Authors: Vanessa Stone
"I
don't mind," I said. She gestured toward a red vinyl covered, cushioned
bench behind me.
"You
can sit right there, sir, and I'll see what I can do."
I nodded
and sat down, gazing around the decor of the old country style bar and grill. A
myriad of wonderful scents assailed my nostrils, and my stomach grumbled even
louder in response. The place was busy, though not boisterous. I noticed a
variety of ages in the place, from young teenage couples to the elderly at the
tables and booths, all seeming to be enjoying each other's company, good food,
and the friendly atmosphere. I wondered what—
"I
have a table in one of the corners where I can seat you, if you don't mind
sitting close to the kitchen," the hostess said.
I glanced
up and saw that she stood in front of me, though her gaze was focused on
someone walking out the door. "Sure, that's fine," I said, standing.
She waved to the customer who had just left, then gestured for me to follow,
which I did. She wound her way among the tables toward a small table in one of
the darker corners of the restaurant. I sat down as she smiled and handed me a
menu.
"Can
I get you started with anything to drink?" she asked.
"How
about a glass of water and a Bud?”
"We've
got Coors, is that okay?"
"Sure,"
I shrugged.
"Bottle
or frosty mug?”
"Bottle's
fine," I said. As she left I opened the menu and scanned. Quite a
selection, considering.
Everything from a burger to Cowboy
steaks and fries, a few fish items, and some wild game.
I decided what I
wanted, and then nodded my thanks as a young hostess brought my beer and then
returned to her station. I gazed idly around the interior of the restaurant but
didn't pay much attention to anything going on around me, my thoughts focused
on the little town of Stinnett, still roughly a half hour away. Stinnett was
the county seat of Hutchinson County, with a population of approximately 2,500
souls. It'd been founded at the turn of the twentieth century by A.P. Borger.
Stinnett had originally been a location desired as a right-of-way for the Rock
Island Railroad, who at the time sought to construct a branch line that reached
from Amarillo, Texas up into Kansas. The town was named after one of the
railroad men who had been instructed to produce those rights. Story had it that
in 1926, Stinnett had paid roughly forty-eight thousand dollars for the surface
rights. Incorporated in 1928, the town had remained relatively small until a
boom hit - not by the railroad, but by the discovery of oil in the region.
To this
day however, Stinnett remained firmly quiet, nondescript, and highly religious,
with a church on nearly every corner. Townspeople were mostly employed through
the petroleum and natural gas industry, and many made the daily commute to
Borger. At any rate, it was in Stinnett that my grandparents had arrived after
traveling west from the coal towns of Pennsylvania. They had bought the ranch
property just before the Depression hit. My dad, who had been born in 1932 on
the ranch itself, had inherited the ranch upon their death. My dad had met my
mom in the early 1950s in Amarillo, where her family was from, and a few years
later they had gotten married and made their home on the Rocking S.
Where did
all the time ago, I wondered.
I lifted the bottle of beer to
my lips and had just taken a healthy swig when I heard a startled gasp beside
me.
"Donovan?"
I glanced
up, my heart somersaulted, and I nearly choked on my beer. It took my brain a
moment longer than my heart to recognize her at first. She had changed her hair
color, but I'd never forget that face as long as I lived.
Holy
shit.
"Memphis?"
Chapter 4
Memphis
The moment
I saw Donovan all the old memories came flooding back. My heart leapt into my
throat and my stomach actually felt like it did a somersault. Stunned, I took a
step back. I had wondered if Donovan even knew about his dad, and his presence
here answered that question. I guess I could say I was even a little surprised
that he had decided to come back for the funeral, also explaining his presence.
But why here?
At the Chit Chat.
Why now? What cruel joke was fate playing on me? What were the chances that Donovan
and I would meet again at an out-of-the-way steakhouse in such a small town as
Bolger after all these years?
Neither
one of us said anything for several moments as my gaze passed swiftly over him.
As handsome as ever with his black hair, chiseled features, and those eyes...
those eyes that had always managed to draw me in and make me forget everything
going on around me. He looked as fit as he had the day he left. No extra
padding around the face, his shoulders just as broad, and from what I could
see, as trim as ever.
"I...
I can't believe you're here," I gasped. I stared at him with likely as
much surprise and with the same expression with which he now stared at me. I
could only imagine the thoughts running through his head. I wanted to give him
a piece of my mind, to tell him what I thought about his sudden return after
his just as sudden departure, but at the same time also felt compassion for his
loss. "I'm… I'm sorry about your dad," I said, stepping closer the
table.
The
activity continued around me, waitresses carrying round platters and trays
loaded with plates, glasses and drinks, customers talking and laughing, busboys
and waitresses appearing and disappearing through the swinging door into the
kitchen just behind me. The clatter of glasses, the sound of plates being
stacked, and the chef calling out that orders were ready and needed pick-up all
faded to the back of my mind as I continued to stand there, dumb, staring at
the man who was once the love of my life.
"Memphis,"
he said again. "You… you look great."
His gaze
literally caressed my face, and then gave a quick glance over my uniform and
down to my toes. I felt the resulting tingle everywhere his eyes paused. His
gaze had never failed to elicit a thrill of excitement within me, making me
zing in places he couldn't possibly see. I was somewhat startled to realize
that he still had that power over me.
"You
look good," he said again, obviously at a loss for words.
I stood
there with my order pad in my hand, pen in the other poised to take his order,
and all I could do was stare. To say this was awkward was the understatement of
the year. "Thank you," I finally muttered. "I just got my hair
colored and cut this morning at
Dori's
," I
explained, although I couldn't figure out why. If I wasn't careful, I was going
to start babbling.
