"Sit," Megan ordered. "What's going on?"
How could I put it into words? "I'm not feeling well."
My lie was met with crossed arms and raised eyebrows. "The breakfast rush is over, and with this storm, I doubt lunch will be busy. You can go home and recover from your… stomach bug."
Even on a slow day, running the cafe alone was a tough job. I couldn't do that to Megan. "I think it's passed." Steeling myself,I lowered my head, hoping to conceal my exhale as I stood. Thankfully, the room stayed still and the tears stopped falling.
"Go sit in my office." Megan stepped aside. "Take a minute to compose yourself. I'll come and get you when that guy is gone."
"That's not necessary." I brushed invisible dust off my hands on the front of my apron.
Both of us looked in the direction of the cafe as the bell above the front door jingled. "I'll get back to work now,” I said.
"Not with those eyes." Megan took me by my arms and steered me to her office. "I've cried over a man before. It happens." She handed me a tissue. "It's best if they don't see it."
How did she know I was crying over Beckett? All she'd seen was her staff member freak out on a customer about a building project.
"Megan—"
"Wait here. Take a breath. Have some water and pull yourself together. After the breakfast rush you can tell me all about that asshole."
My boss was cool, but we weren't exactly at the girlfriends-at-a-sleepover confidante level. "I'm overreacting. I'm sorry."
Megan glanced behind her. "I know you, Clara, and I've never seen you cry. Take your time, come out when they're gone, and after the rush we can decide if you're overreacting or not. Sound like a plan?"
Nodding, I blew my nose. "Thank you."
"We've all been there." Megan squeezed my shoulder then left her office.
The whirr of the espresso machine and laughter from the coffee shop filtered through the walls. Pacing the room, I studied the time sheets on the wall, periodically checking the status of my eyes.
Still as red as a pothead's.
Sighing, I sat in the chair and blew my nose again.
Were they still there? I didn't dare peer into the cafe. Spinning in the office chair, I replayed Beckett's words. Tear down the rink. That ice was where I'd landed my first triple lutz. My mom's photo was in the display case, pink spandex dress, permed hair and all. Would that photo get bulldozed into the ground? What would happen to the kids' program? Little Maddie was just about to nail her lutz. Without the free figure skating lessons, she wouldn't be able to access the ice.
Could the town really sell the arena? I wouldn't be the only one opposed to this plan. My back straightened and a fire ignited in my belly. If enough people got together, could we stop this? I wasn't going to let Beckett come home and ruin Christmas. No, I wasn't going to let him tear down that rink without a fight.
With my antlers in place and confirmation that the whites of my eyes no longer matched the red bells, I grabbed a bag of coffee beans and marched onto the floor. I had work to do.
I filled the coffee grinder before I let myself look at table four. My shoulders dropped and my stomach unclenched - the chairs were empty. Megan was wiping down the table.
"I was just about to come and get you." She rinsed the rag in the sink. "Are you sure you're up for working? It's totally okay if you need to take the afternoon off."
"I'm more than okay. I have skating right after my shift, so even if I go home, I'll have to come back into town." The drive was over thirty minutes and to save on diesel, I tried to only do it only once a day. "I'd also like to keep busy."
Megan shut off the water and leaned against the sink. "Oh, Clara. I'm an idiot. The rink. Here I was, thinking you were crying over a man, but of course, you're upset about the arena."
I took the rag from her hand and wiped down the cutting board in front of the toaster. "You're not an idiot." I hesitated. "It's about both."
Anyone who has spenttime in a small-town rink knows that they have a ‘smell’. A mixture of cleaning supplies, refrigerant, nacho cheese, the kind in the pump. It's a terrible smell, and I loved it.
The Zamboni finished its last pass of the ice. Maddie stood beside me, her mittened hands on the boards, waiting for permission to step onto the wet surface. "Do you think anyone else will show up today?"
The snow hadn't stopped. Maddie's dad, Phil, drove a snowplow for the town and had plowed the laneway to the rink to drop off his daughter.
"I'm not sure. If not, we can practice your Christmas Carnival solo and you won't have to worry about hitting any little kids."
