Ben's eyes flitted over his New York Times' crossword. 29 down: Ganges. He blew some steam off his coffee and took a long sip. Straight up, non-fat milk, two packets of synthetic zero calorie sugar. No frills. Ben look so inconspicuous: middle-aged, average height with average features except for those blue eyes. But people hardly ever looked that close. On a Sunday morning, he looked like a regular Joe sitting in a Starbucks, reading a paper and drinking something manly. Whatever that meant, Ben thought caustically. He liked what he liked, and rarely felt the need for extravagance. Just your average guy. 45 across: Schubert. Like everything else about him, it was a lie. His normalcy was a charade.
Right then, the door opened, sending in a blast of springy, slightly salty L.A. wind. The paper rustled, and he looked up. Almost instantly, Ben looked back down. Kate and Aaron had just come into the café. Of all the Starbucks in all the L.A. area, she had to walk into his. With her stolen child, reminding him painfully of his stolen child. But his was gone. He had no time to savor his half-witty reference to "Casablanca" or spend a few seconds revisiting the still festering wound left by Alex's death. Ben focused hard on his paper, eyes glued to nothing, while he planned. By this time, Kate had pushed her baby up to the counter and ordered a Grande, non-fat iced latte. No frills. You don't know how similar we are, Kate, Ben thought. Standing up, he folded his paper under his arm and headed over to the garbage can by the counter. Head down, toss the cup and its pithy euphemism of happiness. Head back up, lock eyes.
"Hello, Kate."
She gripped the stroller like her life depended on it, her knuckles white and her eyes wide with barely contained terror.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice accusatory. Ben smiled faintly, and raised an eyebrow.
"Want, Kate? I'm not sure I understand you."
She clenched her teeth.
"You always want something," she spat at him. He shook his head.
"We're not on the Island anymore. I don't want anything. My! Look how Aaron has grown!" Ben sank down on his haunches so he could be on the same level as the baby. Once a father, always a father. He fell right into the old patterns from the time when Alex was still his baby girl. His smile was always biggest and most open for children, because of their innocence. It was safe to smile like that at children. He reached out a hand so the boy could grab his fingers, but Kate whipped the stroller away with a vehemence that made Aaron cry.
"Don't you touch my child," she hissed. Ben put his hands up.
"I'm sorry. I guess I just couldn't help myself." He looked ashamedly at the floor. "You're not the only one who lost someone, Kate. I lost my baby." He paused, waiting for his words to sink in, subtly watching her. "Again, I apologize."
Ben turned to go, leaving Kate red-faced and flustered.
The next day, a beautiful bouquet of flowers appeared at Kate's house. The attached notes said, "From one parent to another, in the hopes of better days ahead," in formal, no frills writing. She ripped the card into small pieces and flung them into the trash. But the flowers stayed for a week because she clipped them and changed the water each day until they rotted.