* * *
Since I had taken the day off for my appointment, not that I believed anyone would notice my absence, I decided to stop in at The Sushi Palace for a free cup of coffee.
It was the restaurant at which my mother was owner and general manager, and honestly the place had one of the most inexplicably inviting atmospheres of which I knew.
My car, a vehicle so desperately in need of mechanical attention it had every excuse to simply burst into a fireball and kill me, survived the second trip for the day. The Sushi Palace’s parking lot was remarkably full for one o’clock on a weekday, but I found a parking space and after opening the window a crack for Critter 2, headed for the restaurant’s front doors.
Inside I spotted my mother doing what she did best; making delightful conversation with guests. The young couple which she currently engaged looked so unabashedly charmed that they might dislocate their jaws from the maniacal smiling.
After casting my mother a greeting wave which she acknowledged with a curtsey, I proceeded to an isolated table on the restaurant’s exterior wooden deck. From here there was a view of a small garden situated at the building’s rear, including a decorative pond and selection of flowering plants.
I sat and a petite young waitress approached to take my order. I recognised her from the previous times I had visited, though I never could remember her name. (Linda).
My mother had on more than one occasion hinted that I ask Linda out, and although she was attractive in a fragile sort of way, I always found the girl to be a little… creepy? Overbearing?
“Hey, Jet! How are you?!” Linda squeaked, her smile so blindingly bright and genuine that I felt compelled to lean backwards out of its glare.
“Hi, Linda.”
“Your mom said you might stop by! I was hoping you would! It’s so great to see you!”
I flinched as she unloaded the words; even an exclamation mark on every sentence didn’t help to capture the unrelenting enthusiasm which was her standard M.O. of communication.
“Just stopped in for a coffee,” I said, “Had an appointment at the Department.”
She gasped in response, a reaction done with such commitment you would be forgiven for thinking I had just told her I was pregnant.
“That’s right! Your mom said you were going to have your Spirit Level measured! Did they do it?! Is it high?! That’s so exciting!”
“Above average. Could I get a coffee, please?”
“Yes! Absolutely!”
“Great. Thanks, Linda. Two sugars.”
“Coming right up!” She turned and flounced back inside; even the way she walked demanded an exclamation mark.
As I waited for my beverage I realised that Clinton sat at a table further up the deck, nursing a beer and eyeing me over his spectacles. Guess who had crashed and burned at yet another job interview?
I gave him a reluctant half nod and he smiled in response, probably trying to decide if he should invite himself to join my table. I hoped with every fiber of my body he was smart enough to know how bad an idea that was.
What had poor Skinny Clinton done to me? Nearly a year he had lived under my mother’s roof, and for nearly a year he had achieved only one thing; destroying any and all beers that entered his personal space.
Linda returned with my coffee and placed it on the table. Following my gaze, she turned and saw Clinton.
“Oh! Isn’t that your father over there?!”
“He’s not my father,” I said, barking the words with more volume than intended.
“I’m sorry!” She mewled, even when apologising her voice begged to be selling trinkets on an early morning infomercial. “I just thought…”
“Never mind. It’s okay.” I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Clinton was not so far away that I didn’t think he had overheard.
Linda hovered, the frown that occupied her brow so rare it wasn’t sure what it should be doing.
“Are there any donuts in the kitchen today?”
“I’ll go check!” She hurried off.
For a minute I avoided looking in Clinton’s direction and sipped my coffee. I let my eyes instead wonder over the activities of the restaurant, gazing through the glass sliding door that separated the deck from the main area. Inside I saw waiters and waitresses attending tables of guests, the events playing out in muted silence from my perspective. It was remarkable how efficient and professional the employees were in The Sushi Palace, almost to a level of absurdity. There was not a single face not smiling and not a solitary staff member who did not appear to be busy with something important. Comparing this situation to the atmosphere at The Whisperer would be comparing a plate of fresh sushi to a rotting fish corpse, and trying to argue that they were in principal the same thing.
My mother floated over and took a seat at my table, smiling radiantly, as she always did in her work environment.
“Linda likes you.” she crooned, nodding in the direction of Linda’s retreat.
“She’s nice.” I muttered, wondering if my ears would ever stop ringing from the assault of the girl’s voice.
I sipped my coffee. Over my mother’s shoulder I caught a glimpse of Clinton half rising, then thinking better of it and sinking back into the seat.
“So, tell me about your appointment.” my mother continued.
“Above average” I replied.
“Wonderful! Your gran will be so pleased.”
Gran would be pleased? It struck me as an odd thing for her to say. I could not recall an instance in my life when my grandmother, Fran, had spoken a word to me about magic, or the expected use of it. What I did recall with some fondness was the covert conversations my mother and her had shared in my youth: giggling talks that went on till early hours of the morning, me lying sleepily under the table. It had been a safe place; a good place. Why those particular memories returned to me at that moment was a bit of a mystery…
“Why will gran be pleased?” I asked.
In response my mother smiled and changed the subject; “Will you go for training?”
“Well,” I said, taking the business card from my top pocket, “He recommended I go for defence training.”
I handed her the card and she read it aloud; “‘Selena Stephania: Mental Fortification, Defence and Countermeasures.’ Are you going to call?”
“I’m not sure, not exactly cheap.”
That was an understatement. Advanced training to my limited knowledge, the real kind, not the kind done by a fat man in his back yard that possessed only a diploma printed on tissue paper to prove his professionalism, cost an arm and a leg. This may have been the primary reason that the majority of people with high spirit levels never did learn more than a single magical parlour trick. My experience had been that party tricks were a firm favourite. The cigarette lighting “flame from fingers” demonstrated earlier was a common choice.
“I’m sure if you want it, you’ll find the money,” my mother declared, “I can give you a loan, you just have to ask.”
“We’ll see.” I muttered, doing a quick calculation; what was Clinton costing her on booze alone?
As I sat weighing up my options, a thought that had been bothering me since the Department of Magic returned. It was not something I spoke about often with my mother, or, in fact, at all.
“Mother,” I began, surprised to hear the level of reluctance in my own voice, “I noticed something odd a bit earlier.”
“What is it, dear?”
“I was thinking about the day dad died.”
The previous expression of delight evaporated from her face and I regretted bringing up the subject. “What about it, dear?”
“Well, the Enforcer asked about it, and when I tried to tell him I couldn’t really remember anything. It’s a bit strange, but the whole day seems a bit... vague. Is that normal?”
“It’s not strange.” she replied reassuringly, “It was a long time ago. No one likes to dwell on depressing history; we forget and get on with our l
ives. That’s called acceptance, Jet.”
It made perfect sense and relief washed over me. I had had the most peculiar sensation that the vague memories were significant in some way, but realised then that I had simply been making a mountain out of a molehill.
She smiled at me and I smiled back.
Linda returned with a plate of doughnuts, her expression suggesting she had discovered a priceless artifact lost for centuries. “Look what I found! Doughnuts!”
“I’ll just leave you two alone.” my mother said, casting me a sly wink. My heart sank.