Miracle at the Higher Grounds Cafe

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it mine . . .”

  But Chelsea’s humble explanation was interrupted by the motormouthed Mr. Takeda. His translator struggled to keep pace. “Thank you! Thank you for everything! Your café is a precious gift from heaven. For years my doubts and questions have overwhelmed me, but God knew. Today, I am free of my burden!”

  As Mr. Takeda and his associate exited the café, Chelsea mirrored his bows and smiles, still hoping this was a culturally acceptable response. She couldn’t imagine what the curious man had asked the God Blog, but she couldn’t deny the sincerity of his gratitude. Nor the thousand dollars he left in the tip jar.

  Curiosity got the best of her. With her phone still missing, Chelsea used Katrina’s cell to scan the God Blog, all the while sipping from her new delicate Japanese mug.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Katrina said with a surprising amount of inflection.

  Chelsea and Katrina stared in wonder at the cell phone screen. Mr. Takeda’s question was illegible. To them. The entire entry was in Japanese characters. And the kicker: so was the response. Chelsea marveled at the unlikelihood of it all. The café, this mysterious blog, her patrons from Arkansas, Oklahoma, and now Japan. “You know, I don’t think this day could get any stranger.”

  Chelsea had spoken a moment too soon.

  “Hey there, pretty lady.”

  She looked up to see Sawyer. In her café.

  Chapter 21

  Beautiful day out there, huh?” Sawyer asked.

  The weather? Why is he talking about the weather? Why is he even here?

  There were so many things Chelsea could say to Sawyer in this moment, but nowhere on that list was today’s chance of precipitation.

  “Katrina, could you man the register, please? We’ll just be a second.”

  As Chelsea led Sawyer to a quiet corner of the café, she noticed that a hush had fallen over the room. In her periphery she observed cell phones and tablets rising into the air as if gravity had lost its sway. Of course it had. The Sawyer Chambers show had entered the building. Snap. Click. Ching. Her patrons had become paparazzi. The very cell phones and tablets that moments ago were posting questions to God were now broadcasting this moment to the universe.

  Chelsea leaned into Sawyer and spoke in sharp staccato whispers. “I’m sorry, have I missed something? We haven’t spoken in weeks, and you come marching in like we’re jolly old chums?”

  Jolly old chums? Who even says that? Get it together, Chelsea, you’re on Candid Camera.

  “But I thought—”

  “You thought what?”

  Sawyer’s brow crinkled unevenly like a confused puppy. Chelsea hated that expression. As if one adorable little gesture could absolve him of all guilt.

  Not today.

  Chelsea had rules, and he was breaking them. Or worse, acting like he had forgotten them. But Chelsea had not.

  “Here you are.” Manny approached the table with a latte in either hand. Chelsea noticed he had made the regrettable decision to fold his apron over and down, as if the Christmas tree on his sweater required more sunshine and open air. “One for you. And one for you.” The bells on his sweater cuff jingled.

  “Thank you, but this isn’t necessary. Mr. Chambers was just leaving,” Chelsea said. But Manny was already gone.

  “Would you look at that,” Sawyer said.

  Chelsea glanced at her latte to see what appeared to be Manny’s attempt at coffee foam art. Was that a heart? Chelsea scrambled the shape with her spoon.

  “So what’s up with the Elf on the Shelf?” Sawyer joked.

  “His name is Manny. And he’s wonderful.”

  “Sure. Look, Chels, I was doing a job interview nearby, so when I got that last text—”

  “A job interview? Nearby?” Chelsea was getting claustrophobic.

  “Excuse me?” Another interruption. This time from a curvy soccer mom.

  “How can I help you?” Chelsea asked.

  But the woman brushed right past Chelsea. “Could I get your autograph?”

  “Why, of course you can.” Sawyer flashed his piano keyboard smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Jessica,” she giggled. She handed Sawyer a slip of paper. Chelsea couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

  “You a football fan, Jessica?”

  “Why, of course! Do you think we could get a picture together?” Her every syllable flirted.

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Jessica squealed. Chelsea crossed her arms and began tapping her foot against the wood floor.

  “Would you mind?” Jessica passed her smartphone to Chelsea.

