Livvie's Song

by Sharlene MacLaren

  Scowling, Charley tilted his middle-aged face at her. “It ain’t right, Liv, you bein’ th’ only restaurant in town that don’t allow it. I can’t hardly enjoy a cup o’ coffee without my smokes. You know that.”

  “Then, you may go elsewhere.”

  “But you got good eats here.” His gaze filtered past the room of customers to the kitchen. At that moment, Will Taylor glanced up. “Well, I’ll be hanged. He shaved off that beard. He sure looks diff’rent.”

  “Yes, he does,” Livvie confirmed. “Now, would you please extinguish those disgusting things before they create a cloud in my restaurant?”

  Neither man made a move to heed her request; they just ambled over to the table she’d pointed out and pulled out two chairs. She gave a loud sigh. “Don’t sit down until you’ve stomped out those smokes on the sidewalk, please.”

  Cora Mae approached the table, pencil tucked behind her ear, pad of paper in hand. “Oh, leave ’em be, Liv. They’re not botherin’ anybody.”

  “They’re bothering me,” she maintained, “and they both know it.” She appreciated Cora Mae’s efforts to keep the peace, but this was one area where she refused to compromise. “Why do you two have to be so blamed stubborn?”

  Roy chuckled and reached out to touch her bare arm.

  She immediately wrenched it away and glared at him.

  “Sorry, Livvie. We don’t mean no harm. We just can’t see the trouble in lightin’ up.”

  “The trouble is, you’re ill-mannered boors who can’t abide one simple rule.” Roy wasn’t a bad-looking man, but his conduct was certainly lacking.

  “What d’you fellas want for supper, anyway?” Cora Mae asked, snatching her pencil and preparing to write.

  “Cora Mae, we’re not serving them.”

  The men sat down in their chairs, which galled Livvie to her core, considering that she’d just told them not to sit. Was there anyone with a brain smaller than these two jellyheads’?

  They narrowed their eyes to peruse the menu. “How’s that new cook at fryin’ burgers?” Charley asked.

  “I’m doggone good,” bellowed a voice that made the place fall silent. Clanging forks and knives quieted, and even the Pryors’ four-month-old baby hushed her burbling. Livvie turned around and met Will’s sterling eyes. He stepped between her and Cora Mae and extended a hand. “Will Taylor,” he stated.

  Roy pushed back his chair and rose, taking his hand. “Roy Scott’s the name.”

  Charley remained in his seat but shook Will’s hand when he thrust it under his nose. “Charley Arnold,” he muttered coolly.

  Neither man measured up to Will’s stature. Surely, they’d noticed. Roy lowered himself into his seat again. “We been in here a time or two to sample your cookin’. It ain’t bad,” he said with a shrug.

  “Yeah, I saw you last week,” Will replied. “So, you want a hamburger, do you?” He stepped closer and rested his fists on the table.

  Charley grinned. “Sure.”

  “With lettuce, tomato, and onion?”

  “You bet. And a slab o’ cheese, if you don’t mind.”

  Will shook his head. “Don’t mind at all. You want some thick fries to go with that? I make ’em extra greasy.”

  Charley relaxed and licked his lips. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great. And a tall, ice-cold Coke.”

  Will turned to Roy. “The same for you?”

  Grinning with satisfaction, Roy nodded.

  “There’s only one problem, I’m afraid,” Will said, stepping back and folding his arms across his chest.

  “Yeah?” Roy said. “What’s that?”

  Will smiled, but not warmly. “These.” As quick as a hawk swooping down on its prey, he seized the cigarettes from Charley and Roy’s mouths, dropped them on the floor, and squished one under each of his boots. In the next move, he had both men by the fronts of their collars, so that their roundish guts were pressed against the edges of the table. The whole sequence happened in a flash, and, from the flurry of gasps and whispered remarks she heard from around the room, Livvie almost believed that she’d hired a magician instead of a cook.

  His wry expression unwavering, Will said, just as cool as could be, “You won’t mind not smoking while you eat, now, will you?”

