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  We walk in silence for a bit, until I say, “I get the feeling that Hera doesn’t like me very much, even though we’ve only just met.”

  Rocco stays quiet.

  “Or maybe it’s more that she doesn’t approve of me for some reason. Did you happen to tell your aunt what I used to do for a living?”

  Rocco halts and turns to me. “I did. But it was a long time ago. Should I not have?”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s all right. I just get the impression she can’t deal with it very well. Some people can’t help but be judgmental about it.”

  “Ah, you know, she’s old school. Religious upbringing and all that. There are some things she just doesn’t understand.”

  “So I gathered.” I start walking again, Rocco follows.

  “You can’t take it personally, Kat. She’s had such a rough time. This is her first job since Sam died. She may be a bit rusty in the social skills department but her social skills are not why we hired her, anyway.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t need to be friends with the the builder.” I sigh. “In fact, there’s not much point in me being there at all while Hera’s working. You can oversee things perfectly well on your own.”

  “Do you want me to talk to her?” Rocco asks.

  “No, that’s all right. Just let her get on with the job. The sooner it’s done—”

  “The sooner we’re in business, K.Jo.” Rocco almost shrieks.

  “I know.” As we approach the coffee shop we’ve been frequenting ever since we found the venue for our own, I stop in my tracks and look at it. It’s much smaller than ours, but the front window is fully collapsible, opening up the space and bringing the outside in.

  This place is closer to the beach and the pavement in front is much wider. Rocco and I wanted a window like this one, but, according to Kristin, it would be money wasted because of our location. She advised us to focus on coziness instead of trying to merge with the world outside and, instead, make it a place people want to retreat into, for a brief break from the real world.

  “I still can’t believe we’re going to have our very own coffee shop,” I muse.

  “I know. It’s quite the change, isn’t it?”

  We head inside and order our coffees. Rocco decides to give Hera all the time alone she needs and we take one of the tables by the open window.

  “What’s most baffling is that it’s actually happening. That we’re building something from nothing, from a silly idea we once came up with while under the influence of your way-too-strong mimosas.” Rocco grins at me.

  “As Kristin said, coffee is black gold and the gold rush is long from being over.” I stare into my cup, remembering a long talk I had with Kristin about the almost inexplicable draw of a cup of coffee. How it can be so disappointing sometimes, when not well-made, and so intoxicatingly delicious when it is.

  “You don’t miss the old job too much?” Rocco inquires.

  “I wouldn’t say I miss it per se but it is strange not to be doing it anymore.” I glance at him. “If it were up to Alana, I’d still be seeing at least one client a week.”

  “Good to know you’re still sought after.” Rocco sips from his flat white. “This is bloody good coffee.” He looks behind him at the counter. “We need to figure out their blend so we can copy it.”

  I smile at him and, while we savor our coffee in silence, I think about my old job. I do miss it sometimes. But my decision has been made, and this is my new life now.

  “Before I forget,” Rocco says. “I promised Steve I’d teach two spin classes the day after tomorrow. Can you be there for Hera?”

  “You’re the one who can’t let go of your old profession,” I joke.

  “I miss the endorphins.” He sits up straight and pats his belly. “And my six-pack is starting to disappear.” He locks his gaze on me. “There’s not going to be a problem between you and Hera, is there?”

  I shake my head. After all, I’m used to people judging me by what I do—or did—for a living. “I’m sure she won’t need me much anyway.”

  Chapter Four

  Hera

  “I’m sorry, Rocco,” I say. “It’s just something I have a problem with. It’s a gut thing. I can’t simply change how I feel about her.”

  “Just try to be courteous. Do your gallant butch routine. It can’t be that hard to pretend.”

  “I believe I’m plenty courteous with Katherine.” I do my best to say her name with a straight face. “Has she said anything?”

  “No, but I’ve noticed how you are around her and it bugs me.” Rocco knows he can be frank with me. After all, he has seen me at my lowest. “You’re both lesbians, for crying out loud. If even the lesbians can’t get along with each other, what’s the world coming to?”

  “Like you get along with every gay man.” I glance at him over the rim of my glasses. I do love winding him up, although the fact that he has noticed my instant dislike of Katherine startles me. He’s not usually one to pick up on things like that.

  “Well no, but Kat’s so lovely, if only you’ll give her a chance.”

  “A chance at what?” I take a bite from my sandwich, while Rocco picks at his salad. I ponder his question further while I chew. I have no desire to befriend an ex-hooker. I don’t say this out loud to my nephew, of course. For some reason, he’s quite taken with this woman—and has been for a good long while.

  “I’m just the builder,” I repeat. “I don’t have to become friends with everyone I work with. In fact, it’s rather uncommon that I do.”

  “I’m just asking for courteousness, that’s all.” Rocco puts away the Tupperware box that held his salad. “You’ve been locked in your house for so long. I thought you might have forgotten how to be nice to other people.”

  “I go out,” I say, noting that my tone sounds defensive.

  “Uh-huh. Sure,” Rocco says. “I’m not saying you should start dating, but good things can happen when you’re nice to people.”

