Read Online Whole Latte Life by Joanne DeMaio - Free Book Online
Authors: Joanne DeMaio
Tags: Contemporary
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Queens.
Now, a few blocks further, freshly painted crosswalks spook Maggie and she balks, sidestepping the lines. No amount of clicking, neck rubbing or stern commands budge her over the lines. He finally has to dismount and walk the big brown horse back a block to a street vendor they passed. Maggie begrudgingly nibbles at the hot dog cart umbrella as though this is his fault, snorting and waiting for a piece of bread. “You could win an Oscar,” he tells her. The vendor gives him a roll which he breaks in half. They both need the break.
After downing a hot dog and a bottled water, he rolls a kink out of his neck then holds out his flat hand for Maggie. In one swoop, her velvet lips lift the second chunk of bread before he mounts her. They make their way back down Sixth Avenue, this time stepping over the freshly painted crosswalk with ease.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he asks the horse, and her ears tip back to his voice. He pats her neck and moves into traffic, checking his cell for messages as he does. No sooner does the driver of a van ask about city parking does Maggie nod hard and slip in a sidestep prance. He pulls sharp on the reins and decides to end his tension, which his horse is obviously feeding off of. Maneuvering her over to the curb, he checks his cell again and dials Rachel’s.
“Mrs. DeMartino,” he says, surprised at the noise wherever she is. “It’s me, Michael. NYPD? I wondered if you had any word from your friend.”
Rachel pauses, then, “No. Nothing.”
Maggie fidgets, turning into the traffic until he pulls on her reins and turns her back. “Where are you? It’s really noisy.”
“Okay, hear me out. You’ll probably think it’s really dumb, you know, what a tourist. But I’m at The Today Show. It’s just that we—”
“You’re out searching for her then,” he interrupts.
“Yes, I am.”
“Why don’t you call her husband? It’s probably time.”
“No. Not till after tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“We had plans, and I’m thinking she might show up there.”
“You feel like company? I don’t know, maybe you want to cash in that dinner bet?”
She’s quiet first, then says, “You know, company would be great. I really don’t feel like doing this thing alone. We’re seeing a friend at The Metropolitan Room. She’s got a gig there.”
“Okay. That’s decent. I’ll pick you up early and pay up the wager. We’ll eat at Bobo’s. Little place in the West Village. It’s a little better than bowling, if you know what I mean. And listen, Rockefeller Plaza is a real central thoroughfare. If you sit on a bench and watch the people, maybe she’ll pass by.” He digs in a heel against the horse’s side when she starts another sidestep into traffic, pulling her back hard. “But be aware of who’s around you. And leave your cell on, okay?”
Chapter Six
N o present could ever match what her mother had given her. The package arrived by courier on her fortieth birthday, shortly after the kids were on the school bus and Tom had left for work. It was a complete surprise, getting a present delivered like that months after her death.
She set it on the kitchen table, sunlight streaming in through the window, the wrapping paper shimmering. They had talked about this birthday a lot. Forty was one of the biggest. Forty meant you could take chances; the kids were older, your home was settled, risk wasn’t as risky. She and her mother had planned on opening their antique shop during her fortieth year. That had been her dream until she woke up to a new reality: pregnant at thirty-eight with Owen. New babies and bottles and schedules and diapers leave little room for new businesses. And then her mother died.
So she poured herself a cup of coffee on the morning of her fortieth, sat herself down and wondered how her mother sent something to salvage a birthday started with disappointment. That the gift would be special went without saying.
Now, a few blocks further, freshly painted crosswalks spook Maggie and she balks, sidestepping the lines. No amount of clicking, neck rubbing or stern commands budge her over the lines. He finally has to dismount and walk the big brown horse back a block to a street vendor they passed. Maggie begrudgingly nibbles at the hot dog cart umbrella as though this is his fault, snorting and waiting for a piece of bread. “You could win an Oscar,” he tells her. The vendor gives him a roll which he breaks in half. They both need the break.
After downing a hot dog and a bottled water, he rolls a kink out of his neck then holds out his flat hand for Maggie. In one swoop, her velvet lips lift the second chunk of bread before he mounts her. They make their way back down Sixth Avenue, this time stepping over the freshly painted crosswalk with ease.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he asks the horse, and her ears tip back to his voice. He pats her neck and moves into traffic, checking his cell for messages as he does. No sooner does the driver of a van ask about city parking does Maggie nod hard and slip in a sidestep prance. He pulls sharp on the reins and decides to end his tension, which his horse is obviously feeding off of. Maneuvering her over to the curb, he checks his cell again and dials Rachel’s.
“Mrs. DeMartino,” he says, surprised at the noise wherever she is. “It’s me, Michael. NYPD? I wondered if you had any word from your friend.”
Rachel pauses, then, “No. Nothing.”
Maggie fidgets, turning into the traffic until he pulls on her reins and turns her back. “Where are you? It’s really noisy.”
“Okay, hear me out. You’ll probably think it’s really dumb, you know, what a tourist. But I’m at The Today Show. It’s just that we—”
“You’re out searching for her then,” he interrupts.
“Yes, I am.”
“Why don’t you call her husband? It’s probably time.”
“No. Not till after tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“We had plans, and I’m thinking she might show up there.”
“You feel like company? I don’t know, maybe you want to cash in that dinner bet?”
She’s quiet first, then says, “You know, company would be great. I really don’t feel like doing this thing alone. We’re seeing a friend at The Metropolitan Room. She’s got a gig there.”
“Okay. That’s decent. I’ll pick you up early and pay up the wager. We’ll eat at Bobo’s. Little place in the West Village. It’s a little better than bowling, if you know what I mean. And listen, Rockefeller Plaza is a real central thoroughfare. If you sit on a bench and watch the people, maybe she’ll pass by.” He digs in a heel against the horse’s side when she starts another sidestep into traffic, pulling her back hard. “But be aware of who’s around you. And leave your cell on, okay?”
Chapter Six
N o present could ever match what her mother had given her. The package arrived by courier on her fortieth birthday, shortly after the kids were on the school bus and Tom had left for work. It was a complete surprise, getting a present delivered like that months after her death.
She set it on the kitchen table, sunlight streaming in through the window, the wrapping paper shimmering. They had talked about this birthday a lot. Forty was one of the biggest. Forty meant you could take chances; the kids were older, your home was settled, risk wasn’t as risky. She and her mother had planned on opening their antique shop during her fortieth year. That had been her dream until she woke up to a new reality: pregnant at thirty-eight with Owen. New babies and bottles and schedules and diapers leave little room for new businesses. And then her mother died.
So she poured herself a cup of coffee on the morning of her fortieth, sat herself down and wondered how her mother sent something to salvage a birthday started with disappointment. That the gift would be special went without saying.
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