Chapter 4 Lucy
After a stop at the house I share with Mawmaw, I head to the diner. Maxine’s has done well, considering the past couple of months have been slower without the tourist and rodeo season.
Though that’s all about to change here in a few weeks.
Summer’s busy for all of Goldspur Ridge, but especially for my best friend Indy Turner.
Her family runs the local dude ranch that hosts a whole slew of campers weeks at a time.
Her jet black hair is down her back in two braids, swaying as she talks to Mr. and Mrs. Peters near the front door.
Passing the diner’s front, I circle the block and pull into the small side street that leads to the back of the buildings on Main and park.
Heading into the back of the diner–greeting the cook and his assistant that we hired over the winter–I pull my apron from the hook on the wall in the office, and head out into the dining area behind the counter.
Mawmaw’s talking to table six–more like gossiping–and the newest waitress we hired, Sydney, is taking an order at the counter. She gives me a wink when she sees me, then continues on with the man ordering.
Tying the apron strings behind my back, the bell over the door chimes and in walks my best friend, Indy.
Her smile’s wide, steps sure as the whole diner looks at her.
It’s hard not to, Indy is one of the most beautiful women I know.
Inside and out, her deeply tanned skin stands out against the bright green of her eyes, framed by beautiful thick black lashes.
Her jeans hug her plump figure in a flattering way I can never figure out, and her t-shirt’s worn a little thin near the collar.
When we were kids, I’d asked if her eyes were real. Best friends ever since that day.
“Hiya, Buttercup,” she greets, plopping herself down on one of the red vinyl stools at the counter. “Whatcha got cookin’ back there?”
“Nothin’ today, Goose,” I tell her. Since I worked the market this morning, I didn’t get time in the kitchen. What happened at the market eats at me, I want to tell her what’s going on, but I’m not sure how.
“Damn,” she snaps her fingers and shakes her head. “And here I thought you loved me.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my thoughts away. Filling a cup with ice, I pour Maxine’s sweet tea over it. Sliding it across the counter, she jabs a straw into the cup and takes a long pull. Her eyes close as she gulps down sip after sip.
“Ah,” she sighs, “that’s the nectar of Gods.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I scoff with a smile. “Pretty, but ridiculous.”
“I know,” she shrugs, “give me a good and greasy burger will ya?”
Spinning around and placing my hand on the bell, the cook looks up. “Gimmie a greasy burger all the way, with fries please, Logan.”
He nods and gets to work, I don’t bother writing Indy a ticket, Mawmaw wouldn’t take her money anyway.
“Indy,” Mawmaw says, bumping her hip into her side and flicking her hand my way. Laying a fresh guest check pad into her hand, she winks and walks off to handle a few more customers.
The bell above the door chimes with the lunch arrivals, and the rush of customers pulls me away from Indy, but she doesn’t mind, especially when her burger hits the counter. She simply talks with other locals that occupy the counter space, often laughing out loud and drawing more eyes.
It’s busy on Saturdays, most people have cooked all week and just want a meal they didn’t have to make. So Maxine’s Diner is filled to the brim with hungry locals, and some tourists trickle in too.
The lunch rush keeps me occupied, so focused on what I’m doing that I don’t notice Indy’s gone, and a few hours have passed until I look at the clock and swipe my brow. People mill about as we clean tables no longer in use and get the tables cleaned up for dinner.
Mawmaw manages to find a quiet moment while I refill the ketchup bottles. “How’d the market go this mornin’?”
Her question dredges up the image of Reese’s face in my mind and my cheeks heat remembering his deep baritone.
“Well come on now,” she says, popping me with the towel she’s got wiping up tables.
Jolting back, I stick my tongue out at her. “Not nice!”
“You got all quiet, and you are blushin’ somethin’ fierce. What’s on your mind?”
I can’t hide things from her, she’s too intuitive for that. “There was a man that came by the booth this mornin’, his last name was… Walker.”
She stops, and after a beat she nods, her gray brows are furrowed but she doesn’t comment. I’m not sure what I want her to say, something to make me feel less… defeated?
“And he bought flowers,” I add, “well, he tried to buy them, but the card reader fucked up and so he just left his card with me.”
“Mhmm,” she hums, eyeing me from where she’s standing. “You still have his card?”
Shit.
“It’s in my bag.”
The bell rings and our conversation stalls as Sheriff Follie and Brent walk in. His uniform is crisp, hat tucked under his arm, hair gelled back. Follie smiles my way and nods his head in a typical greeting. He’s not much for words, and we’ve had plenty since Levi’s murder.
Brent walks over to the table I’m working on and smiles, “Hey, Lucy.”
“Hey,” standing, I greet him like I would if he were any other customer.
He smiles, cheeks turning pink. “How ya been?”
Clearing my throat, I head for the safety of the counter, and he follows. “I’m good.”
I’m not scared of Brent, he’s a decent enough guy, a little pushy but he’s always been nice to me.
His consistency in pursuing something with me though has become less than nice.
Spencer’s offered to let him know I’m not interested, in terms only men seem to understand, but I’ve handled it so far, and I don’t want to make him feel bad.
“That’s real good, Lucy, I’m glad to hear it.” His drawl and light brown eyes are focused on me, and every move I make on the opposite side of the counter. “I was hopin–”
“Table four needs drinks Lucy!” Mawmaw hollers from her spot near Follie.
Giving Brent a small smile, I head toward the table Mawmaw mentioned. She could have gotten them, but she’s smart enough to recognize when a woman needs an excuse to leave a conversation.
Watching Brent from the corner of my eye, it isn’t until I’m bumping into the side of table four that I realize it’s Levi’s parents, and Jarrett seated there.
I’ve seen them around more recently, but for a while they were holed up in their house.
I don’t blame them, losing a child–even if he was a monster–couldn’t have been easy.
“Mr. and Mrs. Walker,” I gasp, holding my pen tighter in my fist. “How are you?”
Mrs. Walker smiles wide, I only met them once, so her warmth is a bit of a shock. “Hi Lucy, you look well.”
“You too,” honestly, she does. Much better than the months after Levi’s murder. Her hair’s all gray now, cut short to her ears, and she’s got a glow to her skin, as if she’s spent a lot of time outside. “Can I get y’all somethin’ to drink?”
“We’ll take four of Maxine’s sweet tea,” Mr. Walker says.
“You don’t know what Reese will want,” Mrs. Walker says, laying her hand on Mr. Walker’s arm. “There he is!”
“Goldie.”
Booted feet step up to the table, a hand reaches out hovering behind my back.
He pulls it back, thinking better of touching me and slides past my hip into the booth.
The air about him gives him away, the way his shoulders sit back as if he has no reason to hide.
How he smells like the richest chocolate and smooth whiskey.
When his face tips up I already know dark blue eyes will meet mine.
My heart pounds in my chest so hard I swear it can be seen through my shirt. I’m at a loss for words as Mrs. Walker goes through introductions. His polite smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes, they speak for him. Something akin to intrigue behind his bottomless ocean eyes.
Only, instead of making me want to tuck tail and hide, it makes me curious.