  My hackles go up. He’s pushing it. “First of all, I won’t be dating anyone anytime soon. You can interpret ‘soon’ as ‘ever again’ if you want.” I expel a sigh. “And second, you can be friends with Katherine all you want, and not give a damn about her being a prostitute, but, to me, things like that say something about someone’s personality and moral fiber and I’m perfectly entitled to not fawn over her for that reason.”

  Rocco holds up his hands. “All right. All right. Point taken.” He tilts his head. “But you’re going to be alone with her tomorrow, so please behave and don’t act all superior.”

  “Have you ever known me to act superior to anyone?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I shake my head. “What I don’t get is why any woman would choose a profession like that. Was she starving? She sure doesn’t look like it.”

  “Let’s not get into this any further. I won’t pretend I can change your mind about Kat, even though she’s genuinely one of the loveliest, most kind-hearted people I know.” Rocco glances at me. “It’s just that… for someone who had to stand up to so much prejudice when she first came out, you can be really narrow-minded.” Rocco’s the one to shake his head now. “It’s hard to understand.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other. Being gay is not a choice, we both know that. Whereas you deliberately have to make the choice to sell your body for money.”

  “It’s just sex.” Rocco throws up his hands in desperation. “Why are lesbians so bloody uptight about sex?”

  “Your lesbian friend Katherine doesn’t appear to be.”

  “Just… be nice to her, please. That’s all I ask. I know you have it in you, Auntie.” He bats his lashes at me, the way he used to do as a boy.

  “I promise I’ll try.” I can’t help but smile when he looks at me that way.

  “Do you need me to stick around?” Katherine asks. It’s the first time we’re alone and she keeps pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

  “It appears I for
got my coffee flask this morning.” Rocco’s words echo in my mind and I’m doing my best to not see her as a hooker, but as any other woman—and my nephew’s business partner. “Would it be terribly rude to ask you to get me a coffee from that place you always disappear to?” I throw in a smile and everything.

  “No flask today,” Kat says. “Whatever happened?”

  “I had trouble falling asleep last night,” I blurt out. “I snoozed through my alarm this morning and had to rush out the door.”

  “Are the renovations keeping you awake?” Kat makes intense eye-contact when she speaks—probably a trick from her former life.

  “No, nothing like that. I have bouts of insomnia. I’m not a very good sleeper on the best of nights.”

  “Hence the flask.” She sends me a wide smile now.

  “You figured me out.” I find myself smiling back.

  “A long black?” Katherine asks.

  “Sorry?”

  “Your beverage of choice? I’ve seen you drink your coffee black, so shall I bring you that?”

  “Oh, right. Yes, that would be lovely.” I shrug. “It’s quite ironic that I’m renovating a future coffee shop and don’t know the first thing about all the modern coffee drinks. I’m used to just drinking plain old coffee.”

  “Plain old coffee is the new hype. We’ll have that on offer as well, if you were to swing by when this place is up and running.”

  I roll my eyes. “And pay five dollars for a cup.”

  Katherine gives a slight shake of the head. “The builder drinks for free, of course.” She throws in another one of her smiles. I feel like she’s working me. Is this how she used to break the ice with… what to call them? Her clients?

  “That’s very generous of you.” I promised to be nice, but I just can’t separate Katherine from what she used to do. I wish Rocco hadn’t told me. I might have found her perfectly lovely if he hadn’t.

  “Anyway. A long black coming up.” Katherine turns to leave and I only exhale once she’s left the premises. There’s an energy about her that unsettles me. I hope Rocco is able to free himself from his old job soon so he’s the one I have to deal with while I’m working here, not Katherine.

  Chapter Five

  Kat

  Hera strikes me as the kind of woman who hides her true self—her natural beauty—underneath a layer of dust and those wide, dark-colored T-shirts she’s always wearing. Or maybe she just likes to be comfortable.

  Before I walk back in, two disposable coffee cups in hand, I look at her through the window. She’s mixing something in a large bucket. Maybe I should ask her about the building process as a way of having her open up to me a little more. But why bother? It’s obvious she doesn’t like me. I learned long ago to not be perturbed by that. Yet, with her, it’s different. Because she’s Rocco’s aunt and, also, because she represents an important step in this new life I’m trying out.

  When I walk inside, the radio is blasting an old Genesis song really loudly and Hera is swaying her hips while she stirs the contents of the bucket with a thick wooden stick. There’s rhythm to her sway and she seems completely absorbed by the music.

  I don’t want to disturb her but I don’t want her to have to drink a cold cup of coffee either. I clear my throat and she instantly goes back to her usual guarded ways. The sway of her hips instantly stops and she stands there stiffly, as though she’ll never sway to any piece of music ever again.

  “Coffee delivery.” I walk up to her. She does have bags under her eyes. The rest of her skin is olive, while the area underneath her eyes is purple like a bruise.

  “Ah, thanks.” She takes the cup, then turns to lower the volume of the radio. “I could do with sitting down for a minute.” She heads over to the corner where we’ve placed a couple of old chairs.

  “Can I sit with you?” I ask.

  “It’s your place,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I follow and sit next to her, casting my gaze about. She and Rocco have taken down a wall and I can already imagine how it’s going to look when it’s finished.

