg Address, and took under fifty seconds to deliver, about the same time allotted an Oscar winner.
“After my first day as a student teacher, my mentor told me I would never make it. I was too intelligent, too awkward, too arrogant, and too chummy. I never went back… to him. I found a new place to student teach.”
The audience applauded.
“Never let anyone disparage you. Even if their assertions are correct—I am intelligent, awkward, arrogant, and chummy. And always remember you are nothing less than a unique, brilliant light. You are all stars in my universe, and my existence would be mournfully lonely if I had not met each and every one of you. Now go out and continue to make a difference in the lives of others. I am forever grateful for the difference you have made in mine.”
The applause lasted for over four minutes, not a world record breaker, but likely the longest round ever heard echoing through the auditorium of Weber High School. Cal thought the event would end when the clapping stopped, but nobody wanted to leave. Two hours later, he shooed the last few out the door so the janitor could lock the building and go home to his family.
Full of gratitude, and exhausted by the emotion of the day, Cal retreated to the cement deck encircling the condo pool. From this day on, no calendar or daily schedule set by the school system would guide him, only the sun and moon. He supposed he would adjust, but right now the future felt—empty. Cal had no adult experience calculating time without imposed deadlines.
His cell phone rang, and Cal reached over to pick it up from the poolside table.
“Hey, Cal,” a familiar voice said. “Am I interrupting?”
Rising from his reclined position, Cal sat sideways on the chair and switched ears. “Not at all, Charity. I’m just hanging out by the pool. How’s Chuck?”
He had received a call the week before from Charity’s daughter. She informed him Chuck had a heart attack followed by a procedure to unblock arteries. There had been complications. Charity had called since to update him on Chuck’s condition. Cal appreciated being included, even more so when he learned Chuck had insisted he be informed. Their rekindled friendship meant as much to Chuck as it did to Cal.
He and Charity exchanged a few pleasantries. She asked about his retirement party and expressed regret for not being able to attend. She asked if Susie had been in touch. Cal said she had called a few times, and they had tried to find a time to get together, but they were both so busy. And finally, Cal asked about Chuck. Charity’s voice had sounded strained throughout the call, and he worried she had bad news to share.
“The doctor told him to take off for an entire year,” Charity said. “Actually, Chuck asked me to call you, and I know this is a huge imposition… he wondered if you would take his classes while he recovers. I hate to ask, Cal, but I know he’d rest easier if he knew he could count on you. I’m so sorry. We know about your travel plans.” Her voice trailed off.
“Yes,” Cal said. “Tell him I’ll sub for him as long as he needs me.” And just like that, his plans changed. He would start his journey closer to home and send pictures to his father from southern Ohio. The rest of the world would be there when Chuck was ready to resume working.
Charity sighed on the other end of the phone. “You don’t know how good it feels to hear you’re willing to come.”
She had no idea how good he felt about having somewhere definite to go.
BRYONY MEETS CHUCK’S SUB
Three blocks from the high school, traffic crawled to a stop, then surged forward, stopping again in less than half a block. At first Bryony thought the jam must be related to everyone arriving at once, but then she moved forward enough to see a worker with an orange vest directing traffic.
Sweat darkening his T-shirt’s underarms, the flagger held up a Stop sign. Bryony watched as cars traveled past in the opposite direction. Cool air recirculating through her car and closed windows blocked most of the smell from the fresh tar glistening in the morning sun.
The first day of school was going to be a hot one.
If the road work forced her to wait much longer, the large coffee sitting in her car console would be cold by the time she delivered it. The aroma of fresh-baked dough wafted from the passenger seat. Upon hearing Bryony’s plan to celebrate the start of the school year with continental breakfast for her brother, Lillian added an extra dozen bagels for the office staff.
