Mammoth Secrets

by Ashley Elizabeth Ludwig

  “I’m done waiting for you to figure this out.” He dragged her to stand. Hands clamped on her shoulders, he stared into her eyes as if he could peer into her soul. “I’m the one you call when you’re scared. I know what makes you laugh. When you need something, I’m there every time. Not them. But I’m not gonna wait forever.”

  “Luke, I just can’t—”

  “I get it. You can for everybody else, but not for me.” He nodded, hand scrubbing his scalp. “I’m not a drinking man, Eden. But, heaven help me—you might just drive me to it.” He backed away, the white plastic chair toppling. She reached for his forearm, but Luke’s outstretched palms stopped her advance. “Don’t count on my being there when you wake up from dreamland.” He crossed over to the line waiting to get into the beer garden and showed his ID. He paused to scan the crowd, then waved and strode over to a group of EMTs sipping from pilsner glasses. He accepted a drink and settled. Back to her, he drained his glass until it was empty like her heart.

  21

  Lilah followed Jake’s long steps up the grassy hill toward the park, opposite from where they’d parked. “I thought we were leaving.”

  “Gotta check the tents. Make sure things are ready for tomorrow.”

  She followed him at a jog.

  In the shadows, Raymond strummed a guitar from a rocky perch.

  “Hey, guys.” Jake smiled. “How was band practice?”

  Raymond slid the guitar he was holding around to his back. “I finished learning those songs you brought, with Ted’s help, here.” Ray gestured and Ted offered a wave. “He knew a couple of them. Progressive, man.” Ray cleared his throat. “You think the church’s ready for a real worship service?”

  “We need it.” Jake’s voice dropped to the serious, pastor tone. His gaze darted to the hill, then back to Lilah. “Coming?”

  “You go on, Jake. I’ll be there in a minute.” She shooed him on, turned to Ray. “Having fun?”

  “Hey, Lilah. Thought you were Eden for a second.” He introduced his new bass guitarist.

  “What’re you all planning?” Lilah asked.

  “Revival. It’s gonna rock.” He and Ted’s high five sounded with a smack.

  “Maybe you should take breakfast rush off tomorrow—if you’ll be up late practicing.”

  Raymond’s cellphone washed blue as his ring tone mimicked a guitar. His face illuminated with the text message, then went dark again. “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Jake disappeared into the Revival tent’s shadow.

  “I’ve gotta go help. You two stay out of trouble.”

  “No worries.” Raymond turned back to Ted. “Just think where we could take this, a worship band!”

  Creativity in action—two friends sitting together under the stars, thinking up worship songs. Lilah couldn’t stop thinking about them as she trudged after Jake. Young men, poised to take over the world, but with a purpose. She’d never had a purpose—just floated where the breeze had blown her. To California, as far west as one could get without getting feet wet.

  Just as her mother tried and failed to do an age ago. Rebecca Dale never even made it beyond the city limits. Maybe she was the blessed one. No pieces left to pick up. No sins to repent. Forever young in everyone’s mind, especially her father’s.

  Lilah drifted to the white peaks on the hilltop. Twin tents backed by the schoolhouse overlooked the carnival; folding chairs awaited the crowds, the stage was set for the Revival.

  “Think Ray and his band can really do this?” she wondered aloud, her focus trained on the drum kit gleaming in the moonlight, the microphones, the amplifiers hooked in and ready to go.

  “They’re good.” Jake surveyed the room. “I heard them yesterday and his voice blew me away.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard him sing in the kitchen. But…”

  “You really don’t get it yet.” Jake pulled her up on the stage. “Do you?”

  “Not sure what you mean.”

  “I’ve been doing some research on this place.” He checked the distances, walking the stage between a set of natural looking branches in containers flanking the podium.

  The ladies’ guild had made simple arrangements of young oaks and lilies. Not enough money in the budget for a huge floral display, just what they could grow and gather.

  “Mammoth.” He quirked a smile, dropped to dangle his feet off the edge of the stage. “Even the name and the town that grew up here are at odds with each other.”

  “Ironic.”

