“Like I said, coffee. Black. I won’t be eating any seaweed. Had enough of that during the war.”
Mars shook his head. “You didn’t fight in any wars.”
Leary huffed. “There was a war going on when I ate that seaweed, I’ll tell you that much.”
With a sigh, Mars glanced up at me. “I’m open to anything. Really. Whatever you recommend.”
“Famous last words,” Leary muttered as I walked away.
When I returned to the table a few minutes later, I had a sampling of our most popular items, several beverages (including one mug of black coffee, hold the seaweed), and both dogs. “This is a little bit of everything,” I said as I unloaded the tray. “Here you have our mixed berry corn muffin, that’s the spicy cinnamon roll, this is pumpkin loaf, and—”
“Who’s a good boy? Who’s thebestboy?” Leary cooed. “Oh, I didn’t forget about my little sweetheart Scout. Come over here, come to Granddad.”
Mars and I watched as Leary mooned over the dogs for a minute. They had their heads in his lap while he scratched behind their ears, their tails beating a steady rhythm against the concrete floors.
Mars ran a hand over his mouth to hide a smile and shifted his attention to the dishes. “What’s your favorite?”
I set the mug in front of Leary. “Probably the pumpkin loaf.”
“Then I’ll try that,” Mars said.
“Would you stop with that sweet talk? Can’t you see she’s a smart girl with a business to run? She doesn’t need a lazy bum like you in her life.” Leary moved the pumpkin loaf away from Mars and looked at me. “No one can afford to feed this boy. That’s why he’s living with me now. Ate the doors right off his mother’s cupboards.”
Mars shook his hands at Leary. “None of that is true.”
Leary took a long, thoughtful sip of his coffee, decided it was adequate, and returned to the dogs, saying, “You did move in with me.”
“Youmoved in withme,” Mars replied.
“Ay, what does it matter?” Leary tore the muffin in half and took a bite. “This doesn’t taste like a wood chip.”
“I’ll pass your compliments along to the chef,” I said.
He devoured the muffin and let the dogs lick the crumbs from his fingers while Mars pulled apart the spicy cinnamon roll. “This could’ve been worse,” Leary said, scraping a sour look over the people waiting at the counter. “You’ve made the best of a shithole situation, I suppose.”
“Thank you,” I said. This was as close as Leary would ever come to paying a compliment directly to someone’s face. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”
He leaned down to nuzzle Scout, saying, “I would’ve come to this microphone thing you’re doing even if I don’t have much care for poetry and such. You know I’m a night owl but this dirty lout won’t let me out after dark.”
“It’s just good to see you,” I said, and I meant it. I’d invited him to the open mic night because I wanted to give him a chance to visit the café but I knew he didn’t roll out of bed until noon on most days and only went outside when the sun set. Such was life for a barkeep. “How’s retirement treating you?”
Leary stared at Mars while his grand-nephew gulped down the last of a green smoothie and then polished off the rest of the cinnamon roll. “What did I tell you?” he muttered. He leaned back in the chair, still petting both dogs. “Retirement is boring the piss out of me. You need a dishwasher? I’ll work for free. Anything to get some good kitchen noise in my life. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” He tapped his temple. “I’m not like you kids. I don’t need to know what I’m feeling.”
Mars only rolled his eyes as he sampled the yellow smoothie.
“How’s the family?” I asked. “How’d your nephew’s knee surgery go? Is he back on his feet?”
“I told that old nugget to stop with the pickleball,” Leary grumbled. “You see? That’s what retirement gets you—busted knees and daytime television and fuckin’ feelings. Who needs it?”
“I don’t know, man,” I said. “But if you want to hang around here a few days a week and wash some dishes or just sit on the patio and yell at seagulls, we’d be happy to have you.” I pointed at the empty mug. “All the coffee and muffins you could ever want.”
He dropped a hand to my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “You’re not useless, sunshine. I like that about you.”
Leary would never admit it—and I’d never ask him to—but tears filled his eyes as he said this.
He cleared his throat and sampled a chunk of pumpkin loaf. He nodded as if it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, flicking pumpkin seeds off the top before taking another bite. “My niece is having a rough go of it,” he said. “First the husband died in a ditch and then that son of hers won’t get his head out of his ass.”
“He didn’tdie in a ditch,” Mars said. He set the glass aside, another smoothie down. “He moved to Florida last winter with his second wife. The one he married ages ago.”
