January 3 - part 1

At the jingle of the bell at the front door, Beverly looked up and bestowed a smile upon the newcomer.

"Well, well," said the middle-aged man looking her over with unabashed scrutiny. "Pat's got another newbie, I see," he said, then raised his voice. "I hope you can keep this one, Pat; she's the prettiest gal you've hired in a long time!" he shouted toward the back of the small coffee shop.

Pat emerged from the back of the shop, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling at the man. "Happy New Year, Phil," she said, stretching out a hand in greeting.

"And to you, my dear," he replied, taking the hand and placing a glancing kiss on it. "How was the feast?"

"Delicious. Sorry you couldn't join us," she replied.

"We didn't get plowed out until this morning," he grumbled.

"Not to worry; we have plenty of leftovers – and I'll expect you and Georgiana to join us," she said. "It'll give you a chance to meet some old friends who are staying with us for a while: Beverly," she gestured at the redhead, "and her friend John. Their flight got canceled due to the storm, so they're staying with us while they decide what to do next. Beverly's helping me out while she's in town," Pat added.

Phil turned to Beverly, extending his hand to her. "Nice to meet you, Beverly. I hope you know how to make a good latte," he added.

"Actually, I don't have a clue," Beverly admitted.

"Which means I can teach her how to make it exactly the way you like it," Pat added. "Foam the skim milk in the cup, then add 5 sugars and pour three shots of espresso over the top," she explained.

Five sugars? Beverly thought to herself – then turned her attention to making the order as Pat had directed; for all its size and apparent complexity, the equipment was actually quite simple to operate. Within a few minutes, she had assembled the mixture, placed a lid on the top, made an entry into the register, collected the money from the man and handed over the coffee.

Phil raised the cup to his lips, sipped the piping hot liquid – then sighed contentedly. "Perfect, my dear. Pat, you've got a winner here; don't let this one go," he added.

Pat smiled back. "I'm glad you approve – but Beverly and John may have other plans. I'm just thankful that she can help out while she's here. What time should we expect you and Georigana?"

"Six thirty?"

"Six thirty it is," Pat said. "We'll look forward to seeing you both."

"We'll bring the wine. A pleasure to meet you, Beverly," he added, bowing slightly to Beverly as he turned toward the door.

Beverly watched as the door closed behind him, then gave a heavy sigh as she looked at Pat – who smiled back.

"One down – a couple hundred to go," she said. "It's funny, but with all the big coffee chains up on Randall – Starbucks, Caribou – even Dunkin' Donuts – we manage to hold our own down here," she said. "Maybe it's because we're small: we know our customers, and we know their preferences – but at the same time there's a bit of monotony to it: you see the same faces almost every day, prepare the same orders… I think that's one reason we have a hard time keeping good staff here: it gets boring – and the kids we can afford to hire – teenagers, college students – they get bored easily. The pay's decent, if you figure in the tips – for high school kids and college students," she added with a sigh.

"And you, Pat? Do you get bored doing this?" Beverly asked.

Pat gave a half-hearted nod. "Somedays, yes. But… this is my shop. It's a little different when it's your place; I take pride in seeing that look of satisfaction in each and every client's face – and in knowing that I'm doing something for my friends and my community – even if it is only serving coffee – and tea, and muffins and soup…" she added with a smile.

"I take it that you enjoy cooking," Beverly said.

"I do. With only Gy and myself in the house, there isn't much chance to cook – and since he's out of the house almost every night, there's not much opportunity to do so. I have a few parties every year – but for the most part, I indulge my culinary passions here," she admitted.

Beverly nodded in commiseration. "I would imagine it's difficult when your child has an active social life."

Pat raised a brow in question. "Social life?"

"You said Gy is out almost every night," Beverly replied – only to hear Pat start to laugh.

"Gy's not socializing – he's working!" she chuckled – then reached for Beverly's hand and guided her from behind the counter to the front windows of the coffee shop. "See that?" she said, pointing across the street to a small, non-descript doorway that was lodged snuggle between two old brick buildings.

"Yes?" Beverly replied uncertainly, not sure what she was looking at.

