by Beverly Long
“Biscuit is my name, biscuits are my game,” Gertie said. “And I’ve got the T-shirts to prove it,” she added, waving her arm in the direction of a display stand of Gertie Biscuit coffee cups, T-shirts and baseball caps.
“I think you’re a marketing genius,” Daisy said.
Gertie laughed. “I got lucky and fell in love with Nicky Biscuit. I used to tell him that if he’d have been Nicky Smith or Nicky Jones, I wouldn’t have given him a second look.” She fingered the dog tags. “These are his. He served in Vietnam. We weren’t sure he was going to come home. After he did, he wore them every day for fifty years. I wear them now in his honor.”
Daisy could feel her throat get tight. Gertie was living proof that great loves happened to real people. It could happen to her someday. “That’s a wonderful story,” Daisy said.
“Speaking of great stories, I saw some of the social media that’s been generated by your Remember This theme. And my employees were all talking their favorite memories from the dance.”
“Encourage them to send them to me,” Daisy said. “I’m excited that you’re doing the food. Blade and I wanted to chat with you about the menu given that it’s just a little more than two weeks away. We were hoping that we might continue on with the concept with the food but just aren’t sure how to do it.”
Gertie nodded. “I actually was thinking about that just this morning once I overheard my employees. I’ve got an idea. But don’t hesitate to let me know if you’re not crazy about it.” She waited until they both nodded before continuing. “I’ve been doing the event for the last eighteen years. I’ve kept records of what we served every year. And I also have the records of the previous two caterers, going back another twenty-five years. So that’s more than forty years of menus.”
“Let me guess,” Blade said with a smile. “All of them have chicken in some form or fashion.”
“Well, lots of them do. But even so, it was fixed in a different way. And there were lots of years where beef, pork or fish was the main dish. I think they even went through a pasta phase. And who could ever forget the ham balls.”
“Ugh,” Daisy said.
Gertie chuckled. “No worries. I’ll go through the menus. First pass, I’ll delete any choices that I’m absolutely opposed to making. Like ham balls. Second pass, I’ll pick out maybe ten to fifteen that I think would be best. We could post the choices and ask readers to vote on their favorite. And that’s the one I’ll cook.”
“I love it,” Daisy said. “I think it will drive a lot of social media participation—people really get into talking about food.”
“They might even have a photo they can share of one of the choices,” Gertie said. “Customers used to pick up a fork when their food arrived at the table. Now they pull out their cell phone.”
“So true,” Daisy said. “I’m trying to get a handle on our expenses. Can you give me an estimate of how much it would be per person?” In her experience with past events, the food costs always took a big chunk out of the proceeds.
“I donate the food,” Gertie said. “And I’ll provide all the table linens, table decorations and flowers. The community center has plates and silverware.”
Her head was reeling. “Gertie, that’s incredibly generous.”
Gertie waved a hand around. “This community is, to use your words, incredibly generous to me. Has been for the last twenty years. I want it to remain strong and vibrant. Services, like fire and EMS, are a necessary part of that. I’m happy to do it.”
Daisy looked at Blade. He shrugged. “I think her mind is made up,” he said.
“And you know better than to argue with me,” Gertie said, her tone amused. She looked at Daisy. “You better watch this one, Daisy. He’s got an innocent look about him, but I remember him and his two friends when they were just kids. There was always some sort of mischief going on. They’re all grown up now, but I’m not sure they’ve completely shed the trappings of their misspent youth.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Blade said. “But you know that we’d never give you any trouble.”
“I do. And I know you, Marcus and Jamie always overtip my servers, as well.” She stood up and extended her hand to Daisy. “I’ll be in touch.”
Daisy watched her greet customers as she made her way back to the kitchen. Then she leaned forward in the booth. “I love her.”
Blade nodded. “Everybody does.”
“I think she’s a bit fond of you,” Daisy said.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said.
“I’m not,” she protested. “You would be easy to...” She stopped. Like? Love? Oh, good grief. “Easy to be fond of,” she finished. “And I’ll be even fonder of you if you can help me whip up some fantastic silent auction items. I was thinking that I should probably draft a letter of appeal.”
He shook his head. “That will likely be best for any of the larger employers in the area. But if you want participation from smaller businesses, like the ones that line Main Street, I’d suggest we let our feet do the talking.”
“I’m willing to try it,” she said. “I’ve got a couple of free hours this afternoon. Do you have time now?”
He slid out of the booth. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll even take the lead at the garage at the tail end of the business district.”
He’d said it casually. Too casually. She smelled a setup. “What’s special about the garage?”
He shrugged. “Nothing really. But the people who own it may be a soft touch.”
“Who owns it?”
“My parents. Come on, I’ll introduce you. It’ll be a good place to start. We can work our way back.”
On automatic, she walked out of Gertie’s Café and followed his lead to turn left. The wind had picked up, and strands of her hair blew across her face.
She ran her tongue over her teeth, hoping she didn’t reek of biscuits and gravy. Meeting someone’s parents really required clean teeth, brushed hair and fresh lipstick. Right now, she had none of that. But then again, it wasn’t as if this was personal. No, it was business. Just business.
