Maria held her hand aloft and wiggled it from side to side. “Wasn’t sure, sweetie. Thought you might’ve come to your senses and be wondering why the heck you were driving an old bird like me ten miles for a simple coffee.”
Maria laughed that throaty yet honeyed laugh again, and Janie couldn’t help but smile.
“Good morning, Maria! Who’s your friend?”
Janie turned around to face another old woman in the café’s sky-blue painted doorway.
“That’s a good question.” Maria hooked her arm into Janie’s and tugged her forward. “Whatisyour name?”
“Sally?”
“Copycat.” Maria chuckled and tapped Janie’s hand. “Is that who you want to be?”
“Honestly, I’d rather be anyone other than me.”
Maria pressed her lips together and tilted her head slightly. “Well, I’m glad you’re you, whoever you are. You’ve saved these jittery legs the ten-mile journey for my morning coffee and pancakes.”
“Jittery isn’t the word I’d use to describe you.” Janie had seenthirty-year-olds in worse shape than Maria, which was easily explained if she regularly walked ten miles for breakfast. “And you look like you could easily walk the B of A marathon next month.”
Maria swatted Janie’s shoulder. “Sassy. I couldrunthat,” she said and winked before pulling Janie into the café.
Janie laughed at Maria’s about-turn and allowed herself to be led into a space that a realtor would likely describe as quaint. A zoomer would likely call it odd and old-fashioned. Vintage sconces with warm bulbs lit the room, and the walls were exposed brick, with occasional sections painted in deep ochre and a rich olive green. A mural of a colorful eagle clutching a dark snake in its claws, on a background of what looked like local families, stretched across the entire wall behind the counter. Each corner of the painting was decorated with a Guatemalan flag. All manner of seating and tables covered the hardwood floor, and most were draped with brightly colored serapes.
“Sally, this is Mirta. Say hi to Mirta.” Maria plopped herself into one of the cozy armchairs positioned on a raised platform of cobblestone tile along the length of the window.
“Hi, Mirta, I’m Janie.”
Mirta smiled in a similarly gentle way to Maria. Perhaps they were sisters.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Janie.” Mirta motioned to Maria. “And where did you pick up this roaming spirit today?”
“I was parked on West Warner having…” Janie chewed on her bottom lip. She’d been having a meltdown, but she wasn’t about to confess that. “I was having a moment to myself.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” Mirta ushered Janie into an empty chair beside Maria and all but pushed her into it. “Maria does love to poke her nose in where it isn’t wanted.”
“Bleh.” Maria poked her toe at Mirta’s shin. “How do you know my nose wasn’t wanted? She’s here, isn’t she? Didn’t race off in her fancy car and leave me on the sidewalk, did she?”
Mirta grumbled and looked at Janie from tip to toe. “Shelooks way too classy to leave a viejita standing on the side of the road. Look at you; she probably thought you were homeless.”
Maria brushed at her velvet jacket. “That’s offensive to homeless people, Mirta. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you have to be a vieja armagada.”
Yep, they were either sisters or had been friends for longer than Janie had been alive. She bit her lip, not knowing where to look.
“Takes one to know one,” Mirta shot back and turned on a dime to duck behind the counter just as someone else came in.
“Well, hey there, Maria,” the old guy said. “How’re you doing today? Caught any fish yet?”
“No fish, Martin.” Maria tilted her head toward Janie. “Just a pretty lady.”
Martin nodded his head slowly as he stared unabashedly at Janie. “Quite the catch, eh?”
“More of a rescue than a catch,” Maria said and shooed him away.
Janie offered Martin a smile, despite thinking that she’d somehow slipped into an episode ofBlack Mirror, where all the characters were septuagenarians and all their names began with M. Maybe she was still on West Warner in a sobbing stupor, and this was all in her head.
She glanced outside to see her Lexus shining in the sunlight. Not a dream then.
Martin ambled the short distance to the counter, where Mirta already had a to-go cup waiting for him. “Thank you kindly.” He tipped his cap to her, took the drink without paying, and wandered into the street, calling out his goodbye over his shoulder.
