Mountain Home Page 2

  Lost in her thoughts, Joanie sat at the table with her mind trapped in a troop transport outside of Tikrit. Her face twitched at the memory. She didn’t hear Beau hissing at her until the third time he said, “God damn it, Miss Myers. What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, hi Beau.”

  “Don’t ‘hi Beau’ me. You know you’re barred from the premises,” he said, unwrapping the cellophane from a fresh toothpick and sticking it between his teeth. She wondered why he’d decided to come out of his cave in the back when he did. Probably the busboy. Although she’d never said or done anything to him, he didn’t appear to like Joanie. She’d caught him staring at her with a hostile look more than once. She imagined that it was part of new employee orientation for Adam or Beau (or both) to inform all male employees that she was a cock-teasing bitch who was not welcome no matter how tight her ass looked.

  “I’m just here for a cup of––”

  “I don’t care what you’re here for, but I doubt it’s for a cup of coffee. I swear, it’s like you’re trying to provoke our lawyers.”

  “I was thinking about staying for lunch. Do you know what’s good on the menu here?”

  “Christ on a cracker! Look Joan, I’d’ve been happy to buy you lunch for a month of Sundays if you’d taken the offer on the house. But since you didn’t, Mr. Bischoff says you’re banned from here.” His jaw flexed as he chewed the pick.

  Joanie drank the rest of her coffee and wiped her mouth before asking, “How much do I owe?”

  “Free if you get out.”

  “I pay for the things I take.”

  “You’ll pay. Just wait until the damage hearing on Mr. Bischoff’s counter-suit. You’ll buy us an extension on the place. Maybe we’ll open a bed and breakfast on the other side of the highway.” Joanie bit the inside of her cheek and concentrated on not punching Beauregard McCann. They’d have her house over her dead body. But then her lawyer had informed her that the judge had dismissed her harassment lawsuit and handed Bischoff his victory without either the expense or inconvenience of a trial. The damages hearing was scheduled for two weeks later. Tomorrow. She hadn’t figured her case to close the kitchen would get anywhere––hell, she’d expected it to be dismissed before a trial––it was about making Adam spend money––but the fact that he could buy a victory without her ever getting to say a word in her defense made her furious.

  “How late are you working?” she managed to say without adding expletives or spitting in Beau’s face.

  “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Just thinking about where I want to get dinner.”

  “Jasper’s Fork is two hours up the road and Mercy Lake is forty-five minutes t’other way by the border. Take your pick.”

  Standing to leave, she brushed past Beau roughly, knocking him a step back. You might be alpha around here, but you don’t scare me, little man. There’s nothing you can do to me that’s worse than what’s already been done. “You won’t see me in here again,” she promised.

  “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, soldier.”

  “Airman,” she said.

  “Whatever. Just take those wings and fly.”

  Joanie made her way leisurely toward the door counting booths and the people in them. The woman with the dog snickered as she passed their table. The lesbians refused to make eye contact. And the fat man stared, licking his lips. A couple she hadn’t noticed sitting at the first table inside the door motioned her over.

  “We’re sorry to stop you,” the man said. “Did we hear that man mention you were in the service?” Unlike the others in the restaurant, she would have had a hard time putting him and his companion into an easy category. They were dressed modestly and didn’t appear to outwardly display any eccentricities or even any memorable details. Man. Woman. Late thirties, maybe. Slim, healthy, good looking. She looked at their hands on the table. They wore matching plain gold wedding bands. No ice on her finger.

  “Yes sir. United States Air Force. Twelve years.”

  “We wanted to say thank you for your service,” his wife said. Joanie stood frozen in place for a moment. When she had first arrived at the airport in her BDUs she’d heard that often enough. People then were conscious of acknowledging that she’d paid a price for her country. Since dropping the uniform––and she never intended to put it on again––the gratitude had stopped.

  “Thank you,” she said. She reached for the slender Tyvek wallet in the pocket of her vest. “Can I pay for your meal?”

  “I think we ought to be buying you lunch.”

  “They won’t serve me here,” she said.

  The couple looked genuinely offended––like they might get up and walk out, skipping on the check. “You’re kidding? I guarantee we’ll never eat here again if that’s the case,” the man said. He extended his hand. “My name’s Jeff and this is Sarah.” Joanie shook his hand. His grip was firm, but he didn’t squeeze too hard the way insecure men who learned she was former military often did. She shook Sarah’s hand next and her grip was also warm and dry and strong. They both looked her in the eyes and half stood when they shook.

  “I’m Joanie. Pleased to meet you.” She dropped forty dollars on the table. “I bet that’ll cover it. Leave the rest as a tip. Lyn deserves better than what she gets.”

  “Honestly, we don’t––”

  “Please.” She held up a hand. “Let me do this. Settle up and pay with this. Let’s call it a little jab at them for not taking my money.” Jeff and Sarah looked at each other and seemed to have a telepathic conversation. Together they said, “Thank you.” Joanie could tell that they intended to pay their own bill and leave the forty for Lyn, who they had seen seat her and pour her a cup of coffee.

  She took a step away and hesitated. “Excuse me. Which car is yours?”

