C.J. Carmichael - Love and the Single Mum

By the time they reached the bistro, Margo felt close to tears. She watched her kids scoot up onto stools where Em had milk and cookies waiting. They attacked the snack like starving creatures. Lately it seemed Ellie couldn’t get her hands on enough food, while her younger brother was always thirsty.

They were so cute. Peter with his missing front teeth and mischievous blue eyes. Ellie, so serious and grown-up acting, the way she’d always been, even as a baby.

Margo hated that their innocence was being marred by this divorce. Their father moving out had only been the beginning of the hurdles they would face, she now realized. Next would be the new stepmother. And possibly halfsiblings sometime down the road.

Feeling her anger toward Tom mounting, Margo made an excuse to go to the kitchen. The table at the back was now occupied by two young men in leather jackets and artfully disheveled hair. She wondered if she’d seen the last of Suit Guy and was surprised to realize she felt a bit disappointed at the idea.

In the kitchen she allowed herself to slam the copper pots around a little. Life was so unfair at times. She hated being divorced. Learning to share her time with the kids had been difficult enough. Now she had to stand on the sidelines as Tom moved on and married again.

The kitchen door swung open, and Em breezed into the room. She pulled her apron over her head, then shoved it into the dirty laundry basket. “Sandy just showed up, so I’m off.”

Margo knew “off” was a relative term. Em would be going home to prepare dinner for her husband and starving teenagers. Then she’d spend her evening either watching her son play basketball, or driving her daughter to dance lessons.

“We have some leftover muffins from the morning. Want to take them for the kids’ lunches tomorrow?” Margo bagged them as she made the offer and Em accepted the package gratefully. A moment later Sandy—a college student with shoulder-length brown hair and serious, wide-set green eyes—popped in to grab an apron.

“It’s quiet out there, thank goodness.”

Margo could guess what she meant by that. “Edward hasn’t shown up yet?”

“Second time this week.” Sandy shook her head, slipped on the apron, then hurried back to the front.

Margo was glad she had Sandy to rely upon. Two months ago, Edward had seemed like a good hire. At first impression, he’d been good-natured, motivated and pleasant. But the day after she’d given him the job, he’d come to work with rings in his lip and eyebrow, as well as a stud through his tongue. Margo had nothing against self-expression, but it had seemed slightly deceitful to her that he had hidden his piercings for the job interview.

Lately, he’d been arriving late for work and shirking cleanup duties at the end of his shift. Today, when he finally arrived and came to the back to get an apron, he avoided eye contact with her.

“Hi, Edward. How are things?”

“Fine.” He still didn’t look at her.

“You’ve been running behind quite a bit lately. Is anything wrong?”

He shook his head, eyes still averted.

Margo sighed. “Are you sure there isn’t a problem?”

“No. Everything’s good.”

Margo tilted her head to one side. If there was one thing she was sure about, it was this. Everything was not good. Not with Edward, not with the bistro and not with her life.

But how to begin tackling the problems, she had no idea.

A MESSAGE WAS WAITING for Robert on his machine when he got home from the gym. He dumped his sports bag near the closet, then hit the playback button, hoping the call would be from his headhunter. But the recorded voice was about thirty years too young for that.

“Hey, Robert, it’s Andrew. Maybe you didn’t get my other message, but I was wondering if you could come to my birthday party tomorrow? It’s at six o’clock and Mom’s making a chocolate cake. Well, she’ll probably buy it, but it’ll be chocolate for sure. Um…see you then. Bye.”

Robert stared at the machine for several seconds, before erasing the message. Feeling like the biggest jerk on the planet, he hit the shower, trying not to remember Andrew’s last birthday party.

He’d bought the boy a fishing pole and foolishly he’d made a bunch of promises, never dreaming that he might not be able to deliver on them. Even now he didn’t know who’d been more excited about those pie-in-the-sky plans—him or Andrew.

Robert shut off the water, dried quickly then contemplated the remaining hours of the evening. He hadn’t eaten, and after his workout, he was starving. There were some frozen entrées on hand, or he could call for take-out, but he found himself craving…soup.

The squashed pear soup at Margo’s today had been delicious. Even better than the sunshine carrot from the day before.

As he made up his mind to go, Robert knew it wasn’t just the food he was after. Sure it was good and the atmosphere at the bistro was warm and welcoming, but there was something more compelling pulling at him: the friendly woman who owned the place.

As he passed by the phone on his way out, he tried not to think of the boy who’d left him that message. He knew Andrew would be home, waiting and hoping, and his heart ached to think of that.

But what could he do? Belinda had said no contact, and she was the boy’s mom.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Robert stepped inside Margo’s Bistro. The place was small, holding ten tables, max, not counting the annex through an archway to his left. The colors of the decor were vivid, but the tones blended harmoniously—sort of like the flavors in Margo’s soups.

Robert checked behind the counter. The older brunette he’d seen on his previous two visits wasn’t on duty now. Instead, two college-aged kids were at work. The girl seemed to be hustling her buns off. The guy acted as if he was annoyed about something.

Robert scanned the rest of the room, disappointed when he didn’t spot Margo. He’d taken a chance, hoping she might have returned for the evening, but it hadn’t paid off.

Since he was here anyway, he lined up to place his order. Reflectively, he dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He touched a piece of cardboard and pulled out one of his old business cards.

Robert Brookman, MBA, Senior Account Manager, Wells Fargo.

Hard to believe that only last week this had been him. He’d been someone important, an employee at one of San Francisco’s oldest and most prestigious banks. He’d been on his way up, a man bound for success.

He’d had an office and colleagues, a desk and a mound of work waiting for him at the start of every day. He’d taken pleasure in tackling and conquering those files before the closing of every night….

Robert Brookman, MBA, Senior Account Manager. That was who he was. Or who he had been. A busy, important person whose every minute of every day was spoken for.

Now he had the disorienting notion that if he suddenly disappeared, if someone walked into this bistro right now with a gun and forced him out into a waiting car, no one would notice. He could be gone a week, a month, hell even longer, and not a person would raise an alarm.

Robert scrunched the card, then pushed it back into his pocket.

“May I help you?” the pretty college student asked him.

“Yes, thanks.” He ordered soup and a scone, then carried his food to the table at the back that he’d begun to think of as his. Two doors led off from the short hall at the rear of the restaurant. One was marked Employees Only. The other was the washroom. He sat with his back to both of them, then lifted a spoonful of the soup to his mouth.

It was good. Really, really good. He closed his eyes and savored the complex, complementary blend of flavors. Despite the amazing taste, though, he found he didn’t have much of an appetite.