Jodi Thomas - Twisted Creek

Timothy Andrews sat in a recliner with a book almost touching his nose.

Luke took the time to survey the place. Leather furniture, a big fireplace, books stacked in little piles everywhere, and one huge wall covered with rifles.

He moved closer until he stood a few feet from the light and studied the rifles. He’d seen a collection like this before. Remingtons. Numbered replicas as fine as the originals made for every year of production.

Luke glanced back at Timothy. Why would a young man think about drowning when he had twenty or more guns available?

Luke laughed. He was thinking like a cop, not a bookworm. He’d worked two years in Houston as a policeman before he’d got on with the ATF. During those two years, three of the men from his training class had been shot, two had committed suicide with their service weapons, one was run over by a drunk while he directed traffic, and none died by drowning. It wasn’t a way he thought about dying. Maybe that was why Jefferson’s death bothered Luke.

Moving back into the night, Luke crossed Allie’s property. He wanted to circle round and see if she’d fallen asleep on the porch again, but he didn’t dare in his black clothes. He’d probably scare her to death if she heard as much as a twig snap.

This morning she’d caught him sleeping on the dock with a pole in his hand. By the time she sat down near him, Luke was awake, but he didn’t move. She waited a few minutes and then began flipping water on him. When he finally looked at her, she tried to tell him it must be raining.

He’d thought of tossing her into the lake. It took all his control to remind himself to keep his distance. Friendship was all he’d offer her. He didn’t have time in his life for more, even if she were interested.

She’d done the strangest thing an hour later. She’d borrowed his old canoe and paddled out to Timothy. Luke couldn’t hear what she’d said to the boy, but Timothy had nodded several times.

Then she’d paddled back and thanked him for the use of his boat.

When she started to walk away, he had to ask what she’d been up to and all she said was that she asked the kid to dinner Sunday night.

The rest of the day she’d done her best to ignore Luke and he’d returned the favor.

On Sunday it began to rain around noon. No one came by the store after that. Nana cooked and I tried to catch up with the books. Friday and Saturday we’d made twice as much as I thought we would. My dream of saving enough money for a rainy day began to form. People came in for Nana’s breakfasts and stayed to buy.

With thunder rumbling outside, I checked the old ledger book and confirmed that business was great for this time of the year. After noon, I helped Nana put up beans and black-eyed peas. We’d done apple jelly Friday night and sold several jars already. The homemade jars lining one shelf gave the store a fresh look.

Willie had dropped by Saturday with a bushel of green beans and said he’d give them to us if Nana would can them and give him two jars. She bartered with him saying she’d give him four if he’d buy the jars. It was not a fair deal, but Willie fell for it anyway.

They sat on the porch and snapped peas for two hours. Both rocked as they worked. Nana hummed gospel tunes. Willie swore now and then when his arthritic fingers wouldn’t seem to work. It made for an interesting melody.

I thought of asking him how his dead wife was doing, but I’d worked out in my mind why he’d lied. An old man complaining about his wife was normal. A man saying she’d died was sad. Maybe he’d had his bucketful of sadness.

By five-thirty Sunday afternoon, I’d reorganized the supplies in the store and arranged the tables in the café area. Nana arranged old bandana napkins in the center of the little tables and set a candle in the middle of each. If I counted that and the twinkle lights, we almost had atmosphere.

We had no idea who would come to our dinner, but I’d left signs at both the dock and the road: SUNDAY SUPPER-SIX BUCKS.

“We’ll be eating the gumbo all week if no one shows up,” Nana mumbled as she lined pies along the bar.

“Willie said he and Mrs. Deals are coming.” I tried to remember if he’d said they would come or would try to come.

Nana cut the pies. “I invited Luke, but he didn’t promise he could make it.”

I couldn’t imagine what would keep him away. Near as I could tell, he did nothing except magically appear now and then. He worked when I asked him to do something and claimed all he wanted was a meal for his efforts. And he slept on the dock every morning as if he’d been out all night dancing at some bar. I’d touched him enough times to realize his muscles were hard as rocks, but the man seemed a bit lazy to me.

“The rain might keep everyone away,” I offered, not wanting to get Nana’s hopes too high.

“Might,” Nana answered, spreading a towel out by the door. “But if they do make it, you tell them to wipe their feet when they come in.”

