Last Chance at the Someday Café

by Angel Smits

  All that was left to do was wait. The only sound in the room was the echo of the rain pelting the windows. The gas flames behind the glass were weirdly silent. She wished for the pop and crackle of logs, if for no other reason than to break up the night.

  “I’m calling Dutch,” Emily said softly, breaking the thick quiet.

  “Dutch?” Tara asked.

  “Sheriff Ferguson,” Wyatt explained.

  “No!” Brooke shot up off the pillow where they’d all thought she was sound asleep. She scrambled into Tara’s lap, curling her tiny hands tight in Tara’s shirt. “Don’t let her send me away, please.” She hiccuped on a sob.

  Tara closed her arms tight around Brooke. “I won’t let anyone take you away.” She frowned at Emily over Brooke’s head.

  Emily’s eyes shone in the dim firelight. “I’m not sending you away, sweetie.” Emily stood and moved to sit beside Tara. Brooke clung tighter, snuggling against Tara’s shoulder. “I want to call the sheriff and let him know where you are.”

  “He’ll take me to Mama. And Jimmy.”

  “He won’t be able to get here,” Wyatt said from the other couch. Emily glared at him, then looked at Tara and Brooke.

  “If your mom has called the authorities, we have to let them know. If she hasn’t...” She paused. “Well, that works in our favor.”

  Tara understood, and rubbing her hand up and down Brooke’s back, she tried to calm the girl. “Do what you need to do to make everything legal, Emily.” Tara tilted her head so she could see Brooke’s face more clearly. “But the only person I’ll let you go with is your dad, okay?”

  That seemed to calm Brooke some. Tara felt her shirt dampen with the little girl’s tears and part of her ached, wishing she could take them all away.

  “I’ll call from here so you’ll know everything I say, okay?” Emily didn’t wait for anyone to answer as she pulled out her phone. She also lifted her briefcase off the floor and pulled out a laptop.

  “Bernice? Hi, it’s Judge Hawkins.” The indistinct sound of a woman’s voice came from the other end of the call. “Yes, we’re all safe out here. Thanks.” More talking. “We have an issue I’d like to report. Tara found a little girl wandering in the rain.”

  Tara breathed a sigh of relief and leaned her head against Brooke’s. Every so often, she shuddered with a half-asleep sob.

  “Yes, in town,” Emily continued. “But Tara brought her out here. She didn’t know where else to take her that would be safe.” Emily listened. “Yes, we know you guys have your hands full. But we want to let you know in case someone’s looking for her. She’s safe and sound here.”

  More undistinguishable chatter, and Brooke seemed to calm. Her breathing was rough, but her eyes were closed.

  “She asleep?” Tara mouthed to Wyatt. He leaned forward and nodded. The frown on his face was deep.

  “I’m taking temporary custody of this girl, Bernie. I know it’s unusual, but she’s about six years old, and I’m concerned that there’s something wrong or something has happened to her parents. I can’t accept this or let it pass. Let Dutch know that I’m taking over the case.”

  Emily listened for a long minute. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. We’ll keep her here tonight and give you a call in the morning. Hopefully, the rain will stop soon, yes. Good night, Bernie.”

  The entire room breathed a sigh of relief when Emily hung up. She looked accusingly around the room. “See? I made it legal, and she’s staying here with us.”

  She started typing on the laptop nestled in her lap. “I’m opening a case file. Let’s get the facts down now. That’ll help Morgan in the long run, as well.”

  “Thank you,” Tara whispered and leaned her head on the soft cushion of the couch. Her eyes burned. For an instant, she wished she was six again and could cry herself to sleep with Brooke.

  “Here.” Someone nudged her shoulder, and Tara opened her eyes. DJ had a glass in each hand. “It’ll help you sleep.”

  Tara almost laughed. “I’m a big kid now? I get a drink from Granddad’s bar?” The carved wooden bar dominated one end of the room. Granddad had commissioned it from a local artisan when he’d built the house, believing it was better for his employees to party close to home and under his watchful eye. As kids, they’d all been in awe of its grandeur.