  “Not too bad for a drink with a silly name,” Hera says.

  “So, no need to worry next time you forget your flask.”

  “How much did that set you back?” she asks.

  “Five bucks,” I say. “Your estimate was bang on.”

  “I’ll settle up with you later.” She exhales a lungful of air.

  “Don’t worry about it. Consider it part of your payment.” I gaze at her slouching shape in the chair. “You look like you need a nap more than a cup of coffee.”

  She pushes her glasses up and pinches the bridge of her nose. “As I said, I only got a few hours of shut-eye last night. And this is my first job in a while. It all takes some getting used to.” She straightens her posture. “This won’t affect my work, of course. No need to worry about that.”

  “I’m not worried. You’re Rocco’s family so I trust you implicitly.”

  Hera arches her eyebrows. “That’s a bit naive, don’t you think? I could be the worst builder and yet you’d still trust me just because I’m your friend’s aunt?”

  “But you’re not the worst,” I say, locking my gaze on hers. “And Rocco knows that.”

  She presses her lips together. “He didn’t just hire me because he thinks I’m good at my job,” she says. “I was also a bit of a charity case.” Hera glances away, as though she has said too much.

  “Rocco and I are pretty close. Well, very close, actually. I know your partner passed away unexpectedly.”

  “Hm,” is all Hera says. “It’s good to be out of the house. I reckon I only have a few more years of this job in me. I’m getting on.” She chuckles. “Christ, I’m really not selling myself, am I?” She brings her gaze back to me. Something sparkles in it—something I haven’t seen in her eyes before. “Please disregard this conversation and consider Hera Walker for all your future renovation work.” She sends me her version of a winning smile—which almost does its job of winning me over.

  I grin at her. For the first time, I feel as though Hera doesn’t see me as Katherine the ex-escort, but just as the person she happens to be having coffee with. Something uncoils in my gut. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been wanting to redo my kitchen for ages. How are you with refitting kitchens?”

  “As good as they come, of course.” The smile hasn’t been wiped off Hera’s face. Maybe the long black I brought her is a couple of notches stronger than what she’s used to drinking from her flask. She tips her head back and drains her cup. “Thanks for this. I feel as good as new.” She jumps up. “Time to get back to it.”

  “Can I help you in any way?”

  Hera gives me a once over. “Let’s be honest,” she says, “those manicured fingers were not made for helping me.” She stares at my hands, which are wrapped around my coffee cup. “There’s really no need for you to stick around at all. I’m going to plaster that wall over there and I can manage on my own perfectly.”

  “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  Hera already has her back to me and she just raises a hand. It’s as though the five minutes we just spent chatting, breaking some of that persistent ice between us, never even happened.

  Chapter Six

  Hera

  I sink into Jill’s sofa with a loud sigh. I considered cancelling, but decided against it at the last minute.

  “That was quite the sigh,” Jill says. “Tell me all about it.”

  “I’m knackered. I have this job going.” I let my head fall back. “In fact, I could fall asleep right now.” I snap my head back up. “But I pay you too much for that to happen.”

  “How’s the job going?” Jill gazes at me with her pale blue eyes. When I first started seeing her, I never thought she’d look at me in such a confrontational manner. As though she wants to unearth the depths of my soul just by looking at me. Maybe she does.

  “Fine. It’s not too big but also not too small. The perfect kind of project to get back to it,
really. And I’m working for Rocco, which makes it extra pleasant.”

  “That’s good.” Jill doesn’t say anything else. She’s definitely the kind of therapist who lets silences linger in the hopes she’ll get me talking. I fall for it every time, even though I know what she’s doing—she lets me think for myself. I am here to talk, of course, and at least, these days, I can do so without falling apart. I’ve gone through many a box of tissues in this office.

  “Rocco’s business partner’s another kettle of fish, though,” I blurt out. Most of the time, I don’t even look at Jill when I’m talking, but fix my gaze on a painting behind her. It’s abstract. Just a blob of colors really. Nothing I would ever consider art, not that I know much about it. Yet this very painting has now become a sort of solace. I’ve looked at it through oceans of tears and, like today, through hooded eyelids because I can barely keep them open.

  Jill just nods.

  “Her name’s Katherine. They’ve been friends forever and Rocco told me long ago that she was a hooker. Although he prefers the term escort. ‘She works for a lesbian escort agency that caters only to women.’ That’s how he put it. As if that made it more acceptable. As long as I never had to meet her, I didn’t give it that much thought, but now I see this woman almost every day, I find her choice of career so… revolting.”

  “Interesting choice of word,” Jill says.

  “But it is.” I throw my hands in the air. “At least to me it is. But I’m old, and Rocco says I’m way too uptight about sex.”

  This earns me a raised eyebrow from Jill. I’ve talked about sex with her before, about Sam and our sex life—it’s one of the main reasons I first sought Jill’s help. But this is the first time I’ve uttered the word in a good long while.

  “Is that why being around her bugs you so much?” Jill asks. Before I found Jill, I had tried out a few other therapists, all of whom had a very monotone voice, as though any inflection could cause me psychological harm. Jill’s voice, however, is full of life.