SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT UNKNOWN
A Short Story by Boyd Lemon
Melissa drank the last of her morning blueberry smoothie at her grandmother’s old oak table. She pushed her index finger along the deep gashes her father had made with his pocket knife when he was 12. Melissa couldn’t imagine her father so destructive, but he had confessed. She had placed the table under the east facing window of her apartment so she could look out at the park.
She gazed at the season’s first snowflakes floating past her window like white feathers falling from a flock of invisible birds, a scene she never would have viewed in Los Angeles. Melissa had moved to Boston four months ago. She remembered the tingling feeling in her chest when her boss at Spectrum Publishing offered her an editor’s position in their Boston office. She was unaware of why at first, but she had known rightaway she would accept. It was a promotion, and they probably would have laid her off if she had rejected the transfer. Anyway, she had thought, at 26, it was time for her to be on her own, away from her father. She had always been dependent on her father. She needed to learn to be independent. And places and things in L.A. reminded her of her mother, who had died a few months earlier. Boston seemed like her destiny. Still, it was hard to leave everyone.
Her thoughts returned to her dad. When she lived in L.A., a week rarely went by when they hadn’t shared a meal or gone somewhere. It had been that way since her parents separated when she was ten. She could talk to her dad like she couldn’t talk to her mother. He never seemed to judge or talk down to her. Melissa remembered him coming into the Starbucks where she worked while she was in college. She knew he never went to Starbucks otherwise. She smiled, as she thought about him calling her every Sunday since she had moved to Boston.
She visualized her ex-boyfriend, Brad. They had loved each other, but she had heard from him only once since she moved. He said his heart had been broken. So had hers, but she knew this move was right for her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. It displayed “Brad”. Isn’t it strange how that happens sometimes—you think about somebody you haven’t heard from in a long time, and then they call, or you see them. After they exchanged awkward pleasantries, Brad said that a friend of his named Antonio was going to be in Boston for a day or two and had an idea that Melissa might be interested in.
“Would you have coffee with him?” Asked Brad.
“What’s the idea?” Asked Melissa.
“I’d rather he explain it to you, Melissa,” said Brad.
“Come on, Brad. Why can’t you tell me?”
“I think Antonio should be the one to present his idea,” said Brad. “You’ll understand it better. I’m just asking you to have coffee with him. He’s a really nice and talented guy, an older man. This is not a setup.”
“Okay,” said Melissa. “I don’t really like the mystery, but I suppose it can’t hurt to have coffee with him.”
Melissa went early to Starbucks near her apartment, ordered a latte and sat down at a table near the door to wait for Antonio. A tall gray haired man with glasses wearing the navy blue suit and yellow tie he had described on the phone approached her.
“Melissa?”
“Yes, Antonio. Nice to meet you.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and sat down across from her.
“Would you like to get a coffee?” She asked.
“No, that’s okay,” said Antonio.
“How do you know Brad? She asked.
