My Mother's Chamomile Page 15

  “Yup.” I smoothed out the paper placemat menu. “I think we’re all exhausted. Lots of late nights the past week or so.”

  “Fair enough.” Marshall folded his skinny, hairy arms over his chest. “What you having to drink? Want a shake or something?”

  “Diet pop is fine. Thanks.” Although I really did want that shake.

  “Suit yourself. I think you’re skinny enough already.” He pointed a long finger at the empty seat opposite me. “You waiting on somebody?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Right on. That’s cool.” When he smiled, I saw the big gap in his front teeth. “A date?”

  “Kind of.”

  “All right. That’s good. I won’t tease you too much.”

  He walked to the counter and drew a diet pop from the machine. When he set it on the table for me, he grinned again.

  Moving from table to table, he attended to the other diners. He didn’t usually mingle so much or wait on the tables. Typically, he kept to the kitchen. I wondered if he was covering Shelly’s shift.

  Will slid into the booth opposite me. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I said.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Okay, I guess.” Resting my elbows on the table, I leaned forward. “How was youth group?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He slumped in his seat. “Four kids showed up. They sat in a clump in the corner and texted the whole time.”

  “Kids these days.”

  “Seriously.” He looked around the restaurant. “So this is Marshall’s?”

  “Yeah. Is this your first time?”

  “Barton didn’t have very good things to say about the food.” Will moved in closer to me. “He said Marshall’s a pagan.”

  “He did?” I shook my head. “That’s not true.”

  “Between you and me, I’m learning to take Barton with a grain of salt.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “Oh, I met your sister today.”

  “At church?”

  “Yes.” He laughed. “She was nice. But…”

  “What?” I closed my eyes, sighing. “What did she do?”

  “She tried to give me your phone number.”

  “Oh my word. You’re joking.”

  “Nope.” He laughed again. “She said you were waiting for me to call.”

  “No way.” I didn’t know whether to be proud or mortified.

  “Now, she works at the bakery, right?”

  “Yeah.” I sipped my pop. “She’s not cut out for the funeral business.”

  “There are people cut out for that?”

  “I think so. I mean, I think Cal and my grandpa were made to be funeral directors.”

  “Not you?” he asked.

  “I’m still trying to figure out what I’m cut out for.” With my thumb, I wiped condensation from the glass. “Some days it feels like it’s suffocating me.”

  Resting head on hand, he lowered his eyebrows. He stayed quiet, not opening his mouth. I appreciated the silence.

  “I could always get a job at the bakery, I guess.”

  “Oh, that’s a dangerous place.” He sat up straight and patted his stomach. “Barton’s taken me there for staff meetings a few too many times, as you can see.”

  I exhaled, grateful he’d let me change the subject.

  A glass of water in his hand, Marshall approached our table. He set the glass in front of Will and pulled a straw from his apron. Then he crossed his arms and looked down his nose.

  “You the new guy over at First Church?” he asked.

  “I am.” Will extended his hand to shake Marshall’s. “You’re Marshall, right? I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  “Uh-huh.” He didn’t take Will’s hand.

  “I’ve heard a lot of great things about your food.” Will lowered his hand back to the table. Somehow, he was able to act like the situation wasn’t completely awkward. “Lots of good reviews.”

  “Sure. I bet you have.” Marshall wasn’t going to make anything easy for Will. “Listen, this is the only place you’re likely to see me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sunday’s my busiest day around here. All the people coming for brunch or after church lunch.”

  “I hope they tip well.” Will leaned back. “Especially the ones coming from church.”

  “They don’t,” Marshall said. “Maybe that’s something you should work on with them over there.”

  “I’ll have to do that.”

  “Anyway, I can’t close down on Sundays just to come to church.” Marshall narrowed his eyes at Will, waiting for a response.

  “Well, then…” Will hesitated. “I guess I’ll have to come in on Sundays. Just to see you.”

  Marshall’s stone-set face cracked into a wide smile. Letting his arms loose, he grabbed hold of Will’s hand and pumped it up and down.

  “All right, then.” His laugh filled the restaurant. “Here I thought you was coming in here to get me to come to church. Instead, I’m getting you to come and eat.”

  “If your food’s good, I’ll keep on visiting.” He rubbed his belly. “I’m a big eater. I come by this gut honestly.”

  “I like you, man.” Marshall smacked Will on the shoulder. “What do you kids want to eat?”

  “I’ll take the chopped salad, please,” I said.

  “You want fried chicken on that.”

  “Grilled.” My stomach growled.

  “You better get a side of fries,” he insisted.

  “No, thanks. Just the salad.”

  “Now, listen here, Evelyn. Just ’cause this boy’s here don’t mean you have to eat like a rabbit. He don’t care if you get a big juicy burger and have the grease running down your chin. That’s right, ain’t it?” His hand smacked against Will’s shoulder.

  Will nodded.

  “Evelyn Russell, what are you doing, ordering food in my restaurant if you ain’t going to really eat?”