"How
is
Dori
?" he asked.
"She's
fine," I replied, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Jerry, the
manager, wasn't watching my ineptitude at serving the customer. "She owns the
beauty shop now."
"Good
for her," he nodded. "And you? How have you been, Memphis?"
What could
I say to that?
Fine?
Or should I mention that I'd been
living with a broken heart for the past eight years, unable to develop any sort
of a meaningful relationship because every time I did, visions of Donovan's
face, his laughter, and his touch came between me and every other man that I
had met since? Did I tell him that I worked two or three jobs at a time just to
keep the loneliness at bay? Did I tell him of the times I kept quiet when I
listened to his mother talk about him, or the times I had seen her with tears
in her eyes because she missed her son?
"I've
been fine," I finally shrugged.
"Memphis,
I—"
"I
need to take your order or I’m going to get into trouble. The manager here is
quite a gruff bucket, so let's get you set and then we can go from there,
okay?" He continued to stare at me for several moments, and then nodded,
casting one glance back down at the menu, although the side of the menu he looked
at was the drink list.
“I’ll take
a turkey club on rye with fries,” he said.
He’d
always ordered a turkey club when we went out to eat. I guess some things never
changed. “We don’t have that.”
“Oh… then
I'll take a burger and fries," he said, closing the menu.
I wrote
his order on the ticket and then reached out my hand to take the menu. He
folded it closed and then passed it to me, our fingers brushing. The contact
sent a shiver through me, and my heart literally felt homesick for his touch.
His hands were always warm, even in the middle of a snowy winter’s day. Unlike
mine, which were always cold, along with my nose and my
toes.
He had always laughed about my cold fingers, teasing me with the old Amish
expression, "Cold hands,
warm
heart."
"What
time do you get off tonight?" he asked.
"Eight
o'clock," I said. I said nothing about my intentions to go over to the
ranch after I had finished work, and was now having second thoughts about that.
"How's
my mom doing?"
I didn't
reply, but gestured to the ticket in my hand. "I've got to get this ticket
to the cook," she said. "I have a few other tables to take care of as
well. Are you heading over to the ranch after you’ve finished?"
He nodded,
although he seemed none too pleased. "Will I see you there?"
I
shrugged. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to go to the ranch after my shift
after all. Making funeral and burial arrangements was a family matter, and I
wasn't family. "I don't know," I said honestly. I sighed, caught the
eye of another waitress, who made eyes at me and then looked pointedly over my
shoulder. I glanced around and saw the manager watching me. "I have to
go," I said. "It's nice to see you again, Donovan." With that, I
turned and walked away.
I pushed
through the door into the kitchen area, and then stepped quickly to the side,
in front of the stainless steel cabinets holding the dishware. Heart pounding,
my knees feeling wobbly, I sagged against the cabinets, amazed at the tremors
in my hands. I couldn't believe it. Donovan was here.
"You
okay, Memphis?"
The voice
breaking into my thoughts belonged to Gina, one of the other waitresses at the
Chit Chat. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked over from the drink
station, gazing at me with a look of concern.
"You
look like you’ve seen a ghost," she commented, eyebrows raised.
"I
think I just did," I sighed. "Donovan’s here. He's sitting at one of
my tables."
Her eyes
widened. I wasn't surprised. Gina had also gone to high school with me, and she
knew all about Donovan… well, not everything, but she had known that we dated,
were close, and because everyone at school had thought we were going to
eventually be engaged and married, was just as surprised as everyone else when
he abruptly left town and disappeared.
"You
want me to take his table for you?" she asked. "That's got to be
awkward."
"That's
the understatement of the year," I said. "I've never been so shocked
in my life! I didn't even recognize him at first because he was looking down at
the menu. As I approached his table, I had to do a double take. I couldn't
quite believe it was him." I straightened. "I was wondering if he
somehow learned about his dad’s passing. I knew if he did though, he’d come
back for the funeral."
Gina
nodded. "Yeah, I heard about Mister Sanderson," she said with
sincerity.
"Yesterday.
I'm really sorry."
Gina knew
that I often worked at the Sanderson Ranch. "He lived a good life," I
said. "And to be quite honest, if it's your time to go, I guess going
quickly is the best way. I'm glad he didn't have a stroke or end up with
dementia or something where he would have lingered on. That would've been
torture for him… and everyone."
"What
are you going to do?"
"Do?"
I asked, confused.
"About
Donovan," she said.
I
shrugged. "I'm going to take him his order when it's ready, and then I'm
going to finish my shift," I said simply.
"And…?"
I frowned.
"And nothing.
Donovan made his choice when he
left here all those years ago. His reappearance doesn't mean a thing to me. I'm
sure that when the funeral is over, he'll go off to wherever he lives and we’ll
never see him again. Story over."
Gina gave
me a knowing smirk and then headed back into the dining room. She knew I had
been lying, just as I had known. What
was
I going to do? What was there to do? I had spoken the truth. Donovan had made
his decision all those years ago. For all I knew he had a wife, kids, and who
knew what else. He was not a part of my life anymore, and his reappearance in
town didn't mean a thing to me. Or did it?
By the
time Donovan's order was ready, I had succeeded in collecting myself. I took
his plate to his table, where he sat quietly contemplating a spot on the table
in front of him. In his hand he twisted the beer bottle around and around on
the tabletop, his mind obviously occupied by thoughts I could not even begin to
imagine. He didn't even see me approach, and I cleared my throat just before I
placed the plate down in front of him. He glanced up at me, startled.