This whole thing is insane, but I am learning a lot: ways to cut corners on the food ordering, how to skimp on serving sizes without anyone noticing, and how to feed a vegan. Plus, instead of a tip, I usually get a lecture from Jason, the guitar player who always looks so hungry.
He says “It’s all about the money, Grace. That’s all that matters to those loggers. They see trees as just a commodity, but without the forest the entire ecosystem is in jeopardy. We’ll lose the salmon. There’ll be no oxygen.”
I want to tell him it’s not so simple. Try raising your family without a job. And try living without lumber. These are good people you’re talking about; they breathe the same air you do, and they love the woods, too. But I can’t afford to argue. The money I’m taking in on this strange catering job is keeping the café’s doors open.
All I can get out is “there’s more than one side to everything.”
***
The morning Grace met Charlie in the woods, she got back to the café as Henry was finishing up his coffee.
“You been doing a lot of early morning hiking there, Parrot. In training for something?”
“Morning, Henry. It’s nice and quiet in the woods in the morning. You ought to try it.”
“I been up there plenty. Usually not so quiet where I’m at, though.”
“Hey, I met a guy this morning. He was going up the trail as I was coming down. Coulda been a government inspector or something.” Grace poured herself a cup and sat down on a stool next to him. “Any reason there’d be someone like that around now?”
“What makes you say that?” Henry was suddenly serious, paying complete attention.
“Oh, I don’t know, just a feeling really. He didn’t have a pack or anything with him. Said his name was Charlie.”
Henry sat back and smiled. “Tall guy, dark hair, mustache?”
“Yeah. Kinda cute.”
“That’s Charlie.” Henry reached over and patted her shoulder. “He’s no inspector. Kinda grew up here, actually.”
“In Prosperity? When? How come I don’t know him?”
Henry downed the last of his coffee and got up, “Oh, it was a while back, you were just a little kid when he left.” He pulled a couple of bucks from his pants pocket and put them on the counter. “Have a nice day, Parrot.” And he left Grace sitting there with a full cup of coffee that hadn’t even cooled yet.
***
Jackson had been dead for two months and Rose had survived the loss by withdrawing from everyone in town except for Grace. After that initial phone call, Grace had filled a grocery bag with milk and eggs and fresh vegetables and headed up to Rose’s.
The widow met her at the door in her robe.
“I was going to call you, but honestly I just haven’t been eating.” Rose stepped back to let Grace in.
“Well, I’ve been missing cooking in your kitchen, so I thought I could just come up once a week and fix you a little something.” Grace began putting the groceries in the refrigerator. “How are you?”
“Oh, Grace.” Clearly Rose had no energy to protest. “I don’t really know.” She stepped up to Grace and wrapped her arms around her. “I’ve been drifting through the days. But I’m slowly getting used to him being gone. It is good to see you.”
Grace hugged Rose back, struck by how much she had missed her. “You need fresh food. And you need some company.”
“I suppose.” Rose stepped away and lowered herself into a chair. “I’ll leave the door unlocked and you can let yourself in. I’m not very good company. I may not want to chat, but if you don’t mind…”
So, Grace had returned to her old pattern of cooking dinner at the Dyer place once a week. Usually when she arrived, Rose would be in her bedroom and there would be a note on the kitchen counter. “Grace, no need to stay, just leave the food on the stove. Thank you.” Next to the note was always more money than Grace would ever have charged.
One afternoon in the middle of July, Grace arrived at the front gate to find Rose on her knees, digging in a flowerbed.
“’I’m afraid I’ve ignored this too long.” Rose chided herself lightly. “The garden just keeps growing.”
The women smiled at one another and that evening Rose and Grace ate together at the dining room table. After that Grace watched as Rose slowly embraced life again. The older woman talked to Grace about her flowers, about how beauty grows so eagerly from dirt.