  Jake patted a spot. She sat, cupped her hands in his while he spoke. “We’re bringing hope where there’s none. We’re waking up souls who’ve slept for too long. This is a revival of sorts, in its purest form. Just us, here, now…” His thumb traced the lines of her palm. “…as friends, or something more?”

  Lilah swallowed, his voice sounded so earnest. “More.”

  Hallowed, this place on the hilltop, the sounds of the tilt-a-whirl whooshing, and clanging bells and bright lights below. She inhaled his scent, something inherently Jake, being near him warmed her heart, her spirit, as never before. Silence stretched, as she fought to fill the void, as a good pastor’s sort-of girlfriend should.

  “If you need to practice, I’ll listen.” She watched more than listened, gaze trained on his mouth, his lips, as he preached to her audience of one. Almost more important than what he said was the way spoke. The determination. The passion. The depth of his dedication. The well of his belief.

  So, is this what it means to fall in love with a preacher? Her heart fluttered with the question. A surge of guilt worked up as they sat in the newly ordained space. She had no right to feel this way for him, not in church. Not anywhere. An icicle pierced her heart. “What if no one comes, Jake?”

  He said nothing, grabbed her hand, and joined her in staring at rows of empty folding chairs. A wave of sadness simmered through her soul. She’d finally found someone who understood when words would only make matters worse.

  22

  Lilah paced the diner before it opened, swiping tables. It was the right thing to do. Raymond would be up late for three nights in a row. Until yesterday, she hadn’t fully admitted it. This wasn’t his life, after all. This was a weigh station—a stopping off point. Ray had hopes and dreams, and she…she had this.

  Leaning back, she poured a steaming mug and added a white waterfall of cream. Her spoon created a muddy whirlpool. Happy birthday to me, she blew it cool, sipped.

  Birthdays were rarely celebrated in the Dale house. One anniversary marked another. Her mother’s death…so young, so tragic. But, every time someone mentioned mothers, Nana came to mind. Not the ghost of Rebecca—her birth mother, pregnant at eighteen, who chose something other than the straight and narrow path and died because of it. Because of them.

  Lilah slammed a hand against the light switch and the main room illuminated, declaring the “Open” sign. She set to filling dispensers with equal numbers of white, yellow, and blue packets as she waited for the morning rush to begin.

  What made a mother, after all? It was so much more than biology, it had to be. Mothers could wither with a stare and spear your soul back to the right path or comfort your aches with a lingering embrace. Someone with whom you could share anything and not be judged, in fact, be loved in spite of it.

  She curled her hand around her mug, doctored her second pour, and then sipped the bitter brew.

  Since Lilah had returned home, she and Nana could barely be in the same room. They’d been at odds so long, they might go on this way for years before either one of them mentioned their stalemate.

  The door chimed, and Nana ushered Papaw to his regular seat. “Morning, Lilah. Ray didn’t open today?”

  “Told him to sleep in,” Lilah said. “His band’s playing tonight.”

  “At the carnival?” Nana’s nostrils flared distaste.

  “Nope. The Revival.”

  Nana’s gaze shot heavenward. For a moment, it wasn’t clear whether she w
as holding up Papaw or vice versa.

  Papaw fiddled with his glasses case, eyeglasses still perched on his nose. “Morning, Rebecca!” he waved, his blue eyes bright.

  “It’s me, Lilah, Papaw.” She covered his hand with hers, squeezed. “I’ll get your coffee.”

  “Fry up that bacon. We’ve got the hatchery crew meeting at ten.”

  “Hatchery crew?” Lilah lifted a questioning brow at Nana. “That’s a new one.”

  “Earl. Think. The hatchery hasn’t met here in over thirty years.” Nana shook out her white curls. “Been a long morning already, and it’s not even seven.” She sighed. “You sure you can handle him and the breakfast rush?”

  Lilah patted her shoulder. “I can manage. Eden’ll be down in an hour.” She walked Nana to the door, hesitated a moment, then wrapped arms around her grandmother’s slender, brittle frame. Squeeze too hard and the little woman might just break in two. “I love you, Nana.”

  “Where’d that come from?” Nana’s quizzical look blended with something akin to nervousness. “You’re not going away again, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Nana’s brow relaxed with her curt nod. “See you by ten. Busy night tonight. Better hit the pharmacy for some earplugs if Ray’s band’s playing.”

