The Sisters Café

by Carolyn Brown

“For real. He’s got to tell his mamma first, but that’ll be done by tomorrow morning. You will go over there and talk to her, won’t you, Darla Jean? I know she’s not a member of your church, but she does live right down the street from you,” Cathy asked.

  “Of course I will, but right now I’ve got a story to tell y’all,” Darla Jean said.

  Chapter 10

  Cathy felt like Daniel from the Bible story and the lion’s den lay on the other side of the Prescott doors. She took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell. No one answered, so after a full minute she hit it again. Had the devil come to collect Clayton’s soul? Were Violet and Ethan in so much shock that they couldn’t come to the door? Or maybe the three of them were getting the hungry lions ready to devour her.

  The door opened and Clayton stood there, smug as Lucifer. Violet and Ethan probably weren’t weeping in shock after all if he was still alive.

  “Catherine, please come with me into the den. Ethan is waiting,” he said formally.

  Den?

  He walked fast enough that he kept at least two steps ahead of her all the way across the foyer and into the office. Ethan was sitting in one of the two burgundy leather chairs facing the desk. He didn’t even look at her. Clayton sat down behind the desk and pushed one single sheet of paper toward her.

  Where were the lions?

  “Sign this, please,” he said.

  Please did not make it any less of a barked out order.

  She stared at Ethan long enough to force him to look at her. When he did, he barely shrugged and looked at the bookcases behind Clayton.

  She hoped that the twenty-page legal jargon had been replaced by a few sentences stating that she could not sue him for his family estate in case of an estrangement.

  Not so. It didn’t say anything except that she agreed with all the aforementioned conditions and she would abide according to those agreements, yada, yada, yada. Sign. Date. Get screwed without even a kiss or foreplay.

  “And what is on those aforementioned pages?”

  “The very same thing except for that hideous car,” Clayton said.

  Ethan stood up. “I’m not a hard man, sweetheart. I gave you the car. Work with us.”

  It was that word, us, that did it. She was marrying Ethan. She was not marrying us. Before she married us, she’d die a virgin and be content with her e-reader and raunchy stories that she read in the back booth of the Rib Joint.

  “Now!” Clayton barked. “This has gone far enough.”

  Ethan handed her a pen. “Annabel and Anna Ruth are in the parlor with Mother. They’ll be waiting on dinner.”

  “What are they doing here?” she asked.

  Ethan frowned. “Mother invited them. Poor Anna Ruth is disgraced by the way your friend’s husband has treated her.”

  “Ex-husband,” Cathy said.

  Ethan smiled. “Let’s not keep our guests waiting.”

  She could spend the evening with Anna Ruth gushing over Ethan and Violet, with Clayton’s evil glares on the side, or go to the Rib Joint and read. The e-reader looked better by the minute.

  “What if I told you that I read erotic romance on my e-reader and I’m not going to stop reading the stories? Would you make me get rid of that too?” Cathy asked.

  Ethan’s eyes popped wide open. “Do you?”

  Clayton held up a hand. “What you do in private is your own business, but you cannot have that thing in public. A politician’s wife can’t be caught delving into pornography.”

  Ethan stood up. “Let’s not discuss something like that right now. Our guests are probably hungry and dinner is getting cold. Sign the paper and let’s go, sweetheart.”

  She took a step forward and got so close to Ethan that he had to look at her. “I want you to tell me that you love me.”

  “Good grief, Catherine. I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”

  “That’s not what I want to hear.”

  Ethan’s face turned scarlet.

  “It’s three words, but when you say them I want to hear that you mean them,” she said.

  He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He didn’t even look embarrassed, just frustrated.

  Cathy carefully put the sheet of paper down on the table and laid the pen on top of it. Then she pulled off her engagement ring and put it right beside the pen.

  “What are you doing?” Clayton blanched.

  She looked at Ethan. “If I’d known about the prenup, I would have never accepted this ring. And besides, if you can’t tell me you love me in this room, how are you going to promise to love me in a church full of people with God watching over the ceremony?”