  “Marshall, I’m ordering off the menu you made.” My fingernails tapped on the tabletop. “Just the salad, please. No dressing.”

  “You see that?” Marshall said to Will, pointing at me with his pencil. “That right there is a strong-willed woman.”

  “Best kind.” Will smiled.

  “Miss Evelyn.” Marshall wagged that pencil at me. “You don’t blame me when you leave here hungry. Got it? I won’t have people around town thinking I let you get away without eating.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you, Rev?” Marshall turned to Will. “Don’t you dare tell me you want a salad. I’ll shut this place down.”

  “How about I try the special?”

  “That’s more like it.” Marshall jotted a note. “You want the extra gravy. Trust me on that.”

  Chicken pot pie with a side of french fries. The special at Marshall’s for twenty years. So good, it never had to change.

  “I’ll have that right out to you.” Marshall walked back to the kitchen, shaking his head.

  “Good job, there,” I said. “It’s not easy for a preacher to get Marshall to laugh.”

  “Didn’t seem too hard to me.”

  “Let’s just say that Old Buster kind of soured Marshall to church people.”

  “Old Buster?” Will scrunched his face. “Who’s that? Sounds like a guy I need to avoid.”

  “That’s what we all call Barton.” I took a long drink from my glass. “I guess back in the day, he was pretty bad. If you got in his way, you got beat up. I’m not kidding. Legend has it he was single-handedly responsible for breaking at least twelve kids’ arms one summer.”

  “No way.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “I know. He’s my grandma’s cousin. You better believe she has all kinds of stories to tell about him.”

  Marshall carried two milk shakes to our table. He put them on the placemats in front of us.

  “On the house,” he said. “And I ex
pect you to drink the whole thing, Evelyn.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Thanks, Marshall,” Will said. “Hey, you mind me asking how long you’ve lived around here?”

  “All my life.”

  “Then could you tell me how Old Buster got his name?”

  “Man.” Marshall swatted his hand in the air and put a sour scowl on his face. “That dude was one bad…well, you know what. One summer, he busted up my brother’s arm so bad, he couldn’t go fishing for a couple years. Even then, his arm never grew right.”

  “How about that.” Will widened his eyes.

  “Yeah, you best watch yourself around that old man.” Marshall shoved a hand into his apron pocket. “He’s still got a bad temper. I’d hate to see you come in here with a cast.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Will lifted the glass full of chocolate shake. “And thanks for this. You just made yourself a new best friend.”

  “Wait till you taste the fries,” Marshall said, walking to the kitchen. “They’ll make you want to skip church.”

  Will cringed. “The potential for getting my arm broken is enough to make me want to skip church.”

  “Don’t worry. Old Buster’s changed.” I sunk a straw into my shake.

  “I hope so.”

  Will and I stood on the sidewalk outside the diner. It had taken us over an hour to eat our meal. It seemed like every other bite, someone came over to chat it up with Will. Of course, few even acknowledged me. I hated how much it hurt my feelings.

  But Will had left a generous tip for Marshall who, in turn, insisted that dinner was on him. As we walked out, Marshall had given me a thumbs up.

  That made my feelings a little better.

  “Hey, how about we go for a drive?” Will pulled the keys from his pocket. “I think it would be nice to get out of town for a few hours.”

  “Have you been to the lake yet?”

  “Which lake?”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Lake Michigan.”

  “Nope. Not yet.”

  “If we leave now, we can make it by sunset.”

  “Let’s go.” Grabbing my hand, he led me to his car. “I think we should hang out a whole lot.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “I think you’re fun.”

  “Me? Really?” I laughed. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that about me.”

  “That surprises me.”

  “Just wait until you see me when I’m stressed.” Feeling the phone in my pocket shake, I stopped walking. “Shoot. Speaking of stress.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Not letting go of his hand, I lifted the phone to my ear. “It’s Cal. I have to take this. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, Ev.” Cal’s voice on the other line sounded lower, gravely. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m on a date.”

  “No way,” he groaned. “We just got a call.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m super sick. I’ve been barfing all day.”

  “Gross, Cal.” I sighed.

  “I’d call Granddad—”

  “No,” I interrupted him. “I’ll do the removal.”

  “You’re my favorite.”

  “I know. Text me the address, okay?”

  “Yup.”

  “Feel better.” I touched the screen to hang up.

  “You have to go.” Will squeezed his hand around mine. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m not happy about it.”

  “I’ve got a ton of things to do for this week anyway.” He looked down at our hands. “This is nice, though.”

  “When can I see you again?” I asked, surprised at how natural the question felt.

  “How about tomorrow night? Even if it’s at two in the morning. I don’t care.”

  “I can make that work.” Letting go of his hand, the place where his skin had touched mine chilled in the air.

  “I like you, Evelyn.”

  “You’re making me regret my decision to help out my brother.”

  “Then call me tonight, okay?” Dimples formed at the sides of his mouth when he smiled.

  “I will.”

