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

by J. T. Livingston

  Joe grinned and did his side-to-side victory dance again.

  “See?” PJ pointed. “That’s what did it—that dance! Something clicked inside my head when I saw you do that, and…well, I just remembered everything about you, Joe.”

  “I am pretty unforgettable,” Joe grinned again. “I’m very happy for you, PJ—very happy for whatever part I may have had in some of your memories returning to you.”

  “I hate to cut our visit short, PJ,” Doug said, “But, I left Bertie and Max alone with the lunch crowd, so I should probably get back soon to help them out.”

  “That’s okay,” PJ smiled. “I’m so glad all of you came to visit. Would you mind asking the nurse if there’s someone who could take me downstairs. It would be good to see something other than these four walls and the rehab room for a change.”

  “I’ll go ask,” Bernard offered. He spoke to someone at the nurse’s station and came back to PJ’s room with a wheel chair. “Put your robe on, my lady.” He bowed. “Your chariot awaits! The nurse will send someone down to the main waiting room in fifteen minutes to help you get back to your room.”

  PJ laughed with her three friends during their short trip on the elevator. Their laughter stopped short, however, when Joe accidentally hit the wrong button and they exited the elevator on the same floor on which the emergency room was located. They all stopped laughing when they saw the busy doctors and nurses moving from room to room.

  “Oh, dear,” Peggy whispered. “I think we got off on the wrong floor.”

  “Not a problem, my dear,” Bernard whispered back. He passed a room that had a police officer stationed outside the open door. “I’ll just turn your chariot around and get us away from this place.”

  PJ nodded and turned to look inside the room where the police officer stood guard. A nurse was standing in front of a patient who was sitting up on the side of the bed. She appeared to be working on one of his hands. The man looked up and saw PJ staring at him. He nodded and she gasped. “Oh, my goodness...” she was trembling noticeably.

  Bernard stopped the wheelchair and Doug bent down to take her hands into his own once again. “What’s the matter, PJ?” Doug asked.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Joe was worried. “She’s shaking all over. PJ? Tell us, what’s wrong?”

  PJ shook her head and pointed to the man sitting on the bed. “What is Skipper doing here?”

  CHAPTER 27

  - Heaven -

  Bertie Chills Out

  Bertie sat in the old rocker that had sat on the front porch of her heavenly “mansion” for more than 100 years. There was nothing stately about the mansion that she had selected to live in. It was a Daniel Boone-type log home—much bigger than the home she had shared with her husband and children when she died in 1911—but still very simplistic in style. She knew that her husband, Harold, would love it whenever he joined her in Heaven, which had occurred much later than Bertie had ever anticipated—he had outlived both their children when he died in his sleep at the age of 81.

  Bertie was only 26 years old when she was run over by one of the first automobiles sold in her rural county. Harold had been ten years her senior when she married him, and had remained a single father to their two children, Joshua and Marilyn, until they had grown up, married, and made him a grandfather, seven times over.

  Bertie’s closed eyelids lifted when she heard the squeaky screen door open. “Hey, there, ‘ole man! It’s about time you came outside.” She jumped up and embraced Harold, who now looked like a healthy, robust 60-year old. She punched him on his shoulder and laughed out loud. “I swear, I never get tired of looking at you, but for the life of me, I still say it’s not fair.”

  Harold hugged his wife and grinned down at her. “What’s not fair, Bertie?”

  Bertie pushed away and placed her hands on her hips. “The fact that I died in my prime at 26; and, yet, my heavenly body is holed up in this plump 40-something body—while, YOU, die an old man at 81, and now have the body of someone twenty years younger. I think God likes playing jokes, that’s what I think. I mean, Hells-Bells—you were 36 when I died, and you really don’t look like you aged much more than that now. I think you actually look better now than you did at 36!”

