Sweet Caroline(94)

Welcome to the Frogmore Café

Andy Castleton, Proprietor

Mercy Bea Hart, other Proprietor

Open Monday—Thursday

6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.

Friday and Saturday open till 11:00

Live Music!


39

January 2

Savannah Airport

I want to jump out of my skin. My first flight ever and it’s over lots of water. It’s all sinking in now. The reality of what I’m doing.

Posey’s hand rests on my arm. “How’re you doing, Caroline? Excited? I’m excited.”

“I’m caught between thrilled-beyond-belief and I’m-going-to-freak-out.” My right leg jitters up and down. I felt fine until they announced first-class boarding in five minutes. (Carlos had me booked in first class. I’m going to like him.)

“Now, Hazel knows when to pick you up, right?” Dad asks for the hundredth time.

I reach to squeeze his hand. “Yes. Do you want to come with me to make sure I’ll get there okay?”

Posey laughs. Dad hops out of his chair, slapping his hands against his jeans. “You don’t know the language, Caroline, the culture, the people. A lovely woman, traveling alone, is a prime target. A prime tar-get. The world ain’t what it used to be. If Hazel’s not there, what are you going to do?”

“Dad, if I know Hazel, she’s already there.”

He paces around in front of me. “You remember all the self-defense moves I taught you, right?”

“If not, I remember what Sandra Bullock taught the world in Miss Congeniality. SING.”

Dad makes a face. “SING? What? How can singing . . . You been hanging around Mitch too long.”

Posey shakes her head. “Okay, you two, stop. Hank, she’s going to be fine. Caroline, you’re his baby. Twenty-nine, yes, but still his baby. Give your old man a break.”

“Daddy, I’ll call the moment I arrive, I promise.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “All right, then. I won’t worry. Too much.”

Posey takes his hand. “Let’s give her a minute. Caroline, we’re going to the newsstand to buy goodies for your trip. Magazines, chocolate, whatever fun things we can find.”

“Remember, I’m only allowed two carry-ons.” I wink.

With a weak exhale, I slump down in my chair and try to picture what the next few weeks will be like, but my mental landscape is blank. I have no idea what challenges and surprises wait for me in Barcelona. I picture angular, freckled, auburn-haired Hazel, with her energy and bright smile.

The Café good-byes were hard and tearful. Dupree arrived late for breakfast the first time in twenty years and handed me a card with his and Helen’s picture.

“Don’t want you to forget me. I’ll e-mail you my bathroom stories.”

I sniffed, laughing. “Please. I’ll miss them.”

Pastor Winnie prayed a blessing.

Mostly we tried to act like it was an ordinary workday. Andy spouted running updates on inventory, asking what I thought about trying a new vendor for fresh fish. Mercy Bea complained about the schedule—until I reminded her she took over the task last week. Luke avoided me most of the day. But at four, no one wanted to leave. This good-bye was a permanent good-bye.

“It’s empty in here without the lamp and your things.” Luke’s face appeared in the office door.

“Andy will fix it up.”

“Won’t be right without you around.” He cleared his throat, not bothering to hide his tears. “I love you, Caroline, like you was my own.”

“You’re one of the most honorable men I know.”

So, we cried and hugged, then Mercy Bea busted in. One thing led to another, and the whole crew was wrapped around me, crying.

“Lost in thought?”

An unexpected voice shoots me out of my chair. “Mitch.” There he stands, three feet behind me, handsome in a dark turtleneck and leather jacket. His eyes watch me with blue intensity.

“Hey, Caroline.”

I don’t care what he’s doing here or why. I run into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He scoops me up so tight it’s hard to draw a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk. I knew how much Barcelona meant to you . . .” He cradles my face in his hands and lowers his lips to mine. “I’ve missed you so much it hurt. How could I let you go to Barcelona without telling you one last time? I love you.”

I cling to him, the heat of his confession melting the chill of our sepa-ration. “How’d you know when I was leaving?”

“Your dad called.”

I smooth my hand over his chest. “He’s turning into a softy.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to begin boarding Flight 801 to Barcelona.”

Mitch’s eyes search mine. “Maybe we’ll never be lovers, but a life without your friendship is just too empty.” He reaches inside his jacket.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Mitch.” The box is small and velvety. “No, I can’t—”

“Open it.”

My fingers tremble as I pry open the blue lid. Inside is a beautiful, thin diamond band. “Oh, Mitch, it’s beautiful. And really, too much.”