Chapter Thirteen
Less than an hour later, I ended up at the Egg. Kasey had said to return anytime. And I was hungry.
Already a line had formed out the door. Inside was loud and busy, all the tables full. The phone was ringing.
“Finley!” Clark called out as soon as I was inside. “Please tell me you can run food.”
“Or grab the phone,” Ben added.
“Water refills would be nice too.” Lana brushed past with a full tray of dishes. “I mean, if you’re sticking around.”
I decided I was. I picked up the phone, reaching for the nearby ordering pad.
“Egg. Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” a deep voice replied. “Two breakfasts, both bacon. Eggs over hard.”
Remembering the code from the day before, I managed to write this without taking up the entire ticket. “Toast, English muffin, or biscuit?”
“One toast. One muffin.”
“Got it,” I said, writing TG on the top and circling it. “Twenty minutes.”
“Can you bus?” Kasey asked as she passed by again. “One and two are gone and three just needs change.”
As I bent to get the bus pan, I remembered what she had said about an apron.
I only had so many shirts. I grabbed one from the nearby box, then turned sideways to let Lana, who had a handful of napkins and place mats, get to the silverware.
“Thanks, by the way,” she said. “For letting me… for the spare bed.”
“No problem,” I told her.
“My house is a drive, and with having to be here so early…” She trailed off, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Anyway. I appreciate it.”
I nodded, and she went over and began slapping napkins for place settings on the counter.
Through the window, I saw Clark with his head bent as he plated, while Ben flipped bacon at the flattop.
(By now it was habit to look at the shirt he was sporting: This one was CEDAR HILL ROCKETS LAUNCH!
, with planets all around the words.) I knew on the surface it did look like by being here, I was doing them a favor.
Really, though, I’d have to call it even.
“You good?” Kasey asked me as she stuck two more tickets on the spindle.
The phone was ringing again, as more people pressed in the door. Still, in the short time since I’d arrived, the chaos had again been a kind of comfort.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m fine.”
“Here you go.” Kasey held out a folded wad of bills. “For yesterday, too.”
“If I were you,” Lana advised as she came out the screen door to join us on the loading dock, “I’d take that and run. Just saying.”
“You don’t have to give me money,” I said to Kasey.
“This isn’t a volunteer organization.” She motioned at me with the cash again. This time, I took it. “If you work, you get paid.”
“Plus we need the help,” Clark said from where he was sitting on the corner, legs dangling over the side. “Despite the stress, this deal with Cardoon is working. That’s definitely the busiest we’ve been all year.”
“Not for long,” Lana told him. “I bet we top it within the week.”
“From your lips to the restaurant gods’ ears. We’d be able to update the POS system to the modern age,” Clark said.
“I kind of like the order pads,” Lana said. “They’re homey.”
“You don’t have to do the books,” Clark told her. “It’s like torture with all that paper.”
“Part of having your name on the license,” Kasey said. When I looked at her, she added, “His dad named it in his honor.”
“He did?” I asked.
Instead of responding, she opened the screen door and disappeared inside.
When she returned, she was carrying a battered silver frame holding a license for Clark’s Egg, dated 2007.
Tucked into one corner was a photo. In it, a skinny dark-skinned guy stood in front of the sign that still remained out front.
He had a curly-headed toddler on one hip, clearly Clark, his opposite arm around a younger Kasey. They were all grinning.
“Opened it on my second birthday.” Clark smiled. “Back then all I could do was push buttons on the register. Cut to now, eighteen years later, and Kasey and I are co-owners.”
“Just until he finishes his MBA,” Kasey told me. “At which point I will gracefully exit.”
“No way,” Clark said. “Then we franchise.”
“Listen to you!” Kasey bumped his shoulder with her knee. “Your dad would bust with pride. Especially considering his bookkeeping system was just a pile of napkins.”
“While his tackle box was NASA-level organized.”
“Well, of course,” Kasey said. “Fishing was important.”
They both laughed. Their connection was so easy, worn like a groove.
“Did I meet him?” I asked her. “Marshall?”
She thought for a beat. “Doubt it. He wasn’t much for funerals, which is the only time we saw you and Cat.”
“No point to them,” Clark said now. “Why celebrate someone when they can’t even enjoy it?”
Kasey sighed. “His words exactly. Which was why we never did anything for him. I guess.”
We were all quiet for a moment, the only sound a Dolly Parton song that was playing inside. A moment later, Ben came out, his apron on that same way, loose around his hips. He looked at us all sitting there. “Who died?”
“Marshall,” Kasey said quietly.
