The Great Appalachian Cafe Heist

by Tara Gabor

  “Wow. I feel,” David began, “better.” Tension drained from his neck and shoulders. He looked out over the mountains, appreciating their beauty for the first time in a long time.

  “I knew you would.”

  David and Guy spent much of the next day smoking joints, philosophizing, and holding forth on the ills of the world. David liked being stoned. His worries no longer consumed him. The sharp lines of the world blurred into soft contours. He felt light-hearted and enjoyed hearing birds call in the morning, even if it was his brother’s old rooster. His thoughts turned towards Elizabeth and, oh, how he missed her.

  “I miss my Elizabeth.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Guy said smoking the last bit of a roach.

  “I miss my family.”

  “Yep.”

  Jean called from the porch asking the men to come in; dinner was nearly ready.

  Guy swept by his mother, squeezing her waist and brushing a kiss on her cheek. She patted her son’s shoulder as he went through the screen door, but she beckoned for David to wait a moment.

  “You’re welcome to use the telephone in the living room, David. No one is in there now. You can call Elizabeth and talk in private.” She didn’t tell him Elizabeth had called once a day to ask after her husband. In every call Jean assured the other woman that David was well, physically at least. The sister-in-laws agreed to give David some space to think through his worries.

  “Don’t think me a nag, David, I just care about you and Elizabeth so much I cannot keep still no longer. You shouldn’t be apart like this.”

  “Like I don’t know it,” he mumbled. “Okay, I’ll call, then.”

  As Jean had advertised, the living room was empty, though the close proximity of the rest of the house made privacy more of a wishful thought than reality. David could hear the dishes Jean moved to the table and the sizzle of her fry pan. He moved as far as the phone cord allowed and spoke softly into the mouthpiece, mindful the phone Elizabeth used was a party line.

  “I’m fine, honey. I miss you, too. I’ve had a nice visit. Yes, everyone’s fine. I will. Yes, Yes, I promise. I love you, bye.”

  David lowered his eyes and kept them on his shoes as he walked into the kitchen, taking a chair at the table. Jacob led the grace, thanking God for the food before them and the health of his family. Jean began passing plates of ham and fresh cooked green beans. An oval plate held thick slices of homemade bread baked that morning. The words of Jacob’s prayer touched David.

  “Thank you,” he told Jean as he accepted the bowl of beans. “Wonderful meal.”

  Jean blushed and accepted the compliment with a smile. Several minutes passed before David sensed the tension around the table.

  “Try some of that bread with butter, David,” Jacob said, sounding formal.

  “Oh, I will.” David looked at his brother, but Jacob bent his head at his dinner plate, giving the impression he was concentrating on eating. His fork didn’t move from the plate. Jacob merely moved the utensil, teasing a bit of ham only to abandon it, scoop a bean, then move the bean to the ham, never delivering any of it to his mouth.

  David cut his eyes to Guy. Guy met the look with raised eyebrows. He swallowed a mouthful of food and reached for the bread.

  “Delicious, Mom.”

  “How is Elizabeth?” Jean asked.

  “She’s great. She told me to say she’s been thinking of you. I’ll be heading back home tomorrow. She’ll be expecting me.”

  His announcement seemed to relax the mood.

  “We have enjoyed having you,” Jacob said. “We don’t get to visit very often.”

  “Tomorrow should be a nice day to travel,” Jean said. “You’ll call us when you get home safely.”

  Jean finished dinner with a peach cobbler topped with fresh whipped cream. Guy ate a small portion and left the table.

  “Off to bed. Errands to do tomorrow,” he said. He looked at David and his mother, but avoided eye contact with his father.

  Jacob is angry about the marijuana. David understood. He would be angry with his sons for bringing something illegal into their home, even if it turned out to be something useful.

  “Good night, Guy,” David said. Over coffee, David asked general questions about the farm and mutual friends, avoiding any mention of Guy for fear he might slip up and admit to smoking the funny cigarettes, too.

