The Family Gathering

by Robyn Carr

  Dakota looked through the menu while Sid waited on other patrons and mixed drinks for the waitstaff to take to tables. She paused for a moment to laugh with young Trace, the seventeen-year-old busboy. Dakota was thinking about wings and potato skins when Neely appeared out of nowhere. He jumped in surprise.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said. “I have a flat. I could call AAA but I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me out. I could make it up to you one of these days by buying dinner or even cooking for us.”

  He thought about telling her to call AAA. But he couldn’t. He’d always considered it a point of honor to be kind and helpful to women. He said, “No problem.” Then he called out to Sid. “Hey, Sid! I’ll be right back. I’m going to help with a car problem. Reserve my spot, please.”

  “Sure thing,” she said.

  He held the door for Neely. He tried to walk behind her but she looped her arm through his.

  “It’s down this way,” she said as she led him past the diner and around back. “The BMW is mine,” she said. Her flashy little BMW sat in the dark alley, just two spaces away from his Jeep SUV. He wondered immediately if that could possibly be a coincidence. He bent at the waist, looking at the tires.

  “Which one?” he asked, straightening.

  Neely pressed herself up against him and her lips were on his so fast he didn’t see her coming. Dakota had had many interesting experiences with women but this kind of aggression was a first. He gripped her upper arms and tried to move her away from him but it was hard—she was determined. Finally he managed to get some space between them. “What the...? Flat tire?”

  She smiled and shrugged. “I thought maybe we’d get to know each other a little. Away from the nosy barmaid.”

  He wasn’t sure what made him more angry—being tricked into leaving the bar for a potential tryst or Sid being referred to as a nosy barmaid. “Don’t ever do this again. It’s a bad idea.”

  “Little uptight, aren’t you, Dakota?” she said, rubbing a hand over his chest.

  He stepped back, out of her reach. He was seething inside, but he kept his cool. “Here’s a lesson in manners. If you want to get to know someone, you ask them. If they say no, you move on. You never trick them. This is creepy. Now go home.”

  “Come on, you’re a big boy...”

  “Good night,” he said, taking long strides away from her. He walked around the diner and back to the bar. He tried to shake off the weirdness of what had just happened. He got back on his favorite bar stool and saw that Sid had put a glass of ice water there. Grateful, he took a drink.

  And left lipstick on the glass.

  “Shit,” he muttered, grabbing a napkin and wiping off the rim of the glass and his mouth. She’d nailed him good.

  “Beer?” Sid asked, slapping down a fresh napkin in front of him.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “And the Juicy Lucy with onion rings instead of fries.”

  She looked at his face and pointed to her upper lip. “Missed a little here,” she said.

  “I did not kiss her,” he said, maybe a little too loudly.

  “You were attacked by a runaway lipstick tube?”

  “You have it almost right,” he said.

  “I thought you were going to try something different tonight.”

  “Changed my mind. I like what I eat here. I look forward to it. I enjoy it.”

  “Don’t get all goosey. I’ll take care of it.”

  He wiped off his lips again. He sighed. No wonder he wanted to get to know Sid better and not Neely. He liked Sid. She was remarkably sane. She was so obviously smart. Her instincts were sharp. He thought she was pretty. She made him laugh and she challenged him by playing hard to get, except he knew she wasn’t playing. She was hard to get.

  His hamburger arrived and he realized he was sulking as he ate. Every time he came to this bar when Sid was working he was hopeful she’d warm up to him, and every time Alyssa or Neely showed up, things got strange. So, Sid had been through something painful and was playing it cool. Well, so was he. He wasn’t looking for a lot, just a nice woman to spend time with, not some crazy broad who was always on the attack.

  “You okay?” Sid said to him.

  “No.”

  “Look, she’s just a girl trying to make a date with a guy and—”

  “There was no flat tire,” he said. “She lured me away from my beer and my meal to get me alone in the dark and threw herself on me. I had to peel her off me. It was terrible. I know guys who would have jumped at the opportunity but there’s something seriously off about her. If a man had done that to a woman, he’d be arrested. I don’t know how to make it any more clear—I’m not interested in getting to know Neely any better, or Alyssa for that matter. Both of them creep me out. And put me in a bad mood.”

  Sid stared at him, transfixed for a moment. “Whew,” she finally said.

  “It was awful,” he said, picking up an onion ring. “I’d never do that to a person. There’s this thing called manners. And personal space. You know?”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Sorry,” he said, chewing on an onion ring. “I got pissed off.”

  “I understand completely.” She picked up his beer and dumped it. “That got a little warm while you were breathing fire,” she said, getting him a new frosty mug and fresh beer. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  He nursed it slowly, done flirting for the night. In fact, he might be done for all time. He was a little surprised by the turn of events. He’d been on the receiving end of some blatant come-ons in his day but he could usually discourage the idea without anyone being hurt or becoming angry.

  He finished his beer and stood to get his wallet.