I nodded, wondering if any café in the history of the world had ever had a towel at the door.

I jumped a few minutes later when one of the Landry brothers opened the door. Near as I could find out no one knew either of the brother’s first names. They kept to themselves and only stopped by for bait.

“May I help you?” I asked, knowing that if he took a seat I’d be mopping up a puddle of rain. He couldn’t have been any wetter if he’d swam over.

He stood on the towel and said in a voice that sounded like it had aged with lack of use, “Two orders to go for dinner.”

I stared openmouthed. This wasn’t McDonald’s and what person in his right mind would fight this storm for two take-out orders of stew that would be cold before he could get them home?

“All right,” I said as I shook my head and walked over to the pass-through. “Two dinners to go,” I yelled.

By the time I walked back to the store and rang up two meals, the Landry brother had fished enough money from his pocket to pay me. The money was wet and crumpled, but I took it.

Nana came through the swing door with a collection of plastic storage bowls. She handed them to the dripping man standing on her towel. “I packed extra corn bread ’cause you’d order it if you were eating in. I also gave each order two pieces of pie, one apple and one buttermilk.” She smiled up at him. “You’ll like the buttermilk better.”

He just stared at her as if she were speaking a language he’d never encountered.

I found a plastic bag to put all the bowls inside.

He thanked us both with a slight bow.

“Now you bring my bowls back, you hear,” Nana said as she held the door open for him. “And I don’t want any of them smelling like you stored bait in them.”

A few minutes later I heard the sputter of an old engine moving away from the dock and wondered if the other Landry brother waited in the boat.

At straight-up six Mrs. Eleanora Deals arrived, complete with raincoat, umbrella, and galoshes. She didn’t bother to introduce herself, just asked if we were open for business, but I had no doubt who she was. I could almost smell the Milano cookies on her breath. When I nodded, she said she’d like a table for one.

She removed her coat to reveal a navy dress that had to have been at least twenty years old. The white lace at the collar looked frayed slightly. Everything about her spoke of old money-mildewed old money.

Willie followed her in and also asked for a table for one. He was friendly, but seemed to want to be alone.

Next, Luke stepped from the kitchen and took one of the stools, keeping his back to the others.

When I passed him, I put my hand on his shoulder. Luke’s muscles tightened beneath my touch. He couldn’t have made it plainer that he wasn’t interested in talking to me than if he’d screamed rape. Whenever I got within three feet of the man, I swear he acted as if I were contagious.

“Sorry.” I brushed his shoulder as if I could brush away my touch. “I just wanted to see how wet it is out there.”

Blue eyes studied me. “It’s wet,” he mumbled.

While Nana served them soup, I answered a light tap on the door.

The thin young man from the boat stood before me. He had dark circles under his eyes and a book in his hand. “Do you have a table where I can read while I eat?”

“I do,” I answered. “Welcome, Timothy. I’m glad you could make it.”

Before I could close the door, a chubby, middle-aged woman rushed up the steps. “Am I too late?” she asked a little breathlessly.

I held the door and smiled. “No, come in.” I recognized her as the woman who wanted to know if we had any tulip bulbs. “I’m Allie.”

“I’m Mary Lynn O’Reilly from directly across the lake. I saw your sign when I dropped by while you were busy Friday. I was so pleased to see that you’re serving a real meal. It’s been ages since I’ve been out to dinner.” She lifted a large purse. “Is it okay if Poseidon comes in? We always eat together, and on a stormy night like this I couldn’t leave him at home. He’ll be quiet. No one will even notice he’s with me.”

I looked down at a tiny white poodle with a bow set lopsided on his head. I knew I was probably breaking every health rule in the state, but I decided any place that until three days ago had animal heads on the wall could allow this mutt in the door. “Sure.”

Mary Lynn smiled, obviously warmed by my kindness. I couldn’t help but wonder how many places she’d been asked to leave.

“Do you have a table for one?”

I almost said that a table for one was all we seemed to have, but I only replied, “Follow me.”

The last guest, Paul Madison, was the city fellow I’d seen a few days ago. His “do you have wine” wife was missing. He took the table near the kitchen door. He still wore a dress shirt beneath a thin Windbreaker, but unshaven he looked a little more like he belonged out here. I’d guess him as a banker or a stockbroker.