Shared Spaces (Coffeehouse Mysteries)

[Bongo]

This started out as a drabble, but quickly became a short fic. I wish other people read

I’m rereading the Coffeehouse Mystery Series by Cleo Coyle, which I highly recommend. In the third book, Matteo tells Claire, as he’s carrying her to bed after she fell asleep in a chair, that her cat Java was asleep in the other chair but had to fend for herself. Poor Java, fending for herself. I couldn’t help but throw in a reason.

The main plot is taken from the book, as is some of the dialogue. I just added some deliciousness.

“I found you passed out in a living room chair,” Matt informed me. I was nestled, not uncomfortably, in the hard muscled planes that he called arms. “Java was in another. You both looked too cute to disturb, but I figured you’d be pretty sore in the morning if I left you in that position. Java can fend for herself.”

With no visible effort, he deposited me on the four-poster bed in the main room. I was suddenly cold as fresh air found the skin exposed by my barely-there nightgown where it had been pressed against the warm harness of my ex’s chiseled chest.

“I didn’t mean to pass out. I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I admitted.

 “You didn’t get any Claire.” He smiled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay, I was waiting up to talk to you anyway.” But before I could tell him about any of the things I had stored up for him; my suspicions of Tad Benedict, his mother’s approval of his kiosk idea and, most importantly, the drunk man answering our daughter Joy’s phone at a bar just a few hours ago, Matt turned away from me with a deep breath and let out a mighty sneeze. “HURSCHOO!”

“Bless you,” I said automatically. My heart thudded a little too loudly and I wondered if he could hear it. This was too familiar. I remember countless nights of being awoken out of a deep sleep to Matt sneezing as the cocaine wrecked havoc with his nasal passages. He tried to pass it off as allergies at the beginning, or a cold that seemed to pop up at the most convenient of times. But I wasn’t an idiot.

He sniffled, a little wetly. “Thank you.” Then he caught the look in my eyes. “People sneeze, Claire. I’ve been clean for years.”

I held my hands up in mock surrender. “I said nothing but “bless you.”

“And that you were waiting up to talk to me. What’s going on?”

So I told him about the call. Around 11 that night (or I guess now it was considered the night before) I had called Joy’s apartment and gotten her answering machine. When I called her cell, an obviously drunk man had answered and told me Joy was in the restroom with a bunch of other girls. She had been in there for half an hour, and was, according to the drunk idiot, “obviously not resting.”

“Which club?” Matt demanded.

“I don’t know. He hung up before I could ask, and when I called back he wouldn’t pick back up. Don’t worry, I obviously left messages on her home and cell phone to call me, no matter the hour.”

Matt stood up and rubbed the back of his neck as he began pacing, barefoot.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I’m thinking she’s doing drugs, what else?”

Matteo rubbed his nose harshly with the base of his palm. I had seem this motion in our marriage too. When the cocaine, or something else in the more innocent days at the beginning, had made his nose itchy, this was his automatic response. Two decades later I still don’t know if he was even aware of the action or if it was subconscious.

I wondered what was bothering him tonight, as I did believe he was clean.

“I thought about that too, but it just isn’t Joy. First of all, where would she even get the money?”

“Claire, you’re so naive.” Matt rubbed his nose again, leaving it slightly red, before slipping his hand in the pocket of his plaid pajama pants, searching. “The club scene revolves around young professionals with money to burn. It wouldn’t be hard for Joy to fall into a group that would be more than happy to share their drugs with her.”

He hadn’t found what he was looking for during his (slightly insulting, I am not naive) speech. Instead, he brought both hands to cup in front of his face as he sneezed loudly again, “HURSCHOO!” this one followed by an almost inperceibtable head shake. He sniffled again, more wetly than before.

“There are tissues in the bathroom.” I offered. As he went off in search of some nasal relief in the en-suite bathroom, I called after him “what’s gotten into you tonight?”

“You don’t think I have a right to be upset?” he called back, followed by the sound of nose blowing. I would have turned the faucet on or closed the door to muffle the noise, but Matt wasn’t shy.

“I meant the sneezing.”

What was the look that crossed his face, gone in a blink? Whatever it was, I’m sure it matched his answer of “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Come on, I haven’t heard you sneeze since I came back to New York.” I had spent the last decade in suburban New Jersey raising Joy and writing food articles for local newspapers and magazines, but last year had come back to manage the blend. The owner, who happened to be Matteo’s mother and my ex-mother-in-law and still good friend, had tricked us both into living together in the duplex over the shop. Matt was only in the country ten days a month, spending the rest of the time in Africa and other continents searching for new beans, but ten days was enough. I had been trying to convince him to stay in a hotel when he was in town, but he pointed out the cost of hotel in Manhattan was astronomical for that long.