  Walking away from him and to my car, I got a little giddy. I knew that I’d need to calm myself down between changing my clothes and picking up the hearse. After all, I had to face a family in their worst moment. Right in the middle of one of my best.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Olga

  Papers spread all over our dinette. Clive shuffled through them, sighing and pinching the top of his nose. His pencil moved across scratch paper as he scribbled notes. Working numbers on the calculator, he used the eraser on his pencil to punch in the buttons. All the while, he kept his head bowed a little. I hadn’t noticed how many liver spots had popped up on his scalp before.

  “What can I get you, Clive?” I asked. He’d barely eaten any supper. “You want me to warm up something for you? I got a good piece of roast from the other night.”

  “I’m not hungry.” His lips curved up, but he didn’t look happy. The way the eyelids drooped over his blue eyes told me I was right. “Thanks, though, sugar.”

  “Honey, you haven’t eaten a decent meal in a handful of days. You got me all kinds of worried about you.”

  “You know, I got plenty of reserves stored up right around my middle. I’m not going to starve any time soon.” He took in a deep breath and let it out in one big puff. “You never worry so much about me unless you got something else upsetting you.”

  “Now, don’t you go changing the subject.” Turning my back to him, I took in a breath that made my head spin. I hated to keep a secret from him. “I wish you’d eat something.”

  “Olga, don’t worry about me.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a good bedtime snack into you, then.”

  I went about wiping counters I’d already scrubbed. Anything to keep me from thinking about Gretchen. All I wanted to do was tell Clive.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

  Still, after all those years with him, words like that made my heart flutter. More than anything else, because I knew he meant it. That night, though, the heartache of Gretchen’s news thudded harder, drowning out both the pitter and the patter.

  “Oh, I’m all turned upside-down over how to bill these people.” Scratching the pencil across the paper, he marked out all kinds of figures. “I just don’t feel right draining them. They lost both their kids. I don’t know how I can charge them.”

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. He used a napkin to wipe it off.

  “Are you hot, Clive?” I asked. “You want me to turn up the air conditioner?”

  “It’s a hard thing, losing a child.” He shoved the papers into a file and folded it closed. “I don’t know what’s worse, losing them all at once like that or little by little.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve seen both. It’s one thing I can’t figure out.”

  “They’re both bad, Clive.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  The living room window filled up with sunset. The round sun had dropped so fast. Like it had some place to be. Across the street, the corn glowed red.

  “Would you look at that,” I whispered. “The corn’s blushing.”

  “I’ll bet you anything Gretchen’s sitting on her porch with a cup of tea right about now,” Clive said, turning in his seat to see the sky. “She’s always loved the sunset.”

  “Remember when we took her to the beach for the first time?” I stepped toward the window.

  “She was just a little slip of a thing.”

  “And she thought the sky was on fire.” My heart smiled with the memory, warming me all the way through. But, then, the weight of not telling Clive a word about her appointment stomped the smile away, turning me icy all over. “Oh, Clive. I can’t keep this anymore.”

  “It sure is beautiful,” Clive said, still looking at the red as it turned deep purple.

  “I’
m not talking about the sunset, honey.” Flip-flopping, my stomach threatened to make me sick. “This isn’t something I’m supposed to say a word about. But it’s a burden I can’t hold anymore.”

  Scraping across the floor, Clive’s chair moved out from under him as he got up. His arms wrapped their way around me. “What is it?” he asked.

  And I told him. Gretchen had asked me to keep it quiet until she figured out details. I wanted more than anything to respect her wish, but I just couldn’t. Not from the other part of my flesh.

  The fear for her had built up, bloating me. But when I told him, the pressure didn’t ease. Instead, it filled me even more till I was fit to burst.

  “This has always been my worst fear.” Clive’s words trembled.

  Old age had made my memory slippery. As far as I could remember, Gretchen had been about two years old. Not a tiny baby anymore, but not quite a big girl, either. I did remember we had her in a small bed with a rail to keep her from rolling out in the night.

  One evening, Clive came upstairs, the words blubbering out of him. I couldn’t make out the meaning of a single one of them. I’d got him to sit down in his easy chair with a cold glass of water before he could get out the words to tell me what had happened.

  Earlier that day, he’d had to embalm a little boy. Not much older than our Gretchie. The poor little thing had choked on something and passed away in his mama’s arms. Fast and terrifying. If I’d let myself think on it too much, I knew I’d lose my mind.

  For close to a month after that day, Clive slept on the floor of Gretchen’s bedroom. He’d wake in the night, in a cold-sweat-panic, having to check on her to make sure her chest moved as she breathed. He’d cover her, but not let the blanket get up too close to her face. He’d turn her if she’d got rolled over on her stomach. During the day, he’d search the apartment for things she might swallow and get caught in her throat. He insisted I cut her food as small as I could. I’d never seen him scared like that before.

  As much as worry had become a part of my mothering, his horror wore on me. His anxiety lorded over me, weighing me down like a yoke. I couldn’t carry the burden of it.

  Never before and never after had I thought about leaving. But, in those months, I darn near had my bags packed.