Chapter Seven
I didn’t have a good night’s sleep. Part of that was the heat, which was oppressive and relentless in the way that only a Texas summer can be; by 2am, I felt as though every drop of water had been evaporated away from my body, leaving me dried up as a raisin. I had my AC unit blowing a frosty gale into my bedroom, but it was no match for the heat. A day’s worth of sun had settled into the sand, into the bricks, into the concrete, and only now – when every sensible or lucky person was able to sleep right through it – was that heat escaping back into the air to make the rest of us miserable.
But hey, I told myself, it could be worse.
All I could think of was Hale in his powerless trailer, probably sweltering without the benefit of a fan, let alone air conditioning.
Who was I kidding? All I could think of was Hale, period. Nothing else seemed to matter. Whenever I closed my eyes, I thought about him – not just as he was that afternoon, but how he’d been years ago, right from the first time I’d seen him. In the silence of my bedroom, all I’d been able to hear was the crickets outside my window and the sound of his singing voice and the low pluck of his guitar strings as he serenaded me across the lake.
Except that wasn’t how it had happened. He hadn’t serenaded me, not then; not ever, in fact. Sure, he’d played for me, when I asked him to, but it was always with a great deal of reluctance, like he was scared of how vulnerable it made him. He’d play me old classics, B.B. King and Elvis, Janis Joplin and Lou Reed, and when he sang along he sang like the lyrics meant something, something that he had long ago discovered and that I was only just beginning to scratch the surface of. But he hadn’t sung for me. He sang for Hale, the only way he knew how. To do it for anyone else would be to open a door I’m not even he had the key for.
Around five-thirty, I decided that I’d had enough of sleepless nostalgia; I took a long, cold shower to scrape off the night’s sweat, got dressed, and headed down to the diner an hour earlier than usual. By the time Pete came in to start work on breakfast, I’d practically mopped a hole right through the floor.
‘Someone’s been busy,’ he says. ‘You feeling alright?’
‘Fine.’
And that, mercifully, is all that’s said on the topic of the night before. It’s a small comfort. It just gives me more time to brood.
You’re being stupid, I tell myself. Just go out there again today. Talk to him. Explain why you ran.
Or, alternatively, I could leave him with no explanation whatsoever. Turnaround is fair play, after all. And it’s not as though he doesn’t deserve it. One night of wondering about me is small potatoes compared to ten years.
If he even is wondering about you…
He is. He must be.
But then why didn’t he stop me? Why didn’t he come after me? I mean, it’s not like I wanted that – I needed time on my own – but…
But nothing. One day. Twenty-four hours after Hale sauntered back into my life like a cowboy at high noon, and already this is what I’ve been reduced to. I can’t work out whether it’s crazy, or just plain sad.
It’s lunchtime before he walks into the diner. Jerry and Al are sitting in their usual spot, their backs to the door, but they see the look on my face as I see Hale through the glass and immediately spin around on their stools to see what the hell it is that made me react like that. For a second Hale pauses, until he’s sure he’s been seen and he can’t back out anymore.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Can we talk?’
I’ve never been more pleased to have the diner practically empty than I am when I hear him say those words. ‘Sure. Want to grab a booth?’
Instantaneously, Hale flicks his eyes to the right, to Eden’s very own Statler and Waldorf. Even behind his newspaper, I see Al’s ears prick up. He might be blind as hell, but he’s sure as hell not deaf, and this isn’t a conversation I want to have in public. ‘Maybe not,’ I say. I lift up the counter gate and beckon him into the back. ‘Come on through.’
He follows me through into the kitchen, all while I’m still wondering what would be a polite way to ask Pete to clear off for a few minutes, but thankfully there’s no need. ‘I’m going to take a smoke break, boss,’ Pete says as he sees us come in. ‘I’ll be back in five. Watch the grill for me, would you?’
Pete hasn’t had a cigarette since at least 1983, but I appreciate the gesture towards giving me and Hale some space – even if I do catch him giving Hale a good once over before he leaves. When he passes by us, he gives me a little nod that I choose to view as something like approval.
‘So,’ Hale starts as the door swings shut behind Pete. ‘About yesterday.’
‘Just… before you say anything,’ I say. ‘I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that, in your trailer. It was just a lot to take in, you know? You coming back, and then you saying… well, all that. All those things. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it.’
