Star-Spangled Rejects

by J. T. Livingston

  “Good morning,” Jimmy spoke quietly. “Mom’s still sleeping, but, I couldn’t sleep, so thought I’d get up and put on the coffee. I figured you both would need a cup this morning.”

  Jason began gathering up the blankets and converting the bed back into a sofa. “Thanks, I could use a cup of coffee. I didn’t get much sleep last night either.” He finished his small chore and followed Jimmy into the kitchen.

  Jimmy turned on the overhead light above the kitchen sink and began the menial process of making a pot of coffee. He was both nervous and excited and wasn’t sure which emotion would prevail. “Do you like it strong or on the weaker side? Mom doesn’t like strong coffee, but I can add more to the pot if you do.”

  Jason smiled at the young man moving nervously around the kitchen. He could only imagine the thoughts and questions that he must be trying hard to suppress. “Make it the way your mom likes it. Anything is fine with me.”

  “Okay.”

  Jason waited for Jimmy to complete the short task of coffee making. “Can we sit, Jimmy, and talk some more about—well—about the fact that I just found out that I’m a father. I’m still having trouble processing that thought—no offense to you—and I’m sure you must have questions, too.”

  Jimmy grinned and his green eyes twinkled. “None taken. Yeah, I guess we did kind of spring that on you last night, huh? I’m sorry about that. I figured mom must’ve already told you about me.”

  “No,” Jason shook his head. “We hadn’t gotten that far into conversation by the time you burst into the kitchen and…”

  “Told you that you were my Dad?” Jimmy grinned again. “Yeah, that was a bummer, I’m sure. I mean, mom has told me the story of how you two hooked up and all, and that she never even knew your name. I think she’s been in her own state of shock since she recognized you at that diner.”

  Jason ran his hands threw his short hair and smiled back. “I wouldn’t say it was a bummer, but—yes—it most certainly was a shock. I mean, I absolutely had no idea that the one and only time we were together would have resulted in…you!”

  Cheryl had awoken and had been standing outside the kitchen door, listening to Jimmy and Jason’s conversation. She cleared her throat and walked slowly into the kitchen, tightening the belt on her robe around her. “Good morning, everyone. I thought I would be the first one up and would make us some coffee.” She inhaled the rich aroma that filled the kitchen. “But, I see someone beat me to it. That smells so good.” She walked over to the kitchen sink and leaned over to kiss Jimmy on the cheek. “Good boy!” She pulled three cups from the cupboard and turned around to see Jason’s eyes boring into her own. “How do you take yours, Jason?”

  Jason stood up and walked over to where the petite redhead stood staring up at him. He reached over for one of the mugs and grinned down at her. “Black is fine. Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll get the coffee.” He looked over at Jimmy who was grinning sheepishly at Cheryl. “You, too, Jimmy. The three of us have a lot to talk about this morning.”

  The city of Rome, Georgia—like most southern states experiencing severe, cold weather—had virtually shut down this Friday morning. The weathermen were saying that the severe weather would last throughout the day, but that warmer weather should melt most of the ice by Saturday afternoon. All schools and city offices were closed for the day.

  Bertie looked out the café’s windows at seven o’clock and stared into the empty parking lot. “I don’t think we’re going to get much business today, handsome,” she remarked as Doug came through the front door.

  Joe and Bernard were right behind Doug and were careful to wipe their feet on the doormat shaped like angel wings. “You’ve got us, Miss Bertie!” Joe laughed.

  “Well, get yourselves on in here then and let me get you fellas something to eat,” Bertie fussed and shivered at the cold wind that followed them inside the cozily warm café. “I’ll probably go stir-crazy today if nobody comes in to eat all that food Max is preparing. You would think he was expecting an army!”

  Joe and Bernard found their regular seats at the counter, and Doug began pouring cups of hot coffee for all of them. Doug looked at Jason’s empty seat. “Is Jason still upstairs?”

  “No,” Joe shook his head as he poured sugar and cream into his mug. “Matter of fact, he didn’t come home at all last night.”

