Diana Hargrove has gone through enough tragedy for three lifetimes, yet she still has an affirming smile on her face. She's lived and travelled all over the world, but the last straw that broke the camel's back, brought her back to her hometown, Cre...
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𝘵𝘸𝘰 | 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
Nonna is considered a sadist amongst the rich people. By many people! Not only by her family and friends. It's after midnight, and the coffee house is still open. She says that there's a method to her undeniable madness. I'll never understand her madness. I gave up trying to understand my Nonna.
Drunk high school students would go to the coffee house on the weekends to get sober before going home.
I don't think that's a method.
I think it's luck.
My left eye twitched looking to the side of the coffee house:
In Loving Memory of Master Sergeant Christopher Hargrove.
Shit!
I should've figured it was here.
That one sentence being the reason why mom and I have returned to Crescent Heights.
I've never been happier about the fact that mom needed to pee so badly that she wanted to rush home instead of making a pitstop at the coffee house. Seeing this would've sent her into a tailspin of her own grief.
The giant memorial for my dad was hung against the wall. It's not even a memorial. It's more of a shrine that people have been adding to since his death a few months ago. Hundreds of people from Crescent Heights have put condolence notes and pictures in front of the memorial.
My dad's serious army face and drill sergeant eyes stare back at me. I haven't been able to look at his army picture since his death. Looking at the job he was so proud of doing, is the job that took him away from me and mom. I vowed to never look at that picture again.
Dad always prided himself on having multiple personalities. He was the Master Sergeant in the army. He was also the loving father at home. The encouraging coach for the hockey team.
Tears swelled in my eyes. I came here for coffee, not to cry.
Looking at my dad, I see my face. I see Devyn's face. I don't want to stand here and see either of us in that picture.
"Can I get a decaf iced coffee with almond milk?" I asked. It took me a few minutes to peel my eyes away from my dad's picture.
Not a single person was in sight.
Everyone knows that I'm the granddaughter of Daria Rossetti. She's an icon in Crescent Heights.
I've been coming to this coffee house every day of my life when I was a kid. No one would call the police if I go behind the counter and pour my own coffee. It'll take a minute, and of course, I'll leave money on the counter for the worker.
Honestly, if I don't pry my eyes away from my dad's memorial, then I really will start to cry. It's not going to be a pretty sight.
I started pouring my coffee, but a voice behind me rang in my ears. "Diana?"
