If Coralynn Levine had been born into wealth, she still would have preferred to shop at the thrift store.There was something unique about used clothing.Every shirt and every shoe had traveled and seen places she had not gone, but the story remained in the fabric and in the laces.Even the books, with their dog-eared pages and coffee stained covers, displayed their past adventures.On occasion, she could find a mixed cassette tape or CD.She much rather preferred to listen to these because they were made with intent and put together by emotion.

Cora enjoyed studying people.Their behavior fascinated her immensely and she kept a detailed journal about her exhaustive observations.The dates and times were recorded as well as the weather and associated sounds and smells.She would meticulously adhere newspaper clippings and magazine articles to provide authentication and evidence to her input.Her attention to detail was calculated and if she couldn’t describe something with words, she would simply use a picture.

On a cool Wednesday morning, at 4:34 a.m., Cora sat in the same coffee shop, at the same booth, drinking the same black coffee, and writing in her journal just like she did every single Wednesday for the past five years.She had just finished taping down an article about a single engine Cessna crashing into the Atlantic Ocean, when a man slid across from her with his venti Starbuck’s brew in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

She didn’t have to lift her gaze to know it was him.His footsteps always gave him away.He favored his right foot, compliments of a ligament tear to his left knee during his high school soccer years.She jotted down a few notes, then closed the journal.

“You’re late.”

“By five little minutes,” he responded with a smooth British accent.

“You’re slowing down in your old age.”

“I’m not old.I’m just starting to ripen.”

A sort of snicker crawled on her lips as she glanced up to visually greet the man.He was a gangly sort of being, standing around 6’, with salt and pepper hair and a large crooked nose.He wasn’t much to look at, but his mind was sharp and his conversation was beyond intriguing.His rich brown eyes carried a lifetime of knowledge and stories, and over the past few years, Cora had heard many of them.“If you say so, Ben.”

Ben Jacobs, born Benjamin Henry Ingram III, placed a folded newspaper in front of her with the article of the Cessna facing up.“It’s a shame about that plane.”

Cora unfolded the paper and flipped to the crossword puzzle.“Hmmmm.So many things can go wrong while in flight.”

“Inexperienced pilots?”

“I suppose so,” she responded, using her ink pen to fill in the puzzle.“You just never know when your time will come.What is an 8-letter word than means new and ends with an ‘e’?”

Ben nodded firmly.“Pristine, of course.”

She counted the spaces then filled in the letters.“Nice.”She folded the paper up again, leaving the pen inside, and handed it back.He set it on the bench next to him and sipped his steaming coffee.

Cora pulled up her legs and sat Indian-style in the booth.She was wearing the same dark tan cargo pants from last week.Her dirty blonde hair was still in two long braids that gave her a very Pocahontas look.The undershirt she donned was more egg-shell now than white, and hints of pit stains could be seen.Though she looked rather unkempt, and borderline transient, underneath the grime was a shockingly intelligent and possibly beautiful woman.

“Have you noticed the weather?”

“Yup,” she pointed to her mug as the waitress passed by and filled it again with black brew.

“Good morning, Anabeth,” Ben asked.

The chubby waitress smiled and pushed fistfuls of curly red hair behind her ears.“Good mornin’, Ben.Bagel and cream cheese?”

“Yes, my dear.And a glass of water as well,” he answered back.

“No problem.You want some more toast, hon?”

Cora shook her head.“Nah, but I’ll take a piece of the apple pie.”

“One piece of pie, water and a bagel,” she repeated.Before she walked off, she winked at the old man with the handsome accent.

“She’s weird,”Cora said, glaring at the middle-aged waitress.

“No she’s not, Cora.She is a lovely lady.”

“Whatever.”

“Says the girl who has not brushed her hair in over a week.”

Cora rolled her eyes and sighed.“Well, you are like twice her age and she’s always hitting on you.”

“She can’t help it.I have rugged good looks.”

Cora laughed aloud, unable to contain her amusement.“If you say so.”

The waitress returned with the items, glared at Cora, then ambled away.“So, it’s startin’ to get cold out.”

“Yes indeed.”

“People are gonna have to start wearing jackets.”Cora pushed her fork into the pie, removing a piece then dipped it into the coffee.She then plunged the dynamic concoction of flavors into her mouth and chewed.

“Yup.”He removed the lid to his coffee and added more sugar. “I got a new jacket just yesterday.It’ll take me a few days to break it in.There’s lots of buttons and zippers to get used to.But I’m thinking this jacket just might end up being my last.”

Cora’s brow lifted.“Really?”

“Yes.It is a nice article of clothing and well made.American made.It should last a lifetime.”

Cora stuck her thumb into her coffee to check for temperature, then rubbed it on her pants.Taking a hearty chug, she shot her green gaze back to the man.“Are you sure?I mean, really good jackets are hard to come by.And usually a good jacket costs a lot.”

“You’re right.This one cost quite a bit.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, a nasty habit she could not release.“What about variety.Variety is important.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a lot of outfits to wear.This jacket can go with anything.”

She drummed her fingers uncomfortably on her knee.“But, what if, maybe I were to get you another jacket.Would you wear it?”

Ben shook his head, the wrinkles on his face evident with his smile.“Don’t waste your money on a man like me, Cora. That’s really quite gross.”

“What,” she asked mid-chew.

“That,” he responded while smearing cream cheese onto his stale bagel.

“You mean dipping my pie?”

“Yes.Dipping your pie into coffee is simply gross.”

She rolled her eyes then did it again, slamming an even larger piece into her mouth.She smacked the item childishly, speaking with her mouth full.“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I don’t want to try it.It makes the crust all soggy.I prefer the crust flaky.”

Cora shrugged her shoulders.“Well, you’re old and stuck in your ways.Maybe if you tried it, you’d like it.But you don’t even wanna buy another coat.So maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t wanna try pie dipped in coffee.”

“You don’t have to be rude, Cora.”

“I ain’t bein’ rude.”She ran her finger along the now empty plate, picking up crumbs and inserting them into her mouth.“I’m bein’ honest.Maybe you can’t handle honest.”

He placed his knife down gently next to the small white plate and held out his wrinkled hands.A hint of tremor could be seen in the elongated digits of his right hand, but not in his left.“It’s funny what age can do to a person.”He nodded towards his hands then pulled them back.“It’s funny and ironic.”He picked up his knife, with his right hand, and began dabbing more cream cheese onto the bagel.

They sat in silence, him eating his bagel, Cora drinking her coffee.

“Well my dear,” he stated at the last bit of food found its way down his throat, “I must be off.I’ve got an early meeting in the city.”

Cora reached across the table and grabbed Ben’s hand, something she seldom did.Their eyes met and locked in place.“Ya know, Ben, I hope you like your new jacket.”

“I will,” he replied with a wink.

“If you don’t….”

“I will.I promise you.It’s a good one to end with.”

He lifted out of his seat, snatching the newspaper and shoving it under an arm.He gestured toward the paper bag in the booth.“I got something for you.I hope you like it.See ya next week.”He was about to leave but found himself merely staring toward the woman he had known and trusted for five solid years.“You’re a good person.You’ll do the right thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”Ben smiled then planted a loving kiss on her forehead.He casually spun around and walked toward the door, waving his free hand in the air.

Cora stared at him blankly for a few moments, confused.She then reached across the table and snagged the brown bag.She casually opened it up and peeked inside.An ear-to-ear grin split her face as she crumpled the top of the bag and eased out of the seat.She rammed a hand into a deep cargo pant pocket, rustling around for money.She tossed a $20 bill on the table, grabbed her journal and the bag then strolled out the door.