  Would her grandmother ever be comfortable with her again? Leaving town without saying goodbye had dug a canyon wider than Grand Gulf between them, when once they’d been thick as thieves.

  “Rebecca!” Earl called. “You’re burning the home fries.”

  “I’m getting them, Papaw.” Lilah unrolled the Gazette, set it in front of him and walked to the back.

  Standing in front of the cooler, she eyed the contents. Smoked salmon. Leeks. Cream cheese. Feathery green of fresh dill. A crate of farm fresh eggs. She pieced today’s special ingredients together, though the real hope of her heart filled her thoughts. Jake was probably still asleep. She hoped he was coming to the diner.

  The front door jangled. Two rumpled-looking young men entered. Maybe carnival folk, but not likely by the close-cropped hair and muscular builds. Military. Must be passing through on their way up north.

  “Good morning,” Lilah called through the window. “Have a seat anywhere. I’ll be right with you.”

  “I got them, Rebecca.” Papaw pushed back from his seat, ambled over to the coffee pot.

  Lilah blinked, looked to the men at the side booth, staring at menus, and Papaw approaching with two coffee mugs.

  “Morning, boys.” His stubbled chin reflected the morning sun. “Coffee?”

  They both mumbled thanks as he poured them each a cup without spilling a drop.

  “My daughter’ll be out with the cream. No getting any ideas. She’s this year’s Queen of the Reunion Carnival.” He shuffled back to his spot, then reached behind the bar for a cup of his own and settled down to read the sports section.

  Lilah was entranced as she rounded the corner to sketch out the day’s special. “Morning, Papaw.”

  “Hey, sweetie.” He kissed her cheek, his whiskers scratching. “Gotta get crackin’. Gonna be a busy day when the carnies get here.”

  “You want the carnival people here?” Lilah palmed the counter with both hands.

  “Every year they bring us some of our best receipts, save for the hatchery meetings, a’course.” He shook his head. “Your Nana thinks they’re riffraff, but someone’s gotta feed them. Gotta show them God’s good grace and welcome. If not us, who?”

  Lilah finished “Smoked Salmon Omelet” in her flourishing script and propped the sign against the wall. “If not us, who,” she repeated. “Hey, what year is it, anyway?”

  “What’re you? Soft in the head?” He chuckled. “Nineteen-eighty-seven.”

  The year before she was born.

  “And Rebecca?”

  “Carnival queen, light of my life, apple of my eye.” His pride welled with the straightening of his spine. “Can’t believe that little girl’s seventeen. Where do the years go?” His voice trailed, his focus fixed in the middle distance. Then the light behind his watery gaze slowly, steadily extinguished and replaced with something else. A waterfall of fear overtook him in rapid blinks. His lip quivered as he turned, saw her for who she really was. “Lilah?”

  “I’m here, Papaw.” She pushed around the bar and took his hands, gave them a strong rub. His fingers were ice cold.

  “Something’s not right.” He could have been a little boy in trouble, the tone in his voice, the way he twisted to face her. “I was doing something...and now...”

  “I’ll go call Nana.”

  “No.” He inhaled, deep. “Get Mr. Hackleberry.”

  “The pharmacist?” Lilah gaped. “You need to go to West Plains. To the doctor.”

  “You mind your papaw, now.” He wrapped shaking hands around the mug. He seemed steady again. “Now, get him.”

  Lilah untied her apron strings and headed for the door. She hesitated a moment by the soldiers. “I’ll get your orders in just a sec. Don’t let him cook anything.”

  The blond-headed one’s jaw jogged, but he nodded.

  Imagine doing such a thing in Los Angeles. What person even knew their pharmacist’s name, let alone dragged one out or left a shop in care of the customers?

  “How long’s he been like this?” Mr. Hackleberry held the door as they pushed through and hustled back across the street to the diner.

  “A few minutes.” Lilah went dry mouthed as the door jangled. “Papaw slipped out of one of his memories and got, well...scared.”

  Mr. Hackleberry settled down beside Papaw. “I’ll have a coffee, if you don’t mind, Lilah?”

  She nodded.

