Creemees for a Cause

The first time Trevor saw Constance, he noticed her blue eyes, clear and piercing beneath dark black lashes. She ordered a maple creemee cone, small, no sprinkles.

The second time Trevor saw Constance, he noticed a small gold heart locket hanging from a thin chain around her neck, and the way her smile was so big it caused the corners of her eyes to crinkle. She ordered a blueberry vanilla twist cone, small, colored sprinkles.

The third time Trevor saw Constance, he smiled at her and asked, “Ardent fan, or industrial saboteur?”

She laughed and noticed his steel-gray eyes and single dimple just visible above his thick brown beard. A faded blue bandana held back curls that threatened to spill into his face. She considered his question. “Maybe a little bit of both?” she joked, before ordering a maple creemee cone, small, chocolate sprinkles.

***

“Ask her out,” Trevor’s crew at the creemee stand urged. They were all rooting for their boss. They knew his hard-luck back story and were hoping things would turn around for him. The creemee stand was his new start, a way for him to give back to the community that refused to give up on him while at the same time providing an income stream and jobs for at-risk youth.

He couldn’t ask her out. Not yet, if ever. But as the summer progressed, he got in the habit of looking for her in the late afternoon and came to recognize her vintage, sky-blue VW bug. As she walked to the window, his crew would invariably busy themselves with other tasks, leaving Trevor alone to serve her.

***

“Ask him out,” Constance’s Nana urged from her bed at the rehab hospital.

Constance laughed and reached out to take her Nana’s hand. “I can’t ask him out, Nana. We’ve only exchanged a handful of words, and I don’t even know his name!”

“Never mind that,” Nana said. She’d lived a long and good life and knew that the communication that deeply mattered rarely involved words. 

“It’s time you had a picture other than mine in that locket I gave you,” Nana insisted. “And you can tell a lot about a man by his cooking. How are his creemees?”  

“His creemees are the best in Vermont. Hands down.” Constance sighed in satisfaction at the memory of the way the maple creemee cone she’d enjoyed earlier in the week had surprised and delighted her with its intensity.

Nana’s eyes twinkled at the news. “Relationships have been built on less,” she said, before reaching for her deck of cards and dealing her granddaughter in for a game of rummy.

***

The tenth time Constance came to the window of the creemee stand, it was after a tough visit at the rehab center. Her grandmother had taken a turn for the worse, and her parents were at that very moment flying up from Florida to visit. 

She wasn’t in the mood for a creemee, but she’d promised her grandmother she’d learn the creemee master’s name. And there was no denying that her heart did a lurch when his now-familiar face appeared in the window frame. 

She contemplated the daily specials board as he waited for her order in silence. The very feel of his eyes on her made the blood rush into her cheeks. It was unnerving, and the flip-flops in her stomach were making it tough to decide on a flavor.

“Could you use an assist?” Trevor asked. “I’m pretty good at helping people choose the perfect creemee for the moment.” 

“Oh really?” Skepticism showed on Constance’s face.

Trevor laughed. “I’m something of a savant in this area. Trust me?”

“Have at it,” Constance said as she stepped back from the window. 

Trevor leaned out and made a show of reviewing the specials and giving them due consideration. He pondered and took into account the cooler temps, the overcast sky, and the decidedly low energy emanating from his normally bubbly patron.

“No question, today is a chocolate day.”

Constance nodded. Chocolate seemed just right. “How about throwing on some chocolate sprinkles for good measure.”

Trevor presented the cone with a flourish, proud of the three expert twists and even distribution of sprinkles.

Constance thanked him, paid, and had just turned to leave when she remembered.

“Hey, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Trevor,” he smiled. “Yours?”

“Constance.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” both said in unison.

* * *

Trevor arrived at the creemee stand early the following day. Every Wednesday was “community day,” when he made the rounds to local hospitals and senior centers. It felt like a small thing to do—a simple sharing of long-held family recipes that never failed to appeal. The fact that it was beginning to look like he could build a business on those recipes was the cherry on top. Today he’d be visiting the rehab hospital in Barre—a new addition to his rotation.

* * *

“I’m glad you’re here,” Nana said upon opening her eyes as Constance plopped into a chair and pulled it close to the bed.

Constance reached over and plumped Nana’s pillow and adjusted the bed to raise her to a more upright position. It didn’t seem possible, but her grandmother had lost more weight since she’d visited the previous week. Her cheeks were sunken, and sharp collarbones jutted out beneath her thin cotton gown. 

“Are you up for a game today, Nana?” Constance asked. She eyed her grandmother with worry and noted the lunch tray set to the side, the soup and sandwich only partially eaten.

“Don’t fuss with me,” Nana scolded, anticipating what Constance would say. “I’m eating plenty. The nurse told me that “Creemees for a Cause” is coming today. I’m saving my appetite.” 

“Creemees for a what?” Constance laughed. 

“Creemees for a Cause,” Trevor said as he wheeled in the ice cream cart he’d designed specifically for bedside visits. 

Constance could only blink, taking in the full measure of the man who, until this moment, she had only seen from the shoulders up. She liked what she saw. Long legs filled out well-worn jeans. A simple navy-blue polo shirt with “Trevor’s Creemees” embroidered on the pocket stretched tight across his broad shoulders and tucked into a belt cinched around a trim waist. 

“Come and sit for a minute,” Nana invited as though welcoming an old friend. Her eyes twinkled, while Constance blinked a few more times before remembering her manners and making introductions.

Nana’s big sparkling eyes had grown even larger, and Constance didn’t think it was in anticipation of the creemee to come. Those eyes spoke to her granddaughter without saying a word. “Go on,” those eyes encouraged her. “Don’t be afraid. I can tell he’s one of the good ones.”

Trevor pulled up a chair as Constance reached for the deck of cards and dealt him in.

photo credit: Retreat Farm, Brattleboro, VT