Free Coffeehouse Angel by Suzanne Selfors

expensive." She shook her head as she examined each envelope. "Oh dear."
    "What?"
    "Never you mind."
    "Grandma?" Maybe she'd finally talk to me about our finances. Maybe she'd let me help. "Grandma, I know we're having troubles. I've heard you talking to the bank."
    "That's none of your concern. I can manage." She pursed her lips as she opened one of the envelopes. A cold breeze passed through the room, rustling the mail. "Irmgaard?"
    Grandma Anna called. "Close that door. It's cold out." The mail rustled again.
    "Irmgaard?"
    I went back to the kitchen. The coffeehouse's front door stood wide open. Irmgaard was outside, looking up the sidewalk.
    "Irmgaard?" She wore a dazed, unblinking expression and fiddled with a cross that hung from a long chain, the only piece of jewelry she ever wore. "Irmgaard?" I tapped her on the arm. She blinked, then ran back into the shop. "Irmgaard?" I said, following. "What's the matter?" She shook her head, then grabbed her coat and purse, nearly knocking over Mr. Darling on her way out.
    "Why won't somebody close that door?" Grandma Anna complained, limping into the kitchen. "What do you want?" she snarled.
    Mr. Darling leaned against the door's frame. "Just checking to see if you've given my offer any more thought. I'm anxious to get started on the remodel before tourist season begins."
    "Well, good for you." She tried to close the door, but his big head was in the way.
    "Here's what I'm willing to pay. It's a generous sum." He held out a piece of paper.
    "I'm not interested."
    He continued to hold out the paper, but she just folded her arms and glared at him, her neck straining for height. I folded my arms and glared at him too--a unified front against his invasion. He raised his eyebrows, then tucked the paper into his pocket.
    "You'll change your mind, one way or another."
    After he had left, Grandma Anna deflated back to her soft self, but she was in no mood to talk. "Go upstairs and do your homework. I'll finish up down here."
    "You sure?"
    "Yes." She headed back to the office. "I can't imagine what got into Irmgaard. She never leaves without hugging me good-bye."
    I grabbed my backpack and headed upstairs, cursing Heidi Darling with each step.
    One more second and I could have escaped with the sample cup. At least I knew some of the ingredients. I still needed to call Vincent, to ask if he'd come and sign cups for the Solstice Festival. And I needed to call Elizabeth. She'd design a great logo for our version of the Vincent Mocha. We'd use double the whipped cream and buy peppermint straws the size of walrus tusks!
    No one answered the phone at Vincent's house. I left a message. "Hey, congratulations. I didn't get to talk to you today. You're so famous. Can I have your autograph?" I laughed self-consciously. "I'm really, really happy for you. You've got it made. A full scholarship. That's great. Really, really great. Um, I've got this idea and I'm hoping you can help. So call me."
    No one answered at Elizabeth's either. I dumped the contents of my backpack onto the bed. I did a page of geometry, memorized the parts of a cell for Biology, then stared at a blank piece of paper. Mr. Williams wanted us to write a good deed story, three to five pages, for Friday. If I wrote about giving Malcolm some day-old pastries I risked coming off as a braggart. Oh, look at me, I help homeless people.
    Or I'd come off as really cheap. Why didn't she give him something that wasn't day-old? I decided to write about Vincent's good deed.
    I wrote a paragraph, but the incident with Heidi kept intruding. I kept seeing that smug look on her earmuff-framed face. Me, just standing there, holding that cup. Like all embarrassing incidents, this one took on a life of its own. "Relive me," it whispered, over and over. "Are you starting to get somewhere with your homework?
    Well, we can't have that, so it's time to relive me again." Why, why, why had I just stood there, watching Malcolm walk away, staring at his legs