Star-Spangled Rejects (The Heavenly Grille Café Book 3)

by J. T. Livingston

  CHAPTER 9

  Between the Rivers

  One of Skipper’s favorite places to rest during the day hours was the “Between the Rivers” Historic District in downtown Rome, Georgia. The area, which was situated between the Etowah and Oostanaula Rivers, was also the site of Rome’s founding in 1834. It was the same area where early business and industry served the residents of the new town. Most of the original district was severely ravaged and burned during the Civil War; however, the spirit of the survivors burned stronger than the fires that destroyed their beloved town, and that same spirit eventually rebuilt the community into the thriving town it was today.

  Skipper had a special, out-of-the-way, bench that allowed him the privacy to sit, think, read, write his poetry, and, to ponder the possibilities for his next destination. He had made it a point never to spend more than a couple of months at any location, and, ever since Norman’s death, he had felt the need to move on. He was seventy-six years old and the cold weather was taking a toll on his old bones—bones that had been through more pain and trauma than one person should ever have to endure in one life time. Skipper laid his notebook on the bench beside him and stretched out his long legs. He closed his eyes and thought about all the places he had travelled to in his life time, and all the strange/beautiful things he had seen: the northern lights over the Rocky Mountains from Canada; a phenomenon in the skies of Himalaya—an iridescent spiral cloud—in 2009; Heaven’s Gate in Zhangjiajie in Tianmen Mountain, China; the Road to Heaven in Ireland, that occurred every two years when the stars aligned perfectly with the road; and, the northern lights again—this time, from Alaska. There were many other places that filled Skipper’s memory, but those were some of his absolute favorites.

  “We’ve got to quit meeting like this,” the masculine voice with just the slightest hint of an Irish brogue said. Officer Thomas O’Brady was dressed in civilian clothes—jeans and a black leather jacket—on this late Monday afternoon. He didn’t wait for an invitation to join Skipper on the bench.

  Skipper pulled his legs in before he opened his eyes. He already recognized the voice. “Isn’t this a little off your beaten path, Officer O’Brady?” He reached for his notebook, but the rosy-cheeked officer smiled and beat him to it.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Thomas O’Brady grinned. “Actually, it’s my day off. I was at the library most of the day, doing some research. I always like to stop by this area before I head home; it’s very peaceful here.”

  Skipper nodded and closed his eyes again. “Well, it was…”

  Thomas laughed and disregarded the ornery criticism. He doubted Skipper would offer, so he took the liberty and opened the notebook. “I haven’t been able to get these poems off my mind. It’s Skipper, right?”

  Skipper opened his eyes. It was five o’clock and would be dark within the next thirty to forty-five minutes. It would take him almost two hours to make the walk back to the old camp site, and he wasn’t one to sit around and chit-chat, especially with cops. He nodded affirmation of his name, but did not want to encourage conversation, so he didn’t say anything in response.

  Officer O’Brady was flipping through the book of war poems and tapped his finger on a page, titled, “Oh Withered Rose.” He looked at Skipper and said, “I especially like this one. If I knew you better, I would swear you wrote it just for me.” He cleared his throat and began to read the poem aloud:

  A child of sorrow with deep set eyes

  Kneeling by a granite marker stone;

  Gazing at a single flower on the ground

  Lying there all alone.

  The child’s tiny frame begins to fade

  When the quarter moon appeared;

  Descending stars helped light the field

  As the child disappeared.

  Withered rose, oh withered rose

  Time has robbed you of your scent;

  You and my Daddy had so much life

  I wonder where it went.

  Thunder roared from up above

  A star-bright sky turned solid black;

  Then a timber fell from a lightning bolt

  With a deathly frightening crack.

  Seconds passed, then all was calm

  It wasn’t clear what had occurred;

  There was silence in the still of night

  When the child’s fading voice was heard.