‘And now do you?’
‘Now do I what?’
‘Know what you’re supposed to do with it.’ I almost expected to see that same wry smile on his face, mocking me, playing with me, but his expression is stone-still. He’s serious. He wants to know.
I sigh. ‘Honestly? No. I don’t have a damn clue. This is all so…’
‘So what?’
‘Unexpected? Maybe? I don’t know.’ How do I explain it to him when I’m still trying to get it straight in my head myself? ‘You’re just… you’re not supposed to be here, Hale. I don’t know how you fit anymore. Where you fit. How I’m supposed to act around you. Whether I’m supposed to be happy you’re back, or angry you disappeared, or…’ I pause. ‘I’m still trying to figure it out, that’s all. What you are.’
He nods. ‘That’s fair, I guess. But can we maybe just start with customer and go from there?’ He pulls his wallet out of his jeans and grins. ‘This time, I promise I’m good for it.’
‘That sounds like a pretty good idea to me.’ The best idea I’ve heard in a longass time, that’s for sure.
‘Good. Besides, now I’ve met your cook, how could I pass up the chance to see if he’s as good as I’ve heard?’
I groan. ‘Oh, don’t tell him that,’ I say as we push back through into the main body of the diner. ‘If he finds out that people actually like his food, I’ll never hear the end of it.’
Hale seats himself down at the counter and picks up a menu. ‘So what’s good?’ he asks.
I shrug. ‘All of it,’ I say. ‘Specials are chicken quesadilla with pepperjack and sour cream, and country-fried steak.’
He smiles. ‘Well then, what would you recommend?’
‘You’re gonna have to feed the man if you want him to stay,’ Al chimes in from across the way, his voice carrying over the top of his paper. ‘A fella can’t get by on longing looks alone.’
I shoot him a look that says if he ever wants to eat another one of his precious cheeseburgers in our establishment again, he won’t mention any of my looks, longing or otherwise, and whether he catches it or not he’s smart enough to bury his nose back into the sports section.
Hale hands the menu back to me. ‘Surprise me,’ he says.
~~~
Ten minutes later, Hale is sitting at the counter, eating what he proudly proclaims is the best burger he’s ever tasted. ‘I’m serious,’ he says. ‘If I’d known the food here was this good, I never would have left.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I say. ‘New York food just doesn’t cut it, eh?’
He grins. ‘They can keep their Nobu. I’ll take the Red Rose Diner any day of the week.’
‘Flatterer.’
‘It’s the truth. Although the fact that I’ve never been to Nobu might have something to do with that.’
‘Not that rich, then?’
He pauses. ‘Where did you get the idea I was rich?’ he says slowly.
‘Nowhere. I mean, the wallet, I guess. And the bike. Things like that don’t exactly come cheap. Plus, you know… New York.’
‘Maybe I live in a ratty little studio apartment.’
‘Do you?’
Hale smiles. ‘Not anymore. Although I did for a long time.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Sure. You know, young kid, no college degree, in a place like New York. You take what you can get. I spent about a year crashing on a couch while I washed dishes in a restaurant.’
‘Sounds glamorous.’
‘Not so much. But hey, I’ve been lucky. No complaints.’
There’s the sound of a throat being cleared from across the other side of the counter, and I figure that it’s Al trying to get my attention – but no, he’s still focused on his paper, same as ever. When I look over, I see that it’s his partner-in-crime that’s chiming in, which is unusual to say the least. He looks like he’s winding up for something big. The days when Jerry speaks more than a few words are rare days indeed, but he’s kept a hard stare on Hale ever since he sat down.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ Jerry asks.
‘Maybe,’ Hale says, setting down his napkin at the side of his plate. ‘I couldn’t say for sure.’
‘Jim Fischer’s boy.’ This time, it’s not a question. The way Jerry says it, it sounds more like a loaded gun.
‘That’s right,’ he says, and pauses; I can see the tension in his knuckles, and I can tell it’s not a topic that usually ends well for Hale. Anything that links him to his father is bound to be a touchy topic. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘Screwed me on a deal once,’ Jerry says. ‘Not so long ago. Welched on paying me for some work I did on that godawful truck of his – then when I came after it, threatened to beat me black and blue for my troubles. Said if I ever asked him for money again, he’d put me in the hospital and be waiting for me again when I got out. If I got out.’