  Charley and Roy remained speechless for what seemed like a minute but actually amounted to about five seconds. Then, they quickly shook their heads, their faces flushed with embarrassment.

  Cora Mae stood back and beamed like a harvest moon.

  “Good. That’s real good.” Will relaxed his hold on them and brushed off their shirtfronts as they heaved loud breaths. “We sure do want your business, fellas, but I’m afraid we can’t take it if you insist on smoking in the restaurant. A rule’s a rule, after all. Agreed?”

  In response, he got several hurried nods and two pairs of wide eyes staring back at him.

  With that, Will turned and walked back toward the kitchen, his demeanor unflappable, even as hushed murmurings and bemused smiles circulated the room.

  Fifteen minutes before closing time, Livvie starting helping Will with the cleanup process. She’d allowed Cora Mae to leave early, as she was expecting a cousin from Kansas. The restaurant was quiet, with only a smattering of patrons who lingered. Alex and Nathan had gone shopping with Margie that afternoon, and she’d offered to let them spend the night, assuring Livvie that she’d drive them to school in the morning. Tomorrow was the last day of classes—a half day, at that—so, they were wound tighter than drums. As much as Livvie enjoyed the peaceful silence, she looked forward to when they would come galloping home tomorrow afternoon in a flurry of excitement.

  Will stood at the sink, scrubbing a soup kettle, and the sight of his muscles flexing where his short sleeves ended set off a strange, prickly sensation in Livvie’s stomach. She tried to ignore it. “I want to thank you for what you did earlier,” she said to Will’s back.

  He turned at the sound of her voice. “You mean with those two lugs? Pfff, they just needed a little reminding.”

  “I’ve been reminding them ever since Frank died. I guess, because I’m a single woman, they think they can push me around.”

  “Joe never did anything about it?”

  “Joe was too easygoing to make much of a fuss about anything. I think he thought my no-smoking rule was a bit harsh. But I just can’t abide the smell. Never could.”

  “It’s your right to set the rules, Livvie.” He wrung out the dishcloth and draped it over the side of the deep sink, then swiveled his body and leaned back against the counter. “All right, listen. Joe had his ways; I have mine. If you want to maintain this no-smoking rule, then I’ll see that your customers comply.”

  A rush of gratitude skittered through her veins. “I appreciate that. Don’t want you thinking you have to look after me, though. I’ve been taking care of myself for more than a year now.”

  For a moment, he regarded her with assessing eyes, then crossed his arms over his wide chest and arched a thick, dark eyebrow. “Managing just fine, are you?”

  Shifting her weight, she looked him in the eye. “Most of the time, yes.”

  He rubbed his jaw, and, for a fleeting instant, she wondered at its smoothness. “I been thinking,” he said. “You remember when you hired me, how I said that maybe you and I could work together on some ways to turn this little business around for you? Financially, I mean.”

  “Yes. What about it?”

  “Well, I’ve come up with an idea or two. Wondered if I might bounce them off you tonight after we close up. I was thinking we could wait till you put your boys to bed, but, since you say they’re spending the night at your sister’s house, well, maybe we could just sit down here after closing time and bat some thoughts around.”

  “I…I guess we could do that.”

  Of course, she welcomed his wish to help her. How fortunate to have hired someone with genuine interest in seeing her little establishment succeed. Joe had been of the same mind, but he’d always made
it clear that his employment at Livvie’s Kitchen was only temporary. His primary goal had been to keep the restaurant afloat until she could find a replacement, not to invest time and effort for its future success.

  The problem was, she didn’t want Will Taylor going out of his way on her behalf. He owed her nothing, and vice versa. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out, and having the boys gone for the night certainly afforded her the time.

  “Great. I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee, then.” He turned around and resumed washing dishes. “How ’bout a warm slice of pie while we’re at it? You could stand to put a little meat on those bones.”

  So, he’d taken note of her figure, had he? Truth be told, she was as skinny as a fence post, no matter that she almost always had food at her fingertips. Ever since Frank’s death, her appetite had been small, her passion for food diminished. “I’ll try a piece, yes.”