  David and Jacob cleared the table while Jean washed dishes. Jacob said good night and retired to the couple’s bedroom. David, who slept on the daybed in the living room, stayed to dry, handing plates to Jean to put in cabinets.

  “Jacob loves Guy so much,” she said in a confidential tone not meant to be overheard. “It hurts to see him disappointed in his own son.”

  “That will pass. Guy’s a good kid. He’ll get his bearings soon enough and grow out of this stage.” David thought they were both referring to illegal herbal usage.

  Jean nodded, a shadow of a smile finding her lips. A few minutes later, the kitchen was put to rights, and David wished Jean a good night.

  “Pleasant dreams,” he offered.

  “You, too.”

  Chapter 4

  Guy leaned against the bedroom door listening. He pressed his ear against the wood trying to determine if his uncle was fully asleep in the living room. Guy needed to get out of the house without arousing anyone. His parents were in their room, and Uncle Dave on the couch. Guy heard breathing, rhythmic, slow, like a sleeper, but he waited to be sure.

  Guy liked singing protest songs against the conflict in Vietnam, belting out lyrics as if he believed in the cause. College kids came to listen to them, clapping and singing along, buying the band drinks and sharing dope. Guy would not have come home if Cade, the drummer, had not left town in a hurry because the rabbit died and the girl’s brother was an officer with the Lexington police department. The band tried to continue to play without a drummer, but the response was not positive, and the band had fractured, everyone going back to day jobs.

  Guy pawned his guitars for bus fare home: home, where he could find solace, encouragement, a place to write songs. His mother sympathized, but his father would never understand. Guy was an artist, a songwriter, a poet at heart. He only needed a drummer, and the band could be famous.

  All his father cared about was forcing Guy to register with the selective service.

  “It’s the law,” his father intoned over and over, as if the law understood music and art.

  Stupid draft board! Stupid Vietnam! Stupid parental units!

  He’d show ‘em. He’d be as big as Dillon one day. He just needed a chance. But his father wasn’t about to give him one, oh no sir.

  He wants me to be just like him, working some 9 to 5 bourgeois job, counting pennies, counting blessings, as if there wasn’t more to my life. I’ve gotta get out of this place.

  Easing the door open, Guy stuck his ear into the larger room. His uncle snored softly, barely a snore really, but definitely a sleeping sound.

  Guy opened the door a bit wider and eased through it, taking time to ease the door shut. His father would be gone to work hours before his mother would attempt to wake him, and he would be long gone. Steady, Guy let his eyes make out shadows among the shadows, marking the wall between the kitchen and living room. He walked slowly into the kitchen, pausing at the kitchen table. Using his hands to help find the way to the back wall, he walked his hands along the tabletop, his feet a pace behind, until he reached the edge of the table. The jar was at the top, at least that’s where it should be, it always was, and why would his parents ever change anything? Guy reached up and felt around until his hands made purchase on the rounded jar where his mother kept the “egg money”, her personal spending money. He raised both arms in order to wrap his hands around the jar and safely lower it to himself. Now, he cradled the jar in his left arm and twisted the jar’s top off with his right. He lowered the lid to the table and reached inside the jar, feeling the loose bills.

  Damn, they better not
all be ones.

  Guy wrapped his hand around the bills and stuffed them into the front pocket of his jeans. He felt around the jar again. He had left a few bills. That would never do, and he scooped those as well, adding to the mass of paper in his pocket. He would count them after he was out of his parent’s home. His breathing sounded loud in the darkness, even his uncle’s snoring sounded subdued compared to his own. He felt for the jar’s top, slid it back in place, and used both hands to lift the jar to its usual place without risking any noise.

  Guy slowly turned back the way he had walked, touching the table top with his hand. The small home had no entrance hall. The table was on one side of the room, the kitchen on the other, the front door straight down the aisle in the middle. Guy found the aisle, turned towards the door, seeing starlight through the small window in the door.