  “But…” Ethan sputtered.

  “Good-bye. I wish you well on your campaign, but I’m not going to marry you.”

  She let herself out the door.

  * * *

  The Rib Joint had a neon sign out front but it was not a new building. Made of rough, weathered wood, it resembled an old feed store. Country music floated out the doors, right along with laughter and loud talking.

  She marched across the parking lot and stopped in her tracks when she reached the porch. The cook was standing right in front of her. He had a thick mop of blond curly hair, a cute little brown soul patch under his sexy mouth, wire-rimmed glasses with thick lenses, and a barbecue-sauce-stained bibbed apron with his logo on the top.

  “Are you my new waitress and beer girl?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just come here to read.”

  But you have been playing the part of the sexy hero who knows how to put out the fires in a woman’s body.

  “That’s a new one! Reading in that noise? You interested in drawing beer and hollerin’ out order numbers? I can’t cook and run the front too. By the way, I’m John. I own this place.”

  “Yes, I am interested.” She heard the words come out of her mouth but couldn’t believe that she’d said them.

  “What’s your name?” John asked.

  “Cathy. It’s Catherine, but I really like Cathy better,” she said.

  “Me too. It fits you. Come on in. You got any experience runnin’ a cash register and drawin’ beer?”

  She nodded again. What could be the difference between putting money in the drawer for plate lunches or for ribs, or drawing beer or Cokes?

  The place was as rough inside as out. Décor was old car and truck license plates from every state and year, funny sayings painted on rough boards and hung with baling wire, and rusty tools that she couldn’t even identify. Buckets of peanuts were in the middle of the tables, and the shells crunched under her feet as she walked across the wood floor. Booths lined the north and south walls and were full of people laughing, talking, and eating barbecue or tossing shells as they waited on their orders. Bright lights flashed from a jukebox, and country music echoed off the walls.

  “We sell ribs and brisket. Prices are up there.” John pointed to the menu above the counter, items stenciled in block letters. “Both come with an order of fries and a chunk of Texas toast to dip up the barbecue sauce. My buddy, Jamie, was supposed to send his niece to work tonight. My regular waitress can’t work on Wednesdays and Saturdays. That’s why I thought you were my new waitress. Prices are also listed right here.” He tapped a menu taped to the counter beside the cash register.

  Toby Keith’s voice came through the jukebox with “Beer for My Horses,” and a group of women formed a line dance in the middle of the floor, their stomping boots and shuffling feet creating even more noise. Every so often they’d yell, “Bull…shit,” and slap their butts.

  She’d barely gotten settled in behind the cash register when the song ended and thirsty dancers lined up in front of the bar.

  “Two Coors,” the first one said.

  The handles were marked Coors, Budweiser, Miller, and Busch instead of Coke, Dr Pepper, and Sprite
, but it worked the same way. She filled two mugs, took their money, made change, and looked up at the next person in line.

  “Six Buds.”

  She grabbed three mugs, filled them, set them on the counter, filled three more, rang up the amount, made change, and turned to look at the next one in line.

  “You’ll do fine.” John went back to the kitchen.

  At midnight, he pulled the plug on the jukebox, announced that they were closed, and the last four people left. He locked the door and opened the bulging cash register, handed her two twenties and a ten, and drew up two beers.

  “Might as well sit down and have a drink before you go home. You took to it like you knew what you were doin’.”

  She shook her head and followed him to a booth. “I’ve worked with a cash register and ran a machine like that, only it wasn’t beer. Not much difference.”

  He set the beers on the table and pushed one over to her.

  It was better than the champagne she and Ethan had the night he proposed and a helluva lot better than Trixie’s whiskey.

  John waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello!”

  “What?”

  “I was talking to you.”

  “I’m sorry. My mind was off in la-la land.”

  “Interested in working a couple of nights a week? Any tips are yours to keep. And I pay minimum wage. It ain’t much, but it’ll help out while you are in college. You are twenty-one, aren’t you?”