  “The Forester. Why?”

  “No reason. It’s a game I play. I like to see if I can match people to their cars based on how they look. You look like Forester people. Colorado plates?”

  “Yes. You’re good.”

  “Lots of practice. Take care, people. There’s a hard curve up the road.”

  1419 hrs

  Sitting on the stool behind the cash register, Lyn watched as Joanie chatted with the couple at table one. Beau was fond of saying to her if there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean, but she half-expected Joanie to try to pay for the coffee, so she lingered at the checkout. She fought the temptation to pull her sketchbook out of the drawer below the cash register and work on a new drawing––maybe one of Joanie wearing a cocktail dress and heels instead of yoga pants and combat boots. Joanie shook hands with the couple and exchanged a few more words that Lyn couldn’t hear. She turned sharply on those clunky boots of hers and glided to the register. “How late are you working?” she asked.

  “‘Til close. I should be home already, but the other girl called in sick.” Lyn shrugged her shoulders. “It’s more hours, right? More money for New York.” For some reason she couldn’t discern, the news of Deirdre calling in sick seemed to upset Joanie very much.

  “More money for sure, but I’m sorry all the same.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  Joanie stood for a moment looking her in the eye. It creeped Lyn out to be examined so intensely. But that was who Joanie was––intensity incarnate. Finally she said, “Sorry you have to work so hard. Things ought to come easier to good people.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind hard work.”

  “I hope not. There’s more of it for us than there is for them.”

  Beau walked to the register, clearly frustrated that Joanie was lingering when he’d tried to be as forceful as professionally possible. “I think I told you––”

  Joanie glanced at the red-faced manager standing with his hands on his narrow hips and gave him a forced grin that stopped him in mid-sentence. She turned and walked out of the restaurant. “Take good care, Lyn.”

  Beau stood frozen with anger as he watched J
oanie walk across the highway without looking left or right. He secretly hoped a semi would hit her and make everything easier. She made it across safely and he reasoned that it was only one more day before the court levied its fine and she’d be forced to sell the house.

  He hissed at Lyn, “In my office. Now!”

  “But the customers?”

  “Let Luis handle them. He’ll probably be replacing you anyway.” Beau looked over at the busboy. In the two months he’d been working he hadn’t done an exceptional job. It was no surprise to Beau. Luis was born in Idaho. If he was undocumented he’d probably work like a damn machine. He crooked a finger at the boy polishing silverware behind the counter and Luis sauntered over.

  “Kid. You’ve got the killing floor. Make sure everyone’s drinks are full and if anyone orders anything write it on this pad and take it to Leonard. We’ll be back in a minute.”

  Beau grabbed Lyn by the elbow and dragged her toward the office. As they passed the kitchen he barked at the cook, Leonard, to keep an eye on “the kid.” Leonard nodded, looking a little worried that Lyn was being hauled into the principal’s office.

  At the end of the hallway, past the dishwashing station, the walk-in freezer, and the employee lockers, Beau opened the door to his office. Instead of shoving, he let go of Lyn’s elbow and gestured in like a fairy-tale prince asking her to dance. She walked in and sat down, staring at her hands. She hoped that he’d fire her so she could make the hour drive home and start looking for a better job in town. Although waitressing wasn’t rocket science, the work was exhausting. She’d never had a job that was so simple that she hated so much.

  Beau took a seat behind his pressed-board desk and gave her a long look. Behind him blankly stared the glass eyes of a stuffed deer’s head. Below that, in a pine rack, hung the rifle that she imagined deadened the animal’s gaze. Most guys kept their rifles at home or in a rack in their trucks, but Beau spent more time at the restaurant than his house. He’d appointed his small office like a personal den with trophies and other things men like him took pride in. Outward signs of his accomplishment. Against another wall, a bookshelf sagged under the weight of lofty tomes like The Psychological Foundations of Wealth and Making Business Work. She never saw Beau crack a book, but it didn’t surprise her that he had a collection of shitty self-help titles with unbroken spines. On his desk in front of him sat a new one: Miah “Matoskah” Walker’s Taming the Shapeshifter: Aboriginal Strategies for Success. The man pictured on the cover looked like twice the asshole Beau was. Something he’s aspiring to?

  “What did I tell you about Miss Myers?” he asked.

  “It’s Myer.”

  “God damn it, Lyn! Now is not the time to be smart. What the hell did I tell you about serving Joanie Myers?” He shifted the ever-present toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other, chewing on the wood. She thought about how much she’d like to snatch it and poke him in the eye with it. Banishing the thought, she acted properly cowed to please her manager.

  “Not to.”

  “That’s right. Two words. Not to. Are they so damned hard to remember?” Beau folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. She imagined if there was a part of his job he liked best (after kissing Adam Bischoff’s rich ass) it was dressing down waitresses.

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  She knew he wanted to hear her call him ‘sir.’ “No, it isn’t,” she answered instead. “Are we done yet? Because Luis is probably scalding someone with coffee right now.”

  “No we’re not done. You’re on shaky ground, miss. This is going in your file. You want to use me as a reference ever in the future––and you might need references sooner than later if you keep this attitude up––you’d better toe the line. You know what that means?”

