Fostering Love (The Soul Sisters Series Book 1) (3 page)

Over the years, I’d hear Jonas was being posted somewhere far or to some dangerous place and he’d had been promoted to Sergeant.  What he was doing was never really discussed, but I knew that Barbara and Harrison were totally proud of him and what he’d achieved.  On the rare times he’d come home and stay for a few days or weeks we never really saw each other, even though I tried but it only ended up being family dinner nights that sort of thing.  I was at college, soaking up the lifestyle and he’d be helping Harrison on a house project during the day and drinking and seeing old friends during the night.  The one night before he joined the navy I decided to talk to him was the night he’d brought Letitia “Tits” Brunel home.  Walking in on that scene was soul destroying and I skulked away to nurse my wounds and move on.  I was civil towards him after that and that remained the case when he was on shore leave.  We were functional as part of the family unit but we clearly wanted different things and my sensible side knew he was enjoying the navy and destined to travel whilst I was getting more and more wrapped up in photography and the theoretical study of it at college.

That was until last night.  I didn’t know he was home.  No one, not even Barbara had mentioned he had shore leave coming up, which was odd.  His mood and attitude towards me wasn’t the civil Jonas I normally encountered, it was short, laced with temper and directed at me. 

How fucking dare he! 

Once again Jonas and his moods gave me feeling of conflict and seeing him was like a lightning bolt to the brain, unloading all those unreturned feelings.  I needed to get the answers to all my usual Jonas enquiries.  How long will he be back for?  Where is he going when he leaves again?

I rallied my delicate self to locate my cell and dialed Barbara and Harrison’s home number.  Using caller line ID she answered in her usual flair.

              “Morning Dolly dear, how are you? I’m just baking a pie for the boys dinner.  Harrison is pottering about somewhere outside and the twins had a late night doing lord knows what.” Her usual flair meant imparting all person’s activities and whereabouts for the day before you could get a word in to reply.

              “Hey, I’m good, I got a little beer indulgent at girls’ night but I’ll recover.  Listen, I saw Jonas.  When did he get back?  How long is he home for this time? I didn’t know he had leave.”

              “Oh, well...ah...em, yes. You see funny thing that.”  I could tell this conversation was already heading from random to strange.  “He’s been home about six weeks and he isn’t going back.  He’s left the navy.”  She says very matter of fact.

              “SIX WEEKS!  That’s insane.  How do I not know this?  I’ve even sent him texts and had nothing back.”

              “He didn’t want a fuss Dolly dear, he wanted to come back home, take some time to reflect and settle a bit.”  Well that was a rubbish explanation, explaining nothing, which has cleared up absolutely jack shit. 

              “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask surprised.

              “He asked us not to tell anyone until he was ready; you know how that boy is about sharing. It’s his business and decision so we respected his wishes.”

              “Has something happened?  Is he OK?”  My heart felt like it was up front and central, pounding in my forehead.

              “I don’t think anything’s happened and I think he’s fine, but you know that boy, he locks up tighter than a clam until he’s ready.” I was speechless, he’d returned home, told Barbara and Harrison, met the guys for drinks and had probably done the nasty with his dry dock buddy Tits, all before I even knew about it.

              “Listen Barbara, I’ve gotta go the house phone is ringing,” I tell her and hang up.  I just needed to get off the phone.  I did the most logical thing I could next.  Hit a new text message option on the phone and type:-

Me:
S.O.S

This was sent by group message to the girls. It was also code for girl crisis meet at Mudjoes as soon as possible.  Within minutes replies came back, we had a meet scheduled for midday, the delay was due to Flo not being able to cut and run out on a class of high school kids.

Wrestling myself to the bathroom, I showered, brushed my teeth and then proceeded to straighten up the mess I’d created in my ‘get to bed drunk’ routine.  I hustled to the kitchen and made myself a coffee; I also found some fruit, yoghurt and a bagel that were going to become part of my recovery solution.  What I wasn’t sure about was if the headache I had was due to beer and tequila shots or over thinking and confusion.  Thinking I’d be lost in some parallel non-communication universe I double checked that I hadn’t missed any contact from him.

