Free Sweet Caroline by Rachel Hauck Page A

closes?” In the light of the movie screen, I peer into my friend’s eyes, searching for strength, for hope.
    “Yes, even if it means the Café closes. Jones should’ve thought of that before he left the place to you. You’ve lived your life for everyone else far too long. It’s Caroline time. What is your destiny?”
    “What about J. D.?”
    She twists toward me. “C, he’s gorgeous, but he’s not Barcelona-Carlos-Longoria gorgeous. If you were a serious couple or about to be engaged, maybe you’d have to reconsider. But you’ve been on four dates. If he’s yours, he’ll be here when you get back, if you come back.”
    “Did he have a crush on me in junior high?”
    “The quiet, observing Caroline who sailed through puberty unscathed? Probably.”
    “Unscathed? I was voted worst dressed.”
    “Yeah, but to a junior high boy, that’s cool.”
    “You had a mama at home.”
    “Right.”
    I sneak in one last question as the opening score fades for Drew Barrymore’s dialogue. “What about Mitch being home? I mean, do you think it’s some sort of sign?”
    “You don’t believe in signs.”
    “Exactly.”

DAILY SPECIAL
    Tuesday, June 12
Stuffed Peppers (Pork or Beef)
Green Salad
Rice
Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits
Cherry Pie à la Mode
Tea, Soda, Coffee
$7.99
    10
    T uesday. D-Day. Didn’t sleep a wink. Last night I ended up at the city council meeting where they discussed the future of the Frogmore Café.
    “The Café is part of our historical heritage,” one man argued. “It’s the council’s job to watch out for our preservation.”
    After the meeting, I spent two hours in parking-lot consultations with the old-timers.
    “Keep the Café, Caroline.”
    “Don’t saddle the girl, Tom. She’s too young. The place is run-down. She ain’t got money to keep it up. Get rid of it.”
    But my favorite line of the night came from Darcy Day: “I never eat there. The food stinks.”
    At eight-oh-two this morning, the breakfast-club boys arrive. Their presence comforts my tilting emotions.
    Dupree is at the ready with his opening bathroom story. “I’ve been irregular, if you know what I mean, so the wife gives me an enema. Now if that ain’t something that will—”
    “Dupree, stop, stop.” Pastor Winnie slams his long hands on the table. “You’ve gone too far, friend. Enemas? No. I want to enjoy my breakfast. We’ve got to get you telling other stories. Ain’t you got more going on in your life?”
    “Sadly, no.”
    “Have you decided, Caroline?” Luke asks in his gentle manner.
    “Not yet.” Okay, here it comes—their opinions and advice. I brace myself. But nothing. Instead, they study the table menus from which they never order.
    Kirk shows up at the Café just after ten. His rumpled dark suit is replaced with white golf attire, wrinkled but clean.
    “Hitting the links today?” I pour him a cup of coffee as he sets up his office in the back booth again.
    “Drove down last night with a couple of buddies. Got a room at the Beaufort Inn.” He checks his watch. “We tee off at eleven.”
    Andy and Mercy Bea hover around the kitchen door. The breakfast-club boys linger, nursing their fiftieth cup of coffee. Dupree has worn a new path in the old carpet to the men’s room.
    “What’s your decision?”
    Setting the coffeepot on the table, I slide into the booth across from him, gazing out the window to my right for a long, trembling second. “As much as I loved Jones, and appreciate what he must have been trying to do for me and the Café, I cannot accept it, Kirk.”
    “All right.” He adjusts his slipping glasses with the tip of his fancy pen.
    I wring my hands.
    “Caroline, Jones didn’t mean to torture you with this. Stand by your decision.”
    “Then what did he mean, Kirk? Hmm? Tell me? You can’t leave a girl your life’s work and expect her to not agonize over it. Do you realize the Café was the center of discussion at the city council meeting last