  Harold laughed and pulled her back to him. He kissed the top of her head and said, “I would love you no matter how old you were, Bertie, and, no matter what body you were in; but, you’re right, it is interesting how the Lord decides what our heavenly bodies will look like. So…how was your week on earth? Anything new happening with the murder investigation you told me about a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Oh, hell, yeah!” Bertie nodded.

  “B-E-R-T-I-E!!”

  “Crap…” Bertie slapped the heel of her palm against her forehead. “Sorry, Lord! You know I’ve been doing a lot better, but I do slip up every now and then.” She grabbed her husband’s hand and dragged him into the yard and through their front gate. “I would say that I’m only human, but even that’s not true anymore, so I don’t think He will accept that excuse,” she whispered in Harold’s ear. “Come on, we’ll talk on the way. It’s been too long since I’ve been to the Golden Falls, and I could use a refurbishing of the soul!”

  Harold walked a few feet behind and remained on the golden-brick path, and watched Bertie as she ran through the aromatic fields that were home to hundreds upon hundreds of flowers, bushes, and trees. There was no sadness in Heaven, but Harold often became contemplative whenever he thought of all the years he and Bertie missed out on together—the years he had been a single father raising a six- and a four-year old after his wife had been tragically killed. He tried not to think of all that Bertie had missed out on after having died at such a young age; she had not seen her son graduate from medical school and become a well-respected cardiologist, and she had not been able to enjoy watching her seven grandchildren grow up and become happy, well-adjusted adults in their own right.

  Bertie looked back at her husband and quickly identified the reason for the longing look in his eyes. “You’re thinking about all the things I didn’t get to experience, aren’t you, ‘ole man?”

  Harold smiled and nodded. “I am, yes. But, I guess I should, also, look at it as a blessing that you didn’t live long enough to see both your children pass away, as well as two of your grandchildren. It’s not a natural occurrence—parents should never have to outlive their children or grandchildren.” He looked down at the ground and kicked at a small stone. “I think you’re right,” he looked up and smiled again. “The Golden Falls are what we both need right now.”

  Bertie hooked her arm through his offered bent elbow and punched him with her free arm. “God’s plan is different for all of us, Harold. I’ve been in Heaven for—what—almost 105 years now, and I still don’t understand how or why life happens to us the way it does. What I have learned is that it’s not for us to worry about; we have to reach a point where we finally just go with the flow and trust that everything that happens, or happened, to us, was all part of a well-laid out plan.” She sighed and shrugged. “I am glad that He took me, though, before I had to see my kids and grandkids die. I don’t think I could have survived that, Harold.” She stopped walking and looked up at him. “I think God probably took me first because He knew that I couldn’t handle what you had to handle.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Harold nodded. He saw the golden glow in the bend of the road up ahead and exhaled deeply. “I have a surprise for you today, Bertie; I had a feeling you might need a visit to the Golden Falls today.”

  “A surprise? What might that be, ‘ole man?” Bertie punched him again for good measure.

  “You’ll see,” Harold replied. “You’ll see…”

  Bertie’s brows drew together. “You know that I’m not big on surprises, Harold. What’s going on?”

  Harold stopped and pushed Bertie gently ahead of him. “You’ll enjoy this one, trust me. Go on ahead of me—I’ll catch up.” He waited until she had gone around the
bend in the road; he waited until he heard her scream of joy before he walked closer to the Golden Falls. When he came around the bend, he smiled and sighed when he saw the two women hugging each other—his wife, and the daughter she had not seen since 1911. That was another perplexity about Heaven that he did not understand—why some family members were immediately reunited, while it took years before others might be reunited. He assumed that this, too, was all part of God’s ultimate plan. Who knows—maybe God was rewarding his Bertie for going more than a week without using a cuss word!

  Max and Martin embraced each other while they watched Bertie and Marilyn’s reunion take place on the huge screen that Martin controlled.

  “Will you look at that,” Martin wiped a joyful tear from the corner of his eye. “I was beginning to think that this reunion wouldn’t take place until the Rapture or the Millennium!”