Check1: House phone answer machine.

              Jonas = No.

              Wally at the photo shop = yes.  He’d had an approach for my freelance photography services and wanted to see me.

Check2 : Cell phone and voice message box.

              Jonas = No.

              And nothing else in either the text or voicemail box that I hadn’t already dealt with.

Check3: Email

              Jonas = No.  Well let’s face it, it was a long shot and my last ditch attempt to unfuddle the muddle.  He’d never communicated in writing before.

I did, however, have a note from a glossy out of town magazine that wanted some of my pictures.  They were doing a story on football players and their journey through the season.  I’d recently attended a high school game with Barbara, Harrison and Flo and taken my camera; I always take my camera.  I was with the Griggs because the twins were playing, but because of Flo’s teacher status, I was able to get some behind the scenes close up shots of the team talk with Sonny, warm ups and pre-game preparations and emotional action shots throughout the game.  I’d left my cards at the football field’s main office; you never know when someone is going to ask for photos of a son in action or when the local newspaper journo doesn’t take a photographer or camera with him and needs a picture to go with a story.  I set a reminder on my phone to give the magazine a call when I returned from our crisis coffee.  As there was no reach out by Jonas, I was still left with unanswered questions and the only way to get these without going to Jonas was to recruit the girls for a plan of attack.

A quick mirror check in the hallway of my apartment satisfied the answer to my most important question, do I look like death warmed up? No? OK.  I’m good to join the town’s general population and after grabbing the keys to my 4 x 4 and my day purse I head out for the short twenty minute drive into town.  My plan is to stick my head round the door at Hart, Hart & Smythe and give Neely a fifteen minute “go” warning and then head and check out the opportunity Wally referred to in his earlier message. 

Parking outside Wallace’s Photo Shop on the main street was luck of the draw around midday.  Fortunately, I bagged a great spot yards away from the front door.  Once I’d reversed into the space and grabbed my purse, which also contained one of my cameras, I went to get out of the car and as I looked up there was Jonas across the street, deep in conversation on his cell.  His head was down towards the sidewalk and his free hand was stuffed in the pockets of his very old, very snug fitted jeans.  I had no idea what he’d be doing in town at midday but waiting a few minutes could provide more information.  He paused outside of the local bank, looked up towards the heavens and laughed.  It was shocking to see a true genuine smile on his face.  I’d not seen one in a long time and if it was at all possible it turned him from handsome to purely beautiful, jealousy lashed through me. Someone else, just from a phone call could bring that reaction out in him and in this moment it totally contradicted the view point that Barbara had left me with of him.  She said that he needed time to work through some stuff, it doesn’t like he’s troubled to me.  After another minute of pacing and turning, pacing and turning, he ended the call, slipped his phone into his pocket and walked into the bank.  Quick as a flash and desperate to avoid bumping into him, I darted out of my car and into Wally’s shop.

Wally’s shop was like the photo store that time had forgotten.  It had a huge glass window with a big venetian shade in it, the shade was opened and closed depending on the sun’s schedule.  He told me that as beautiful as the sun was, his solid wooden counter top was even more beautiful.  He was right too, it was thick and had been an original feature in the shop.  One of the duties I used to love was taking a tin of polish and making it gleam.  Behind the counter were traditional bar stools that you could sit on whilst sorting through customer orders or working the big developer machine.  The developer machine and cash register were his modern technology allowance, afraid that they would spoil the shop he had additional wooden boarding made to enclose them behind the counter and enabling him to keep the look consistent.  The shop floor itself was traditional black and white tiles and housed nothing else but a few standing racks with things like batteries, film roll and other accessories.  Over the years the shop hasn’t changed much, but one thing that does change often is the photos on the wall.  Some were taken by Wally and some by me, they’re of people in his life and the places he loves.  He says he smiles every day because he gets to see them whilst he’s at work.  This makes me smile too because his choice to display my work with his own reminds me I am important in his life and considered family.

