I climbed out of the car and walked toward the entrance. I stepped aside as a rather large group spilled out of the restaurant, laughing together. Wearing my jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap, I felt right at home with the locals. Jeans, flannel shirts and cowboy hats or beat up, sun-faded baseball caps with John Deere or Caterpillar logos were the typical attire around here. Stepping into the restaurant, I heard the gentle twang of a Garth Brooks melody playing softly over the loudspeakers. A pretty brunette standing at the hostess stand welcomed me.
"Good evening, sir," she said. "How many?"
She barely looked eighteen, fresh-faced, innocent, and wearing a big, friendly, and genuine smile. "Just me," I replied.
She glanced down at her ledger. "You have a reservation?"
I barely refrained a laugh. "Do I need one?" After all, this wasn’t New York City. I was out in the middle of the boondocks in the middle of Podunk.
"Well, if you don't mind waiting for a few minutes, I'm sure I'll be able to get you seated before too long."
"I don't mind," I said. She gestured toward a red vinyl covered, cushioned bench behind me.
"You can sit right there, sir, and I'll see what I can do."
I nodded and sat down, gazing around the decor of the old country style bar and grill. A myriad of wonderful scents assailed my nostrils, and my stomach grumbled even louder in response. The place was busy, though not boisterous. I noticed a variety of ages in the place, from young teenage couples to the elderly at the tables and booths, all seeming to be enjoying each other's company, good food, and the friendly atmosphere. I wondered what—
"I have a table in one of the corners where I can seat you, if you don't mind sitting close to the kitchen," the hostess said.
I glanced up and saw that she stood in front of me, though her gaze was focused on someone walking out the door. "Sure, that's fine," I said, standing. She waved to the customer who had just left, then gestured for me to follow, which I did. She wound her way among the tables toward a small table in one of the darker corners of the restaurant. I sat down as she smiled and handed me a menu.
"Can I get you started with anything to drink?" she asked.
"How about a glass of water and a Bud?”
"We've got Coors, is that okay?"
"Sure," I shrugged.
"Bottle or frosty mug?”
"Bottle's fine," I said. As she left I opened the menu and scanned. Quite a selection, considering. Everything from a burger to Cowboy steaks and fries, a few fish items, and some wild game. I decided what I wanted, and then nodded my thanks as a young hostess brought my beer and then returned to her station. I gazed idly around the interior of the restaurant but didn't pay much attention to anything going on around me, my thoughts focused on the little town of Stinnett, still roughly a half hour away. Stinnett was the county seat of Hutchinson County, with a population of approximately 2,500 souls. It'd been founded at the turn of the twentieth century by A.P. Borger. Stinnett had originally been a location desired as a right-of-way for the Rock Island Railroad, who at the time sought to construct a branch line that reached from Amarillo, Texas up into Kansas. The town was named after one of the railroad men who had been instructed to produce those rights. Story had it that in 1926, Stinnett had paid roughly forty-eight thousand dollars for the surface rights. Incorporated in 1928, the town had remained relatively small until a boom hit - not by the railroad, but by the discovery of oil in the region.
To this day however, Stinnett remained firmly quiet, nondescript, and highly religious, with a church on nearly every corner. Townspeople were mostly employed through the petroleum and natural gas industry, and many made the daily commute to Borger. At any rate, it was in Stinnett that my grandparents had arrived after traveling west from the coal towns of Pennsylvania. They had bought the ranch property just before the Depression hit. My dad, who had been born in 1932 on the ranch itself, had inherited the ranch upon their death. My dad had met my mom in the early 1950s in Amarillo, where her family was from, and a few years later they had gotten married and made their home on the Rocking S.
Where did all the time ago, I wondered. I lifted the bottle of beer to my lips and had just taken a healthy swig when I heard a startled gasp beside me.
"Donovan?"
I glanced up, my heart somersaulted, and I nearly choked on my beer. It took my brain a moment longer than my heart to recognize her at first. She had changed her hair color, but I'd never forget that face as long as I lived. Holy shit. "Memphis?"
Chapter 4
Memphis
The moment I saw Donovan all the old memories came flooding back. My heart leapt into my throat and my stomach actually felt like it did a somersault. Stunned, I took a step back. I had wondered if Donovan even knew about his dad, and his presence here answered that question. I guess I could say I was even a little surprised that he had decided to come back for the funeral, also explaining his presence. But why here? At the Chit Chat. Why now? What cruel joke was fate playing on me? What were the chances that Donovan and I would meet again at an out-of-the-way steakhouse in such a small town as Bolger after all these years?
Neither one of us said anything for several moments as my gaze passed swiftly over him. As handsome as ever with his black hair, chiseled features, and those eyes... those eyes that had always managed to draw me in and make me forget everything going on around me. He looked as fit as he had the day he left. No extra padding around the face, his shoulders just as broad, and from what I could see, as trim as ever.
"I... I can't believe you're here," I gasped. I stared at him with likely as much surprise and with the same expression with which he now stared at me. I could only imagine the thoughts running through his head. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, to tell him what I thought about his sudden return after his just as sudden departure, but at the same time also felt compassion for his loss. "I'm… I'm sorry about your dad," I said, stepping closer the table.