  “I know what you mean, my friend,” Max shook his head. “I’ll be hearing about this, on earth, for a long time to come.” He closed his eyes in prayer and whispered, “Thank you, Jesus…”

  “Her husband died in 1956, but her daughter, Marilyn passed away about 10 years before that,” Martin explained. “They didn’t know a lot about the type of cancer she had back in the 40’s, so there was no treatment for it. She suffered for a very long time before she passed. It’s probably a good thing that Bertie did not have to witness her child’s demise in that way.”

  Max nodded. “Yes, cancer is a terrible disease. We’ve seen so much death on earth because of it. Anyway, mother and daughter have finally been reunited. I’m very happy for Bertie.”

  “So am I…so am I,” Martin nodded. “She never updated Harold about the murder investigation involving Gordon Whiting. I’ve been busier than usual this past week, so I have to be honest—I have not kept up with his particular situation.”

  “Well, Gordon—or, Skipper—as we all refer to him, is still in jail. In fact, he ended up at the emergency room yesterday around lunch time.”

  “Oh, no!” Martin exclaimed. “Is he alright—well, of course, he’s alright—that’s not what I meant—I would know if he wasn’t alright. What happened to him that he ended up at the hospital?”

  “A prisoner who calls himself ‘King Daddy’ stabbed him in the hand during breakfast call yesterday morning. Skipper never said anything to the guards; he just wrapped his hand in a towel when he got back to his cell. By the time lunch rolled around, an infection had already set into the wound—I believe the doctors called it cellulitis—I’m pretty sure that’s what Doug told us. The wound, more or less, developed an abscess, and streaks of red were traveling up Skipper’s forearm. The warden decided that the wound needed to be treated in a real hospital setting, so they transferred Skipper to Floyd Medical Center for some intravenous antibiotics. The hospital recommended he stay overnight for observation.”

  “King Daddy? Who calls himself that?” Martin puckered his thick lips and shook his head. “So, Skipper’s wound is not life threatening?”

  “No, it’s not. They mostly wanted to keep him overnight to make sure that the abscess would not require emergency drainage.” Max pointed to the screen behind them. “I’m surprised you didn’t see what happened while he was at the emergency room yesterday.”

  “What do you mean?” Martin was perplexed. “If something bad had happened, I would have known right away.”

  Max laughed and dropped an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “Oh, it was most certainly nothing bad.” He turned Martin around and laughed again. “What do you say we take a long walk and catch up on some things?”

  Two earth hours later, Martin and Max sat side-by-side on top of a beautiful hill that overlooked the valley where the Rainbow Bridge sat. They watched, for several minutes, while pets and their former owners were once again reunited.

  “I could watch these reunions for the rest of time,” Max sighed. “I never tire of watching them, and I will never understand how some people on earth believe that these animals have no feelings. The look of joy and happiness on their furry faces is undeniable.”

  “I agree,” Martin nodded. “Speaking of joy and happiness—I would imagine that your Skipper falls into that category right about now.”

  Max shook his head. “To tell you the truth, old friend, I honestly don’t think Skipper is capable of happiness. I wonder if he’s ever known real happiness in his life time.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Maximus? Of course, the man must have known happiness at some point in his life—don’t you think?”

  Max watched the dogs and cats reuniting with their owners for a few more minutes before responding. “I’m not sure I can say that he has, Martin. Look at his history—his mother left home when he was only four years old and his brother, Charles, was nine. Their father wasn’t home much, so they were left in the care of an aunt who used them as child labor to help run her bar. His brother joined the Army the day he turned 18, but returned home less than a year later, suffering from severe depression and withdrawal from society, so Skipper took care of him, too. He quit school in the ninth grade, and joined the Army himself the day he turned 18. He married, briefly, when he was 20, but his wife slept with every friend he had; they divorced before he left for his first tour in Vietnam…”

  “They never had any children together, did they?” Martin interrupted.