  “Oh, no!” Bertie cried out. “You mean he slept out in this ice storm last night? How could you let him do that?” She turned and punched Doug on the arm.

  Bernard took a slow sip of the hot coffee and smiled back at Bertie. “In case you haven’t noticed, Miss Bertie, our Jason is a grown man and doesn’t need us to keep tabs on him. He did mention to me yesterday that he was having dinner with a friend last night. My guess would be that the weather turned bad before they finished dinner, and—who knows—maybe he spent the night with his friend?”

  “I wasn’t aware that Jason had any friends in Rome,” Doug injected. “I mean, other than you guys.”

  “Hmmm,” Bernard sighed. “I’m not even sure that Joe and I would fall into that category. Jason and Skipper are both confirmed loners. I get the impression that neither of them makes friends easily.”

  “Well, I’m worried about him,” Bertie sighed as she punched Doug again—for good measure—on her way into the kitchen.

  Bernard smiled at Doug and shook his head. “She does that quite a lot, doesn’t she—the punching of the shoulder, I mean?”

  Doug grinned back. “She does, indeed. It’s sort of like her calling card, you could say.” He sat down on Jason’s empty stool. “I hope Jason is okay, though. I mean, he doesn’t have a phone or any way to let us know if he needed help.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about Jason,” Joe laughed out loud. “I saw him get into a Beetle Bug yesterday with that cute little thing who’s been eating here lately—pretty little redhead.”

  “Cheryl Crennan?” Doug asked. “Hmmm—that’s interesting.”

  Bernard’s eyebrows lifted as he watched Doug’s reaction to the news about Jason’s friend. “You don’t seem all that surprised, Doug. Something you want to share with the rest of us?”

  Doug shook his head. “No, it’s not my place to say anything; but, I’m glad you told me that, Joe. I’m not so worried about him now.”

  Bernard smiled. “Sounds like there is a good story in there somewhere—maybe Jason will tell it to us upon his return to this fine establishment.”

  Bertie was fussing around in the kitchen, pulling dishes from the cupboards, and grumbling to herself.

  “Okay, Bertie,” Max sighed. “What’s going on with you this morning?”

  “Have you not looked outside at that empty parking lot, Maximus? Just look at all this food you’ve cooked up, and there’s obviously not going to be enough customers to eat it all today. I hate to see food wasted, that’s all.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith, my sweet angel,” Max laughed out loud. “Surely you don’t think a little ice storm is going to keep people away, do you? Just think of all the power outages there must be around the city this morning.”

  Bertie pursed her lips together and nodded. “You’re right! Power outages mean that folks won’t have a way to cook, or even to keep their houses warm. Yep, you’re right, Max! They’ll all be pouring in here any minute now, won’t they?”

  Max nodded and returned his attention to the huge pot of cheese grits that were bubbling on the stove top. He grinned when the angel chimes at the café’s front door began to jingle—more than once. “I would venture to say that they have, indeed, arrived, Bertie! You had best get a move on it, my friend!”

  ⟡

  “I can’t believe we lost power!” Cheryl said as they pulled into the parking lot of the Heavenly Grille. “I definitely need more than one cup of coffee. Thank goodness the café seems to be up and running.”

  Jimmy sat in the back seat and unhooked his seat belt. He leaned forward, an arm on each of his parent’s headrest. �
�I know we all still have a lot to talk about, but it’s really hard to discuss something as important as all this on an empty stomach.”

  “You’re right about that, Jimmy,” Jason grinned back at the handsome young man he had helped produce. “We do still have a lot to sort through.”

  Cheryl hopped out of the car and laughed. “Well, the two of you can stay here and talk all you want, but I am starving and intend to eat my weight in whatever Max has cooked up this morning. Feel free to join me after you finish your talk!” She slammed her door shut and ran up the steps and wiped her feet on the angel wings mat. She sighed contentedly when the angel chimes sounded. She saw Doug wave at her from behind the counter and quickly made her way to an empty counter seat

  “Good morning, Cheryl,” Doug reached for an empty mug and poured her a cup of coffee. “Is Jimmy with you? I heard all the schools were closed this morning.”

