Chapter 9
Dax
T oday, I make it to the diner early. Even though I will be working from the hotel room, being on central time in an eastern time zone gives me an extra hour. I’m also here because last night Cory wouldn’t stop razzing me about being an hour late yesterday.
The bell above the door jingles as I make my way inside.
The round table in the back of the room is set and ready, but it appears I’m the first one to arrive.
There are other customers in the booths and a few at the long bar.
I go to the bar with stools. Looking around, I realize that this place hasn’t changed since I was a kid.
The vinyl seats are probably new, but the stools bolted to the floor are the same.
When I sit down, beyond an empty stool I see a partially eaten breakfast along with a child’s menu and crayons two seats away.
My thoughts go to Amber, Cory’s daughter.
While she and Judy didn’t go to Decoy Ducks, this Riverbend thing is making me appreciate the way people live here, away from the late-night meetings at swanky restaurants and bars in Chicago.
The drive back to the hotel last night was spectacular.
Light pollution in the city obscures the beauty of a starlit night.
“Dax,” Joyce calls, coming from the kitchen with her eyes wide. “You’re early this morning.”
“I guess you could say I learned my lesson yesterday.”
“Never too old,” she muses.
“Will you make me lunch again?” I couldn’t see the source of the question, but the voice was sweet.
Just then, a precious little girl with auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail comes around the counter and climbs up on the stool. I struggle with wondering if she needs help as she grins my way. Her two bottom front teeth are missing, and her eyes are a golden amber reminding me of my own.
“Hi, mister.”
I can’t help but grin. “Hi. You sure are big getting on that stool.”
“Yep,” she says, sitting straight and picking up her toast. Forgetting me, she speaks to Joyce, “Mommy says I can buy lunch, but I like yours better.”
Joyce taps the counter in front of her. “Let me get this gentleman his coffee, and you finish your breakfast. Then you can help me in the back making a sandwich for you.”
“Really?” The little girl’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. “I can help?”
“You sure can,” Joyce says. She turns to me. “Black coffee, coming up.”
I can’t explain the pull, but I long to see the little girl’s smile. There’s something about her voice and grin that is entrancing. As Joyce pours my coffee, I turn to the girl. “So you like Joyce’s cooking?”
The girl nods with a mouthful of toast and jam.
“I do too.”
After she swallows, she says, “My mommy and grandma are good cooks too.” She shakes her head. “I’m not going to cook when I’m big.”
“You’re not?” Joyce asks. “Why?”
“Cause I’m gonna sell stuff and make lots of money so Mommy doesn’t have to.”
I nod.
As Joyce smiles, she asks, “Are you going to finish that oatmeal?”
The little girl nods again as she scrapes the bowl with her spoon, getting the last bites. Next, she uses two hands to lift the glass, and finishes the last drops of milk. Placing the glass on the counter, she sighs and grins. There’s a white milk mustache on her upper lip.
“Now can I help?”
“You sure can,” Joyce says, picking up the dishes as the little girl climbs down from the stool.
She smiles at me and waves her fingers. “Bye, mister.”
“May I ask your name?”
The child looks at Joyce who nods.
“My name is Molly, and I’m five.”
I chuckle at her willingness to share not only her name but also her age. “My, you are big. I met another five-year-old last night. Do you know a girl your age named Amber?”
Molly nods faster. “She’s my friend.”
“I bet you’re a great friend.”
“Come on, Molly,” Joyce says, “Your mom is waiting.”
Molly disappears behind the counter. As I take a sip of my coffee, I notice her peering around the end. When I smile, she speaks, “Mister, Mommy says it’s best to use names. What’s your name?”
My smile is bigger than I can recall in years. Molly is an absolute gem. Getting off the stool, I go to her. Crouching down as I did with Amber, I look into her eyes and say, “My name is Dax. Your mommy sounds like a good mommy.”
“Hi, Dax. My mommy is the best.”
“Come on, Molly,” Joyce calls.
I stand and watch as they disappear into the diner’s kitchen.
Back at my seat, another waitress, who introduces herself as Cheryl, refills my cup.
She’s busy with the room and my thoughts go to the things on my agenda at work.
Today’s Friday and I thought I’d be back to Chicago this weekend.
It would take a little rearranging, but I believed I could continue virtually for a few more days.
Soon, the guys from the game and round table are filing in. I make my way back to the table.
“Thought you were working today from the hotel,” Mick says.
I grin. “Advantage of working on central time. I can still make breakfast with you bozos.”
I’m seated at the table when Justin walks in and looks around. Pulling out his chair, his eyes are on me. “When did you get here?”
“Before you.” Asshole.
Yeah, I didn’t say that, but what the fuck is this guy’s problem?
Cheryl takes our orders. Soon, the table is full of plates and drinks, and the chairs are all filled. The conversation mostly stays on last night’s game and the way we stomped Trevor.
My memory isn’t quite the same. As I recall, Riverbend won by one run in the bottom of the ninth, but I don’t want to burst their bubbles. To hear these guys talk, Riverbend is ready for the National Championship. Talk goes to next season and their plans for domination.
In a few minutes, Joyce is back, and I can’t help but wonder where she took Molly and why a five-year-old is eating breakfast at the diner. Those thoughts fade as Mick discusses a new subdivision being developed south of town.
“It’s mostly people from Evansville,” he says with a shake of his head. “They’re willing to pay for some peace and quiet—you know, good country living.”
Snickering into my coffee mug, I’m amused that anyone thinks Evansville, Indiana, is a big city.
Mick goes on, “Hell, what these people will pay for an acre and a McMansion is going to increase the value all around. We’ll have to put up with outsiders, but the property value will be worth it.”
A long-lost thought comes back to me. Long ago, Kandace told me that she wanted Riverbend to survive, that she wanted to help in that pursuit. Listening to these guys, it seems that it’s a common goal.
Do people in skyscrapers in Chicago ponder the city’s survival?
Ricky pulls me from my thoughts. “Hey, Dax, if you’re free this weekend, we’re baling. We can always use an extra hand.”
I rub my shoulders. “Shit, softball has me sore. I can’t imagine lifting bales of hay.”
Everyone laughs.
I take that back. Everyone—minus one.
As the breakfast breaks up, Sheers meets me near the front glass door. His chin is out, and his chest is puffed like a stupid peacock. “Are you signing off on the store today?” he asks.
I would ask him what business it is of his, but I suppose he’d say that it’s about his sister. Instead, I answer casually. “No, Murphy’s in court all day today in Washington.”
“But you will…sign off.”
I’m not sure if that’s a question or demand. I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“What the fuck?”
I lift my hand. “I mean, yeah, I don’t want it, but since this will shit is all common knowledge, Grandma short-ended herself on this deal. And besides, there are some bullshit stipulations. I mean, why not get what the store is worth? Remember, big spenders from Evansville are coming.”
His tone lowers to a growl. “You’re a fucking asshole. You know that?”
Mick comes up and grips Sheers’s shoulder. “Come on, we have work.” He nods my way. “FYI, no breakfast tomorrow. See you on Monday if you’re still here.”
With the way Mr. Murphy and Grandma have this drawn out, I probably will be.
Justin gives me one last glare as he leaves.
“What’s his problem?” I ask Ricky, who is now also at the door.
“I think he’s just happy to see your smiling mug back in Riverbend,” he jokes.
“Well, lucky for him, I’m headed back to Washington to the hotel. Although, I doubt he’s happy with the twenty-minute separation, probably wants me back in Chicago.”
“Don’t worry about it.”