Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Damien
I send a text to Dale and smirk when I see his immediate and snippy response. “Let’s look at the Halloween stuff,” I say to Emerie in an attempt to distract her from the idiocy of this town and their rumor mill, tightening my hold on her hand.
“Works for me,” she replies, trying to sound upbeat and chipper. “Let me guess, they’re already heading to town.”
“Yep,” I say, grinning down at her because she knows them so well. “So, do you like scary movies?” Every now and then, I toss in a random question in order to get to know her better.
She recoils before answering, “Eww, nope. I mean, I’ll watch psychological thrillers and even true crime documentaries, but the blood and gore stuff makes me sick.” I can understand that because I’ve seen more than any man should during my time of service. The fact that I know those shows are fictionalized and the storylines behind them are unbelievable and humorous at times, I find that they don’t bother me. Let's face the facts, no man can come back from the dead as often as they do in the movies and being trained to the degree that I am, I know that half the things they do is next to impossible.
Wanting to switch the gears from the road my thoughts just took me down, I laugh, and ask, “So, let me understand if I can. You’re going to become a paramedic but don’t like blood and gore?”
She snickers then says, “It’s different when it’s real-life, Damien. I mean, those movies are just so silly. Girls screaming, which is totally ineffective by the way, or running back into the house, hiding in bathrooms or closets, how stupid can they be! And how many times can one person trip? Doors don’t stop bullets or sword-wielding madmen.”
“Fine, you’ve got me there, I guess. I’ll watch them, but prefer action shows or even rom coms,” I admit. “Life itself is too intense, so when I’m watching a movie, I don’t want to think, I just want to enjoy what’s happening on the screen. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does. Of course, most of my life revolves around kid movies and shows these days,” she teases as we walk toward a themed display.
“Man, Dena loves The Nightmare Before Christmas ! I need to get her this for her birthday,” I say as I pick up the Lego set that has the characters as well as the houses.
“That’s really kind of cool,” she replies, leaning against my shoulder.
“She’s a bit spoiled since she’s the baby at fifteen,” I admit. “All of us do it, but despite the fact that she pretty much gets whatever she wants, she’s still a sweet kid.”
“And… that tells me that any other siblings you’ve got must be brothers,” she says. “Because in about a year, she’s gonna be all about boys, makeup, and hair.”
“Take that back. There will be no boys in her future,” I decree, which has Emerie laughing so hard she’s doubled over, slapping her thigh.
“Huh, the way some people act while out in public,” Betty sneers from a nearby display.
“I’m sorry, were you talking to us?” I pointedly ask. “Because from what I know, your opinions and comments are unnecessary and even more important, unwanted.”
“Well, I never!” Betty exclaims just as Dale and Miriam walk up to her.
“Still talking shit all these years later, Betty?” Miriam asks, leering at the woman. If looks could kill, old bitty Betty would be six feet under. “My granddaughter and great-granddaughter are no part of your life, remember? You chose that path.”
“Emerie sure didn’t grieve all that long, did she?” Betty counters, a nasty look on her face. Her accusation is unwarranted, and my body begins to shake in anger at her implication. Up until a few days ago, I’d never met Em except through pictures and what Levi shared with me.
Right now, I wish my mother were here because she’d beat the hell out of this opinionated hag. Instead, I pull Emerie into my side, and we watch as Miriam decimates her in just a few words.
“Tell me, Betty, how’s Jonas doing? Heard he’s in rehab so he doesn’t have to go to jail,” Miriam sweetly questions. Gotta love some southern smackdown because the woman takes a step back in shock.
Damn, she’s good. It’s like she’s channeling each of the characters in the Golden Girls in one fell swoop.
“And Deirdre? She’s got what now, three kids with three baby daddies?”
“She’s on a roll now,” Emerie whispers to me. Dale just stands there, his legs spread, and his arms intersected across his chest, but I instinctively know he’ll jump into the fray if he needs to.
Betty’s mouth keeps opening and closing, flapping like a fish out of water, but she doesn’t say anything as Miriam continues. “It’s not so much fun having your dirty laundry aired in public, is it? As for Emerie, I suspect she’ll always grieve that her and Levi’s daughter will never truly know him. All she’s got are videos, shared stories, and pictures. Plus, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re in the twenty-first century these days, so Emerie isn’t required to wear sackcloth and ash for the rest of her days. She’s allowed to be happy, and both Dale and I are hoping that happens soon, because Levinia needs little brothers and sisters.”
Emerie’s wide eyes gaze at me as I shrug. I mean, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. The thought of building a life where babies who have curly hair grow up surrounded by love and family is actually appealing.
“Keep our granddaughter’s name out of your filthy mouth, Betty,” Dale suddenly states. “Until your own side of the street is spotless from its trash, you have no call to judge another. That’s in that book you’re real proud of when you walk into church each week. Not sure how the pastor would feel about one of his deacon’s wives disparaging another member of his congregation.” He then turns to me and asks, “You kids wanna go get something to eat while we’re in town? Cora brought her granddaughter over, so Vinnie’s with them playing.”
“Cora’s their cleaning lady,” Emerie tells me. “She comes once every few weeks and usually brings Emily, her granddaughter with her. She’s the same age as Levinia, so they create more of a mess than anything, but neither Cora nor Miriam care.”