  “He should be in any minute now,” Cheryl nodded. “Thanks for the coffee, Doug. We lost power after only one pot of coffee, and trust me—one pot is never enough—especially on days like this.”

  Bernard cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Pardon me miss, but I am Bernard Cartwright and this gentleman beside me is Joe Sanders. We are—comrades, you might say—of Jason Benton.”

  Cheryl accepted the man’s hand and smiled back at him. “You’re friends of Jason’s? How nice! He should be coming inside any second now, with my son, Jimmy.”

  “Ohhh…” Joe grinned as he shook hands with the pretty redhead. “I see…”

  The angel chimes sounded again and Jason and Jimmy walked through the door. Jason was about three inches taller than Jimmy and outweighed him by thirty pounds, but the familial resemblance was undeniable when they stood side by side, and smiled identical smiles at the woman waiting for them at the counter.

  Bertie stopped what she was doing in the kitchen and punched Max hard against his shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned! Would you look at what just walked in!”

  Max shook his head and chose to ignore her foul language. Instead, he grinned back at her and whispered, “This day is off to a miraculous start—yes it is.”

  The phone in the kitchen rang just then and Max wiped his hands on his apron. “Good morning, Heavenly Grille Café, this is Max.” He listened to whoever was on the other end of the line and finally said. “Yes, he is; and, yes, I will most certainly pass the message on to him. Thank you for calling, Officer O’Brady.”

  Bertie waited for Max to hang up the phone and wash his hands before she punched him against the back of his shoulder. “Well? Who was that—Officer O’Brady?”

  Max grinned down at his spunky, angelic co-hort and grinned. “He asked us to deliver a message to Jason; evidently, Jason gave him our number to use as a contact number. He said to tell Jason that Skipper added him to his visitors’ list.”

  Bertie performed a little spin around the kitchen and gave Max another punch. “Hot damn! You keep cooking, big fella—I’ll go deliver the message to Jason.” She spun around again and repeated her previous expression of excitement.

  Max shook his head and smiled as she bounced from the kitchen. “I didn’t think we would make it through the week with only one curse word…oh well, I suppose we can start fresh again on Sunday.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The Demons Inside Kirk

  Kirk had tossed and turned the night before, getting little to no sleep. He had received a text message an hour earlier from David telling him there was no school and that they should take advantage of the unexpected long weekend. Kirk had not answered him yet. Dreams about the homeless man and the old bag lady had kept him awake most of the night. The sound of the old man’s head hitting hard against the concrete wall resounded inside his own head—over and over—keeping sleep at bay. The dreams had started on the day Kirk had found the old woman and paid her the five hundred dollars to leave town, and had escalated in detail every night since.

  “What the hell…” he mumbled as he threw back the covers and walked to look out of his upstairs bedroom window. Everything was iced over, but he saw several neighbors moving about outside. He noticed that his father’s Mercedes was parked in the driveway; the Land Cruiser and his step-mother’s BMW claimed the available parking spaces inside their four-car garage, next to his mother’s pride and joy—a 1969 Mustang convertible. The garage also housed a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda with a 7-liter Hemi block capable of 425 horsepower. This classic muscle car could still hit 60 in 5.6 seconds and could burn rubber without much effort at all. Only a few hundred of them had been made, and none of them had the same trim, color or transmission—which made each of them a valuable collectible in its own right—and only a dozen or so of the hundred convertibles had the Hemi setup. Kirk had heard his father tell friends that the car was valued anywhere between $49,000 to $2 million. Needless to say, his father had never allowed him to take that beauty for a spin.

  Kirk made his way downstairs and was relieved to find only his father in the kitchen. “Where’s Prissy? I’m hungry.”

  Ernest looked up from his coffee and newspaper. “I told her to sleep in. You’re more than capable of fixing your own breakfast.”

