Willow’s weak smile grew stronger, although George suspected it was at his expense. “It’s very simple,” she said. “Let me show you.” Then, without even measuring, she filled the grinder with beans and began to operate it. “Probably about thirty seconds,” she said as it whirred noisily. “Then you just dump it in like you would your other coffee.”
“Without measuring?”
She shrugged. “I just wing it, but you can measure if you like.”
“How much?”
Willow’s creased brow suggested she questioned his sensibilities. “Whatever you normally use should work.”
So he got out his mini coffee scoop and meticulously measured, leveling off the top before pouring it into the filter. “It does smell good,” he admitted as he turned on the coffee maker.
“See how easy that was.”
“I guess.” Still, he wasn’t sure. It might not turn out right.
“And coffee beans stay fresher longer than ground coffee.” She closed up the bag. “Just keep this in a cool, dark place.” She ran a hand over his kitchen table. “Should we sit here?”
“Sure.” He set the muffin plate in the center of the table. As he fetched paper napkins, a pair of small dishes, and coffee mugs he tried to remember the last time anyone had sat at this table with him. Probably his grandmother ... nearly twenty years ago. He was about to admit this to Willow then stopped himself. She probably already thought he was rather strange. Why reinforce the concept?
Before long, they were having muffins and very tasty coffee. Sure, it wasn’t how George normally spent his Saturday mornings, but he reminded himself that he was retired now. There were bound to be some changes ahead.
twelve
Over coffee and muffins, Willow asked George about his small kitchen dining set. The table had a plastic laminate top with an aqua-blue-and-silver pattern and was trimmed with chrome. The matching chrome chairs were upholstered in what appeared to be the original aqua-blue vinyl upholstery. Obviously vintage, the set had to be more than fifty years old, and yet it was in mint condition.
“My grandmother gave it to me when I bought this house—along with these appliances. For as long as I can remember, she’d had those pieces in her kitchen, although this set had four chairs back then. But besides my brother and me having lunch occasionally, we rarely ate in the kitchen. My grandmother was very proper and felt meals should be served in the dining room.”
“That must’ve been nice.” Willow sighed.
“How did your family have meals?”
She chuckled. “Well, I think I’ve told you that my family was quite nontraditional. I suppose my parents were ahead of their time. Early hippies. I was raised on a communal farm.”
“Oh yes, I do recall you mentioned that once. I thought perhaps you were jesting.”
“Not at all. It was a real commune with shared gardens, shared chores, shared meals—the works.”
“Did you have siblings?”
“Yes. An older sister, but she hated commune life. She left the farm when she was fifteen.” Willow shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since.”
“But you went to high school at Warner?”
“My parents moved back here. It was my mom’s hometown and I think there were some problems at the commune. Plus my parents were worried about my education and that I’d end up running away like my sister. Unfortunately, I was so independent and wild, I was a handful for everyone. And then when I got pregnant with Josie, well, my parents insisted on raising her while I went to college. I have to give them credit for helping me get my education, but I sometimes wonder if it might’ve been better for Josie if they hadn’t.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, when I finally finished college and got on my feet, Josie was about six. I wanted to have her with me, but my mom convinced me she would be better off with them. And maybe she was ... although I suspect they spoiled her some. Probably an attempt to make up for where things went wrong with my sister and me. Of course, it all unraveled for them when Josie became an adolescent and started to rebel. That’s when my parents shoved her off on Asher and me. And by then ... well, we tried, but I think it was too little too late.”
“Do you think that’s why Josie is, uh, the way she is?”
Willow explained about the counselors and shrinks thatJosie had seen during her teens, about the diagnoses and treatments. “But nothing really helped.”
“I’ve had students like that,” George admitted. “More so, it seems, in recent years. It makes me question the state of the world. Are we degenerating? If so, is it due to environmental factors ... or just a general decaying of humanity?”
“Those are big questions.” Willow set down her empty coffee cup. “Speaking of big questions, I’m curious about your interest in Ralph Waldo Emerson. Besides the name connection, do you really embrace his philosophy?”
“I did in my youth. But to be honest, it’s been years since I really studied his works. Although I still believe in independent thinking and living freely.”