  She smiled. “And then some.”

  “Long as the law don’t come down on me, I don’t care if you are twenty-one, one day, and one hour, darlin’. I only need someone on Wednesday and Saturday, though.”

  “I’m free those two nights,” Cathy said. Funny how things worked out, wasn’t it?

  “So do you want Cathy or Catherine embroidered on your work shirts? That fancy shirt and those high-dollar-looking slacks are classy, but I’d rather you wore jeans or denim shorts and a company shirt to work in. You’ll mess up a lot of good clothes if you don’t.”

  “Cathy is what I want on my shirts,” she explained. “One is enough since I’ll only be here twice a week.”

  “Finish your beer and I’ll walk you out to your car. You’ll be late for classes if you oversleep.”

  Her car was the only one left in the parking lot. One streetlight dimly lit the parking lot and the smell of smoking ribs and brisket still floated around in the hot night air.

  “That Lumina belong to you?” John pointed.

  “It does now. It was my mother’s and I inherited it when she died. Twelve years old and only 20,000 miles on it,” Cathy said.

  “I used to have one of those. Loved that car. Had plenty of leg room, got good mileage. I told the dealer when I traded it in that they quit making them because they were too damned good. Nothing ever went wrong with them,” John drawled.

  His deep Texas drawl went with the romantic hero in her imagination. Candy Parker should take a research trip to Luella and eat John’s barbecue. She’d have a whole new hero, and a setting like the Rib Joint would make a new book sell like hotcakes.

  Why didn’t his wife help out at the restaurant? Could be that she was his regular waitress and they couldn’t find a sitter on Wednesday and Saturday nights for their kids, or that she was a nurse who worked the night shift.

  He opened the car door for her and said, “You might want to lock the doors. I get all kinds out here and I’d sure hate to see a car in this good of shape messed up.”

  “I will do that from now on. Thank you for the job,” she said. “I’ll see you Saturday. What time?”

  “I open at six. If you could be here then, I’d appreciate it. Close at midnight every night. I live behind the joint in a trailer house. Maggie Rose is waiting for me, so good night, Cathy, and I’m glad you took the job.”

  “I’ll be here when you open,” she said.

  It was all surreal. Had she really broken up with Ethan? Shouldn’t she be crying? Had she really gone to work at a glorified beer joint?

  Chapter 11

  Good food.

  Good friend.

  Jack had it all right in front of him.

  But Marty was worried about something. Her mind wasn’t on the tray she’d brought out to him from the leftovers of the buffet bar. And it wasn’t on restoring the Caddy all over again, either.

  “Okay, honey. What’s on your mind? You poutin’ because I’m moving away from next door?”

  “Well, there is that, but I’m worried about Cathy, Jack. You know that we’re total opposites and yet I feel it when she’s in trouble or hurting.”

  “One completes the other?” He crumbled corn bread into the greens and tasted them, then added pepper vinegar, tasted again, and really settled into his supper.

  “That’s exactly right. She’s as nice as Jesus. Honest to God, she is. And it just comes natural. I’m her opposite. I say what I think and to hell with feelings. And the thing I’m worried about is that I don’t feel anything horrible down in my gut. It’s at peace for the first time since she got engaged to Ethan,” Marty said.

  “Maybe she’s come to her senses,” he said.

  “I hope so.” She sighed.

  “That sigh says something is wrong,” Jack said.

  “It’s Trixie. She’s not quite herself. Do you think she knows about the vote shit?”

  “She was asking me about it,” Jack said honestly. “I was able to steer her away from it, but I wouldn’t be surprised that she’s gotten downwind of some gossip.”

  “Dammit!”

  * * *

  Cathy pulled into the driveway and took a deep breath before she even went into the house. Marty and Trixie had stood beside her, tried to get her to see the light, and she’d fought them the whole way. They deserved to know that they had been right all along.