“Nobody,” Clark told him at the same time. “All done? Someone’s got to go to Bly Supply.”
“Not it,” Lana said quickly.
“It’s your turn.”
“But I’m tired,” she protested.
Clark sighed. “We’re all tired. And I went yesterday.”
“The drive is so hot in the truck,” she added.
“Not if you roll down the windows.”
Lana thought for a second. “It’s really dusty there too. My allergies go nuts. Last time I was sneezing so much, I—”
“Fine.” Ben held up a hand. “I’ll go if you both shut up.”
“Deal.” Clark pushed himself up onto his palms, reaching into his pocket to pull out a ring of keys. “Have them text me the balance on the account once you check out. We’ve got to make a payment this week.”
“Will do.” Ben took the keys. “Anybody need anything?”
Silence. But I was thinking back to my toiletry need from earlier. “You’re going to a store?” I asked.
“It’s not just a store, it’s Bly Supply,” Lana said.
My confusion was apparently obvious. “Restaurant-specific market,” Clark explained. “Everything’s bulk or in multiples. What do you need?”
“Toothpaste.”
“I can grab some.” Ben was untying his apron now. “Or you can ride along, if you want.”
Bulk packaging. A long drive. Neither exactly appealing on their own. But then there was the company. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
At first, it had been a little uncomfortable with just the two of us, alone in the truck. Luckily, we had a topic.
“So,” he said, as we pulled onto the two-lane highway. “Are you a paste person or a gel person?”
“What?”
“Toothpaste,” he explained. “I’m low too. I’m thinking we could share a pack.”
This felt weirdly intimate. But I didn’t mind it. “Gel.”
“Me too!” He grinned at me, as if this was the best of luck. “I think we can make this work.”
I let out a big exhale. “Whew.”
“Right? Imagine the awkward drive home otherwise.”
“You can get awkward over oral hygiene?” I asked.
“I can get awkward over anything. It’s one of my strongest skills.”
Somehow I did not doubt this. Nor, actually, did it make him any less appealing.
We passed another church, of which there appeared to me to be an endless number. Lots of worship in these parts. Then he said, “The thing is, whatever we pick, we’ll probably each get, like, three of them, since it’s Bly Supply.”
“That’s a problem?” I asked.
“Not for me,” he replied. “Personally, I like the reassurance of a bulk item. It’s hopeful.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“You probably didn’t move a lot either.” He shifted his other hand to lower the window the rest of the way. The truck was hot, even with a breeze coming in. “Things were pretty sparse, growing up with my dad. The less we had, the less we had to pack.”
“So more than one tube means you’re staying awhile,” I said, clarifying.
“Especially if you put it away in a cabinet.” He whistled. “Screams long-term.”
I looked at his tee, all those little planets. “So, moving. Is that why all the different schools? On the shirts?”
“Yup. Also, we were thrift-shop regulars. Always a lot of local team gear.” He glanced down at it as well. “This was in Florida. There were orange trees in the school courtyard. I was there a full year that time.”
“I haven’t seen one repeat yet,” I observed.
“It’s kind of a uniform now.” He glanced at me. “That’s another thing that says you’re stable, just FYI. If you have a collection of something, like snow globes or action figures, you don’t move a lot.”
“Now I’m picturing your apartment full of toothpaste and snow globes.”
“It’s not. But only because I’m just here for the summer.” He put on the turn signal, switching lanes. “During the year, I’m in college in Boston. Dorm rooms are tiny.”
“Why’d you move so much?” I asked. “Is your dad military or something?”
“No, just restless.” He sighed. “He was in real estate at one point. Managed a medical supply company. But mostly ran restaurants and bars. That’s how he met Marshall. They worked together at a place called Fishbones that used to be down by the Tides. Kasey, too.”
“What about your mom?”
“Died when I was six. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Thanks.” A beat. “She was kind of our anchor, as it turned out. From then on, we were never any one place for long.”
“When did you come here?”
“The start of eighth grade. We were in Arkansas first. Then Texas, followed by our first stint in Florida.”
“Wow,” I said. “I suddenly feel very uncultured. I’ve only ever lived in Lakeview.”
He made a face. “Dad had a way of wearing out his welcome, even in big states. Also, he tended to get married. The two were not unrelated.”
This was a lot to keep up with. I could only imagine living it. “But did you stay put? Once you were here?”
“Nope. Only stuck around for that one year. But Clark and I got tight, so after that I came back every summer.” An alarmingly large bug bounced off the windshield. “Marshall and Kasey became like my second parents, so I had a standing invite. They always had a lot of toothpaste.”