by Tracey Quinn
“Does this mean we don't get our free meal?” Harry asked.
Soon Lester was in handcuffs and sitting in Bob's patrol car, everyone was leaving, Jimmy was cleaning up the dishes and Mark was sitting on the floor wiping my face with a dishtowel. What had just happened here? I've watched dozens of re-runs of Murder She Wrote and this kind of thing never happened to Jessica Fletcher.
“Here, I'll help you up,” said Mark. “Are you aware that your sneakers have absolutely no tread on the bottom? I'm not surprised you slipped and fell. I don't know why you haven't broken your neck just walking in them. Why don't you buy new ones?”
“Well, I had to buy a new dress for the Harvest Dance and I didn't want to spend too much out of my emergency fund.”
“Why did you buy another dress? Don't you still have that one that you wore when we had to chaperon the prom a couple months ago?
“Of course, I do, but you've already seen it.”
“I'm getting the vibe that what you just said should mean something.”
“It means that you'd get tired of seeing me in the same dress over and over again.”
“To be honest, no dress at all would be fine, but that blue one you wore last time was nice. Blue is a good color for you, it matches your eyes.”
“The dress was purple, Mark.”
“Indeed it was, but your eyes look purple in the moonlight.”
“And did you like the shoes I was wearing?”
“Absolutely. Very nice shoes. I think they might have been high heels because you seemed taller than usual when I kissed you.”
I sighed. “I think it's time to go home, Mark.”
“Probably is,” he said. “The baseball game's about to start.”
The next day was the day of the Annual Harvest Dance. I decided to take some time in the afternoon to go buy a new pair of sneakers over at the outlet mall in Pumpkin City. My emergency fund was up to $187 at this point and I didn't want to dip into it. I really could wait a week till the next payday. Yes, my old sneaks were slick as glass but I could always take tiny steps like David Suchet always did when he played Hercule Poirot in the old Agatha Christie movies and I'd be okay. Of course if it didn't work I'd have a broken leg. Reluctantly I took $80 out of my emergency fund, enough for sneakers and gas for the Firebird, and headed east.
The minute I walked in the door of the shoe store I saw the Buy One Get One Free sign. The sale didn't include sneakers however, but that was okay. $80 was still more than enough to cover a pair of sneakers that were just for me to wear to work. Something comfortable, not fancy. And sure enough they had just what I needed. I was curious about what was on sale though, so I thought I'd just look around before I made my purchase. I happen to like strappy sandals, and would you believe it, there was a pair of really cute white high-heeled, strappy sandals on sale, buy the left shoe and get the right one free of charge. The left shoe cost $40.
Now I don't know if you could call this fate or just happenstance, but, as I put the sandals on the counter so that I could go back and grab some $40 sneakers, I noticed a rack holding these cute clutch bags. There was a small white one that had a dark pinkish rose in the center of the outer flap. My dress was dusty rose, and here was the perfect bag to go with it, marked down to $20, no less. I put it next to the sandals which were next to an earring rack. This is so hard to believe, but there on that rack was a pair of white button earrings with a dusty rose in the center. It might have been a regular rose, I mean the whole store was pretty dusty, but they were only $5 as was the pink nail polish sitting next to them.
I hadn't paid yet and I could and should put everything back and go get the sneakers. But I remembered seeing something on the $10-and-under clearance rack that I wanted to check out first. Yes, they were still there. A pair of green, high top, cloth sneakers for exactly $10. And, yes, they were men's sneakers but I measured them on the bottom of my shoe and they looked about right. Of course, lacing up high tops every day was going to be a drag and the bottom of the shoes consisted of some sort of bumpy tan stuff instead of tread, but they were just for work after all. In other words, good enough.
When I got home I put away my other purchases and decided to try on the sneakers. They seemed a little large but I laced them up and walked around the bedroom. The side of the left shoe was rubbing my instep. That could be easily fixed. I wadded up some Kleenex and used it for padding. I walked around the apartment some more. The funny thing is that if shoes are about an inch or more longer than your foot, the ends turn up. Also if the ends turn up a person may end up knocking over two kitchen chairs which makes a loud noise and may catch the notice of anyone who is working in the basement.
Mark knocked at the door. “Dani, are you all right?”
I scrambled to my feet, opened the door a crack and said, “Sure. Sorry for the noise. Some stuff just fell over.”
Of course, he would have to push the door open and look in. He looked at the chairs, then looked at my sneakers and said, “I assume you're trying out for the NBA.”
“Oh, you noticed my new sneakers. I thought I'd try something a little different this time.”
As he picked up the chairs he said,“Try to be ready by noon tomorrow and I'll take you over to get a new pair.”
“These were on sale and I can't return them and I don't want to take any more money out of my emergency fund.”
He glanced down at the shoes again. “Believe me, this is an emergency.”
The Annual Harvest Dance was held in the high school gymnasium. It was crowded, not only because a lot of people in East Spoon Creek City like to dance, but also because the bleachers don't fold back like they do in other gyms. Hank Slater, the local handyman, had put in the lowest bid when it came to putting in the bleachers. Instead of the hinged metal supports that allow the bleachers to fold back when they're not in use, he used wooden poles which would sometimes break when the crowd got too rowdy. Not only was that a disadvantage, but the high school also had to hire extra security to police the poles. It seems that high school kids were acquainted with other forms of dancing besides ballroom.