  “You’ve earned it.” DJ smiled and took a swig of his own drink—whiskey, from the scent. His was straight on the rocks, not “watered down” as he called the mixed drink he’d given her. “We all have.”

  Wyatt handed Emily a drink and they savored the silence.

  “I’m thirsty, too,” Brooke said softly.

  That elicited a laugh from them all.

  “We can fix that. How about one of these?” Wyatt fixed her a drink that smelled suspiciously like a Shirley Temple, complete with a maraschino cherry. The highball glass looked huge in the little girl’s hands.

  “That’s pretty special treatment,” Tara told her. “I don’t remember him ever making one of those for me.”

  “I’ll gladly make you one,” Wyatt offered with a wink.

  “I’ll take a rain check, thanks.” She lifted her drink, much stronger than Brooke’s, in a mock salute and prayed it would do as DJ promised. Sleep seemed incredibly elusive right now.

  * * *

  WADE’S OLD FORD had seen better days, but the truck was high enough that they could make it safely through the rising water. Morgan had been convinced he’d made a colossal mistake when he’d seen that tree fall.

  His truck was destroyed, but it looked like the trailer was intact. The big pine was wedged between the cab and the building, actually providing a level of protection to the back of the diner. He hoped.

  “You think that trailer’ll hold?” Wade asked, leaning forward over the steering wheel as if getting closer to the windshield would make seeing easier. The rain was coming down so thick, Morgan could barely see more than a few inches beyond the hood. How was the old man even driving in this?

  “I hope so.” Morgan glanced in the side mirror. They weren’t making quick progress through the water, but his truck—what was left of it—was growing smaller in the reflection. He didn’t speak, not wanting to distract Wade.

  “Tara’s brother’s place is a ways out of town.” Wade stared straight ahead. “Might take us a while to get there.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t. I’m offerin’.”

  “Thought your place was out east. Isn’t that where the worst of the storm is?”

  “Can’t be much worse than this. If it is, I don’t think I could get there anyway. Might not have a choice but to go out to the Hawkins place.”

  Morgan nodded, returning his gaze to the windshield and the view he couldn’t really see. Then suddenly, they pulled out of the thick water, the engine making only a few protests as they were obviously heading uphill. The rain seemed to thin, as well, and Morgan could see the road, and the line of red taillights ahead. “Maybe you can get some information on the radio,” Morgan suggested.

  “Might.” Wade grinned. “If it worked. Yer phone work?”

  Morgan stared at the blank screen. “Nope.” He didn’t know if he’d run out of battery or if the thing had gotten wet.

  “Mine’s in the glove box. See if it’s charged. I ain’t looked at it for a while.”

  Morgan rummaged around in the very full glove box. Receipts, odd gum wrappers and small tools were all he found inside. Then he saw a curled cord and grabbed it. A phone sat next to it. Morgan flipped the ancient screen open. It lit up, faintly. One bar. A smidge of battery. Not enough to justify the phone call he ached to make. Not enough to do that and have anything left for an emergency.

  He told Wade as much.

  “Yeah, we might need to call someone if we get stuc
k...oh, wait.” He pointed at the traffic jam they were firmly embedded in. The one surrounded by streams of water and muck.

  Morgan chuckled, liking the man’s outlook on life. “Yeah, there’s that.” He stuffed the rest of the junk into the glove box but set the nearly dead phone on the seat beside him. He’d wait.

  Brooke was with Tara—she’d told him that and Wade had confirmed it. She was safe. For now. The knot in his chest wasn’t getting any smaller. He wanted his little girl back. Ached for it. Now.

  Patience was a virtue, he told himself, pretending he had some.

  * * *

  TARA AWOKE. WEAK dawn sunlight filtered between the storm clouds and the horizon. There weren’t any curtains on the picture window behind Wyatt’s desk, and she could see the soaking-wet world outside. Levering up on her elbow, she looked at Brooke. She was curled up on the big pillow, one of Grandma’s afghans snuggled over her tiny shoulders, her arms around the purple dragon that she hadn’t let go of since they’d left the diner.