  Withered rose, oh withered rose

  You once graced my father’s mound;

  His body rots but his soul’s now free

  Of all sorrow above the ground.

  Thomas looked at the homeless Veteran sitting beside him, and felt ashamed that his country had failed him and other Veterans like him, adding to the pain and torment that lay buried deep inside them. Skipper’s anger and resentment resonated throughout his poetry; even Thomas could see that. When it was obvious to him that Skipper wasn’t going to participate in conversation, he cleared his throat again and looked upward. “It will be dark soon, Skipper. May I give you a ride somewhere?”

  Skipper stood and held out his hand for the notebook. “No thanks. I can walk. I’ve been doing it for a long, long time now.”

  “The temperature is already dropping. The weatherman said it could drop near freezing tonight. Please let me drop you at one of the men’s shelters.”

  Skipper tucked his notebook inside his backpack and looked at the baby-faced man with the red buzz-cut hair and twinkling blue eyes. “Why do you care?”

  Thomas stuffed his hands inside his jean pockets and grinned. “I honestly don’t know. There’s just something about you—I don’t know—I just feel compelled to try to help you.”

  Skipper shook his head. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help for that matter. I’ve been travelling every road imaginable since I retired in 1977. I think I’ve walked down most of them by now. In all that time, I’ve never come across a cop who really cared where I spent the night, as long as it wasn’t out on a public bench.”

  “You retired from the Army, so that must mean you receive a pension, right?”

  Skipper’s brows rose in skepticism. “Your point being, Officer?”

  “Well,” Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know what rank you retired as, but if you receive a monthly check, why in God’s name are you living on the streets?”

  Skipper turned to walk away but stopped to look back at Thomas O’Brady. “Because living on the streets usually ensures that I don’t have to be around people. I detest the human race, especially politicians—and, police. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d bomb all of Washington and try to get rid of all of them at one time. You’re right, I do receive a monthly pension, and I use what I need to use when I have to. I’m on the streets by choice; I don’t really expect you, or anyone else, to care or begin to understand why.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I absolutely do not understand that; but, it’s not any of my business how you spend your money or where you spend your nights. I just keep thinking…”

  All was quiet for a couple of minutes, and when it was obvious to Skipper that the Officer was not going to complete his sentence he said, “You see me and you can’t help but think of your own father—the father you never got a chance to know—and, you would never want to think of your father living on the streets, nobody offering to lend a helping hand. Am I close?”

  “Close enough, I guess,” Thomas replied with a crack to his voice. “Well, I won’t bother you any longer. It was good to see you again, Skipper. Try to keep warm out there tonight.” He turned and walked toward a parking lot off in the distance.

  Skipper rubbed the back of his neck and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Hell…” he thought before grumbling out loud. “Officer O’Brady? Wait a minute. I’ve changed my mind about that ride.”

  It was pitch-dark outside by six o’clock. Cheryl was standing in the kitchen, staring blankly into the food pantry, when Jimmy burst through the back door.

  “Hey, Mom! Wh
at’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

  Cheryl closed the pantry door and smiled. “You’re always starving. I swear, I don’t know where you put all the food you eat.” She pulled him toward her and kissed his cheek. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming straight home from basketball practice or not, so I haven’t started supper yet. I thought you might grab a bite to eat with your friends.”

  Jimmy sighed and flopped down on one of the kitchen stools. “I told you…I don’t think I’ll be hanging out with Kirk Blankenship and his friends anymore.”

  “Yes, you did mention that possibility before, but you never said why. Did something happen?”

  Jimmy wanted, more than anything, to confide in his mother, but he didn’t want to get her involved. He, also, did not want to see the disappointment that he was sure he would see in her face, if he confided to her what had happened Friday night. He really just wanted it all to go away. He decided that the best way to make that happen would be by cutting ties with Kirk and his friends; and, he had managed to avoid all of them at school today. “No, not really. I think it has more to do with the age gap between me and all of them. I think I need to find more friends my own age to hang out with,” he shrugged.