  “Goodness, no! Why would I mind? This is fun, just so much fun.”

  Jessica clung to Sawyer as if she had just won The Bachelorette. No doubt she intended to share the image with everyone she knew.

  “What a great photo this will be!” Chelsea said as she intentionally snapped a picture of her own index finger.

  But Jessica didn’t notice. She was too preoccupied with her next task: scribbling her phone number on a napkin and slipping it into Sawyer’s jacket pocket.

  As Jessica giggled her way out the door, Sawyer looked at Chelsea and shrugged. “Watcha gonna do? Anyway . . . so since I was nearby, I thought maybe after family fun day I could help you out at the café.”

  “Help me out?”

  “Yeah.”

  For thirteen years Chelsea had orbited Planet Sawyer. Breaking free of his gravitational field would not be easy. Like a rocket ship leaving earth, such a journey would require decisive action, serious momentum, and focused thrust in a single direction. But Chelsea was ready to fly.

  She stood up and stared Sawyer straight in the eye. “Thank you, but I don’t need your help.” She turned on her heel and marched back to the café counter.

  But Sawyer flew close behind, chasing her through a crowd of customers. “Yeah, sure. I’ve been hearing good stuff. The whole blog thing . . . I’m not surprised.”

  “Not surprised?”

  “Chelsea Hancock always has the answers.”

  “Ha!” Chelsea’s laughter came out louder than intended. Not all the answers, apparently. Finally! A question worthy of the God Blog: Dear God, how do I make my hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-husband go away?

  “You know what, Sawyer? You probably wouldn’t believe just how wonderful things are going for the Higher Grounds Café. And for me!” Chelsea stood nose to nose with her husband. “Everyone loves my cupcake recipes. And have you met Katrina? She is a fabulous coffee artist. She’s like a regular Lamborghini! What am I saying? That’s a car. Katrina is a regular Leonardo da Vinci. Say hi, Katrina!”

  “Hi, Katrina,” Katrina said, slowly backing into the kitchen.

  “And this guy, just look at him!” Chelsea slipped behind the counter, continuing the tour of her incredible new life. She placed an arm around Manny. “There is simply no end to his talents! He sweeps. He bakes. He performs miracles. With a twist of the wrist he fixed Mom’s broken espresso machine. I mean, can you believe it?”

  “That’s, um . . . really impressive,” Sawyer said.

  “It’s nothing, really. I was just trying to help.”

  Chelsea burst into laughter. “Oh, Manny, don’t be so modest!” Chelsea turned to face Manny square on. “You should never sell yourself short like that. You’re a very important member of this team, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I really just don’t know what to say!”

  Chelsea leaned in and planted a big kiss on Manny, then turned to face Sawyer again.

  “Excuse me.” Manny stumbled into the kitchen, head down, sweater jingling.

  “Wow,” Sawyer said. His wide eyes were fixed on Chelsea, who was now steadying herself on the counter and gasping for air.

  “Daddy!” Hancock and Emily rushed downstairs. Sawyer scooped them into his arms.

  Chelsea whimpered, hoping her children hadn’t witnessed her momentary lapse of sanity.


  “You made it!” Hancock said.

  “Of course I did, buddy.”

  Something didn’t feel quite right to Chelsea. “I’m sorry . . . I’m still not clear. Why is it you came?”

  “Because . . .” Sawyer tiptoed through a minefield. “You invited me to family fun day . . . at the Scobee Planetarium?”

  Chelsea’s confused expression confused Sawyer all the more.

  “You just texted me this morning . . . told me to bring presents for the kids. Are you okay?”

  “I never texted you,” Chelsea said to Sawyer while her eyes drilled into her son.

  “I’ll show you.” Sawyer dug through his pockets for his cell phone.

  “Don’t bother. Hancock, give me back my phone.”

  Hancock lowered his eyes and slowly pulled the phone from his back pocket.

  Painful realization washed over Sawyer. “Chels, I’m sorry. I shoulda known.”

  “No, no. This is between Hancock and me. Come with me, young man.” Chelsea all but dragged her son to the landing of the stairs. “Hancock, why would you take my phone without permission?”

