Craving Perfect (8 page)

“Callie? You awake?” someone whispered.

My eyes popped open again. I ripped off the blanket and sat upright. “Max?” His name lodged in my throat. “What are you doing here?”

Underneath a window, Max sat in a leather chair with his legs crossed at the ankles. I was touched that he stood vigil over me almost as much as I was surprised to see him.

“Who’s Grace?” He lifted off the chair and walked across the room, ticking down the time for me to say something sane with each deliberate step.

“What?” I licked my lips.

“You said
Grace
.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, you did.” He squinted at me.

“I must have been…dreaming.”

But he shook his head, unconvinced. “You should have let them call an ambulance. If you hadn’t been so stubborn, they would have.”

“I was?” I didn’t remember being stubborn. I just remember passing out. In front of cameras. Live cameras.

“Yeah, don’t you remember?”

I didn’t answer. My eyelids felt heavy again. My lashes held too much mascara. All of the hairspray and cosmetics were obviously stunting brain activity.

“Anyway, Kirk cancelled all your appointments for today. They’re going to get Patty to do the news tonight instead.” His head tilted in apology.

But I would’ve hugged Patty-Whoever-She-Was right here, right now, if I could have. Embarrassing myself a
second
time on the evening news in front of four million Arizonans was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d rather press my hands on hot stove burners.

“Why are you here?” I asked him.

Max stood over me. “Do you really have to ask?”

I laughed nervously.

Then he said, “Well, I am your fiancé.” He wiggled a bare ring finger.

“You are?”

His eyes widened.

I corrected myself, quickly. “I mean, you are…” I fingered the engagement ring on my hand. The stone felt as big as a peanut M&M.

“Then I saw you collapse on the twelve o’clock news.” His shoulders drooped, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I was kind of touched by his concern. “Left work and rushed right down here.” His chest puffed out as he stuffed his hands in his front pockets, waiting for me to say something.

“Thanks, Max…I appreciate it, really I do. I guess I don’t know what to say.”

He blinked twice. “How about, thank you? I’m glad to see you, Max? Something along those lines?”

“Thanks, Max.” I forced a smile.

His face lightened, if only a fraction.

I sat up higher, anxious again. “Would you mind driving me somewhere?”

“The hospital?” His tone was hopeful.

“No, I’m fine, really. I’ll be fine.”

His head tilted. “Where, then?”

“I know this sounds a little crazy, but I really have a craving for some really strong coffee…a certain kind of coffee, though.” I paused.

“There’s a Starbucks next to the building—”

“No, no, not there,” I interrupted. “I really want to go to a place closer to ASU. You’ll love it.” I forced a smile, an Alexandra Summers type of smile. My cheeks tightened from the phoniness, but I was desperate. “Promise.”

“Why so far?”

“Will you just take me?” I pleaded.

His nostrils flared. But then he said, “Okay, as long as you—”

Alexandra burst into the room.

“Good!” she gushed, breezing through the door, oblivious to the fact that anyone could be having a conversation. “You’re up.” She had a folder in one hand and a pink cell phone in the other. “You will
never
believe what’s happened since you took your little spill today. That was genius, Callie, pure genius! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.” Her tone, weirdly, was laced with something resembling admiration.

I watched her, speechless.

“People haven’t stopped calling into the station. The switchboard is
jammed
,” she continued. “You got the entire city worried about you. Everyone’s wondering how Callie Collins is doing!” Her blue eyes danced with possibilities that I didn’t understand. Why would people be so concerned? About me?

But then I blinked. “Wait a minute.” I lifted my palm. “You think I
planned
that?”

Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Come on.” Her jaw dropped dramatically. “You’ve only been in front of a camera a zillion times. I know you were the weather girl before this, but it’s not like anchoring is so different. Hell, you even get to sit down now!”

“Whoa…wait a minute…. I was a weather girl?” My voice rose as Max and Alexandra stared at me as if I’d just lost an eyeball.

“Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?” Alexandra’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

I braced my hands against my knees and stood upright. “I need to get out of here. I need air.” I turned to Max. “Can you take me for coffee? Please?” If only I had driven my own car. I did have a car, didn’t I?

