one?”
CUCUMBER SANDWICHES
Sarah was always trying to fix Jim Bates up. She’d tried to fix him up with the woman who drove the truck that brought her bulk flour and shortening, and the woman who ran the print shop out of her house and printed Sarah’s menus, and even the weekend bartender at Ralph’s, a beautician who was kind of skanky, with her cutoffs and halter tops, but by that time Sarah was down to saying to Kevin, “Maybe the poor guy just needs a one-night stand.”
“Guy can take care of himself,” Kevin said, lying back on the sofa, balancing turkey on a croissant on his belly. “Can’t a guy ever get a plain piece of bread around here?” he said sometimes.
Sarah loved Jim Bates, but not in a romantic fashion, since she had an undoubted thing for unpleasant men who treated her badly. Jim had been just the opposite. He’d been the only personwilling to sit her down and tell her why her business was failing, and he did it soon enough that she could turn things around. She’d set up as an English tearoom, which had been her dream since she was a little girl and had read a series of books about three children who lived in an English manor house and had adventures with talking animals. Trifle, treacle, toad-in-the-hole—Sarah never forgot the foods they had at tea, or the fact that they had tea at all, and that it wasn’t something to drink but an entire meal. Her mother had made her major in marketing at the state university so she would be able to support herself—“instead of assuming some man will do it,” said her mother, who never got over her bitterness at her divorce.
But what Sarah really wanted to do was move to England, where everything was better: china, gardens, accents, Shakespeare plays. Then she met Kevin her senior year, and decided what she would do instead was be a mother who read those books about the English children to her own, and ran an English business of some kind or another. After she spent a summer working at a bakery near campus she decided on an English tearoom. Kevin got a job selling cars in a lot off the interstate, and they settled in Squamash, which everyone said was going to be the next place the city people came to spend the weekend. Only they didn’t, not really, although there were a few of them who bought houses on the outskirts with plenty of land because it was cheaper than the more popular places.
Sarah got herself some tiered porcelain serving dishes with flowers twining around the fluted edges, and some teapots with cozies made to look like little old women, and a small business loan that she figured she could manage each month with the marketing plan she’d learned in her advanced marketing class. She gave away free samples the first week and people sniffed the air outside the shop appreciatively and smiled and told her they’d be back. And they were, for about two weeks, and then they weren’t.
“What’d I tell you about a burger place?” Kevin said. “Everybody likes a burger.”
“I don’t care about burgers,” Sarah replied.
Week three and Jim Bates came in and sat in one of her little spindly bentwood chairs. She’d seen him twice before, but she’d never noticed how big he was, or how inadequate the chairs looked holding a person of his size. He was a man who liked sugar; he ordered cocoa and a maple pecan scone. “You make a good scone,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, and her dimpled chin quivered, and tears began to run down her face.
“It’s like that, huh?” he said, looking around at the little tables and tiny chairs, all empty.
It wasn’t what he said, that’s for sure. It was his tone of voice, kind of even, soothing. “You know why, right?” Kevin said that night, thinking like he always did that any man who was nice to a woman wanted to sleep with her, and would stop being nice as soon as he had. But Jim Bates wasn’t like that. He was just a nice man who told her that Squamash wasn’t ready for
CUCUMBER SANDWICHES
Sarah was always trying to fix Jim Bates up. She’d tried to fix him up with the woman who drove the truck that brought her bulk flour and shortening, and the woman who ran the print shop out of her house and printed Sarah’s menus, and even the weekend bartender at Ralph’s, a beautician who was kind of skanky, with her cutoffs and halter tops, but by that time Sarah was down to saying to Kevin, “Maybe the poor guy just needs a one-night stand.”
“Guy can take care of himself,” Kevin said, lying back on the sofa, balancing turkey on a croissant on his belly. “Can’t a guy ever get a plain piece of bread around here?” he said sometimes.
Sarah loved Jim Bates, but not in a romantic fashion, since she had an undoubted thing for unpleasant men who treated her badly. Jim had been just the opposite. He’d been the only personwilling to sit her down and tell her why her business was failing, and he did it soon enough that she could turn things around. She’d set up as an English tearoom, which had been her dream since she was a little girl and had read a series of books about three children who lived in an English manor house and had adventures with talking animals. Trifle, treacle, toad-in-the-hole—Sarah never forgot the foods they had at tea, or the fact that they had tea at all, and that it wasn’t something to drink but an entire meal. Her mother had made her major in marketing at the state university so she would be able to support herself—“instead of assuming some man will do it,” said her mother, who never got over her bitterness at her divorce.
But what Sarah really wanted to do was move to England, where everything was better: china, gardens, accents, Shakespeare plays. Then she met Kevin her senior year, and decided what she would do instead was be a mother who read those books about the English children to her own, and ran an English business of some kind or another. After she spent a summer working at a bakery near campus she decided on an English tearoom. Kevin got a job selling cars in a lot off the interstate, and they settled in Squamash, which everyone said was going to be the next place the city people came to spend the weekend. Only they didn’t, not really, although there were a few of them who bought houses on the outskirts with plenty of land because it was cheaper than the more popular places.
Sarah got herself some tiered porcelain serving dishes with flowers twining around the fluted edges, and some teapots with cozies made to look like little old women, and a small business loan that she figured she could manage each month with the marketing plan she’d learned in her advanced marketing class. She gave away free samples the first week and people sniffed the air outside the shop appreciatively and smiled and told her they’d be back. And they were, for about two weeks, and then they weren’t.
“What’d I tell you about a burger place?” Kevin said. “Everybody likes a burger.”
“I don’t care about burgers,” Sarah replied.
Week three and Jim Bates came in and sat in one of her little spindly bentwood chairs. She’d seen him twice before, but she’d never noticed how big he was, or how inadequate the chairs looked holding a person of his size. He was a man who liked sugar; he ordered cocoa and a maple pecan scone. “You make a good scone,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, and her dimpled chin quivered, and tears began to run down her face.
“It’s like that, huh?” he said, looking around at the little tables and tiny chairs, all empty.
It wasn’t what he said, that’s for sure. It was his tone of voice, kind of even, soothing. “You know why, right?” Kevin said that night, thinking like he always did that any man who was nice to a woman wanted to sleep with her, and would stop being nice as soon as he had. But Jim Bates wasn’t like that. He was just a nice man who told her that Squamash wasn’t ready for
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