  “Why? Because I wanted to see Dad, and I knew you’d just say no.”

  Chelsea was stuck, and she knew it. Refuse Hancock time with his father, and risk losing his affection. Consent, and risk losing control.

  “So can I go with Dad or not?”

  Chelsea exerted what little power she had left. “You’re not going anywhere in that outfit. Change first, and make sure to grab a jacket.”

  She returned to the café to find Sawyer and Emily sitting across from one another at a dainty tea table. Sawyer’s sprawling athletic frame overwhelmed the decorative parlor chair, while little Emily, barely managing to keep her head above the table, hung onto her father’s every word. There was no denying Sawyer’s presence was magnetic. When he spoke, people leaned in—or in Emily’s case, looked up.

  “Please have them back for dinner,” Chelsea said, though she couldn’t bring her eyes to meet Sawyer’s.

  “Sure thing. We can grab lunch on our way there, if that’s—”

  But Chelsea had already disappeared upstairs.

  Chapter 22

  Chelsea was crouched in a small, dark corner of her room. She needed a moment alone. She needed to breathe. She needed to apologize to Manny. She needed to create a numerical password for her cell phone.

  She stared at the little black device in her palm. Amazing how one little thing could cause so much trouble. Before braving her way through the security settings, she scanned the text messages Hancock had sent to Sawyer posing as her.

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  NOT TOO FAR AWAY ACTUALLY. ON A JOB INTERVIEW. WOULD LOVE TO TELL YOU ABOUT IT. BUT DON’T WANT TO BREAK ANY RULES.

  YOU SHOULD COME BY THE CAFÉ TOMORROW! THE KIDS WOULD LOVE TO SEE YOU.

  R U SERIOUS?

  YES. FAMILY FUN DAY. YOU SHOULD TAKE THE KIDS OUT FOR PIZZA AND THEN THE PLANETARIUM.

  OF COURSE. I CAN’T WAIT!

  ME TOO.

  WHAT R U WEARING? ;-)

  PRETTY CLOTHES. MAKE SURE TO BRING GIFTS FOR THE KIDS.

  At least Hancock’s unusual behavior that morning made sense. Still, Chelsea cringed at the thought of Hancock answering such personal questions.

  At least they didn’t get any more personal than that!

  Chapter 23

  Mom, when is Dad going to live with us again?” Emily asked. “Yeah, Mom. When?” Hancock echoed from the top bunk.

  Chelsea flipped the switch on Emily’s new night-light.

  “Oh, we’ll have to talk about that. Later.”

  Chelsea had known this conversation was coming. But she had to have it with Sawyer first.

  CAN YOU MEET ME AT THE CAFÉ?

  Chelsea sent the text before she could talk herself out of it. Sawyer’s response was almost immediate.

  I’LL BE THERE IN HALF AN HOUR. IF U CAN PROVE THIS ISN’T HANCOCK. :)

  Chelsea didn’t know if she was ready to face Sawyer with the final verdict on their trial separation, but she was certainly well researched. Be calm. Be direct. Be rehearsed. She recited the tips to herself as she typed her response.

  THANKS. SEE YOU THEN.

  So far she was sticking with the script.

  Chelsea saw the evening playing out as follows: Bo would come over and keep an eye on the kids while Chelsea and Sawyer had their talk. (She wanted to get out of the café in case things got heated.) She would lay out all of Sawyer’s problems; he would get defensive. She would offer her solution; he would hopefully give his consent. End marriage. End scene.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else, Bo?”

  Chelsea placed a glass of water on the table next to Bo, who was settling into the mahogany leather recliner in her living room.

  “No, no. I’ve got a good book to read.” He spread a heavy black Bible on his lap. The print was so large Chelsea could have read it from across the room. Still, he pulled a pair of thick reading glasses from the pocket of his shirt.

  “Well, you’re a saint. Thank you so much for coming,” she said. “I hate to leave the kids alone late at night. I love all the traffic we’ve been getting these days, but you never know who’ll be coming through your door.”

  “That’s wise. I’m just happy to be a good neighbor.”