Before Jackson’s death in the spring, Rose had planted her vegetable garden. When she withdrew from the world, the beans and kale, potatoes and peas grew untended. With her renewed energy, Rose harvested what the birds and slugs had ignored. Each time Grace visited, Rose showed her something from the garden to add to her menu.
Still, Rose had not ventured off the property; Grace remained her link to the town, delivering news and supplies.
It was early August when Rose walked into the café for the first time since her husband’s death. Grace raced to give her a hug with the delight and awe of one who has witnessed a miracle.
“Rose! Wow. How wonderful to see you.”
“Thank you, Grace. I decided it was time.”
“Come, let me get you something. Sit down here, by the window. See what I’ve done? I planted those window boxes. They used to be just weeds and cigarette butts, but don’t they look nice with the geraniums? Mrs. G gave me some daffodils when we first fixed the place up in the spring, but after they faded, I thought, “now, what would Rose plant?” Those geraniums are all your doing.”
“Is that so?” Rose tilted her chin to look up at Grace with a twinkling smile.
“I mean, I thought about you when I planted them and I really hoped you would get to see them.”
“Grace.” Rose’s tone was now serious. “You didn’t think I’d stay in that house forever, did you?”
“Well… I don’t know. I worried about it.”
Grace sat down next to her friend. Rose put her hand on Grace’s.
“My dear, grief can seem like a bandit, can’t it?” Rose spoke softly. “You feel robbed of your grip on life—you live for a while as if you were on the edge of a deep well and you just want to fall in and never come out. You have no explanation for why you’re still breathing or why you’re able to move your limbs. But somehow, life eventually reminds you that you are still part of things.” She squeezed Grace’s hand. “And if you’re as lucky as I am and you have someone who cares about you, you begin to remember how sweet life can be.” Rose looked out the window. “The geraniums are lovely, dear.”
They sat together and watched the sun play on the red petals and the curled edges of the leaves. On the electrical wires that crossed the street overhead, a crow alighted and began cawing. The door of the Bullhook opened and Walt stumbled out.
“Oh, my, Walt deVore.” Rose shook her head. “He’s still drinking I see. Too bad… such a waste. I remember when he was the only mechanic Jackson would allow to touch his car.” She turned and looked at Grace, “I believe I’d like a cup of coffee, if it’s not too much trouble. And maybe a piece of pie.”
Grace jumped up, beaming “You bet—good idea. How about apple? I got some of those tart green apples from Darlene’s tree. You’ll love it.”
As Grace ran off to get Rose’s order, the older woman turned back to the window and tapped the glass. The crow flew off and Walt looked across at the café. He raised his eyebrows and his mouth gaped open.
“Rose Dyer! Hot damn!” he shouted as he sat down hard on the bench, staring at her. She smiled and gave a small wave.
“Do you want to talk to Walt, Rose? I’ll go get him…” Grace put the coffee and pie in front of her. “He was amazing working on the cabin. Stayed sober the whole time and as soon as the job was done—well, you know Walt.”
“No, no need, dear. We’ve seen each other and that’s enough for now.” Rose took a bite of her pie. “Oh, my. This tastes just like the apple pie your mother used to make.” She took another bite and closed her eyes, savorin
g the taste. “Oh, Grace, how marvelous. I never realized, but Annie must have used those apples of Darlene’s too. They’re some old variety. Can’t get those in the stores.”
Grace smiled and slid into the bench opposite Rose. “Jane left a bunch of old recipes. I found this one I thought might be in Momma’s handwriting. That’s cool.” The young woman paused, letting a comfortable silence sit between them.
Rose handed her fork to Grace, “Take a bite. It shouldn’t go to waste and I still don’t have my full appetite back.”
Grace took the fork. “I always wished I knew more about my mom. Dad never talked about her.” She looked back across the table. “No one did.”
“Isn’t it interesting how we cope with our losses? I didn’t think I could ever talk about Jackson again—and you know I didn’t for a long time—but I came into town today knowing that I’d find someone who knew him, so I could talk about him.”
Grace picked up this offering gratefully.