  “It’s from boxing.”

  “It means step up and do what you’re supposed to.” Beau tried to lean back further. To Lyn it looked like he was trying to lie down. She wished for him to fall over backwards. Instead, he leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. “Get out there and do your job. And if the management decides to refuse service to anyone then you god damn do what management says. Got it?”

  “Yes.” Beau didn’t repeat his request for a ‘sir.’ Instead he dismissed her with a regal wave of his hand and an order to close his door on the way out. She hurried to the dining room, giving a clucking Leonard the finger and a wink as she passed by the kitchen. He winked back, pointing his index finger and cocking his thumb.

  The busboy, Luis, was indeed pouring coffee for a couple along the far wall of the restaurant––a slender black man and a teenage boy who seemed to be in their own worlds––while the fat man at table three was holding up his empty glass like it might suddenly start raining cola. Lyn walked up behind Luis, put her hand on his shoulder, and took the coffee pot when he was finished pouring. “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem.” The way he hurried back to polishing the flatware, she knew that he’d probably been ready to jump out the window at the prospect of actual work.

  Lyn began the process of catching up with the customer demands that accumulated every time she took a break. She pictured herself in her fantasy tavern––Brandybuck’s––that made the hours at work move a little more quickly. She finished refreshing coffee for the couple from the Dark Lands and their yapping little pet goblin, refilled the dwarven miner’s Coke, and brought the lady wood elves their lunches. The people at table one––she didn’t have any way to categorize them––signaled for the check. She dug it out of the pocket in the front of her apron and took it over.

  “How was everything?” she asked.

  “The food and the service were fine, but you can tell the manager that we won’t ever be coming here again.”

  “I’m sorry. Is there something I can do to––” The man’s wife put a hand on Lyn’s forearm to stop her. Lyn hated being touched while she was working. Everyone always assumed it was okay to grab at the waitress when they wanted her attention and it made her skin crawl every single time. Except this one. The woman had a nice, calming touch.

  “Don’t tell your manager a thing, dear.” She focused her attention on her husband. “You saw how he treated her just now. And you want her to tell him that a couple from out of state won’t be back tomorrow. Shame on you, Jeff.”

  “What? I don’t like how they treated…” He trailed off after another unspoken communiqué from his wife. “Yes, of course you’re right.” He looked at Lyn who was debating whether she should walk away while they worked this out or stay and awkwardly wait for them to settle up. “The food was good and your service was great. That’s it.” He handed back the check with his credit card. Lyn took it to the register, rang it through, and returned with their receipt slip. “Thanks,” Jeff said, putting his card away. “Can you settle a bet for us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are there bears up here?”

  “Sure. A couple of years ago Fish and Game had to kill a grizzly that had gotten used to eating people-food out of dumpsters. It’s why we have to keep ours padlocked.”

  “Grizzly!” Sarah said.

  “Yeah, but that’s the only one I’ve heard of around here. Mostly it’s black bears. Why?”

  “Sarah says she saw a bear––”

  “A giant bear. Like a grizzly.”

  “A pretty big one on our way here. But I think it was too big to be a bear. I was thinking it was maybe an elk.”

  Lyn laughed. “Well, both are possible––this place is out in the middle of nowhere––but it’s kind of hard to confuse them. One’s, like, got antlers.”

  “I saw antlers.”

  “I saw a bear standing underneath tree branches and so did you,” Sarah said playfully. “Elk don’t stand on their hind legs.”

  “Where did you see… whatever it was?”

  “A half mile that way.” Sarah pointed out the window in the direction of Mercy Lake. “It was standing on the side of the
road.”

  “Yeesh! I like them both better in the zoo,” Lyn said. “Too big and scary in real life, you know?”

  “We hear you there,” Jeff said. He and Sarah smiled, seemingly satisfied that they had seen something in the woods, whatever it was.

  “Sorry I couldn’t help you settle the bet.” Lyn headed for the register and missed seeing Jeff slipping Joanie’s pair of twenties under the salt and pepper shakers. The couple got up, collected their things and walked out the door. She looked up from her drawing and, as instructed, said, “Thanks for eating at Your Mountain Home Kitchen.” She was supposed to add, “Y’all come back and see us again,” even though she’d never sincerely said “y’all” once in her life. No one in the area talked like that, but Beau thought it sounded folksy. She thought it was hokey. Either way, they’d already said this was their last visit. She hoped it wasn’t. They were nice people. She saw too few of those lately.

  #

  1425 hrs

  Luis sauntered over to bus the table. Looking over his shoulder at Lyn, he watched her busying herself, straightening the hostess station. As she bent down to stuff the spare menus below, he spied the pair of twenties the customers had left on the table. He looked at the slip and saw they’d added twenty percent as well. He was confused to see both a tip on the tab and forty dollars cash. He pocketed the money and put the tab back. Lyn stood up and smiled as she caught him looking over his shoulder at her again. He returned the smile and wondered if what Beau said about her was true. She had a figure like a boy, but he’d still love to see those lips wrapped around his cock.