As uncomfortable as out living situation was, though it had been getting better as Matt slowly learned boundaries, it meant that if he had ever been sick in New York, I would have noticed.

“Don’t take this to mean too much,” Matt warned. My eyebrows rose to my hairline, and Matt sighed. “I may be slightly, slightly, allergic to Java.”

“Java my cat?” I blurted out, laughing.

Matt shrugged.

“If you were allergic to Java, I’m sure one of us would have noticed it before now.”

“I did notice,” Matt said. She likes to wander into my room at night when you’re not here looking for attention and snacks, and I would start sneezing a few minutes after she came in.”

That would be why he had decided she could fend for herself in the living room, I said to myself. Out loud I said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel bad, partly. Or to have more ammunition trying to get me to leave the duplex. Antihistamines do wonders, but anything you take in the morning wears off by this time at night. Or next morning, I guess.”

I gave him an appraising look. He didn’t look too bad, even considering the hour. His eyes weren’t red yet, and his nose was just barely. I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t staring directly at it, looking for symptoms. It was, however, in constant motion. I don’t know if he knew how badly it was twitching, but he obviously could feel the itching, as he brought his palm back up to give it the same harsh treatment as usual. Subconsciously, I finally decided.

I reached up, and pulled on his hard bicep to move his hand from his face. “You’re going to make it worse,” I admonished, the mom in me coming out.

Matteo looked surprised. “I didn’t even real-hihh­-“ the hand went right back up and I sighed. Sometimes he was still the 20-something child I had met in Italy. Now the 40-something child in New York I joked to myself. I was smiling at he joke as Matt finally gave into the plaguing itch and turned away from me just in time to release a very uncomfortable sounding double. “HIRTSCHU-HIRSCHH!”

Now I cringed. That didn’t sound good. It must not have felt good either as he lowered himself to sit on the bed beside me, shaking his head again, trying to clear it.

“How’s it going?”

Matt sniffled loudly. His hand started to rise up again, bypassing his nose this time and headed for his eyes. I intercepted it halfway up his face and forced it back down. “You’ll make it worse,” I warned again.

“Well it will feel good now,” he retorted, voice starting to become a little thick.

“It will feel good now” was unfortunately his internal theme during our marriage, with the drugs, affairs, and extreme sports all helping him to “feel good now.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I warned as he started to lower himself down onto the pillow on the other side of the bed.

He smirked. “Don’t trust yourself with me in the bed while you’re dressed, or shall we say not dressed, in such a manner?”

Fine, he didn’t need to know that that was Java’s pillow. When she wasn’t in the mood to sleep in her cat bed she liked to curl up right next to my head to get some quality cat-napping in.

Suddenly, there was a gasping next to me. Matt was struggling to push himself up with one hand the other pressed to his face.

“You okay?” I asked jovially, enjoying his comeuppance.

“HIRSCHH!” The bed shook under the force of his sneeze.

“Bless you,” I offered, though I’m not sure if he could hear me as he geared up for another.

“Hurschho!” This one at least was softer, as if his allergy was getting tired. I was too, for that matter. As much fun as it was to watch Matt suffer (knowing he was going to be completely fine, of course), it was one A.M. and I needed to open the blend up in four hours. We both needed some damn sleep.

So I put my hand on Matt’s back and helped him find his equiliibrium to sit up, and he threw himself off the bed as if it was on fire. “Let me guess,” he said, voice definitely thick now,” Java sleeps on the bed when she isn’t busy shedding in my room?”

I smiled coyly, giving my spot up from the bed to retrieve the entire box of tissues from the bathroom. I was very aware of Matteo’s eyes on my backside as I hurried in the too-short nightgown, and on my frontside on the journey back. Yeah, he felt fine.

I chucked the box at him, which he deftly caught. “She’s been invited,” I retorted.

Matt smiled, though the charm was diminished as he sniffled wetly again, before bringing a clump of Kleenex to his face. “There was a time I was invited in your bed too. Or ours, rather.”

I can’t tell if my thump to his shoulder hurt at all, as he was busy blowing his nose again and I couldn’t see his face. “Go change and take a shower,” I demanded as finished cleaning himself up. “Alone!” I added as he smirked.

Still, when he left my room, complete with stolen tissue box, I resolved to check on him later and make sure he was telling the truth about his allergy being slight. Sneezing he could deal with, but I needed to make sure he wasn’t truly uncomfortable or in any danger.

And even as fine as he claimed to be, I snuck out and retrieved a sleeping Java to let her finish her snooze in my room, and cracked one of the large windows, allowing in a refreshing breeze. Matt deserved a little comfort. After all, this was his home too.

 

 

this series, because the characters are absolutely amazing. 

[AngelEyes]

This is great! I haven't read this particular series, but have some like them and this is very true to form. Well written. Makes me want to read the books.