  He was at the door, his hand on the knob, when the kitchen light blinked on.

  “Taking the coward’s way out?”

  His father. Guy did not need to turn and look. He would recognize the voice and the grating unexcitable tone, the voice of pedestrian reason and parental ambitions.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand. I understand plenty. You don’t have a job. You don’t go to school. You won’t do the right thing. What don’t I understand?”

  “Me! You don’t understand me. I’m an artist, not a soldier.”

  Uncle David stirred, the fluorescent light and the voices disturbing his rest.

  “The notice is right here,” Jacob pointed to the table. “You are in violation of the law. Don’t you understand how this can hurt your future?”

  Guy smirked. He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell his father he knew why his father was so determined Guy register for the draft, that he get drafted, that he go to Vietnam and never come back. He might have said those things, but Uncle David unwittingly intervened.

  “Wha? What’s going on?” David murmured, sitting up on the couch. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Jacob? Where are you? Is something wrong?” Jean’s voice called out muffled with sleep. She wrapped a flannel robe around her nightgown, tying the belt as she left the bedroom. Before she could round the corner to the kitchen, Guy reached the door handle. He shook his head, breathing deeply through his nose, his nostrils splaying.

  “I’m not dying in Vietnam for you.” He yanked the door open. He took the porch stairs in one leap and headed into the woods guided only by the night sky.

  Chapter 5

  David thanked Jean, again, for her fine cooking. He couldn’t stop thanking her. Jacob had left for the post office, and Jean had poured David a thermos of coffee for his trip home. She insisted on making ham and cheese sandwiches for his walk, as well.

  “Guy will be okay,” he said, not sure if it was true, but not willing to speak of negative outcomes with the boy’s mother.

  “He’s so artistic, ya know? He plays guitar and sings, but he writes lyrics, too, and music, even though he’s never studied a note.”

  David didn’t know what to say so the pause lingered.

  “Except in choir. He used to go to church with us and he sang in the choir. So he does have training that way.”

  “Yes, that’s good training. Didn’t Elvis Presley get his start in a church choir?”

  “Yes, why yes, David, so true.” Jean nodded, concentrating on the sandwiches, making sure the mayonnaise reached the edges of the bread.

  “Tell Jacob I appreciate everything.” David accepted the paper bag with the sandwiches and looked directly at Jean. He understood caring about your family.

  “Godspeed, then,” Jean said, kissing his cheek.

  “Yeah.” David could not wait to be on his way. Jean’s eyes were sad, and David didn’t want to see her cry.

  The day was pretty, warm in the sunshine, and there was lots of sunshine, birds calling, mostly cardinals, but mourning doves cooed, and David thought he heard a warbler. He walked out of the yard, letting the bird calls lift his spirit and send him homeward. He would leave Guy and his family problems at the kitchen door at his back. The boy was a man now, and what could one man make another man do if he was hard set against it?

  David watched his footing through the woods, but slowed his walk so he could enjoy his surroundings. When he was a boy, he and his father would fish and hunt. David loved the outdoors, learning to identify trees, shrubs, even flowers, and birds by sight and their calls. During the mining years, he had made a point of spending as much of his off time out of doors as he could. He had initiated many a family outing. He helped Elizabeth pack picnic lunches, and there were plenty of father-son hunting and fishing trips, too. When had he stopped noticing the colors and sounds? This was precisely why his family had moved to the mountains, to avoid the crowding, crime, and cement of the cities. He breathed in deeply and allowed himself a few moments to search for salamanders. He delighted in finding two green salamanders frolicking among a small pile of decaying leaves and an Eastern Hellbender under a large rock. He wanted to spend the entire day chasing salamanders, but Elizabeth was expecting him home soon. He could share these details with her when he got there. That idea spurred him to finish the trip quickly.