  “Hey, Earl.” He clapped the frail man on the shoulder, his hand remained, subtle, reassuring. “Special looks, uh, interesting.”

  “Lilah?” Papaw looked up, concerned. “See to the customers. I’m all right. Ron owes me a checker game.”

  The man her grandfather trusted more than the local doctor nodded. “I think checkers might be just the thing. Come on, Earl.” At the door, Mr. Hackleberry hesitated. “I’ll call his doctor. Give us about an hour?”

  Blond-crew-cut waved her over.

  Lilah plastered a pleasant look on. Too bad Eden wasn’t here. She’d eat this up. “What’ll it be?” she breathed. “Sorry about all that, by the way.”

  “Eden?” The tall, blond man’s forehead furrowed in obvious confusion.

  “No.” Fighting the eye roll, she found her smile. “Lilah. I’m her sister. She’ll be in at ten.”

  He glared at his friend. “Told you.”

  “Twins?” The dark-haired, dark-eyed man set the menu back in its chrome holder.

  “That’s right.” Lilah cleared her throat. “Special today’s smoked salmon omelet, with string potatoes, home fries, or fresh fruit.”

  “There’s your solution.” His heavy brows lifted. “One for each of us.”

  “Excuse me?” Alarms jangling, her pencil scratch stopped. “You are talking about the special, right?”

  “Both sound awful good.” Dark-haired guy wore a shark’s leer. “But I’ll have steak and eggs. Easy.”

  “Sausage biscuit and gravy for me.” The other shrugged. “Uh, my platoon commander, Eli here, and I’ve got a mutual—um—interest in your sister.”

  “You. Both of you...” Lilah fought the sick laugh in her throat. “You’re Eden’s soldiers.”

  They nodded in unison.

  “This ought to be interesting.” She unfolded a fresh page. “I’ll get your meals started and call her.” Phone on her shoulder, Lilah cracked the sunny-side-up eggs, got the rib eye sizzling, and informed Eden of her problem.

  Eden’s shriek and refusal to come down ended with a phone slammed in her ear. You reap what you sow, kid.

  The ambulance pulled into the front spot outside. Luke and his partner pushed the door open and sat at their regular table. “Morning, Lilah.” Luke waved, a sheepish look on his face, eyes shad
owed from lack of sleep, face sallow, as if he’d had a few too many the night before. “Eden coming in today?”

  “Ten.”

  He sighed, ordered up his usual, as did his partner.

  Lilah kept busy as the morning rush filtered in.

  Eden had a whole crop full of trouble scarfing down breakfast at the diner.

  23

  The back door to the diner didn’t budge. Biting her lip, Eden raised a fist and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

  It creaked open. Eyes wild, obviously frazzled, Raymond scooped her into his arms. “Eden! I thought you’d never get here. It’s like a dance off out there.”

  “Lilah can handle it.” She grabbed an apron off the stack. “I’m not serving today. I’ll stay in the back.”

  “You’re gonna cook?” He snorted.

  “I can cook.”

  “Yeah. And I can knit.” Raymond snickered. “Just not well.”

  “Very funny.” Eden breathed a sigh. “So, they’re both here?”

  “Luke, too.”

  “Oh, Lord, have mercy.” She rolled her eyes, held her breath in silent prayer. “This must be that sense of humor thing they always talk about.”

  “Oh, it’s anything but funny, I’m afraid.” Raymond let her through. “Your grandmother’s at the hair salon. Lilah just set after your papaw. Had a spell this morning.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it.” She ripped the pad out of his hand and charged off. She hesitated, catching sight of her reflection in the pie case Plexiglas. Of all the days not to touch-up her makeup or hair on the way out of the house!

  The men sat still as two statues, staring at her. Across the room, Luke sipped coffee in front of a scraped-clean plate. She bustled over, took up the dishes, slanted a smile, and leaned forward, arm around his shoulder. “You get on to work now, y’hear?”

  “I wanted to see you.” He swallowed. His off-shade revealed a hangover and his breath reeked. “I need to apologize.”

  “I don’t need apologies. We had a misunderstanding.” She tried to keep it light, sensing whispering at her back. She did her best to maintain focus on Luke’s plight while her world crumbled at her back. “We’re still friends. Now go away.”