All the Cuts and Scars We Hide by Garry Michael
Four: Kai
Vintage Red Chevy Pickup
The nightstand rattled when my phone vibrated, and an incoming call notification lit up the black screen. It stopped after a minute only to have another one follow and just like the first one, I ignored it and let it go to voicemail along with the rest of the messages that had been sitting there these past few days. I knew that after the second attempt, a text would follow, a routine that had started since I left Hawai’i. True to form, a succession of short vibrations buzzed against the shiny wood surface.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I reached over to grab my cell and stared at the screen. My heart raced while my stomach dropped as it always did every morning, day after day. It used to be accompanied by the urge to vomit, so two out of three was an improvement.
Ma: I’ll call you every day until you pick up.
Ma: We love you and we miss you.
Ma: Call us.
I deleted the messages and placed my phone on my chest. I stared at the abyss while I ran my other hand over the scar that etched from the crease of my elbow down to the middle of my forehand. My wounds had healed but the scars it left ran deeper than the cut. I’m sorry, Ma.
I plastered a smile on my face when I entered The Sound Café and immediately was welcomed by the scent of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee. The sounds of the machine steaming milk and the opening and closing of the old-fashioned cash register were accompanied by the soft music playing on the surround system. This place was so cool without even trying.
“Hi Kai!” Andrea greeted me after the bell announced my presence. “You came early and you just missed the rush. We’ve been busy since we opened.” She draped the white kitchen towel she’d been using on her shoulder, glancing at the display shelves on her way to the cash register.
“I was afraid you’d run out. What should I get?”
“Let’s get you started with our lemon yogurt blueberry muffin.” She grabbed the pencil tucked in her ear this time since she wasn’t sporting the same bun from the day prior and used the eraser end to push around metallic buttons.
“Wow, that sounds good.” My mouth watered with the mere mention of the flavor combo.
“Because it is, it’s one of our signature flavors. Coffee?”
“I’ll have a mocha, please.”
“You got it. Go ahead and find a place to sit, I’ll bring ‘em to you,” she instructed me after I paid.
I chose the table toward the back and grabbed the seat facing the entrance. My head was trained on the door, like Pavlov’s dog, whenever the bell rang. Three guys, probably in their teens, came in laughing and teasing as they entered the café. What are these kids doing here at seven o’clock in the morning during summer break? They couldn’t possibly be tourists the way they interacted with Andrea.
“Who is the unfortunate captain you troublemakers are sailing with?” Andrea asked and handed them three pink boxes.
“We’re sailing with Avery today,” the kid wearing a white hat with The San Juan Winds logo on it answered.
“Smells good,” the other kid said after opening one of the boxes, taking a whiff of what was inside. “Do you think they’ll notice if one of these muffins is missing?”
The third kid who wore glasses, the quieter one, was about to say something when the doorbell rang and there he was. The cranky guy from yesterday. Without sunglasses, I was surprised by the sweetness of his face and the sadness in his grey eyes. He looked vulnerable somehow. “Have you guys had breakfast?” he asked the group.
They all looked at each other before the kid with glasses answered, “We haven’t. We’re just picking these up for Avery.”
“Hi Andrea, get these guys what they want and put the rest of the order on this,” he said after handing her his credit card.
“Score,” the kid holding the pink boxes exclaimed.
“Thanks, boss!” one of the rowdy kids said afterward.
He must be the other captain Andrea mentioned. So not a jerk all the time.
He turned then, and our eyes met. He stared at me for a good ten seconds before Andrea handed him his card back. “Why don’t you guys finish your breakfast, and I’ll drop this off,” he said.
“You sure?” the kid holding the boxes hesitated, but eventually handed them over.
The man nodded.
The three musketeers grabbed the closest spot to the cash register and continued ribbing each other.
The man, now holding three pink boxes that looked small compared to his muscular arms which had veins running along them, stood in front of the display case looking unsure. The slight discomfort on his face was kind of endearing, and without his aggressive demeanor, I finally saw how utterly gorgeous he was. My stomach fluttered when he turned toward me once more, his piercing grey eyes boring a hole into my soul.
I gave him a smile and a wave.
That seemed to rattle him. He looked away and dashed out of the café. He hopped into a pristine vintage Chevy pickup. The shiny red truck had a chrome front bumper that matched all the side mirrors and wheels. His hands were placed on the steering wheel and he looked back in my direction before starting his ignition and driving off.
Well, that was interesting.