“I like your dress,” Mark said as we were dancing.
“I'm afraid the neckline is a little lower than I planned. Miss Pat is in her seventies and I don't know if she measured the bodice right or if I've had a few too many milkshakes.”
“I've got no clue what a bodice is,” said Mark, “but whenever you need it measured you should definitely come to me. I have certain skills in that area.”
“I'm sure you do,” I said.
“I'm being serious. You know that my dad was a policeman and when I was in high school I worked at the barn where they kept the horses for the city patrol.”
“And that taught you to measure things?”
“It certainly did. Horses are measured in what are called hands. A hand is a linear measure of four inches, so I learned how to measure by using that method.”
“Which means?”
“Which means that instead of wasting time waiting for poor old Miss Pat to unroll a tape measure with her painfully arthritic fingers, I could quickly do hand measurements the next time you want a dress made.”
“Quickly?” I asked.
“Well, measuring with hands is a science. It takes practice and great skill. In the interest of accuracy I might have to take my time.”
“I see. By the way Miss Pat doesn't have arthritis.”
“She may have come down with it since you saw her last.”
“I saw her yesterday.”
“I hear it develops fast.”
The last dance was Chances Are by Johnny Mathis. I was glad that they had new music this year. The last song of the evening had always been Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree by the Andrews Sisters. I'm not saying that I have anything against music from the 1940's, but the record was getting a little scratchy by now. Mark and I had somehow or other slipped into a dance style that involved my arms around his neck, his arms around my waist, and we
seemed to be giving a bit more attention to some very nice kissing than actual dancing. Funny how that happens.
Bob and Kitty were dancing near us. “Hey, you two, there's a law against Public Displays of Affection,” Bob called.
“Just getting to know each other better,” Mark said.
“Any closer and you'd be getting to know each other in the Biblical sense.”
“Oh, hi, Kitty,” said Mark, “I didn't see you at first. Your partner is holding you so close that I mistook you for a tattoo.”
As we were driving home I was still thinking of that last dance, Chances Are. I was wondering what were the chances for Mark and me. I mean what did they look like? We loved each other, no doubt of that, but would it be a long term relationship or just the treading water kind of love? The 'not moving ahead' kind of love. Would that be okay with me? I wondered what Mark was thinking about us.
“Did you hear what happened with Cooter and the marijuana plants?” asked Mark.
Oh, good, I thought, a beautiful moonlit night, two people who love each other, and we're going to discuss Cooter. “No, I didn't,” I said.
“He was driving to the dump with the plants in the back of the ambulance he had bought from Sammy salvage lot and he had a flat tire. It turned out that the frame of the ambulance was so bent that it actually wore through the rubber on the tire. A guy driving a rental ruck stopped to help him but when Cooter opened the back to get a tire, the guy asked what he was going to do with the plants. When he told him, the guy offered him $500 for them. Cooter, being Cooter, said that it didn't seem fair for him to take any money for them. The guy then took out a wad of cash, peeled off ten $100 bills and asked if that would do. Cooter was confused but took it. I hear he's going to take the money and get another car from Sammy and Al with it.”
“Of course he will,” I said.
“Also Bob told me that Jordan Burns gave the beauty parlor to Jolene.”
“Gave it to her?” I asked.
“Yeah. He and his sister inherited all of Olivia's estate and neither of them wanted the beauty parlor. They could have sold it, but they thought Jolene deserved it. Oh, and they also paid Tony Powell back the money that Olivia cheated him out of. Jordan Burns is a stand up guy. And that got me thinking of stand up guys.”
“Thinking about stand-up guys?” I asked.
“It may sound silly, but I was thinking about the story of Adam in the Garden of Eden before God breathed life into him. I mean here's a man standing there but he's just like a mannequin. He's just standing there with a perfect body capable of doing so much but he's empty inside. He's not dead, but he's not really alive either. Then God leans down and breathes life into his nostrils and Adam's world begins. It made me think about myself. I was doing okay before I met you, but I didn't know that something was missing in my life, something crucial to my very existence, And that was you. Somehow you breathed love into my heart and that was when my world began. I swear that every beat of my heart makes me love you more. But I guess you know that.”
The tears were running down my cheeks. I couldn't speak. Mark turned and looked at me.
“Gosh, Dani, your eyes are watering,” he said. “I should have vacuumed out the dust from those air vents. My handkerchief isn't the cleanest and I don't suppose that miniature purse has tissues in it. There's some window wipes in the middle console. They have ammonia in them, and if you breathe much of it it gives you heart action. That's why they use it for smelling salts. So don't inhale, just blot.”
Heart action! My heart was beating so fast it was impossible that it was capable of any more action. In a moment I was going to tell Mark that I loved him with all my heart and I always would.. That if you gathered all the love that existed in the universe it could never begin to equal what I had in my heart for him.
But first, I blotted.