The activity continued around me, waitresses carrying round platters and trays loaded with plates, glasses and drinks, customers talking and laughing, busboys and waitresses appearing and disappearing through the swinging door into the kitchen just behind me. The clatter of glasses, the sound of plates being stacked, and the chef calling out that orders were ready and needed pick-up all faded to the back of my mind as I continued to stand there, dumb, staring at the man who was once the love of my life.
"Memphis," he said again. "You… you look great."
His gaze literally caressed my face, and then gave a quick glance over my uniform and down to my toes. I felt the resulting tingle everywhere his eyes paused. His gaze had never failed to elicit a thrill of excitement within me, making me zing in places he couldn't possibly see. I was somewhat startled to realize that he still had that power over me.
"You look good," he said again, obviously at a loss for words.
I stood there with my order pad in my hand, pen in the other poised to take his order, and all I could do was stare. To say this was awkward was the understatement of the year. "Thank you," I finally muttered. "I just got my hair colored and cut this morning at Dori's," I explained, although I couldn't figure out why. If I wasn't careful, I was going to start babbling.
"How is Dori?" he asked.
"She's fine," I replied, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Jerry, the manager, wasn't watching my ineptitude at serving the customer. "She owns the beauty shop now."
"Good for her," he nodded. "And you? How have you been, Memphis?"
What could I say to that? Fine? Or should I mention that I'd been living with a broken heart for the past eight years, unable to develop any sort of a meaningful relationship because every time I did, visions of Donovan's face, his laughter, and his touch came between me and every other man that I had met since? Did I tell him that I worked two or three jobs at a time just to keep the loneliness at bay? Did I tell him of the times I kept quiet when I listened to his mother talk about him, or the times I had
seen her with tears in her eyes because she missed her son?
"I've been fine," I finally shrugged.
"Memphis, I—"
"I need to take your order or I’m going to get into trouble. The manager here is quite a gruff bucket, so let's get you set and then we can go from there, okay?" He continued to stare at me for several moments, and then nodded, casting one glance back down at the menu, although the side of the menu he looked at was the drink list.
“I’ll take a turkey club on rye with fries,” he said.
He’d always ordered a turkey club when we went out to eat. I guess some things never changed. “We don’t have that.”
“Oh… then I'll take a burger and fries," he said, closing the menu.
I wrote his order on the ticket and then reached out my hand to take the menu. He folded it closed and then passed it to me, our fingers brushing. The contact sent a shiver through me, and my heart literally felt homesick for his touch. His hands were always warm, even in the middle of a snowy winter’s day. Unlike mine, which were always cold, along with my nose and my toes. He had always laughed about my cold fingers, teasing me with the old Amish expression, "Cold hands, warm heart."
"What time do you get off tonight?" he asked.
"Eight o'clock," I said. I said nothing about my intentions to go over to the ranch after I had finished work, and was now having second thoughts about that.
"How's my mom doing?"
I didn't reply, but gestured to the ticket in my hand. "I've got to get this ticket to the cook," she said. "I have a few other tables to take care of as well. Are you heading over to the ranch after you’ve finished?"
He nodded, although he seemed none too pleased. "Will I see you there?"
I shrugged. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to go to the ranch after my shift after all. Making funeral and burial arrangements was a family matter, and I wasn't family. "I don't know," I said honestly. I sighed, caught the eye of another waitress, who made eyes at me and then looked pointedly over my shoulder. I glanced around and saw the manager watching me. "I have to go," I said. "It's nice to see you again, Donovan." With that, I turned and walked away.
I pushed through the door into the kitchen area, and then stepped quickly to the side, in front of the stainless steel cabinets holding the dishware. Heart pounding, my knees feeling wobbly, I sagged against the cabinets, amazed at the tremors in my hands. I couldn't believe it. Donovan was here.
"You okay, Memphis?"
The voice breaking into my thoughts belonged to Gina, one of the other waitresses at the Chit Chat. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked over from the drink station, gazing at me with a look of concern.
"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," she commented, eyebrows raised.
"I think I just did," I sighed. "Donovan’s here. He's sitting at one of my tables."
Her eyes widened. I wasn't surprised. Gina had also gone to high school with me, and she knew all about Donovan… well, not everything, but she had known that we dated, were close, and because everyone at school had thought we were going to eventually be engaged and married, was just as surprised as everyone else when he abruptly left town and disappeared.
"You want me to take his table for you?" she asked. "That's got to be awkward."
"That's the understatement of the year," I said. "I've never been so shocked in my life! I didn't even recognize him at first because he was looking down at the menu. As I approached his table, I had to do a double take. I couldn't quite believe it was him." I straightened. "I was wondering if he somehow learned about his dad’s passing. I knew if he did though, he’d come back for the funeral."
Gina nodded. "Yeah, I heard about Mister Sanderson," she said with sincerity. "Yesterday. I'm really sorry."