  “Strawberry, blueberry, or peach?”

  “Oh, my! So many choices.” She considered them. “Strawberry, please.”

  He turned and smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Mercy, but her stomach should not have tumbled at the sight!

  Chapter Ten

  “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”—John 16:33

  So, I was thinking we could provide a complimentary meal to the family the night we use their secret recipe,” Will said to conclude his spiel about how they could attract more customers by cooking up long-cherished family recipes. He sat with Livvie at a table along the wall across from the bar area, where they’d been since closing the restaurant half an hour ago.

  Livvie didn’t answer immediately, and Will figured she needed time to process his idea. With his fork, he sectioned off another morsel of strawberry pie and let it melt in his mouth, then washed it down with a swig of hot coffee. Outside, a couple of dogs barked, a car horn honked, and a whistle announced an arriving train.

  Finally, Livvie set down her fork and furrowed her brow. “A free meal for an entire family? Are you kidding? Some of these folks have swarms of kids.”

  “It’ll be good for business,” he rushed to say. “How’s the pie?”

  “Giving away food is good for business?” She blinked. “Oh, the pie’s excellent, thanks.”

  “It’s a gimmick, don’t you see? The minute people find out about what we’re doing, they’ll start submitting their family recipes. Of course, I’ll have to weed through them, decide which ones are worth trying, cook them up, and then use you and the boys and Cora Mae, maybe even Coot, as taste testers. We’ll put it to a vote, choose a weekly winner, maybe even two a week, and then start advertising.”

  “Advertising?”

  “Yeah. Maybe we could get your boys to make some big, colorful signs for the windows, their being on summer vacation and all. Making this a family venture would add interest. We want diners coming out in droves to taste the featured recipe, so we’ll need to drum up some excitement. We could even get some ads printed up in the Daily Plain Dealer.”

  Livvie pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed her lips tightly together, causing her dimples to sprout. His stomach took a strange tumble. “Ads cost money,” she reminded him. “Something that doesn’t flow all that freely around here.”

  “Sometimes, you have to invest a little capital before reaping the rewards. I realize it’s a gamble, but you’ll never know if you don’t give it a shot.”

  She thrummed her fingers on the tabletop and stared at him.

  He stared back, lapping up the look of her hazel eyes, which gleamed with a hint of eagerness. He held his breath while awaiting her answer.

  “How do you propose getting started?” She stilled her fingers, picked up her fork, and speared a piece of strawberry pie.

  He started breathing again. “Well, I’ve already selected the first winning recipe.”

  Her pretty lashes flew up. “You have? Whose?”

  “Clara Gillen’s baked chicken. Do you know her?”

  “I do, but how…?”

  He went on to tell her how the Gillens had invited him to dine with them following the Sunday service several weeks ago, how Clara Gillen had wound up sharing her grandmother’s recipe for baked chicken with him, and how he’d promised to use it without ever divulging the secret. Livvie started chewing with purpose, then quickly swallowed and cut off another portion of pie. She then raised her coffee cup to her lips and gazed at him over the rim. A glimmer of interest sparked more noticeably in her eyes, and he could sense her resolve caving in like the walls of Jericho.

  “I know Norm Maloney, who works at the newspaper. He’s a good friend of my brother-in-law,” she offered. “I’m sure he’d help with the ad.”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  “And Alex and Nate would get a charge out of making signs for the windows. As I do every summer, I’ve hired a high school girl to look after them while I’m working. I’m sure she’d be happy to help, too.”

  He enjoyed watching her enthusiasm grow. It lit her cheeks with a rosy hue and made her speak faster. “And, if we get an influx of customers, I suppose offering a free meal to the family whose recipe we’re featuring won’t really hurt our budget. I’m starting to think this could work.”

  “Now you’re talking!”

  Before he knew it, she’d polished off her pie and set her empty cup back in its saucer. He nodded at her plate. “You want another piece?” he asked. “How ’bout some more coffee?”