The End
Smothered in Onions
Chapter 1
It was about three in the afternoon on a Wednesday when a handsome man in a nice white suit walked into The Breezy Spoon. I had been writing the dinner specials on the chalkboard and I looked up at him as he came in the door. I'm in a relationship, hopefully committed, so I'm not in the market, but handsome does deserve a second look. Somehow he looked familiar too, but I couldn't place him.
He came up to the counter and said, “Hi, Dani, remember me?”
Yes, I did remember him now; it was the voice that gave him away: Lloyd Duval. The last time I had seen him was a few years ago when he was being hauled away in handcuffs after killing a man in a bar fight. I recalled the greasy hair down to his shoulders, teeth that had never made the acquaintance of a toothbrush, unkempt mustache and beard, mean-looking eyes. It was hard to believe that the clean-cut, well-dressed man in front of me was the same person.
I remembered his personality (what there was of it) from back then, too; he had two moods: great happiness, usually when he had just beat up someone, and great anger when law enforcement prevented him from beating up someone else. I wondered if that had changed too.
“Lloyd Duval, of course, I remember you. I've been away from town for a few years and I didn't recognize you at first.”
He laughed. “As you well know, I've been away a few years, too, although not in the Middle East shooting at bad guys like you were, though.”
I had spent 14 years serving in the military, flying rescue helicopters for about 10 of those years. My name is Danielle Gwendolyn O'Shea and when I returned to my home town of East Spoon Creek City after I got out of the service, I bought the Breezy Spoon Diner. When I was in high school I had worked as a waitress at the diner, which back then was called Jesse's Joint. It was indeed a joint; Jesse was surly and always looked as if he had indigestion, which he probably did have if he ever ate any of his own food. By the time I got back in town Jesse was getting ready to run off to Florida with a woman he'd met on the internet, and he sold me the diner at a bargain price. I changed the name, refurbished the place and hired some people who knew how to cook. So far the Breezy Spoon was successful. Apparently customers like their food to be edible.
“Actually I was just flying over the bad guys in a helicopter and they were shooting at me,” I told Lloyd Duval. “How are you doing? Have you been back in town long?”
“Just got back yesterday and I'm doing great. I'm starting my own business and I just finished signing a lease on a building down the street.”
“That's wonderful. What kind of business are you starting? Don't tell me it's a five star restaurant and you're planning to steal all my customers.”
“From what I hear it would take a lot more stars than that to put you out of business,” he chuckled. “I'm starting a life coaching business.”
“Life coaching? What exactly is that?”
“Well, Dani, while I was in prison I had a lot of time to think. Oh, at first I was rebellious and gave the guards a hard time, but after I was there a couple of years they brought in a life coach and he changed my my whole outlook on things. He sat with me for hours showing me how I had taken steps in the entirely wrong direction and assured me that I could walk back all those bad decisions that had landed me where I was. It was as if a light suddenly went on and destroyed all the darkness that had consumed my very being. The change was gradual, but complete. Right then and there I vowed that I would help others to achieve this life-changing experience and, in my own small way, make this world just a little better place. And what better place to start than here in my old home town? I want the people who knew me in the bad old days will see the new Lloyd Duval whose aim in life is to help others, not hurt them anymore.”
The words sounded good, but maybe a little too good to be true. Sure, people can turn their lives around, but I wouldn't have considered Lloyd Duval a good candidate for it.
“Is it like a religion, Lloyd?” I asked.
“No, no, not at all. Folks around here have various religious beliefs already. This is just a guideline to living the most full and
productive life a person can. Life coaching isn't about telling anyone what to do, it's about giving them a flashlight to lighten the path to fulfillment. Each individual must choose whether they will follow that path. I'm having some brochures printed that will explain the program more fully. I'll bring you some as soon as they're ready.”
“Thanks, Lloyd,” I said. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee or something to eat?”
“No, thanks, Dani, maybe another time. I have a lot to do before I can open my doors. Good to see you.” As he headed toward the door he stopped abruptly. “Oops, it looks like Roger Travers just pulled into the parking lot,” he said. “Is it okay if I go out the back door? If he catches me he'll talk my ear off about our old high school days and I'll miss my appointments.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Lloyd passed the Needlework Club as he headed for the back of the diner. The Needlework Club is a group of six or seven ladies and our local pharmacist, Tom Jordan, who come in the Breezy Spoon for lunch and I let them set up in a booth and work on their crocheting, knitting and needlepoint for the rest of the afternoon until the dinner crowd starts drifting in. Quite a few doilies and sweaters have been produced in the Breezy Spoon in the last few months and Tom is crocheting a king-size bedspread in popcorn stitch which should take him about 30 years to finish at the rate he's going. Some people think it's odd that he spends so much time with the Needlework Club, but those would be people who have never met his wife, Henrietta. Five minutes after meeting her for the first time I felt like I should tell Tom, “Divorce her immediately, I'll pay for the lawyer.” Well, maybe not the part about paying the lawyer. I have a mortgage, after all.
After Lloyd left I turned to the Needlework Club and said, “What was that all about? You all kept your heads down and didn't say a word to Lloyd Duval.”