Vera's Vertigo

In the final days of a summer that's dismantling her world, Vera stands in the kitchen of the café she built with love and asks herself the question she's been quietly dreading: what now?

Vera runs her beloved café with the unruffled aplomb of a juggler on a unicycle, her equilibrium honed by two dizzying decades of military life filled with her husband Jim’s deployments and their many cross-country moves with two daughters. When, three years ago, she and Jim traded their global mobility for a small town’s stability, Vera applied all of that hard-won equilibrium to her new balancing act of café owner. 

Now, as her daughters spin off into their own futures and Jim's new job pulls him into a different orbit, the café that once overflowed with family begins to echo. The café has been solid rock: so why does she suddenly sense she’s in quicksand?

In this tilting season, Vera is steadied by an incongruous constellation of supporters. Samson, a former Navy chef, runs the café’s kitchen with the efficiency of a man who’s fed thousands of sailors in open water. Loyal Deondra has been Vera’s best friend since long before she married Samson. Awkward teenager Bruce is a dishwasher/busboy whose vocabulary consists mostly of nods and shrugs, and new hire Lynae just might be the one to crack Bruce’s shell and discover his soft center. Rounding out the ensemble are: The Rev, a young priest who lives off of Samson’s specials; business coach Heidi, who seems to understand Vera far better than any stranger should; and local caterer Cole, who’s quietly burning out behind his megawatt smile and sterling reputation. Bringing up the rear is Mango, the family's wheezing dachshund, who becomes Vera’s unwitting anchor through all the turbulence. Together, they will push Vera toward the question at the heart of everything she's been trying to keep submerged.

Vera's Vertigo is a story about how we try to fill the vacancies left by loss, and what becomes possible when we stop trying to spackle over the holes in our hearts. It's a love letter to anyone who has ever loved a season of their life so fiercely that its ending tasted like equal parts grief and gratitude — and to everyone still trying to find their balance.