Miriam shakes her head, already pushing Betty out of her mind as she adds, “More like the two little ones are giving Cora fits because they love to help her. But we’ve got time to eat before she expects us back.”
“Then let’s go eat. I’ll go pay for this first, of course,” I state.
* * *
“Miriam, your fried chicken is better,” I mutter as I grab another piece from the giant plate that’s in the middle of our table. It’s a family style restaurant so all of the individual dishes are set in the middle of the table for you to serve yourself.
“It’s the buttermilk I add to the marinade,” Miriam admits. “I’ve told Thelma for years to soak her chicken in buttermilk before she fries it up. Makes it tender and juicy.”
“She never listened back in high school either,” Dale adds. “We all tried to tell her that Mike Ashby was nothing but a player.”
“Shush now, Dale, that’s ancient history,” Miriam chides her husband, lightly smacking him on the shoulder. “Thanks to family and friends, she was able to get out of that horrible situation, then buy this diner when it was failing. She’s successfully turned it around to where it’s the place to come for a good meal at a reasonable price.” She’s not wrong. Where else can you go and feed four grown adults for under thirty dollars? Nowhere that I’ve been, that’s for damn sure.
“Everything I’ve tried so far since coming to town has been delicious,” I admit. “And honestly, if I hadn’t had your fried chicken, I’d be completely satisfied with her recipe.”
“Do you think she has her banana pudding on the dessert menu today?” Emerie asks, tilting her head to the side as she scans the table for the dessert menu. At my questioning look she explains. “She changes her desserts every day. The only one that’s always on there is her Coca-Cola cake.”
“Does it have actual Coke in it?” I question. “Or is that just the name?”
“Nope, it really has Coke in it and it’s so good if you like chocolate. I love it but enjoy her banana pudding as well and that’s what I’m in the mood for today.”
“Hey, Miriam, Dale, Emerie,” a female voice says over my shoulder which has my PTSD rearing its ugly head as she arrives at our table. Nobody notices, so I take a moment to catch my breath before tuning back into the conversation taking place around me. “I don’t know you, of course, but I’m Thelma, the owner. I’ve seen you out and about as you roam our town these past few days.”
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Damien Strong, I was one of Levi’s friends,” I reply. “By any chance do you have banana pudding on your dessert menu today?”
“Definitely, also got carrot cake, lemon meringue pie, red velvet cake, and of course, Coca-Cola cake,” she says, listing off the items she’s offering today. “Let me guess, Emerie, you’re wanting your banana fix today?”
Emerie giggles as she nods. “I think we’re going to need at least one piece of Coca-Cola cake today too.” I eagerly nod since chocolate is one of my favorite things. At one point in time, it was an addiction but when it isn’t a staple offered when overseas, I got past the need to have it daily.
“Make it two pieces of the cake, Em’s banana pudding, and some coffee,” Dale advises.
“I’ll just take a refill on my water, please,” I say. “Em?”
“Milk. If I’m eating any of that cake, I’m drinking a cold glass of milk,” she replies. At my look, she laughs. “We’re sharing, Damien. That way I get the best of both worlds!”
Since I don’t mind sharing anything with her, I nod in agreement
“I’ll be right back with everything,” Thelma promises.
I enjoy the rest of our impromptu meal then chuckle when Miriam says, “We’ll let you two get back to carousing around town. I’m sure by now those who heard our conversation with Betty have spread it around so you shouldn’t have any more issues with the busybodies adding their two cents.”
I pull out my wallet to cover our lunch bill and tip when Dale reaches over and touches my shoulder. “No, son, I’ve got this one. You can get it next time.” I nod because when a man is as determined as he is to cover our meal, you bow out, but I’ll be catching the next one, I just have to be sneaky about getting to it before he does because I have a feeling he’ll have an excuse of why he should be paying.
“Thank you,” I say, sliding my wallet back into my pocket.
“No, thank you. Since you’ve been here, Emerie’s more like her old self,” he murmurs, although with the way the two women are talking, it’s unlikely they hear him.
That’s a compliment I’d like to deposit into my memory bank. A man like Dale doesn’t dish them out randomly, so I know that he means everything he’s saying. It makes my soul sing that he’s accepting the fact that Emerie means something to me. “I really like her, sir,” I reply. “I have to go out to Arizona to see my family, of course, but I plan to come back so we can see where things will go between us.”
“What will you do for work?” he asks since we’re now waiting for Thelma to return with the receipt.
“Well, what I did in the military isn’t really compatible to anything in the civilian sector,” I admit. “But I’m hoping some of the skills I have can translate into a viable job.”
“I’ll put some feelers out if you like,” he offers. Thelma reaches his side with the receipt and pen, and I watch him glance over the bill then growl out, “Thelma, stop shortchanging yourself, woman!”
“You got the friends and family discount,” she retorts. “Just sign the damn thing, Dale, I’m not re-running the card.”
“Fine,” Dale grumbles. Then he pulls out his wallet and grabs a wad of cash, sliding it into her apron pocket. When she tries to give it back, he glares at her, so she backs off.
Miriam turns and looks at Dale and asks, “She did it again, didn’t she?”
“Yep, same as always. I just gave her the bill amount in cash for her tip.”
“So, we have to be sneaky when it comes to Thelma,” I murmur. “Good to know.”