“You know how special he was to me. I want to take you to my house, so you can see what I’ve done to it. What a gift that was! No one has ever… well, you know.”
“I’m going to go by the sawmill today, so I’m sure I’ll see it.”
“Oh, the outside is OK, but I really fixed up the inside. You have to come by after I close up here. OK?”
“I think I’ve got quite enough to do today. I want to see how they’re getting on without Jackson.” Rose sighed. “But I’d love to come to dinner at your place another time. Maybe next week?”
“OK, you’ve got a deal. Next Monday instead of me coming to you, you come down here and I’ll cook for you at my place.”
A couple of hikers walked into the café and looked around.
“Can I help you?” Grace said. She gave Rose a squeeze on the shoulder and walked over to them.
They turned out to be hungry, paying customers and Grace was busy for a while. Rose finished her pie and stood by the register.
“No, no, that’s on me—a celebration of your coming out.” Grace told her.
“Grace, that’s not right. I know you’re struggling. Don’t be silly.” And the older woman put a five-dollar bill on the counter.
Grace sighed and picked it up. “By the way, Rose, do you know a guy named Charlie Roberge?”
Rose’s eyebrows rose as she inhaled as if preparing to say something. Then she bit her lip and looked down. “That’s a long time ago.”
“You knew him a long time ago? When he was a kid?”
Rose’s face had changed when looked up at Grace. She looked older, tired. “Why are you asking me about Charlie?”
“Oh, just something Henry said. I met this guy when I was hiking one morning. Henry knew him and said he was from around here, but I’d never seen him before.”
Rose nodded slowly. “Maybe we can talk about this another time. I need to get on to the mill. Bye-bye, Gracie.”
“See you Monday.”
“Yes, yes, my dear,” and Rose hurried out of the café and crossed the street.
Twenty minutes later, as Grace was clearing one of the window tables, she looked up and saw Rose sitting on the bench engrossed in conversation with Walt.
***
When Grace stepped out onto Main Street and locked the café door that afternoon, she was caught off guard by the sharp wind that had picked up during the day. Fall was unmistakably gathering energy.
“Hey, Parrot! Come on over here. Have a drink with me.” It was Walt. She’d seen him, but thought he was too soused to notice her.
She walked across the street to where he was sitting. “Hi, Walt. I’m bushed. Not in the mood for a drink. You OK?”
“Sure am, sugar, and I got cash, thanks to you! What kind of talk is that? A drink’ll do you good.” He was close enough that Grace was surprised she couldn’t smell him. Normally, she’d have been able to catch the odor of stale alcohol seeping through unwashed skin. But it wasn’t there.
She looked closely at his face. “Walt. Is that you?”
“You better believe it, darlin’. And I certainly hope you wouldn’t stop to chat with just any old scruffy bum on the street.”
“But what happened to you?”
“You mean how come I look so beeeeutiiiiful?” He stretched the word out as he lifted his chin, showing off what she realized was a set of clean clothes.
“Wow! You are beautiful, Walt. You got some new clothes. Good for you.”
“And I didn’t spend a bit of my own money, neither…” He was being coy and having fun playing with her. She had little patience for it, but her curiosity got the better of her.
“All right, Walt. You win. I’ll go have a drink with you and you can tell me how you got new clothes without paying for them. I just need to sit down.”
“You got it, babe. We’ll get you the best seat in the house.” He moved in next to her and offered his crooked arm. Grace slid her arm through his; he beamed as they walked to the door. With a flourish he pulled it open and ushered her in.
“Walt,” she couldn’t get the guy in the woods off her mind. “Do you know a guy named Charlie Roberge?”
“Charlie? Why? You seen him?” He narrowed his eyes and Grace detected something like anger. “Hold on, sit down here.” He directed her toward a booth behind the pool table. “I’m drinkin’ whiskey, I’ll get you one.”
“No, no, wait. What’s the deal? Can’t you just tell me who he is?”