Gina knew that I often worked at the Sanderson Ranch. "He lived a good life," I said. "And to be quite honest, if it's your time to go, I guess going quickly is the best way. I'm glad he didn't have a stroke or end up with dementia or something where he would have lingered on. That would've been torture for him… and everyone."
"What are you going to do?"
"Do?" I asked, confused.
"About Donovan," she said.
I shrugged. "I'm going to take him his order when it's ready, and then I'm going to finish my shift," I said simply.
"And…?"
I frowned. "And nothing. Donovan made his choice when he left here all those years ago. His reappearance doesn't mean a thing to me. I'm sure that when the funeral is over, he'll go off to wherever he lives and we’ll never see him again. Story over."
Gina gave me a knowing smirk and then headed back into the dining room. She knew I had been lying, just as I had known. What was I going to do? What was there to do? I had spoken the truth. Donovan had made his decision all those years ago. For all I knew he had a wife, kids, and who knew what else. He was not a part of my life anymore, and his reappearance in town didn't mean a thing to me. Or did it?
By the time Donovan's order was ready, I had succeeded in collecting myself. I took his plate to his table, where he sat quietly contemplating a spot on the table in front of him. In his hand he twisted the beer bottle around and around on the tabletop, his mind obviously occupied by thoughts I could not even begin to imagine. He didn't even see me approach, and I cleared my throat just before I placed the plate down in front of him. He glanced up at me, startled.
"Oh… thank you," he said. "Memphis, I—"
"You'd better eat before that gets cold," I suggested. I lingered for another moment, literally drinking in the sight of him with my eyes, wishing things had been different between us. We had made a good couple. To my dismay, I felt a flood of tears in my eyes and quickly blinked them back. The lump in my throat grew in size and before I ended up bursting into tears in front of him, totally humiliating myself, I turned and left his table. It took everything I had not to throw my arms around him and hug the living daylights out of him. Yes, I was incredibly angry, but at the same time, I wanted things to be the way they used to be. I wanted to feel his arms around me. I wanted to feel his strength, his support, and to share my grief over Frank's death with him.
Still, like I told Gina, Donovan had made his decisions. He had chosen his new life over me, and I no longer had a place in his life. He probably didn't even love me anymore, which I had to accept. I wasn't going to make a fool of myself and throw myself on him, but it took just about everything I had to swallow my feelings, harden my heart, and walk away from him.
Chapter 5
Donovan
I sat in the front pew between my mother and end of the bench while my sisters sat on the other side of her. They had left room for Cameron and Shane, who had taken their place as pallbearers. Shortly after the family had seated themselves in the pew, the coffin was carried in by several of my dad's closest friends, as well as Shane and Cameron. I knew the fact that I was not a casket bearer would automatically provide ample fodder for the congregation as well as the community, but, having only arrived at the house late last night to discover that funeral arrangements had already been taken care of, I couldn't very well insist on anything.
At the moment, the pastor of St. Luke's Lutheran Church extolled the grace of God on the faithful departed. The funeral service was attended by so many of my dad’s friends within the community that it was standing room only. As I entered with my mother, my siblings behind me, the low buzz of conversation within the sanctuary had abruptly grown silent. I could imagine what they were all thinking. The prodigal son returns. The son who abandoned his family. They were right.
"I am the resurrection and the life," the pastor intoned. "Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die." After the pastor finished speaking, I knew that attributes and eulogies for my dad would be offered by members of the family as well as dad’s friends. I had not been asked to speak. Deep in my chest, I felt the pain of that, but what did I expect? I hadn’t rode in
to town wearing a white hat to save the day. I had come too late. Too late to make amends, to save the day, to help, to do anything except upset an already upset and distraught family.
The casket sat at the front of the church just before the steps that lead up to the altar and the railing where the congregation took their communion. It was a nice casket, golden oak and varnished to a fine sheen. It was an open casket service, but I had focused on not allowing my gaze to look upon the reposing face of my father. I wasn't ready for that just yet. Beside me, my mother sat still and silent, her fingers worrying a dainty white cloth handkerchief into a ball, then unfolding it, and then crunching it into a ball again. On the other side of my mother sat my sister Tammy, then Julie. Shane and Cameron took their places beside them.
Around the casket stood several flower bouquets, most of them wildflowers, with one or two of them graced with a sunflower, my dad's favorite. I heard a stifled and choked sob nearby and realized it was Julie. I wished that I could reach over and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Unfortunately, I knew such a gesture would be unwelcome.
I had arrived home at the ranch the previous evening at around nine o'clock. Shane had answered the door, stared at me a moment, and then nodded, stepping back to allow me entrance. After a moment's hesitation, he had reached forward and given me a brief hug. I stepped into the ranch house, a flood of memories assailing my senses. It smelled just like it always had - of wood, the scent of whatever my mom had baked or cooked last in the kitchen, and the lingering aroma of the Pine-Sol that she used to clean the floors on her weekly cleaning sprees. The smells had been comforting, eliciting in me a wash of emotion that I hadn't felt in a long time. I frowned, wondering if that emotion could possibly have been one of homesickness.
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