Chesapeake Summer

Three days earlierVerna Lee Fontaine stared at the clock mounted on the wall of her shop and tapped her foot impatiently. Had five minutes ever passed so slowly? Finally,finally,the long hand inched its way up to the twelve. It was 5:00 a.m. on the dot, time to flip the Open for Business sign on the window and unlock her door. She'd anticipated this moment for six long months, dropping flyers on doorsteps, taking out ads in the local newspaper, tacking up notices on the library and supermarket bulletin boards and talking to just about everybody in town. Now, it was time to step back and wait...no, pray for customers. Some would come because they wanted to see her succeed, others because they were curious. A cafeacute; that offered smoothies laced with vitamin supplements, herbal teas sweetened with honey, eggwhite omelets topped with Stilton cheese and oatmeal sprinkled with wheat germ was unheard of in the remote back roads of the Tidewater. She knew people whispered behind her back. Black folks said that with her fancy college degree and her nine years spent teaching school in California, she didn't really belong in Marshy Hope Creek anymore, not that she ever had. She'd always been uppity and now she was worse than ever, a phenomenon completely unrecognizable in their small fishing community, one of their own and yet, not really, an educated black woman who owned a business. White folks remembered that Verna Lee Fontaine had always been unusual. She was something to look at, but didn't let it go to her head. She ignored the suggestive comments and blatant invitations, never losing sight of her goal, to leave and never look back. Raised by her grandmother in a small house on the edge of town, she kept to herself, studied hard, ended up number two in her graduating class and earned a topnotch scholarship to one of the best universities in the country. They wondered what brought her back. But she wasn't one of their own and they were too polite to ask. The thing was, Verna Lee didn't really belong in either community. Her African heritage was evident in the caramel color of her skin and the full, welldefined lips, which she emphasized with spicycinnamon lip gloss. But her pert nose, brookhazel eyes and the tawny curls framing her face were definitely European. She looked liked someone, but no one could agree on who, except that it wasn't Drusilla Washington, the grandmother who raised her. Ten minutes hadn't gone by before customers began showing up, first a trickle and then as the sun rose, a steady flow of them, ordering cappuccinos and lattes, foam thickened and cream topped. They sat on her blue couches, spread her yellow napkins, sipped from her ceramic mugs and chatted among themselves, consuming the homemade carrotcinnamon and blueberry muffins, the peach scones and carob crisps, the applenut granola and wholewheat pancakes. They took away packages of raspberry and peppermint teas, loaves of highfiber bread and sinfully rich fudge brownies. When it was clear that she couldn't manage on her own, Verna Lee recruited her grandmother to run the blender and refill the cups, to package the togo orders and wipe down the tables. Four hours later, the shop was empty and Verna Lee's inventory nearly depleted. She slumped into a chair, exhausted but satisfied. "I did it, Gran," she said. "I really did it. I'm a success." Drusilla Washington wasn't convinced. "It's nine o'clock on your first day of business. Tell me you're a success six months from now when the mortgage is paid nice and regular." "Killjoy." Verna Lee lifted her head and grinned. "Tell me you aren't as excited as I am." Drusilla looked at her granddaughter's lovely young face, at the red bandanna holding back the tawny curls, at the golden eyes lit with pleasure, and relenteBaker, Jeanette is the author of 'Chesapeake Summer ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780778324591 and ISBN 0778324591.