  Sid was in front of him with his check. “Two beers and a burger,” she said in her usual businesslike tone. “And here is where I’ll be on Saturday night if you still feel like coffee,” she said, handing him a second slip of paper. There was an address on it. He raised his eyes to hers. “You’ll be perfectly safe. Besides, that shade of red does nothing for my coloring.” Then she grinned.

  “I don’t want your pity,” he said, but he said it with humor in his tone.

  “Good. Seven o’clock.”

  He walked to his car thinking that yes, she felt sorry for him. He was clearly insulted and angry about being played as he was. But that was okay. Even though it hadn’t been a strategy of his, he was willing to take advantage of the situation. And over coffee he would charm her and make her laugh. It was with this very hopeful and encouraged feeling that his SUV came into view.

  All four tires were flat.

  He looked around to see if anyone was there. Neely’s car was gone and the small parking lot behind the diner was quiet. He looked at the other cars—tires all fine. Then he went back to the sidewalk, where it was well lit. He pulled out his phone and called Cal.

  “Hey,” Cal said.

  “Hey. I’ve never done this before. Called my big brother when something happened.”

  “Hmm. What happened?”

  “I’m in town. I was having a burger at the bar and grill—Rob’s place two doors down from the diner. A woman asked me to help her with a flat tire, and when I went with her, there was no flat, just a very eager woman. So I extricated myself, but it was awkward—I must have offended her. Now, I find my tires are all flat.” He took a breath. “I guess I have to find a tow truck...”

  “Sheesh,” Cal said, sounding more alert. “You know this woman?”

  “Just her first name. I thought she was a nice woman, but her come-on could use a little polish...”

  “You think she did it?” Cal asked.

  “Doesn’t that seem a little extreme?”

  “You have to call the police before you call the tow truck. And I’ll come and pick you up.”

 
“I can handle this myself...”

  “You want the next guy who’s not interested in her to get four flat tires?”

  “We don’t know for sure that she did it,” Dakota said.

  “Sounds like we do, we just can’t prove who did it. Call the police, tell them what happened, ask them what towing service they recommend.”

  “Aww,” Dakota groaned.

  “This is Timberlake, Cody,” Cal said. “We don’t experience a lot of that sort of thing. If you don’t say anything, another guy could be vandalized. Or maybe she’ll try something bigger on you.”

  “I think I’d rather just handle this...”

  “Now you sound like a woman,” Cal said. “I want you to think about that. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  The notion that women don’t report crimes because they’re afraid or they just want to forget it happened and hope it won’t happen ever again had briefly crossed his mind, but he’d pushed it away. There was also a certain amount of humiliation involved in being victimized. Victimized and then tattling.

  He wouldn’t have called Cal if he hadn’t been looking for someone to cut through his bullshit. Of course it was Neely. Of course she shouldn’t be pulling that shit. Then his mind wandered further. He didn’t want Sid to know. He didn’t want to seem less than strong.

  The way a woman didn’t want her boyfriend or husband to know she’d been assaulted because she wouldn’t want him to think she was dirty? Or think she’d brought it on herself?

  Cal arrived before the deputy. “Show me the damage,” he said. Once he’d checked out the car, he said, “That took a lot of effort. Look out for this one—she’s mean.”

  * * *

  To Dakota’s relief, only one tire on his SUV was slashed; the rest were merely deflated. Odd that he should have that in common with Neely—deflating tires to prove a point. And it gave him no peace of mind to know she was traveling around with some dangerous sharp object. He thought about the incident a great deal more than he wanted to. The vandalism would probably just be a misdemeanor. He tried to imagine her in her fancy clothes and boots crouching in the dark, manipulating the air out of the tires.

  His insurance company covered the tow but he had to get Cal to drive him to work early in the morning. He was pretty angry about the whole thing.

  But by Saturday he was looking forward to seeing Sid. After work he plugged the address Sid had given him into his GPS. He focused not on his unpleasant experience with Neely but rather on going to some coffee shop in Colorado Springs where he would concentrate on demonstrating how desirable he was. He would find out more about Sidney, entertain her with stories of his world travels and, if necessary, exploit his actions as a soldier and hero. He never did that first. He always saved that as a last resort.

  He looked around but couldn’t find the address she’d given him. The directions were clear but he had trouble believing they were correct. He hadn’t been to Colorado Springs before but he had trouble envisioning Sid inviting him to a trashy side of town. Please, God, don’t let Sid be a whack job! One is enough.

  He drove around the block but no coffee shop turned up. There wasn’t even a Denny’s or truck stop. He finally bit the bullet and took the slip of paper she’d given him and, after locking his car, went into the only place on the block that appeared to be open. It was pretty run-down, had a big cross on the door and the sign, which could not be seen in the dark, said Free Dinner.

  He thought it might be a storefront church of some kind and they would at least know the neighborhood. He walked inside and discovered it was a soup kitchen. He had to weave his way through people standing in some kind of line to find whoever was in charge to get better directions. Then he saw her.

  Sid was standing behind a serving counter, smiling like she’d never been happier. She wore a green apron, a scarf covering her hair, and rubber gloves, and wielded a big spoon. He chuckled and shook his head. He cut the line to walk up to her.