  Cheryl came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. “I think that’s probably a smart decision on your part. Kirk and his friends drive, don’t they? So, I assume they must be at least 16 years old, right?”

  “Yeah—plus—they’re all rich, spoiled kids.”

  Cheryl rested her chin on top of her son’s head. “Totally different from you, that’s for sure; there’s definitely nothing spoiled about you.”

  Jimmy laughed. “There’s nothing rich about me either!”

  “Yep, there is that, alright,” Cheryl agreed. “Hey, I don’t have to work tonight, so tell me what you’d like for dinner and I’ll whip it up. We can watch a movie or something after you get your homework done.”

  Something about his mom felt off to Jimmy, but he wasn’t quite sure what it could be. “What’s going on, Mom? We never watch movies during the week.” He pushed the chair beside him out and patted it. “Have a seat and tell me what’s up. You seem—I don’t know—distracted tonight.”

  Cheryl sat down in the chair next to Jimmy and looked at him for a long moment. “You are so intuitive, you know that?” She had not planned on saying anything to her son until she knew for sure that Jason Benton really was who she thought he was, but, she couldn’t get the man off her mind.

  Jimmy stretched his neck from side to side. “Yeah, I hear the girls really like sensitive guys, so it helps me to practice my technique on you. Seriously, though, what’s going on? Anything you want to talk about?”

  Cheryl exhaled and shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. So, don’t freak out on me or anything, but…what would you say if I told you that I think I saw…your…father?”

  The grin faded from Jimmy’s handsome face. “I would say that was pretty much impossible.”

  Cheryl raised her hands, palms forward, in front of her face. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I would have thought, too; but, Jimmy, I’m like seventy-five percent sure that we were sitting next to him Saturday night at the café we went to for Brunswick stew, remember…”

  Jimmy’s mind began to race backward, trying to think back to Saturday night, trying to remember who had been inside the café that night. Who had they been sitting next to? He couldn’t remember anyone specifically. “Mom?”

  “I know, I know,” Cheryl blew out a burst of air she wasn’t aware that she had been holding inside. “It’s crazy, right? I mean, I’ve told you all about the night you were conceived. I never knew the boy’s name, where he lived, nothing…I knew absolutely nothing about him.”

  “Why do I have the feeling that you know more about him now?” Jimmy asked slowly.

  Cheryl nodded. “It’s true. I haven’t been able to get him off my mind, so I went back to that café this morning and talked with Doug—that nice man who works there with Bertie. Anyway, I found out the name of the man who was sitting beside me that night.”

  A few moments of silence followed before Jimmy burst, “Well? Are you going to tell me? What’s my father’s name?”

  Cheryl’s hands were shaking. She had not wanted to tell her son that she was seventy-five percent sure that the stranger next to them was his father; she wanted to tell him that she was one-hundred percent positive that it was. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, at least not until I know more for certain.”

  “No, no, that’s okay, Mom. I want to know, really. I mean, if it turns out that it’s not him, that’s okay, too. I mean, I’ve gone almost fifteen years not knowing the man’s name—and survived—it’s no big deal.”

  “Are you sure?” Cheryl asked. “I don’t want to get your hopes up or anything—or, my hopes either, for that matter.”

  “It’s your call, Mom. If you want to wait to tell me…”

  “No!” Cheryl blurted out. “No. We’ve both waited a long time for this, and there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the man I sat next to on Saturday night was the same person I lost my virginity to. His name—your father’s name—is, Jason Benton. There, I said it!”

  “Jason Benton?” Jimmy allowed the name to roll slowly off his tongue and nodded his head. “I like the sound of that. Hey! Does that mean that I’ll have to change my name now to James Benton? That, actually, has a pretty good sound to it, don’t you think?”

  Cheryl picked up a dish rag off the table and threw it at her son. She laughed and grabbed her coat. “Well, are you coming or not?”