  Trixie had a beer and a plate of fried catfish in front of her. “What took you so long to get home? I’ve been worried.”

  “But Mamma, look at the clock. It’s only twelve thirty and that means I’m making curfew.” Cathy pulled a Diet Coke from the fridge. She hadn’t eaten since lunch and the fish looked good. She sat down beside Trixie and picked up a piece from her plate.

  “That’s all you get. Warm up your own fish. You could have called,” Trixie said.

  “I needed some time.”

  Marty pushed through the door and joined them at the table. “Okay, talk.”

  Jack was right behind her. He set his tray with empty bowls and plates on the countertop, got a beer from the refrigerator, and looked up. “Anyone else?”

  “I had one already,” Cathy said.

  “In Ethan’s house? He has something like beer in that house?” Marty asked.

  “No, at the Rib Joint.”

  Trixie sniffed the air. “Is that what I smell? You and Ethan went to the Rib Joint. Was he drunk? I didn’t think he’d ever go to a place like that. I figured he’d have to be in a wine and white tablecloth joint.”

  Marty leaned against the cabinet. “You smell like barbecue and beer, sister.”

  “Nice change, isn’t it?”

  That’s when Trixie noticed Cathy’s left hand and squealed, “Look, Marty, no ring!”

  “Well, hot damn and halle-damn-lujah! Get on with the story, sister. Now I know it’s got a happy ending.”

  Cathy started at the beginning when she had to ring the doorbell twice and ended with, “And Anna Ruth was there in the parlor with her Aunt Annabel the whole time. Ethan was more worried about their feelings than mine, and he would not tell me that he loves me. I feel like I’m back in high school, coming home in the evenings to tell y’all the details of my life.”

  Marty laid a hand on Cathy’s shoulder. “Is this just the calm before the storm? Are you going to fall apart?”

  Cathy shook her he
ad.

  “I heard the good news!” Agnes burst in the back door dressed in a bright red sweatsuit, red house shoes, and red hair sticking up like a worn-out mop that dried sitting on the back porch.

  “What good news?” Marty asked. “Did you hear something about me being out with a sexy cowboy?”

  “Hell, Marty, you’ve been to bed with half the cowboys in the state of Texas. And I know you’ve been out in the garage with Jack all night. I just got a phone call from Liddy Jo who heard it from Beulah who got it from Annabel who was at the Prescotts’ tonight that Cathy gave the ring back to Ethan because of that damned pre-dump. I told you I called it the right thing, didn’t I? It made you dump him, didn’t it? Make me some of that stuff Trixie is eating. I’m ready to celebrate.”

  “Aunt Agnes! I might have broken his heart,” Cathy said.

  “I don’t give a shit! At least yours won’t get broken.” She bent down and peered into Cathy’s eyes. “Nope, I don’t see a broken heart. I see relief. What made you finally change your mind?”

  “Guess I figured out that I’m a beans and greens and fried chicken girl, not a prime rib and red wine lady.” Cathy’s perfectly arched eyebrows knit together into one line. “Does that make me a horrible person? Oh my God!”

  “Well, if that don’t sound just like Marty takin’ the Lord’s name in vain,” Agnes said.

  “What brought on the OMG?” Trixie asked.

  “The cake! That blasted cake! I’ll have to cancel it and I already paid her for the thing and I broke the engagement and she’s Violet’s friend and she’s in the club and it’s going to be a nightmare!”

  Agnes reached for the phone hanging on the wall and punched in several numbers. “Sorry, Annabel, did I wake you? No, well, that’s real good. Cathy and I want to cancel that cake order since there ain’t going to be a weddin’.”

  A long pause.

  “You can write her a check back, minus ten percent for your trouble,” Agnes finally said.

  Another long pause.

  “Okay, then she’s paid for the damn cake, so make it, and if you skimp on one of those morning glories, we’ll tell all over the county that you did a lousy job. On the day the wedding was supposed to have been taking place at the Baptist church, I want it delivered to the Christian church across the road from Clawdy’s.”