  He made good time, resting in the shade every mile or so. He sipped from the thermos of coffee Jean sent with him and unwrapped one of the sandwiches. Putting his brother and sister-in-law out of his mind was not so easy as meaning to do it. Maybe he would talk to Elizabeth about it tonight, when the two were alone. She would point out how lucky they were that their sons were hard-working and had steady jobs. He would have to keep his cool when the topic of Elizabeth working outside of their home came up.

  Mid-afternoon, David put his jacket back on, the air cooling, but not cold. At the top of the rise leading to his property he waved at the house, not expecting a reply, but he saw Elizabeth descending the porch steps, coming to meet him. He felt giddy and quickened his steps. They met, arms opened. They wrapped their arms around each other and hugged for a long moment.

  “It is good to have you home.” Elizabeth held her husband’s hand as they made their way to the house.

  “Can’t believe you saw me from up there,” David said, smiling.

  “I was expecting you and it’s such a pretty day, I decided to sit on the porch and knit a bit. After Guy arrived, the boys pretty much took over the kitchen table anyway.”

  David braced himself. There was a lot of information in that sentence, and he wasn’t sure where to begin.

  “The boys are home early, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they are, and Guy’s visit is unexpected. If he wanted to come, why didn’t the two of you come down together?”

  “He left before I did.” David felt his stomach lurch. There was a knot forming, telling him bad news was on the way.

  He let Elizabeth guide him into the house. Their house was slightly larger than his brother’s, and there was a small entryway before the kitchen with a place for coat hangars and a narrow shelf for mail. An envelope from the bank that held their mortgage rested on the shelf. David’s hand hovered above the envelope, his eyes taking in the return address. He pulled his hand back without the mail. The mortgage was overdue. He didn’t need to open the letter to find that out.

  The dining room was next to the kitchen through an arched doorway.

  David’s two sons and their cousin were playing cards at the table. Glasses of coca-cola and a bowl of chips were in reach of each of them. They put their cards down when David entered the room.

  “Hi, Dad!” James called out first, always the loving, open one, so idealistic and optimistic. Optimism was a luxury David felt disinclined to purchase, the few moments of lightheartedness on his walk today the closest to happiness he was ever going to find. He felt a heaviness in his bones. He looked at each man, James, then Jed, finally Guy, though they didn’t give anything away.

  “Sit down, David! I’ll fetch you a coca-cola and a sandwich. You must be tired and hungry,” Eliz
abeth said from behind him.

  “Jean made me sandwiches.”

  “Alright, a cookie then. I’m fixin’ to get them from the oven.” Elizabeth turned, reaching for ice from the freezer and a glass from the clean side of the sink.

  David sank into a chair opposite Guy, folding his hands in front of him, waiting.

  The news came piecemeal. Lynwood Jasper’s wife was ill and needed special attention at a hospital.

  “So Lynn closed the shop early,” Jed explained.

  David asked several questions before the picture became entirely and painfully clear.

  “He’s gonna reopen soon. He’ll call us as soon as he knows when,” James said, sounding as if the bluebird of happiness was delivering the publisher’s sweepstakes to their door in the morning instead of suddenly being out of work indefinitely.

  The boys munched on warm peanut butter cookies washed down with gulps of coca-cola. Aside from clarifying questions, David remained silent. The three younger men had a lot to say. David heard the words, recognized the voices, only half listening, feeling his stomach tighten around a mass of stress, the back of his head pulsing, but he gathered they were planning a hunting trip and something about earning money from rabbit pelts.

  “I know a houseful of women up Flatsburg way. They’ll pay for the pelts. They make belts and hats out of ‘em. Then they add some to the price and sell them at the store or the air market,” Guy said.

  The boy was a salesman, David thought. Just look at my boys hanging on his every word.

  “You can come, too, Dad. It’ll be fun,” James added, grinning broadly.

  David agreed to the hunting expedition. It meant an excuse to go to sleep early and less time to face Elizabeth. The details of his walk home that he had wanted to share with his wife crumbled unspoken in his mouth, in their place, the sour taste of self-pity and despair.