  Chelsea’s phone dinged, and her heart started beating double time. “All right, looks like my ride’s here. I’ll be back by curfew.”

  “Take your time,” Bo said with a smile. “Bet you and your husband have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Oh, I really shouldn’t be long,” Chelsea said, hoping it was true.

  Chelsea and Sawyer walked side by side beneath a canopy of stars, but the two were light-years apart. Chelsea had suggested a sidewalk stroll through the neighborhood.

  Sawyer agreed. “Great way to start the evening.”

  And a great way to end it, Chelsea said to herself.

  “Did you know they think there are more than a septillion stars? That’s a one with twenty-four zeros behind it.” Sawyer’s neck was craned toward the heavens as he recounted his findings from the planetarium. “I can’t even wrap my mind around it.”

  Calm. Direct. Rehearsed.

  “Sawyer . . .” Chelsea stopped beneath a streetlamp and drew a deep breath. “I want a divorce.”

  Sawyer stopped and exhaled, his large frame shrinking before Chelsea’s eyes. “Chelsea . . . please . . .” he sputtered in a pained whisper.

  His reaction took her off guard.

  “I, uh . . .” She struggled to remember the next line in her script. “I have every reason, Sawyer. You put us all at risk. You lied, cheated, lost our money, and acted with utter disregard for your family. You were supposed to be the one protecting us. And I can’t think of anyone who has done us more harm.”

  Chelsea was breathless by the time she finished her speech. She paused, bracing herself for Sawyer’s usual sidestepping and deflecting.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  “What?”

  Sawyer looked his wife square in the eye. “You’re right. You said all the things I should have said. It’s not easy to hear. But it’s a fraction of what you lived through.”

  Sawyer’s admission disarmed her. She hardly recognized this version of her husband.

  “Chelsea, I can’t take back the things I’ve done, and it’s time I start owning my actions. Believe me, if that blog of yours had a delete button for regrets, I’d use it in a heartbeat.”

  “You and me both,” Chelsea said. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be in the upgrade.”

  Sawyer tried to smile, but his sadness wouldn’t permit it. His lower lip pressed against his upper. His voice choked as he said, “You’re a good person, Chelsea. And mom . . . and wife.”

  “Sawyer . . .”

  “I know, I know. But it’s true. I had all the ingredients of a great life, and I blew it. Why? Why did I do that?”

  Chelsea ha
d given up trying to answer that question months ago.

  “Could we . . . is there any chance we could try again?” Sawyer said, taking a seat on a nearby bench. Chelsea eased herself down next to him.

  Her silence was her answer.

  Sawyer lifted his eyes to the stars. “I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask God.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  Chapter 24

  Hancock lay wide awake counting the stars. The night-light Sawyer had given to Emily projected the Milky Way onto the walls and ceiling of their bedroom. After three attempts surpassing 500 stars, he lost track at 316 and called it quits. The constellations turning on the ceiling were no match for the questions turning in his head.

  He peered down to the bottom bunk, where the lights twinkled across Emily’s sleeping face. He eased himself down the ladder and crept across the room where the scintillating sphere revolved on a bookshelf. As he adjusted the dimmer, the stars swelled and then faded to black like a mass supernova.

  “Cool,” Hancock whispered, creating a series of stellar explosions before he tiptoed out of the room.

  “Hi there, sleepwalker.”

  Hancock stopped at the threshold of the kitchen. Bo stood at the stove pouring steaming water into a floral teacup. He wore his usual plaid shirt and carpenter jeans, but he had thick glasses balancing on the end of his nose and sheepskin slippers on his feet. The sight of Bo looking so at home in their kitchen was surprising and somehow comical.

  “Your mom asked me to hang out here and keep an eye on things while she’s out.”

  “That explains the glasses,” Hancock said playfully. “But the shoes?”

  Bo chuckled. “Well, you’ve got your wits about you. I take it you haven’t been snoozing. Everything okay?”

  “Just can’t sleep.” Hancock’s head and shoulders slumped, as if he were struggling beneath an unseen burden.

  “How about a cup of tea and some boring conversation?” Bo asked.

  Hancock grinned. “That should do the trick.”

  The two settled with their teacups in the living room.