  “Coffee?” he said, giving her his best smile.

  “Glad you made it,” she said. “Clay? Give this man an apron and show him what to do!”

  A man travels the world over in search of

  what he needs, and returns home to find it.

  —GEORGE MOORE

  5

  DAKOTA FELT AS though he’d been tricked again, but this time in a good way. It took him about five minutes to get into the idea of serving free food. The clientele was as varied as the human race. There were a few grizzled old men—or maybe they were only grizzled and not so much old as worn down. A pair of elderly women came in together and passed through the line with their trays. He served a family of six, the oldest child no more than ten. There were several families, not always with both parents. A young man was there with his toddler son, who sat on his lap the whole time. He spotted a young couple, maybe twenty years old, followed by a few kids being led by what could only have been a big sister. A couple of boys around twelve came in with no adult. Then a vet, wearing a purple heart on his denim vest. To him, Dakota said, “Greetings, brother. Thank you for your service.” More old men and women arrived and he wondered which were street people and which were merely poor. A few people came in over the course of a couple of hours who Dakota realized were not in reality and he thought this was what his father would have become without the anchor of his wife and family.

  While a few looked as though they could benefit from some drug or another there were also those who appeared to have benefited too much. They were of every race and ethnic group—black, white, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, even a man with a strong Australian accent who said, “Thank ya, mate.”

  They had only one obvious thing in common. They were hungry.

  Once the food had all been served, the next step was the inevitable cleanup. That was when Dakota became acquainted with some of the volunteers. Sid introduced him to a sixty-eight-year-old woman in jeans and a flannel shirt. “Dakota, meet Sister Mary Jacob,” she said.

  “You’re a nun?” he stupidly asked. Nuns used to be much easier to identify.

  “You were expecting Mother Teresa?” she asked. “I might not look like you think I should but I’m a damn good nun.”

  Dakota met a retired man who called himself a professional volunteer and gave his time to many organizations from the antidefamation league to animal rights causes. There was an elementary schoolteacher and her husband who liked to help out at least twice a month. He learned that a retirement community sponsored the soup kitchen as well as an at-risk school and there was always someone from their group there. And there was a youth minister from a local Methodist church. “Sometimes I bring a few kids with me, when their social calendars allow,” he said. This particular soup kitchen was run and managed by Sister Mary Jacob. She knew just about everyone who came for meals and she knew every resource in the area from rehab to where to get clothes and haircuts for job interviews.

  He was just about finished mopping the floor when Sid handed him a cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said. “Is this my coffee date? Because I was really hoping for a little pie to go with this. Like from a coffee shop or diner or maybe we could go batshit crazy and hit a Denny’s.”

  She laughed. “We could do that. Let’s head back toward Timberlake and go to the Denny’s on the highway.”

  He followed her all the way to the restaurant, a little afraid she might ditch him on the long drive, but she waited by the door while he parked. They had no trouble getting a table, late as it was. They sat across from each other in a booth, ordered coffee, and Dakota asked for a moment to look at the menu. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at Sid and asked, “Soup kitchen?”

  “I guess you don’t meet too many of your potential girlfriends at a soup kitchen?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve upgraded your status,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to work much harder for that.”
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  “I feel sorry for you,” she said with a smile.

  “Whatever ticks your clock. Just explain the soup kitchen. Is it some kind of a test? To see if I’m charitable?”

  “It actually has nothing to do with you. After my divorce I needed counseling. I struggled with depression. I think that’s not unusual or unexpected. After some months of talking about myself and my feelings, the counselor gently suggested I might want to take the focus off myself and see what I could do for the less fortunate. She gave me an intimidating list of places that needed help. I just couldn’t bring myself to cuddle terminally ill toddlers, and if I’d worked at an animal shelter, I would have brought them all home. I went to the soup kitchen and Sister Mary Jacob tried to feed me. She couldn’t wrap her head around me as a server, that’s how bad I must have looked.”

  “Must have been worse than just a bad divorce,” he said.

  She paused for a moment as if considering how much personal information she’d give him on this, their first date. It made him smile for two reasons. One, it wasn’t much of a date, and two, she was very protective of her privacy. When she continued, he decided she must have at least branded him as a good guy.

  “Actually, I’ve heard about worse. It was very sudden and I never saw it coming. It turned out I didn’t have good coping skills. My brother and I have suffered some losses, significant losses. Our parents. First my mom when I was just little, then our dad later. Rob was married by the time we lost our dad and I was in school and pretty much on my own. I was focused on school. Then Rob’s wife passed away. She was twenty-nine. They had two little kids. Sudden onset heart disease. An infection. She was on a transplant list but...” She shrugged helplessly. “It all sounds so horribly pathetic, doesn’t it?”

  “Sounds horrible, yeah,” he said.

  “I don’t know what Rob has told people but I don’t like to go through that whole sad story so I’ve only told a few people... Mary Jacob is relentless. She wormed it out of me. I have a couple of friends from the bar. But if you wouldn’t mind...”