But a stick of gum wouldn’t hurt. She hurriedly reached into her purse and popped a piece into her mouth.
“Both of your parents work at the garage?” she asked.
“Yeah. My mom started working on cars when she was a teenager. Her parents owned this shop. When they got too old to run it, she and my dad bought them out. He’d always helped out here on the weekends, and now it’s his full time gig, too.”
His mom worked on the cars. “I feel bad admitting this, but I think I might have been really sexist and assumed your mom ran the office and did the books.”
He smiled. “She does some of that. But she’d rather be working on a car.”
Three blocks later, they were in front of the business. It was painted a cheerful and tasteful yellow and gray. There were three bays, and all of them had cars inside being worked on.
“They look busy,” she said. “Maybe we should come back.”
“They’re always busy. That’s a good thing. Come on.”
He headed toward the middle bay. “That’s Mom.”
Daisy could see the back of a woman with her head under the hood of an SUV. She was wearing blue work pants and a white shirt. “Hey, Mom,” Blade said as they approached.
She straightened and turned. “Oh, what a nice surprise,” she said. She leaned forward to hug Blade. “Are we on fire and I didn’t know it?”
“Hey, I get over here once in a while,” he protested good-naturedly.
She was lovely, and if the clothes were utilitarian, the rest of her was pure feminine. Her brown hair was cut short and highlighted with streaks of blond. She wore light makeup, and her lipstick looked pretty fresh. Daisy resisted the urge to put her hand in front of her own mouth. The woman smiled when she looked at Daisy. “H
i, I’m Gemma Savick.”
“Daisy Rambler,” she said, shaking hands. “Blade and I are working together on the Spring Spectacular.”
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you,” Gemma said. “My granddaughter Raven said you have the coolest clothes.”
“I don’t know about that,” Daisy said. “Raven is a lovely girl. I’m glad that she and Sophie, my daughter, have hit it off.”
“And both of them got parts in the play,” Gemma said. “That worked out nicely.”
“Gosh, Mom, you’re awfully up-to-date on things to play the I never see you card,” Blade said.
Gemma winked at Daisy. “So what do I owe this rare visit to?”
“We’re looking for silent auction items for the Spring Spectacular. I know that you and Dad always attend.”
“Bought tickets the first week they went on sale. Wouldn’t miss it,” she said. “And, of course, we’ll contribute something. How about five free oil changes and a tire rotation and balance?”
“That’s perfect,” Daisy said.
“My work is done,” Blade said. He turned to Daisy. “Good luck with everybody else.”
His comment drew a stare from his mother.
Blade turned to Daisy. “At our house, we call that the look. It generally means that a person has stepped in it up to his waist. And I emphasize his, because in all cases the look is reserved for me or my dad.” He turned back to his mom. “Relax. I’m doing my part. Equal all the way. But speaking of Dad, where is he?”
“He...uh...isn’t here.”
“He is not having coffee with Schrader?” Blade again looked in Daisy’s direction. “This guy keeps wanting my dad to invest in diamonds. He’s a nut.”
“No. He’s not with Schrader,” Gemma said.
“So where is he?” Blade prodded.
“He had a doctor’s appointment.” Gemma picked up a rag and wiped at her fingers.
That made Blade cock his head. “His hip?”
“No.”
She didn’t know Gemma Savick well, but by the sudden inability to meet Blade’s gaze, it seemed as if there might be more to the story. She sneaked a quick sideways glance at Blade, and she knew immediately that he was also concerned.
“Then what for?” he asked.
When Gemma looked at Blade, her eyes were kind. “It’s your father’s health, Blade. It’s for him to decide what to share.”
“What the hell?” Blade said.
“I will tell him you stopped by,” Gemma said. “And that you were concerned.”
Blade stared at his mother. “Is this something that you should be with Dad? This place can run without you. You know that, right?”
Gemma tilted her chin down. “I do know that.” She didn’t sound angry, but her tone was definitely cooler.
“I just think—”
“Daisy,” Gemma said, interrupting her son, “it was lovely to meet you. I’ll get a certificate made up for the silent auction item and make sure it gets dropped off at your office at Pratt Sports Spot. But right now, I need to get back to work.” She turned back to Blade. “Goodbye. I will let your dad know that you stopped in.”
She walked away from them.
Blade turned to Daisy. “I’m not sure what just happened here.”
“Talk to your dad,” she said.
“Oh, I will. Count on that,” Blade said, sounding frustrated.
“You know what, I can take the silent auction from here,” Daisy said.
“No. No way. We’re cochairs.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m actually a very good multitasker and a supreme compartmentalizer. It sorts of goes with the job. One situation cannot be allowed to impact another. That could ultimately compromise care. Plus, as nice as you are, you’re still a stranger. There will be more pressure to give if a local boy is standing there, doing the asking.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Let’s go. Next stop is the ice cream shop. I’m thinking an ice cream party for the lucky auction winner and twenty of his or her closest friends.”