Max looked first at Alexandra as if he needed permission. But then he turned back to me. “Sure, babe. Anything you say. Let’s go.”

“You two going to Starbucks?” Alexandra batted her eyes, pining for an invitation.

“No,” I said. “We’re not.”

“Oh.” Her lip curled.

“We’re going to some place near ASU,” Max added with a tiny eye roll in Alexandra’s direction.

Alexandra’s expression darkened. “You’re not going to that Java The Hut place?”

“The Desert Java,” I corrected her but then added sweetly, “You want me to bring you something back?” Even though I had no intention of coming back.
Ever
. Surely the sight—even the smell of something inside the Desert Java—would trigger something inside my head that would free me from this crazy dream.

“No,” Alexandra pouted. “What’s wrong with Starbucks?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I just have a craving for Desert Java. That’s all.” A craving was an understatement. I needed out of this whacked version of
The Wizard of Oz
.

Alexandra shrugged her thin shoulders and sashayed to the door.

Max’s eyes, not surprisingly, tracked her all the way.

“Okay, have it your way,” she said, “but I don’t know what’s so special about the Desert Java. They’ve probably never heard of espresso.”

With Max driving the Mustang, it took us no time to reach the other side of town.

I pointed at the red brick building through the opened passenger window. “Here it is,” I said to Max, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. My hand shook, especially when I read the sign over the front entrance:

Desert Diner

It was the same plastic, dated one with black magnetic letters from years ago.

When Mom and Dad were alive.

I remembered the day Dad bought all the parts from the local hardware store, before it got replaced by one of those monstrous home improvement stores. I was in the first grade at the time because I remembered the shoes I wore—black patent leather ones with a strap across the top. I wanted the pink jelly ones that looked like ballet slippers that Kathryn wore but my feet were too wide.

“Thought you said it was called Desert Java,” Max said.

“I…I must have remembered it wrong,” I replied numbly. It was difficult to break my gaze away from the sign, especially since it wasn’t possible. None of this was.

Max chuckled. “Well, at least you got the
Desert
part right.”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

Something wasn’t right—and not just the fact that I was in someone else’s perfect body.

I turned to Max. “What’s the year?” I asked with mock nonchalance. Inside, my stomach rolled.

Max squinted at me strangely. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Is it…” My tongue thickened. “Is it 2011?”

“That is correct, Callie.” He sounded like Alex Trebek addressing the dumb
Jeopardy!
contestant with the lowest score. “What is 2011. And has been for the last three months.”

I ignored the snarky sarcasm and turned toward my window, placing my hand on the door handle while Max finished parallel parking. He found a spot in front of the building.

“At least give me a chance to park before you open the door. I don’t need a door ding.”

I got out the moment we were fully parked. I’d have jumped through the window if I had to. I sprinted ahead of Max to the front entrance and burst through the door. With my hand resting on the door handle, I stopped.

Max stopped behind me, an inch from jamming his toe into my stiletto heel. Slowly, my eyes scanned the mostly empty room as the brass bell jingled on the door frame above me. The bell was the same. But it was no longer the Desert Java. It was my parents’ diner, exactly the way it was before they died. But how?

Frank Sinatra crooned from two box-like stereo speakers that were replaced long ago with tiny, metallic Bose speakers. The familiar smell of strong coffee filled the diner, but missing were the sweet pastry aromas—scones, cookies, lemon cakes. The glass-enclosed pastry case near the cash register was missing too.

A chalkboard sign next to the front door described a meatloaf special and homemade soup, just like the one Mom used to keep. Instead of abstract art and overstuffed chairs and couches, the tables and booths were back with their yellow plastic table cloths pinned down tight at the corners.

Everything in the room looked exactly as it did when Mom and Dad were alive.

“But, how…” I mumbled.

My eyes darted to the wall behind the cash register. The eight-by-ten black-and-white family photograph still sat in its silver frame. The photo was taken by one of our customers when Kathryn and I were still in grade school. I still remembered the pastel Easter dresses we wore, along with our matching Easter purses—same style, different colors. Mom liked to dress us like twins, only we hardly looked it.

