Chapter Thirteen
Time did that thing it does.
Fast and slow simultaneously.
Thoughts and words piled up like a queue outside my mind and rushed in at moments of weakness like the bottom half of an Icee sticking to the cup, waiting for the chance to come smashing into my face. I had to ration my limited attention for each of the untangled thoughts regardless of severity, and everything that made it through the gate tied for first place in my head. The idea that I might not have a job anymore weighed up equally with the thought that I forgot to bookmark my page after O’Brien came in. Jerry is still in trouble. Rosa is going to flip. I know this food smells good, but how am I supposed to eat? Amy stole a phone to protect me. Am I in trouble? What happens to the gas station now? What about Sabine?! Who’s going to tell her?!
After all this time, the longest constant in my life was the owners. I’d known them since before Tom. Since before the diagnosis. Since before the gas station. They’d always been there, on the other end of a phone call, in weird voicemails and the occasional text. They wished me happy birthday. They sent flowers after the accident.
But I’d never actually met them. They were reclusive. They avoided society. They avoided photography. Even Sabine offered precious few details about them. The most I ever got came in a passing conversation one day when she and I were skipping stones by the creek, after I started complaining about my newest foster family. Sabine let me vent until I’d run out of steam, then she told me that her parents were the owners of the shitty gas station at the edge of town.
My memory of that day is crystal clear. We collected flat rocks for an hour. A cold snap earlier in the week killed off all the mosquitoes, but that day was pleasantly warm. She wore a plaid shirt and jean shorts. When she talked about her parents, she couldn’t help but smile.
“They’re pretty weird, but I like them.”
“How so?”
“They don’t care for people.”
“That doesn’t sound weird to me.”
“Well, maybe you’re weird, too.”
She was right. Her parents were weird. And annoying. And huge pains in my ass. No amount of post-mortem reflection can refine those details. I never would have expected they’d leave before me. And I never would have expected to have cared so much.
Later, I’d come to realize that I was in shock. I think O’Brien already knew. She put a coffee on the table between us and said something to someone about keeping them coming. She said a few other things, directed to me, but I didn’t have the attention span to translate her sounds into words or her words into meaning. I just drank the coffee and waited until the stress bubble burst. I don’t know how long I was inside my own head before I finally spoke.
“This sucks.”
She nodded and said, “Yeah. I know.”
Her cell phone rang on the table. She picked it up, silenced it, and put it away.
“If you need to get back to work,” I said, “you should go. I’ll be fine.”
She made a face like she’d just gotten a brain freeze. “I don’t know about that.”
Our waiter came up to the table and dropped a plate of eggs, hash browns, and grits in front of me. I looked around and realized that O’Brien had taken me back to Marilyn’s. Our food was being delivered by the same man as before, the one who probably remembered me as the weird banana guy. She must have really liked this place. Maybe because it’s the only eatery in town open right now.
I poked at the food and said, “I’m surprised this place is still open this late.”
O’Brien shook her head. “No, Jack. It’s not. What time do you think it is?”
Another thought made it to the front of the line. This one commanding just a hair more urgency. The light pouring in through the windows of the diner revealed that it was already morning. I was eating breakfast at the same time as the rest of the world.
I dropped my fork. “Who’s running the gas station?”
“Nobody.”
“I need to get back there! The place is empty. The racoons could be doing stuff! I need to… where’s my crutch?” I looked all around but couldn’t see it. Damned lost time.
O’Brien reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it hard. “Jack.”
I looked back at her. “Yeah?”
She loosened her grip but held on. “You don’t have to go back. We locked up behind ourselves. The gas station is closed, okay?”
I leaned back into my seat while another thought blindsided me. “Doctor Evil is going to get what he wants now.”
“Who?” she asked softly. A note of concern.
“This chump who wants to buy the gas station.”
“You don’t mean Frances Howard, do you?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” A second passed before my brain caught up. “Wait, you know him? Why do you know him?”
I didn’t even realize we weren’t alone in the diner until then, when the man sitting at a booth on the opposite wall slammed his hands on his table and erupted, “THAT’S IT! I’ve got to say something!”
He was old and heavy, with overalls and a sweat-stained white and yellow trucker cap. The woman across from him had silver hair done up in a puffball. She made a halfhearted effort to stop him, “No, no, just let it go.”
I didn’t care what or who they were talking about. At least, not until the man stood up, crossed the diner, and lumbered over to our table. He put his finger in my face and said, “Now you listen to me, boy, and pay attention. What you’re doing here is wrong.” I had, as usual, no idea what he was talking about.
“Okay?” I said.
O’Brien let go of my hand and stood up to face the guy. He was tall enough to tower over her, but she didn’t blink. “You got a problem?” she asked with one hand on her gun.
“Oh, you think just cause you got a badge it means you can do whatever you want? I ain’t scared of you, whore.”
“Whoa!” The words jumped out of my mouth. “What the fuck, dude? What is your problem?”
He was turning red. “My problem?! It’s this!” He pointed at the two of us. “Now, I don’t care what you do in private, but ain’t nobody in here wants to see this freak show while they’re trying to eat. Don’t you know what the Bible says about mixing races?”
It finally clicked. The asshole saw O’Brien holding my hand.
“I don’t care if she is a cop! God’s law is greater than man’s law, and one way or another, you’re both gonna pay for—”
Chk-CHK.
He was interrupted by the unmistakable, unexpected, butt-puckering sound of a shotgun rack from a few feet away. Our waiter stood at the doorway to the kitchen, holding the gun and everyone’s undivided attention.
“That’s enough, Porter,” he said. “You made your point. Now I think it’s time you and Maddy got out of here.”
The man harrumphed, “You’re okay with this, Wallace? You’re okay with freaks and whores eating in your restaurant?” He pulled out his wallet, crumpled up some cash, and threw it on the ground. “Keep the change.”
He stormed out in a huff. His wife finished her drink, stood, and casually walked out after him. Once the truck had gone, our waiter yelled out, “Sorry about that, Ms. O’Brien.”
She took her seat across from me and said, “Don’t worry about it, Wallace.”