They didn’t get much business because the town didn’t get many visitors. They owned the property and land free and clear, so they weren’t hurting by the lack of business. Plus, their diner was all the business that they needed. The fact that it was the only restaurant here was not the main reason it stayed busy. Trust me, people would rather cook at home than eat horrid food. The food was out of this world. The Cooks could cook.
“Oh, we got a new guest just this morning. A pretty girl who checked in for a week.” Mrs. Cook walked over toward where I stood at the counter boxing her order. Whatever she had to say next was just for me. “She’s a veteran, Vic. I figured she was the way she acted. She acts like you do sometimes.”
Her words piqued my interest. That was an interesting statement. “How exactly do I act?”
She thought about it for a minute. “Um, like, not jumpy or anything. You move slow sometimes. I saw her when she was walking up to the building, and she stopped before she walked onto the porch. She looked around like something was wrong. When she finally did come inside, her pretty self wouldn’t put her bag down like most people do, and she stood like you do where you can see all the doors. You think she been to war or something?”
My stare at her was blank. “I’m not sure. There are a lot of reasons that a person could have those mannerisms. It could come from other things. She could be a survivor of domestic violence.”
“Okay, she just acts like a person who has that PTSD thing like you do.” Mrs. Cook’s finger went to her chin, then her eyes widened. “How much you want to bet Verna sent her here?Come on now! A pretty girl like that just doesn’t stumble onto a town likePlasters.”
Vince laughed. “Mrs. Cook, you’ve said the girl was pretty about three times already. She must really be pretty.”
“You know if I keep saying it, I mean it. This town is small, so you probably gonna see her. Not sure what she here for. If Verna sent her, then you’re definitely gonna see her,” she said.
I told Vince to help me get her order out to her truck. I was done with the conversation, and other customers had come into the shop. Our shop was not that big, which was intentional. It was meant for you to get what you needed and get the hell out. A lot of our customers called in their orders, or they were made online. Most knew that was my overall preference. When people knew that my mother would be in the shop, which was Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, they came in to socialize with her talkative ass.
Vince and I helped Mrs. Cook to her truck, gave her well wishes, and sent her on her way. When we walked back into the shop, my mother had that look in her eyes. My brother and I glanced at each other. I waved her off before I spoke. “Ma, I’m not doing this with you. You don’t even know her.”
My mother was a hopeless romantic who saw my future wife in every beautiful, nice woman that she met. Her biggest desire was for me to get married and give her grandchildren. I wasn’t saying that it wasn’t something that I wanted for myself. I just knew that when I found it, I would know.
There She Goes . . .
A couple of hours passed since Mrs. Cook left. We had steady business, which was common. On top ofRosebuds, we suppliedthe beef for our local grocery store. My family took great pride in the quality of beef that we produced. Our Angus cross cattle had improved meat quality, added heat tolerance, increased growth rate, and improved fertility and hardiness. Our beef was everything that you would want in life.
The shop was empty. I straightened the mess that had been made in the refrigerator for the fourth time today. When the ding sounded to alert that someone had pulled into the parking lot, I looked to my brother, who was currently standing behind the counter. His eyes locked onto the camera, then they squinted. “Who the fuck is that?”
His inquiry had my feet double-timing behind the counter. His question was valid.Who the fuck is that?Her brown skin was kissed by the sun. Her short blonde hair complemented her skin tone perfectly, which said a lot. Blonde could be a tricky color on Black women. Not because it was inappropriate or it didn’t look good, but because you had to know the shade that complemented your skin tone.
My brother and I watched her scan the parking lot. She was dressed in a pair of khaki cargo shorts, a black T-shirt, and a pair of black sneakers. She pulled a hat out of her cargo pocket, then placed it on her head. The gravel under her feet could be heard from the camera as she walked toward the front door. When she got to the door, she didn’t immediately pull it open to step inside. Like I expected her to, without head movement, her eyes scanned the doorframe.
The second she cleared the door, I saw the heaviness on her. Her shoulders stayed squared as she scanned the potential exits.Although her shoulders were squared, she stood at an angle much like me. That came from being sure that our sidearm was accessible. There was a faint tab shadow on her hat. My eyes tightened a little to see it.Rangers.
“Hi, you’re open, right?” she asked. Her voice was soft but still had this command that was unexpected. It was calm, controlled, if you would.
I nodded, then slowly took a step to the right toward her but still behind the counter. “We are. You serve?”
I knew the answer, but again, it could be an assumption. Prisoners had many of the same mannerisms as people who served in the military. The hat could not belong to her. For all I knew, she found it in a Goodwill bin.
She nodded before her head tilted for a beat. “Branch?”
“Army. Infantry?” When she gave me a subtle nod, I returned it. “I could see that.”
Her brow rose, but she didn’t say anything. There was silence for a second, but it wasn’t awkward. That was interesting because my mother and brother were in the room with us.
“Can I help you with anything? You looking for something specific today?” I asked her. She hadn’t moved from the spot she stood at when she walked into the shop.
She glanced to the right wall. Her feet finally moved toward it. On that wall, we had an assortment of jerky, beef sticks, homemade potato chips, local honey, rubs, and branded merchandise. In almost a whisper, she responded, “I like jerky.”
I caught my smile. “Oh, yeah. We have the best in town. Are you new to town? I don’t think that I’ve seen you around.”
“Yeah, I’m new around here.” She was guarded. I understood it all too well. I was the same when I first retired.
“How long since you left?” I didn’t need to elaborate with my question. She knew what I meant.
She paused for a minute as our eyes locked. “A little over two years. You?”
“A lil over four,” I told her.
