I had failed to note that Rachelle’s Café looked like it had been torn off the island of Nantucket and planted in Willow, Colorado. Of course, I’d never been to Nantucket, but I’d seen pictures, and Rachelle’s Café was it. It had tables all through and a long counter ran down one side. The rest was all serene colors and breezy décor, and trust me, décor could be “breezy”.
It was awesome.
Rachelle was behind the counter with her Mom in front of her.
“Hey,” I called.
“Hey there, Hanna,” Mrs. Miller called back.
I smiled and moved to them.
Needless to say, Raiden and I now living together, and regardless that he was out of town quite a bit, us having actual time together under our belts, we’d been to dinner at Mrs. Miller’s house.
I knew her all my life, liked her all that time, and after going to dinner at her place I liked her better. She was as she always was: nice, friendly and easy to talk to, but I discovered she was also a good cook.
I also got to know her boyfriend, Gazza, better. Gazza was English, as in actually from England, but, like he’d been a mountain man his whole life, he incongruously carved logs into totem poles or eagles and the like. He did this for a living, selling them out of the front yard in his house up in the foothills.
He was a good guy that everyone liked. Mrs. Miller and Gazza didn’t live together, but they’d been together for years and they somehow made being together in separate places work. It was also known in town that it was Ruthie Miller who wanted her own space and Gazza loved her enough to accept her as she came, which, of course, made everyone like him more.
I thought it was even cooler, knowing now that she was a woman who had a man who was not all that great, so she only accepted life and love on her terms, but put the effort in to make it work.
Then again, I was learning the Millers (notwithstanding Mr. Miller, wherever he was) were cool all around.
I stopped and Rachelle asked, “Dinner or flyby for a coffee a la Rachelle?”
“Raid and I are going to the double feature at the Deluxe tonight, but he’s running late so quick dinner, not a flyby.”
For some reason, this statement made Rachelle roar with laughter, but Mrs. Miller’s face grew bright.
“Dog Day Afternoon and French Connection?” she asked excitedly.
“Yep,” I answered. “Kickass 70’s Movie Night at the Deluxe, though they missed a great marketing opportunity by not naming it that and instead calling it 70’s Masterpiece Theater at the Deluxe.” She smiled big, and having taken in her earlier expression I offered, “Do you want to join us?”
She shook her head. “Love to. Plans with Gazz. Another time.”
I nodded, looked at Rachelle and smiled through my hopefully not too nosy question of, “Can I ask why you were laughing?”
“My son,” Mrs. Miller started to answer the question I’d asked her daughter, so I looked back at her, “was never a kid who sat around watching TV and playing video games. He also didn’t go to movies. He climbed trees. He raced around on that skateboard of his, without a helmet, I’ll add, no matter how often I got on him about that. He’d disappear into the woods or the foothills and be gone all day doing God knows what. Him sitting through a double feature is out of character,” she explained, but it was not really an explanation for why that would be funny.
Then Rachelle gave me the explanation that Mrs. Miller was too well-mannered to give.
“Not even for his bitches back in the day did he sit his ass in a theater. If they didn’t tramp through the woods with him or…” he eyes slid to her Mom, “whatever, they were toast. So it’s hilarious seeing my big, scary, badass brother so… totally… whipped.”
My mouth dropped open, but Mrs. Miller’s snapped loudly, “Rachelle!”
She grinned unrepentantly at her mother and made a whiplash noise.
“I’m not sure Raiden is whipped,” I shared, and Rachelle looked at me.
Then she laid it out.
Scarily, wonderfully, and as Rachelle had a tendency to do, hilariously.
“Your Honor, exhibit A: the pretty girl calls him Raiden when no one calls him Raiden because he f**kin’ hates to be called Raiden,” she said and I stared.
I didn’t know that.
“Rache, don’t say the f-word,” Mrs. Miller hissed.
Rachelle ignored her mother. “Exhibit B: Raid sits his ass in a movie theater, probably spending those hours not watching the movie but thinking of shit he could blow up, tracks he can race on an ATV or other things he could be using that time getting up to with his girl.”
“I’m so sorry, Hanna, when she’s on a roll—” Mrs. Miller started to say to me.
“Exhibit C,” Rachelle pushed on, but her face changed, her eyes locked on me and she finished, “he lets go and laughs. All the f**kin’ time. Finally letting people see he’s actually genuinely happy.”
I knew what she was saying and my throat instantly clogged.
“I’ll get you a white wine,” she stated in conclusion.
She ducked her head, hiding her eyes and moved away.
With difficulty, I swallowed and felt my hand taken in Mrs. Miller’s.
“Can we sit a bit before Raid gets here?” she requested on a hand squeeze.
I nodded. Still coping with Rachelle’s emotional bombs and uncertain about sitting a bit with Raid’s mother, I had no choice, so we moved to a table by the window.
She sat opposite me.
I’d learned, seeing as I was dealing with one of the Millers, so I braced.
It was a good thing to do.
“Don’t let Rachelle upset you,” she said.
“I’m not upset,” I assured her, which was kind of a lie. I was upset, but not in a bad way.
Actually, I was moved.
“We’re just… we’re just…” she looked out the window then back at me, “real happy that he’s settling down.”
I nodded.
Her eyes drifted out the window, and to give her time without my gaze on her, mine did too.
“He talks to you.”
It was barely a whisper, but I heard it and I looked at her.
Her eyes were still out the window.
When I didn’t have a ready answer, she kept going, aiming her words to me but out the window.
“He came back and he…” I watched her pull in breath, “life changes people. Things happen. It’s the way life is, but that was… that wasn’t how he was different.”