‘That sounds like him.’
‘Heard he passed on a little while back.’
‘Yeah, he did.’ Hale pauses. ‘If you’re looking for me to settle up his debt…’ he says, but Jerry cuts him off before he can continue.
‘Keep your money, son,’ he says. ‘I let that slide a long time ago. Better than keeping score. I’m just glad to see you made something of yourself, that’s all. Lot of guys would have let that rot set in, ruined the next generation too.’
Hale’s face is hard as stone. ‘Well, I’m not my father,’ he says.
‘I can see that,’ Jerry says. ‘I know it’s not polite to speak ill of the dead, and I hope you won’t mind me saying so, but that son of a bitch didn’t have an ounce of good in him. But I get the feeling I don’t have to tell you that, eh?’
Hale shakes his head. ‘Only thing we ever agreed on was that the Astros were never going to make it to the World Series.’
Jerry smiles at that. ‘Well, maybe he wasn’t a total bad apple, then,’ he says. ‘How about a refill, Carrie?’
It isn’t until he taps his cup against the counter that I realise I’ve been holding my breath. The thing is, I didn’t have the first clue how it was going to shake down. To my knowledge, Jerry was the first person to have recognised Hale since he came back into town; he seemed to have been doing his best to keep a low profile, and who could blame him? Eden wasn’t a place that came with many happy memories. For a moment, it had seemed as though Jerry was looking for trouble, poking Hale to see if he could get a rise out of him – that sweet old man who I’d served lunch to every day for upwards of four years, trying to see if he could cause a fuss over something that had happened years ago.
And then, like a tornado veering suddenly to the side, it had petered out into nothing. I remember something my dad told me once: if you kick a dog, day in and day out, you don’t get to be surprised when the dog turns out mean. Well, Hale had been that dog, and now he was all grown up. Maybe you’re allowed to be surprised when the dog turns out to be a sweetheart. Maybe some dogs are just stronger than that – strong enough that they can’t be easily broken.
Maybe some people, too.
‘So… when are you heading back up north?’ I ask once I’ve poured Jerry his coffee.
Hale shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I figured I’d stay here for a few days, say goodbye to the old place one last time. I needed to clear my mind a little bit. I guess that’s why I finally got around to sorting it now after so long. You know… take a little trip, get my head on right before I go back.’
‘You’ll have a job to get back to, I guess?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Something like a job?’
He smiles. ‘It’s not construction, put it that way. I was raised in thinking that anything that didn’t leave your back aching at the end of the way wasn’t real work at all. It’s a hard lesson to unlearn.’
‘So what do you do?’ I ask him.
‘I –’ he starts, but that’s as far as he gets before the bell above the door tinkles and cuts him off.
The woman silhouetted in the doorway stands like a catwalk model, head held high, eyes facing straight forward. She scans the diner, but not in the way people do when they’re checking us out as a place to eat. She’s not here for food, but she’s definitely hungry for something.
And she’s spotted him.
Hale can’t take his eyes off her. I wouldn’t be able to hold that against him, of course – she is, by any measurement, a stunningly attractive woman. Her long blonde hair is pulled up into a tight ponytail, her cheekbones look like they could cut paper, and a pencil skirt and classy blouse wrap around her in a way that leaves scandalously little about her figure to the imagination. Even in the heat of a Texas summer, she doesn’t look in the least bit flustered. A woman like that seems to carry her own cool around with her, a blast of icy air that follows her wherever she goes. Cut her open, she’d be like a glacier: ice and rock all the way through to the core.
‘Well, well,’ the woman says in an English accent. She’s got a voice like cut glass and a stare to match, and at the moment it’s fixed at the man sitting across the counter from me. At the sound of her voice, he has straight-up frozen in place like a rabbit in headlights, but as she starts walking towards us there’s an unpleasantly predatory look on her face.
I don’t like it one bit – not from a distance, and even less so up close.
Not that that seems to matter. She has no idea anyone else is even there.
‘There you are, Hale,’ she says, smiling like a pit viper as she sets herself down on the stool next to him. ‘I was starting to think you were avoiding me.’