  “No, they didn’t, and that was probably a blessing, because Skipper became even more of a recluse after four tours in Vietnam. He bounced around from woman to woman, from city to city, and never went home again. He sold everything he had in 1996 and has been homeless, by choice, for the past 20 years. So—no—I truly do not believe that Gordon Whiting has known much happiness in his life time.” Max exhaled and shook his head. “It’s very sad to think that anyone could go an entire life time and not experience the love of a good woman, a family, a life…”

  “But, it has all been by choice, is that not correct?” Martin asked. “He has willingly chosen a life of solitude?”

  “He has,” Max closed his eyes. “Maybe there’s a chance that will change now that PJ’s memory has returned. She will be able to clear Skipper’s name and I assume he will be released from jail soon.”

  “Well, I will most definitely keep him in prayer, Maximus. I will, also, pray that the man will be able to find peace with his life on earth.”

  Max shook his head slowly. “Unfortunately, my old friend, that may not happen for Skipper; he may very well have to wait until his end to find that peace.”

  “Is he a believer?”

  Max looked over at his friend and shrugged. “You know, I’m not entirely sure about that. I’ll have to discuss that with Doug when we get back; he might know.”

  “Did Doug come Home for a visit today?” Martin stood up and stretched his long arms high above his head. He inhaled the purest quality of air anyone could ever hope to experience, and slowly released it. “I think he was probably overdue for some rest and relaxation.”

  The two angels turned back toward the path that would return them to Martin’s work area. Martin turned quickly when he felt a hard punch to the back of his shoulder. “Oh, no,” he sighed. “Is your visit with your family over already?”

  Bertie pushed herself between the two black men and wrapped an arm around each of their waists. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what surprise Harold had for me today, you old fart!”

  “B-E-R-T-I-E!!”

  “Well, damn!” Bertie whispered. “When did the word fart become a cuss word!”

  Max shook his head. “Whatever are we going to do with you, Bertie?”

  Bertie laughed out loud. “Hey, I’m a work in progress—our Lord knows and accepts that about me!” She ran ahead of them when she saw Doug walking toward them. “Hey, handsome! You’re not going to believe what happened to me today!”

  “But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Take heed, watch and pray; for you do not know when the t
ime is.” Mark 13:32-33 (NKJV)

  CHAPTER 28

  Monday Morning Rolls Around

  Kirk pulled into the school parking lot and swerved sharply into the first parking space he spotted. He ignored the loud honking from the driver of the car that had seen the space first.

  “You were pretty quiet on the ride in,” Michael said. He leaned across his seat and grabbed his backpack from the floorboard. “Are you having second thoughts about leaving David with them? I mean, since it’s the first day any of us will be alone with them?”

  Kirk rubbed his middle fingers against the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept much over the weekend, and he was tired. He wouldn’t admit it to his friends, but he had begun questioning the decisions he had made; however, he also knew that he had already taken things too far to turn back now. He looked over at Michael and snarled, “No.”

  Michael grinned and held up both hands. “Okay, okay. I was just wondering. You, uh…you don’t think he’ll turn soft on us, do you?”

  “What do you mean, Mike?”

  “Come on, Kirk. You know what I mean. You’ve seen how he looks at the two of them. You can tell he feels sorry for the kid and he feels even worse for the way he beat up the old hag. I’m not convinced he has the balls to go through with our plan.” He looked out the window and watched the students hustling to get inside before the final bell rang. “You know you’re thinking the same thing.”

  “David will do whatever I tell him to do,” Kirk scolded. “And so will you. So, go on to class. Skip the last class if you can, and get your ass back out to the lake house to relieve David. He’ll need to get home and check in with his parents. You’ve got your excuse for tonight covered with your parents?”

  Michael snorted and opened the car door. “You know as well as I do, that my parents could give a rat’s ass about my plans. I doubt if they even noticed that I wasn’t there all weekend.”