I leaned closer to study the photograph. Then my face froze.

Only Kathryn stood wedged between Mom and Dad, a mostly toothless grin beaming on her face.

I leaned closer another inch. I was missing.

“I’ll be with you two in a minute,” said a woman who popped her head out of the kitchen. Curly, blondish-brown hair, just like mine. “Sit anywhere you’d like.” Of course I recognized her immediately. She wore the turquoise pendant.

Mom.

I stood frozen as a post, mouth open, till Max placed his hand on the small of my back, coaxing me forward. The warmth from his hand reminded me to breathe.

“Come on, Callie. We drove all this way. We might as well sit down.”

I allowed Max to lead me to the red vinyl booth closest to the door. I collapsed on the seat with the view of the kitchen, waiting, grateful to be sitting. I wasn’t sure I could stand. My hands began to tremble and I hid them underneath the table.

Then I caught a glimpse of a familiar blond ponytail.
Kathryn
, I thought, and a breath caught in the back of my throat. She worked alongside Mom, just like we always did when they were alive.
 

I lifted in my seat, making a feeble motion to stand, but my body tightened. What would I say to them?
Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m your daughter. People call me Callie Collins but my real name is Grace. I traveled here on a treadmill from another planet.
They’d call me a nut job. Then they’d call the police.

I began to massage my temples, silently yelling at myself to think of something, anything that made sense.

“What’s wrong, Callie?” Max asked. “You’re a million miles away.”

I raised my head and looked across at him, my eyes almost crossed. “I am a million miles away.” If he only knew.

But then Mom emerged from the kitchen, smiling, and my heart beat faster. “I know you…” Her voice trailed off as she handed us two menus, her eyes locked on mine.

I felt my face brighten. “You do?” Of course she would know me. Could a mother ever forget her child? My breathing stopped.

“You’re that Channel 2 girl,” Mom said. “My husband and I watch you do the weather almost every night.”

I sank back into my chair, even as she reached her hand to her neck, fingering her necklace. She always did that when she was thinking. I’d watched her do it a thousand times.

But then my eyes dropped to her hands. I missed them, soft as velvet and delicate and wearing her gold wedding band. A lump formed in the back of my throat. I wanted to grab her hand, touch her. I wanted her to know me.

“Mind if I introduce you to my daughter, Kathryn? She’s a fan too.”

Clearing my throat, I nodded. “Of course.” My voice turned raspy.

“And lunch for you two is on the house. It’s not every day that we get a real-live celebrity. Now, what’ll you have?” She reached in her apron pocket for a notepad. I recognized that too. Kathryn and I still kept a few with Mom’s notes. We couldn’t stand the thought of throwing them away, even if they were just scribbled notes about menus and meal orders. “My meatloaf is delicious, I don’t mind saying. Can I interest you in a piece?”

I began to hyperventilate a little. My emotions flooded any clear thinking.

“Well, that settles it.” Max said, snapping the menu against the edge of the table. “I’ll try it.” He handed her back his menu and one of his smiles. “And some coffee too, please.”

Mom turned to me and hot tears built behind my eyes. She was so beautiful and I missed her terribly. And she didn’t even know who I was. My heart felt like it could bust into a million pieces.

I swallowed, willing myself forward. “Just some coffee for me, please.” I kept staring at her, hoping that something about me would register in her eyes. She had to recognize me. She just had to.

When Mom moved away from the table, I reached out, stopping her on the forearm. For a second I stared at her, speechless, but then I said, “And, um, a piece of your crumble cake too. Please?”

Mom blinked twice before smiling down at me. “You know about my crumble cake?” She sounded surprised. “I don’t normally make it, but I may have a piece or two wrapped in the refrigerator. I make it for my daughter, mostly. She loves it.”

I loved it too
, I ached to tell her.

Then Mom walked closer to the table. She reached down and placed her hand over mine. Her hand was reassuring, just like it always was. She smelled like lavender. “You okay, Callie?” she whispered with eyes that were carbon copies of mine.