  Kirk’s upper lip lifted into a half-snarl. “I don’t know why you keep that old hag around anyway. She can’t cook worth a flip, she never cleans my room…”

  Ernest sat his cup down on the table and folded his hands into a fist. “You should stop while you still can, Kirk. I will not have you showing disrespect to Prissy.”

  “Whatever…” Kirk reached for a box of cereal and a bowl. He brought them and a gallon of milk to the table and flopped down.

  “You’ll probably need a spoon,” Ernest said. He watched while his son got back up, jerked open a drawer, and brought a spoon back to the table. He wished he knew how to reach Kirk—how to help his son with the anger that was so evident in his every move and action. “There’s no school today.” He waited for a response—any response—but it was obvious to him that there would not be one. “There are power outages all over town. I think it would be a good idea if you stayed home until some of the ice melts. The roads are dangerous.”

  Kirk shoved too much cereal into his mouth and allowed some of the excess milk to dribble down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and waited until he was able to swallow the food before he replied. “Why do you even care?”

  “What? What do mean by that, son? Of course I care about you driving on icy roads.”

  Kirk shrugged. “It would sure make life a lot easier for you, though, wouldn’t it, Dad? I mean, with me out of the way, you and your little sugar-mama could have the house all to yourself, travel all over the world looking for ways for her to spend all your money.”

  Ernest pushed up and away from the table. “That’s enough, Kirk. I don’t know what’s happened to you since your mother passed away, but, I do not like the person you have become. You will show respect to Prissy, and you will show respect to Rae. She certainly cannot ever replace your mother—nobody could ever do that—but, she is a member of this family and I expect you to treat her with the respect and dignity that she deserves.”

  “You really don’t see it, do you, Dad?”

  Ernest put on his overcoat and gloves before turning back to face his son. “See what, Kirk?”

  “Yes, Kirk…what exactly doesn’t your father see?” Rae entered the kitchen slowly from the back stair case. She tied the belt around her satin robe and walked over to husband. She reached under his coat, wrapped her arms around him, and stood on her tip-toes to receive a kiss from him. She ran her fingers across his lips and whispered, “You were amazing last night, Ernest.”

  Ernest sighed and shook his head. “I’ve got to go. Please try not to kill each other while I’m gone…and, don’t disturb Prissy today. I’m worried about her; she doesn’t look well this morning.”

  When the kitchen door closed, Rae turned to face Kirk. She planted her hands on her still-shapely hips and tosse
d her long auburn hair out of her face. “So, Kirk, tell me…what were you trying to tell your father about me?”

  Kirk began shoveling cereal into his mouth once again. He stared back at his step-mother with all the resentment and contempt that had been building up inside him during the past four years. He stood up, grabbed his empty bowl, and walked over to the kitchen sink. He dropped the bowl into the sink and smiled when it broke into several pieces. He looked back at the woman he blamed for ruining his life, and pointed his finger at her. “You’re a gold-digging bitch, that’s what I think you are. You saw a man who had just lost his wife, a man who was worth a lot of money, and you played him like the fool that he was—the fool that he is. You don’t love him; you love his money. I don’t have to tell him all that, though. If you think he hasn’t already figured that out for himself, then you’re more a fool than he is, and the two of you deserve each other. Now, get out of my way!” Kirk pushed roughly past Rae and rushed up the back stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Rae tightened the belt around her tiny waist and tried to calm her rapid breathing. She had not wanted the boy to see how much he really frightened her. It was important that she appear strong and in control, so she only admitted it to herself—how terrified she was of the loose cannon that Kirk Blankenship had become lately.

  She looked around the kitchen, at the dirty cups and glasses on the kitchen table, the broken bowl inside the sink—she took a deep breath and threw her shoulders back as she marched purposefully toward Prissy’s room. She opened the door, without knocking, and saw the old woman’s frail body huddled beneath the blankets. She walked over to the bed and turned on the lamp that sat on the night stand. When the light failed to awaken Prissy, Rae shook her shoulders roughly. “Get up, Prissy! You have work to do—the kitchen is a complete mess, and I’m hungry. Get up now!”