              “Morning Wally, what’s shaking homeboy?”

              “You young folk, always using poor English, text this, smiley hash tag that, you should listen to Flo more, get her to reacquaint you with the hidden art of proper conversational English.”  He says this whilst fussing over some equipment, he taught me wisely about looking after my gear and Wally’s lesson No.1 was a place for everything and everything in its place.

              “So, this mysterious opportunity, care to share?”  My attempt to hurry him up doesn’t go unnoticed.  It would be an epic fail to bump into Jonas prior to our crisis coffee meeting.

              “Always in a rush,” Wally mutters.  “The Harts think it’s a good idea to create a new brochure for Hawkstown.  They want something with a traditional feel but modern edge, something to appeal to tourists.  It seems the bank and legal eagles are trying to bring in some new shop owners, boost the local community.”

              “OK. Cool, I can get in touch with them feel the vibe of what they’re after.  Really get this rock on the map.”  I wait.  I watch.   Here it comes.

              “We don’t want anything too
wacky,
” said Wally grimacing like it was a dirty word. “We want to maintain our integrity, attract the right tourists,” he preaches.  I already knew this but couldn’t resist in pushing Wally’s buttons.  After a minute he spots my smile and breathes a sigh of relief when he knows we’re on the same page.

              “There’s my girl, I knew you’d be the one to portray the character this town deserves.  Anyway, young Oliver Hart is handling the specifics on the project so please contact him.”

              “Will do Wally, anything you need me to do whilst I’m here? OK for shop cover this week?”  I always offer because he’s my friend and he’s looked out for me as long as I can remember.

              “No, I’m OK at the moment and I know where to find you if that changes,” he says appreciatively.

              “Cool, winner.  Gotta run, meeting the girls at Mudjoes for coffee, I’ll keep you in the loop about the tourist brochure job as soon as I get more of the specifics.” I know I don’t really need to, but his interest in it is clear, his love of the town is obvious and the experience he brings to my work when I’m having a creative blank is invaluable.

Near to Wally’s is Mudjoes, it is a unique place, it feels homely and familiar as soon as you step through the door even though everything is bright and new.  The front door step has been made out of clever printed concrete and as well as the Mudjoes logo it has an imprint of a steaming coffee cup.  The door has a traditional doorbell hanging over the back so that Jo gets the chance to greet all the people who enter.  The walk way to the counter is down the centre of the shop, with modern mismatched chairs at all the tables on either side.  The counter for service consists of a modern glass fridge containing cakes and goodies and a service area where you grab your drink and either leave with a thanks or take a seat and savor the ambience.  The walls are decorated in an eggplant color with a thick gold centrally placed border and although the walls are dark, the shiny fridge teamed with modern lighting and natural window light make it feel cozy instead of dark.  One small wall to the side of the service area is dedicated to newspaper articles and occasions that have featured Jo or Mudjoes coffee house itself.  It’s something that people get caught up in whilst waiting for a takeaway coffee and cake and reminds you of the community you belong to.

However, the oldest thing about the place is probably the owner Jo.  She’s had the place for about twenty years and has turned it into a gold mine.  What is even more impressive is how at a first glance you look at Jo and place her in the late thirty’s, when really she’s just over fifty.  She’s become more beautiful as she’s matured, she dresses to impress, embraces her short pixie bob and is always a flirt with her gentleman customers.  Jo has been single for the last ten years since the loss of her husband Rick, she doesn’t seem to want to replace him in her heart and swears that her customers, their hook ups, crazy relationships and general day to day living keep her going....and exhaust her.  I wave at Jo as I walk through the door and head for an empty table, there aren’t many because she’s busy so I grab one midway down against the wall.