  The diner. Was it still intact? Had the water destroyed her dreams? Tara shook her head, hoping to dislodge the images of destruction that had to have come out of last night’s dreams.

  She hadn’t been asleep long. They’d gotten here late and she’d stayed up even later talking to Emily and her brothers.

  Slowly, Tara inched off the couch and left the room on tiptoe. She left the double doors ajar, in case the girl did wake up. She hoped she didn’t. Brooke was expecting her dad to be here when she woke up. And while Tara hoped for the same thing, she knew the chances were slim. And getting slimmer by the minute.

  Voices came from the kitchen, and Tara followed them. Her brothers were there. Half a dozen ranch hands gathered around the table while Juanita was at the stove, flipping pancakes like a pro.

  There was a new face at the table. Dutch Ferguson. The badge on his chest caught and held her gaze. What was he doing here? Was there news of the floods? About Morgan? Sylvie? She froze in the doorway, her heart pounding against her ribs.

  “H-hi, Dutch,” she whispered, clearing her throat before she headed to the coffeemaker. “What, uh, brings you out here so early?” Did she really want to know the answer to that question?

  “Emily’s call last night,” Dutch explained. “I was out this way and thought I’d stop in and check.” He took a minute to savor the coffee from his cup. “We did get a call about that girl.”

  Tara’s heart sank. She couldn’t let Brooke go back to her mother. Morgan might never find her again.

  “You did?” That wasn’t her hand shaking as she poured the coffee into a mug, really it wasn’t. She didn’t fill it too full, a precaution against spilling it. She liberally added cream and sugar, the clink of her spoon loud in the too-quiet room as she stirred the mixture. Finally, a sip of fortification under her belt, she slowly turned to look at the older man again.

  “We got a call, yeah,” Dutch repeated softly. “Some guy named Jimmy said the little girl had been kidnapped.”

  Tara gasped. “I—”

  The sheriff lifted his hand. “We know better. But—” he looked at Wyatt “—the call is on record.”

  “And time-stamped.” Emily came into the kitchen then, wearing a fluffy, blue robe that Tara remembered her opening last Christmas. “What time did he call, Dutch?” Emily didn’t look nearly as ruffled as Tara felt. She envied her sister-in-law.

  “Bernice took the call, just like she took yours. ’Cept yours was two and a half hours before his.”

  “Two and a half hours?” Tara screeched. “We didn’t call Bernice until Brooke was with me a couple hours.”

  “That’s a hell of a long time for a little one to be gone and no one noticing.” The anger was clear in Wyatt’s voice.

  “I’m not disagreeing with you, Wyatt.” Dutch finished his coffee and pushed away from the table. He carried his cup to the sink. “Emily, I know when you called. Phil has the case file you started. We’re in good shape there.” He walked toward the door. “But right now, I got a little girl who’s not with either of her parents, and I don’t see either of those parents here.”

  Emily bypassed the coffee and fixed herself a cup of tea. She took in a deep breath of the steam that rose from the cup. “She’s in my custody now. As an officer of the court, that trumps either parent until we’ve done an investigation.”

  “Never knew you to be one to argue jurisdiction, Emily.” Dutch faced the room, and Tara watched the grin grow on his weathered face. “You know I’m not one to argue about that sort of thing, either.”

  “I do, Dutch.” She smiled back. “How much time do you think we’ve got?”

  Tara didn’t understand what was going on. She was tired and stressed, and her head hurt from either the drink DJ had made her last night or lack of sleep or a dozen other stresses she’d internalized.

  “I’ll stall them with the investigation as long as I can.” Dutch pushed the screen door open. “Let me know when—if—the father shows up. His lawyer has already filed a motion. I’m thinking you’re going to grant it?” He looked at Emily, an eyebrow lifted.

  “Why, Dutch, I believe we’ve worked together entirely too long.” Emily deepened her drawl, and the men in the room laughed.

