Getting old must stink. I’m not looking forward to it, and the thought of being all alone, like Uncle Charlie, scares me to death. I hope by his stage of life I’ve found someone to join my life with and that they’ve stuck around for the golden years. According to family lore, watching Charlie run off prospective life partners with his grizzly bear ways was practically a family sport.
Mom vees her hand at the base of her throat. “I was thinking. Let’s plan to decorate the Christmas tree on Sunday. We can bake sugar cookies and make hot cocoa.”
My inner groan sounds off. “Fine, but if you want my participation, it will have to be around this time. I’m working these days, remember?”
She bites her lip. No, clearly the merry image Mom created in her mind of the three of us decking the halls blocked out reality—a reality eagerly foisted on me by her, no less.
“You don’t have to be there until close every night, do you?”
“Remains to be seen. I discovered this morning that Uncle Charlie has one waitress recovering from surgery, one walked out last Friday, and one of the kitchen guys landed in jail over the weekend.”
“Oh, dear.”
Oh, dearis right. And as of this week, every bit of it ismyproblem. Remind me again how that happened?
Mom is never easily deterred. “We'll try for Sunday. As I recall, Charlie closes at two on Sundays.”
I don’t bother covering a loud yawn. Right now, my brain can’t process the prospect of any activity other than crawling into bed.
I sit straight. “Hey, maybe we can begin closing early on Saturdays too.” Weekend evenings, most folks choose more interesting dining establishments, and ones that typically include alcohol, for that matter.
“Now, honey. You can’t waltz in and change all Charlie’s ways.”
Um, sure I can. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Grr. Definitely that was mean. I’m on the fast track to becoming a grizzly myself. Clearly, the diner is to blame. Maybe the place has been Uncle Charlie’s nemesis all along.
Pain shoots through my feet when I stand, stretching and yawning. “I need to shower so I can crash, Mom.” I tell her I love her, kiss her cheek, and stumble upstairs to the same bedroom where I spent my childhood.
Sometimes, it seems more should have changed by now.
Chapter 4
Knox
The trailer door slams into my backside, courtesy of a brazen north wind that insists on having the last word. The gust rattles the trailer and jolts poor Judy nearly out of her chair.
Tugging the stocking cap off my staticky hair, I wince-smile. “Sorry.”
She startles, hand to heart, but her expression morphs into a smile. “You scared me half to death, Knox Herd. I deserve a treatfor that.” She reaches into the Santa shaped dish at the edge of her desk and plucks out a red, foil-wrapped chocolate.
I set my grocery sack on the desk and toss my insulated jacket onto the floor. With all the grime it acquired this morning, the floor is the only suitable spot.
“I thought Texas was supposed to be warm, but the Indianapolis job last winter wasn’t half this miserable,” I say as I remove two packaged salads and a box of fried chicken from the grocery’s deli section.
“Sixty degrees and sunny at home.” Judy is grinning when I look over. “Just checked.”
“Ugh. Maybe I should reconsider field work.”
“Nah, you love being on site, and you know it.”
“I guess.” I sit at my desk and pop open one of the salads. I’ll tuck the other and half the chicken into the refrigerator for lunch tomorrow. “But this weather is the pits.”
“Every local I talk to apologizes for the rain and cold. They assure me this weather is atypically bad.”
“Lucky us, huh?” I tear open a packet of vinegarette with my teeth. I was really counting on December in Texas being an upgrade from December in Kansas City. “The heater in my motel room is hit or miss. Half the time, I freeze my rear off at night nearly as bad as I do here during the day.”
Her smile shifts to motherly concern. “Maybe you should get out in the evenings, young man. Check out the local nightlife.”