"Well, the building on the left is an old apartment building, and the building on the right is a marketing firm – but if you go through that door and up a flight of stairs, you'll be at TKD Martial Arts – Gy's Taekwondo studio," she said proudly.

"Taekwondo?" Beverly echoed. "Your son teaches martial arts?" she said in surprise.

"In his infinite spare time," she said with a chuckle. "In addition to running his own construction business, he's a third degree black belt and teaches martial arts," Pat added proudly.

She let her voice drop slightly. "It was actually my school first," she added shyly.

"You teach martial arts?" Beverly replied in astonishment.

"I did – until a year and a hundred pounds ago!" Pat chuckled. "Gy started in grade school, and I joined him after a few years – his instructor talked me into it. Then Gy got his first degree belt and he dropped out – but I continued. I made it to third degree – then one day, our instructor didn't show up. I ran the class that day – and every day since – until about a year ago. It finally got to be too much working here in the mornings, then teaching until eight every night. Gy had resumed his studies in the meantime, and while I had made it to fourth degree, he reached third – and I felt comfortable in leaving the school in his hands.

"So now I'm home at night – but he's out!" she chuckled.

"That must be difficult for you," Beverly said softly. "You're obviously close to Gy…"

"I am. But he's a grown young man with a life of his own – which is as it should be," she added soberly. "Even if he wasn't teaching, he'd be out with Corrie or his friends or off gaming or whatever… and once the economy improves, he'll probably move out and get a place of his own. But that's as it should be," she repeated.

"It doesn't make it easier," Beverly said sympathetically.

Pat glanced at the redhead with a curious expression. "You say that as if you've been through it," she said, almost in accusation.

Beverly hesitated – then nodded. "My son…"

"You have a son?"

"His name is Wesley."

"Is John his father?"

Beverly's eyes widened in surprise – then she let out a chuckle. "No. My husband – Jack – died when Wesley was quite young. I raised him alone until he was eighteen. Since then he's been off studying…"

"Don't you want to let him know where you are?" Pat interrupted worriedly.

"I wish I could," Beverly sighed. "Unfortunately, he's been… traveling… for the last few years. I hear from him every now and then, but not as often as I would like."

"Maybe he's jealous of your relationship with John," Pat mused.

"What? No," Beverly replied, genuinely amused. "John was a friend of the family since well before Wesley was born. He was the best man at our wedding. Wesley looks up to him as both a father-figure, and as a friend. I don't think jealousy is an issue," she said. "In any case, I think one reason John and I never considered a relationship before this is because we wanted to respect Wesley's memories of his father."

Pat nodded. "I put my life on hold for Gy for a long time. I'm not sure it was the best idea. He still resents it when I go out on dates – and he's almost apoplectic when Ralph spends the night."

Beverly nodded as blandly as she could, wondering how Wesley would have handled it if she had brought a lover home with her when they were still sharing quarters. Probably not well, she decided – though opting for a celebate lifestyle had never been a conscious decision, she realized, at first probably out of respect and love for her husband, then for her son – and then, for the most part, because no man, in the flesh, lived up to her fantasies about Jean-Luc.

"Ahp, here comes Shelley," she said, glancing down the street. "Extra large coffee, and a toasted English muffin – but don't start it until she places the order: she likes to think she's unpredictable," Pat added.

Four hours later, Beverly knew a hundred of Pat's regulars, and had been brought up to date on the latest gossip, including whose cars had been stuck in whose driveways during the storm, and the jocular speculation on the presumed increase in the birthrate nine months from that date.

She had also learned quite a bit about the history of the small town, including the buildings that lined either side of the street that spanned the river - and the other river towns north and south of Batavia.

We need a map, she thought. If we had a map we could plot out where Gy found us, and Jean-Luc should be able to determine how far we walked after we got out of the river – and knowing we were walking for more than an hour before we reached the river… we should be able to work out the general area where the shuttle crashed, she thought hopefully.

And then…? Beverly asked herself.

And then we'll still be lost, four hundred years out of our own time, she reminded herself, despair welling up in her heart.

Oh, Jean-Luc, are we ever going to get home?