“Sure thing, just got to keep my whistle wet. Hold your horses.” Grace knew if she were going to learn anything from Walt she had to get the story before he got too drunk to tell it.
He came back to the table with a couple of beers, which was a good sign. When Walt shifted from whiskey to beer it was his way of trying to stay sober—it gave Grace hope that he wanted to tell her the story as much as she wanted to hear it.
“Charlie’s always been good to me, you know. Give me a little bit when he could spare it, usually sent a check in the mail, but havin’ him around’s been nice. He’s the one got me new togs.”
“Hold on, back up a step there. How long’s he been in town? How come I never…”
“Oh, Lordy.” Walt took a big gulp of his beer and shook his head. “I never said that, did I? No, I didn’t…” Another gulp. “You just forget about him.” Walt turned his head away to look over his shoulder. There were a few guys at the bar, guys who used to come to the café but now spent their limited funds on alcohol, their backs hunched against the future. When he turned back toward Grace, Walt put his finger to his lips. “We can’t say nothing about Charlie. So, shhhh.” He picked up his beer and took a long drink.
Now she was downright irritated. “Walt.” Grace reached across the table and put her hand over his beer before could bring it to his lips again. “Just tell me who he is.”
He stared at her with pleading eyes. Grace thought he might actually be on the verge of tears. Then he slowly brought the first finger of his right hand to his lips and drew a line, zipping them tight.
She was shocked. When had Walt deVore ever refused her anything she’d asked?
“What’s the matter with you tonight, Walt?”
“Oh, hell, don’t mind me. I’m just an old souse.”
Grace could tell she wasn’t going to get anything out of him. She stood up. “I’m tired. I’m leaving.”
“Get me another whiskey on your way, will ya, hon? I think I’ll just sit here awhile.”
“Walt, I’m goin’ home. I’m done waiting on folks for today.” Grace didn’t care if she sounded upset. He wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. It bugged her not to know who this Charlie was. She was going to find someone to fill her in. She pulled open the thick, wooden door of the Bullhook and let it slam shut behind her.
Aside from Rose’s visit, the day had been nerve-racking enough; she didn’t need Walt’s drunken nonsense. Loggers had begun to straggle back into the café and that felt good; but her mind kept going back to that first
morning, the cartoon on the window, the rotten egg smell—and that was before she’d actually betrayed the whole town! If anyone found out about her feeding the protesters… The tension was wearing on her. As she stepped over cracks and bulging roots that poked up through the sidewalk, she tried to calculate how much longer she’d need to keep making deliveries up the mountain.
Chapter 12
August 8, 1991
Strange dream last night. I have this weird feeling that I’ve had the same dream before. I was in my old bed and Momma was sitting on the bed next to me. I could smell this sweet warm scent and I heard her soft voice. She said “You’ll be fine. It won’t be for long.” She hugged me. I could feel her arms around me. It was so real.
This place I’ve created, this jungle, maybe it’s calling my mother back to me.
Rose is coming to dinner tonight! Can’t wait to show her what I’ve done.
(sketch of a table set with elaborate plates of food)
It was five p.m. and mountain shadows ate away at the daylight with merciless greed. Most folks wouldn’t notice it yet, but by the end of August Grace began to feel robbed when the light died a few moments earlier every day. It took an extra effort to keep her spirits up this time of year.
In Grace’s clearest memories of her mother, it was dark outside and the rain was falling. The two of them cuddled under an old blue blanket by the fireplace, Annie reading to her from the bird guide that she kept by the kitchen window. There were pictures of jays and robins and towhees, birds that even four-year-old Grace could identify. Then Annie opened Grace’s favorite book, the one with pictures of parrots and toucans, honeycreepers and macaws—magical, bright birds whose pictures made her own Parrot giggle with delight. Mother and child, snug and warm while the heavy rain muddied the paths through the woods and overflowed the rivers, made up stories about the lives of red and yellow crowned cranes, iridescent green and blue hummingbirds.
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