  The sheriff looked at Tara and she swallowed hard, surprised at the deep emotion in his worn eyes. “Did you need something, Sheriff?” She tried to keep her voice even.

  “You took a mighty big risk last night. I’ve been all over this county in the past twenty-four hours. I’ve seen the destruction. Most of the time, I’d give you a lecture about setting out like that in the dark. But you did a good thing, getting that girl to someplace safe.” The old man cleared his throat, not saying another word as he headed to his car.

  Tara frowned, wondering what had caused the sadness in the older man’s eyes. She frowned and looked at Emily. Wyatt stared into his coffee, and the men around the table were silent.

  “What am I missing?” Tara asked.

  Emily was the one who answered, her voice soft. “Dutch lost his son several years ago. He was just eighteen.” Emily paused to take a slow sip of her tea before she finished. “He drowned.”

  “If you hadn’t been there for Brooke, she’d have probably been caught in the flooding last night.” Wyatt finally looked up. “You probably saved her life.”

  “How bad is it?” She hadn’t asked Dutch about the damage in town, more concerned about him taking Brooke. Silence stretched out. Obviously, it wasn’t good.

  “The creek banks broke,” Wyatt explained. “The east side of town got at least three feet of water.”

  The Someday Café, her work, her dream, sat on the east side of town, right on the banks of that creek. Her eyes burned and she blinked hard, fast, refusing to fall apart—yet. No one said it, no one had to. It was gone. Everything had to be destroyed.

  Closing her eyes, she visualized every inch of the place she’d worked so hard to build. The blue paint she’d spent days putting on the walls. The eclectic collection of furniture from every garage sale she could find. The industrial stove that she, Wade and Robbie used to make all those amazing meals. Their pride and joy. The counter stool where Morgan had sat, watching and waiting to find Brooke.

  Brooke. The idea of her, of anyone out in that raging water all alone, made her shiver.

  Where was Morgan?

  * * *

  TIME PASSED SLOWLY. The men went about their chores but stayed close in the yard, not riding out on the range. Wyatt was with them, as was DJ. Emily stayed in the house with Tara and Brooke.

  News came slowly from town, and Juanita was in the kitchen watching the early morning news, giving them updates every few minutes. When she came rushing into the den, both women looked up. “Hurry, come see.” She waved them toward the television.

  A helicopter was
flying over Haskins Corners, the town hardest hit by the flooding, according to the news anchor. “The small town has been cut off since yesterday, though rescue workers have been working through the night to help people out of their homes. Let’s show you some of that footage now.”

  “Is that our town?” Brooke asked and crawled up on Tara’s lap, the purple dragon still in tow.

  “Yes, it is. Oh, look.” Juanita pointed at the screen. “There’s your diner.”

  They all watched as the helicopter dipped toward the creek bank where it had broken. Where the worst of the water had come out of the creek. A giant pine was on its side—Tara hastily stood and moved closer, sitting Brooke on the chair.

  “That’s Morgan’s truck.” Tara lowered her trembling voice, glancing at Brooke. “Under—” her heart beat in her ears “—the tree.”

  “Are you sure?” Emily asked.

  “Positive.” How many times had she looked at that truck? When had he gotten there? The truck’s cab was badly damaged—the broad branches of the tree covered over half the trailer and blocked the view of the whole back of the building. Water still rushed across the entire property.

  There weren’t any other vehicles in the parking lot, and Tara let herself believe that Wade had kept his word and gotten out of there as soon as she left.

  The helicopter moved over the rest of town. Main Street looked like a river, and cars sat in the middle of the wide, flowing water, abandoned, ruined.

  “Tara?” Brooke squirmed on the chair, her purple dragon clasped in a tight hug. The photo of Morgan was still snuggled inside, and Tara wondered if it would survive all this.

  “Yeah, hon?”

  “What if...what if Daddy doesn’t come?” She was staring at the television with wide, frightened eyes.

  “He’ll come.”

  Emily looked over at her, one eyebrow lifted.

  “What?” Tara asked.