  Jimmy pulled his coat back on and laughed back at her. “Sure, where are we going? Oh, wait, don’t tell me — we’re having supper at the Heavenly Grille Café tonight, aren’t we?”

  CHAPTER 10

  - Heaven -

  Martin’s Story

  “Hello, Mr. Martin, sir!” Andrew Brown shouted happily.

  Andrew had passed away in December 2011 and was the twin brother to Amos Brown, one of only two living humans who knew the truth about the trio of angels who ran the Heavenly Grille Café. Amos and Amanda Turner, a young woman —full of faith and belief—had been taken in by the angels during the summer of 2011. She had lost everyone close to her, lost her home and job, and had no idea what direction to go, until she stumbled upon the café and its heavenly trio. She and Amos had witnessed Max’s transformation from a human to the glorious angel that he was.

  Martin turned off the huge data screen behind him, with a flick of his wrist. A broad grin spread across his generous lips when he saw Andrew. “Ah, Andrew! You’ve come for a visit. It’s so good to see you again. I hear that you and your parents have been taking in more and more animals, until the animals choose what families they wish to spend eternity with—I’m sure that has been keeping all of you busy.”

  Andrew nodded. “Oh, yessir, those critters do keep us busy. There are so many of them that died without ever having a family or home of their own. They just can’t seem to get enough hugs and cuddles. Amanda’s dog, Sam, comes to visit every day, too. I have a feeling he’s keeping an eye on things—making sure that we don’t make any mistakes, you know?”

  “Yes, Sam does hold a special place in his heart for these animals—especially the ones that suffered at the hands of man while they lived on earth. He’s a very special dog, indeed.”

  Andrew bent his head and grinned. When he looked up, he had a smile of accomplishment across his face. “You know what else, Mr. Martin? I can hear all their thoughts now, too. It’s amazing the things they have to say.”

  “I knew you would be able to, Andrew. You have a special connection to animals, and they can sense that. They don’t allow everyone to hear their thoughts, so you must be mighty special in their eyes.” Martin smiled. “Is there anything else on your mind today, Andrew?”

  “Well, sir…I just wanted to let you know that I went to Amos in a dream last night. I’ve been trying, ever since he was here for that sh
ort amount of time—you know—when he died on the operating table?”

  “Yes, I remember that visit well,” Martin nodded. “I know he wanted to remain here in Heaven with his family, but you have to admit, his life took a drastic change when he returned, now didn’t it!”

  Amos Brown was the older twin, by two minutes. He suffered a major heart attack late in 2013 and died on the operating table. During the time that the doctors worked to revive him, Amos was transported to Heaven and allowed to spend precious moments with his family. When the doctors got his heart beating again, Amos returned to his earthly life and met the woman he would marry, Izzie Ghent.

  “It sure did!” Andrew shook his head. “I never would have thought my brother would get married so late in life. I think he lucked out with Miss Izzie. They seem to be getting along good and doing lots of traveling.”

  Martin already knew that everything was good in the life of Amos and Izzie Brown, but he encouraged Andrew to continue talking. “So, you had a good visit with your brother in his dreams, did you?”

  “I did, yessir. As happy as Amos is with Miss Izzie, I think he really misses Mr. Max and the others. He said the old café was bought by some mechanic. Of course, the building doesn’t have the halo above it, like it used to, and the owner painted the building red and yellow. Yessir, Amos misses that place, but he said he and Miss Izzie might be making a trip to Rome, Georgia a little later to visit everyone.”

  “Well, you know the café cannot remain in one location for more than five years. There’s still a chance that some of the old truckers will find them at their new location, but Max will deal with that when and if he has to.”

  “Well,” Andrew said. “I didn’t mean to interfere with your work, Mr. Martin. I told Amos I would stop by and tell you hello. He wanted me to thank you again for giving him the opportunity to visit with us, even if it was such a short visit.”