  “No, no, I’m fine, but thank you,” she said with a sweep of her hand. Then, she angled him an inquisitive look and opened her mouth, only to clamp it shut again.

  “You were about to say something?”

  “Oh! Well….” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It was nothing, really.”

  He wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and dipped his chin. “Seriously, what did you want to say?”

  She blushed. “I just wanted to say, you…um, I like your…you know.” She waved a finger at his face.

  He stroked his bare jaw and gave a shameless grin. “You like the new look, do you? Well, don’t go thinking I did it for you just because you hinted—more like blatantly told me—that you hated my beard.”

  “I didn’t say I hated it, exactly.”

  “Well, you may as well have. Anyway, I’ve had the shaggy thing for years. It was time, and you were right—we don’t need people complaining about finding whiskers in their soup.”

  They shared a pleasant round of laughter, after which they both had trouble deciding where to point their gazes. Livvie looked out the window, and Will glanced down at his fraying sleeve. It was almost time to make another trip to the Salvation Army store.

  After a few more seconds of silence, Livvie spoke. “I’m still a little surprised to hear you go to church every Sunday.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?”

  She rested her chin in her clasped hands. “I don’t know; I guess I just didn’t figure you for the churchgoing type when I first met you. You looked like—”

  “A bum?” he supplied.

  A sheepish smile caused her dimples to emerge. “The thought crossed my mind.”

  He let her statement hang between them for a moment. Then, he said, “I started attending regularly some months ago, when I made a decision to turn my life around. I told you about that.”

  “Yes, you mentioned it.”

  “God’s got a long ways to go with me before He’ll be halfway satisfied, though, I’ll tell you that.”

  She looked down and brushed a few crumbs off the table. He lowered his chin again, trying to meet her eyes. “You ought to be taking those boys to church, you know.”

  Livvie looked up sharply. “You sound like my sister, Margie. She’s forever preaching at me. ‘They’ll grow up to be hoodlums,’ she says. ‘You best teach them the ways of the Lord, Olivia Beth.’” She sobered and fumbled with her
napkin, which she had refolded on the table. “I may start up again. Who knows?”

  “May I ask what’s keeping you from attending?”

  Her brow pulled into a firm frown, and she straightened her slender shoulders. “I have a hard time figuring out how a good God could snuff out the life of a man in his prime, especially when he has two young sons who need him.”

  Will arched his eyebrows and brushed away the strands of hair that hung across his forehead. “You’re not the only one who’s asked that sort of question. Shoot, I’ve asked it myself. All I can say is, it’s a matter of trust…Olivia Beth.” He couldn’t resist saying her middle name, now that he knew it.

  She shrugged. “It’s hard to trust someone who’s let you down.”

  He leaned back, sizing her up. “I used to think the same—that God had let me down. But I’ve since learned that His love is much bigger than all my doubts. I’d rather believe in His all-knowing ways and constant presence than be floundering around with no real purpose or sense of peace about tomorrow.”

  A mystified expression washed over her face, and she looked thoughtful for a moment. Her burnished hair, held back loosely on each side with a silver barrette, fell across her delicate shoulders, and Will had a strong urge to reach across the table and examine its texture. To ward off the foolish temptation, he dropped his hands to his knees.

  “After my parents died, my sister mostly raised me, so she’s the one who kept me on the straight and narrow. And then came Frank, the finest Christian man I know.” Livvie paused. “You said that your relationship with your parents soured when you were young. So, who tutored you in the ways of the Lord?”

  Her question was fair, to be certain, but how to answer it without divulging too much information gave him pause. “Well, like I said, I’ve been going to church the past several months.” Starting with the prison chapel. “So, I suppose I learned a great deal from listening to the preacher.” And the chaplain at Welfare Island. “That, and reading my Bible.” And allowing Harry’s words to soak deep into my soul. “How’d your parents die?” he decided to ask. Instantly, he wished he’d had more tact, but Livvie didn’t seem to mind.