“Or a free quart of ice cream for the next twelve months,” she countered.
He waved a hand. “Quart, hell no. Half gallon at the minimum. We do things big here on the West Coast.”
He was right. He was big and bold and fun. This was going to all be over in just a couple weeks, after the Spring Spectacular.
She was going to miss it. A lot.
Chapter 13
Blade silently stewed about the conversation with his mother while he and Daisy worked the street. Within two hours, they’d collected auction pledges from fourteen merchants, everything from ice cream to free haircuts to complimentary year-end tax processing. Daisy was confident that Pratt Sports Spot would donate a nice gift, and Blade had volunteered to see what the Emergency Room physicians at Bigelow Memorial would pony up. As a medical team, they’d been known to be very generous. He was confident that Jamie had something to do with that.
He and Daisy had parted ways late afternoon, and it had taken him about six seconds to decide to pay another visit to his parents’ business. This time he found his dad in the front office, standing behind the counter, his hands busy on a computer. As always, his dad looked up when the bell above the door tinkled, and smiled when he saw it was his son.
But Blade could see the wariness in his eyes and knew that his mom and dad had talked, and his dad had been expecting his visit. That wariness was enough to make Blade’s gut tighten.
“Hey,” Blade said. He took a quick look around to make sure they were alone.
“Hey, yourself,” his dad said. At sixty-three, Larkin Savick was still trim. Had walked two miles a day for as long as Blade could remember. His hair was more gray than brown, and he’d given up the pretense of only needing glasses for reading several years prior.
“How’s it going?” Blade asked.
“It’s okay,” his dad said.
Blade decided he wasn’t going to dance around it. “I stopped in this morning. Mom said that you were at a doctor’s appointment, but she didn’t want to provide much detail.”
His dad held up a hand. “Your mom was just doing what I asked of her.”
“Okay. So what’s the deal?”
“Three weeks ago, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.”
The words hit Blade like a sledgehammer. And because his mind refused to embrace pancreatic cancer, he focused on the timeline. “Three weeks ago! And I’m just hearing about this.”
“Things have been moving kind of fast,” his dad said. “And I didn’t want to worry you until we knew more.”
Worry. Pancreatic cancer. The words bounced around in Blade’s head, smacking into one another. Hell yes, he was worried. This was bad. But he was a trained emergency responder. Knew to get the facts so that he could assess. “So what are the doctors saying?” he asked, hoping that his voice didn’t reflect that his heart was racing.
“They said I’m lucky. That most of the time, this cancer isn’t diagnosed until it’s rather advanced, stage three or four. But I’m stage two. With an aggressive treatment plan, they’re optimistic.”
Optimistic that they could destroy the cancer? Optimistic that he would live another year, three years, five years? Blade wanted to drill into the definition but knew that now wasn’t the time. He knew what that aggressive treatment plan might look like. He walked around the counter and reached for his dad. Hugged him hard. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he said.
“It’s a kick in the nuts, all right,” his dad said. “But I’ll get through it.
“We’ll get through it,” Blade said.
His dad shook his head. “No. That’s why I didn’t want your mother to say anything. You’ve got your own life to live, Blade. A big job and raising a teenage daughter. You don’t need to be worrying about me.
I don’t even want your mother there. She doesn’t need to see this.”
With most any other person, Blade would have brushed off the comment as a poor attempt to appear stoic. But not his dad, who rarely said anything that he hadn’t thought long and hard about. “That seems unnecessary,” Blade said. “We want to be part of this. I want to help in any way that I can.”
“Of course you do. And the best way that you can help is to go on about your life without worrying about me. I’ve told your mother to do the same thing.”
Blade felt bad. “I sort of insinuated to her this morning that she wasn’t with you because she thought the garage couldn’t run without her. But you didn’t want her there, did you?”
“Nope. And I think you should consider yourself fortunate that she didn’t throw a wrench at your head.”
“I’m an idiot,” Blade said.
But then maybe his father was, too. His dad no doubt thought he was protecting his wife. And his wife was feeling rejected and left out of the process. It was a mess. But Blade was confident that his parents would sort that part out. How he was going to be of any help to his dad when he felt decidedly helpless was another issue.
“What can I do, then?” he asked, deciding it was best to be direct.
“The thing I don’t want you doing is treating me like I’m half dead. We’re going to go on about our lives, juggling tasks, managing priorities, having a beer now and again.”
“You can’t ignore this, Dad.”
“I’m not. I’ve been busy getting a second opinion, which fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, matched the first diagnosis. I’m going to be starting a combination of radiation and chemotherapy in hopes of shrinking the tumor before surgery. I’m dealing with it. But I do not intend to talk about this 24/7. In fact, right now, I’m done talking about it. Tell me about Daisy Rambler. Your mom said she was very pretty.”
He had a thousand questions, but his dad had been pretty clear. Time to change topics. And it wasn’t a hardship to talk about Daisy. “She is pretty. Nice, too. We’ve got some things in common. She’s got a sixteen-year-old daughter at Knoware High. Her name is Sophie and she and Raven have connected.”
