The Stranger's Obituary

by Jessica L. Randall

  It was the woman from the diner, the one she'd recognized. She must have seen the searching in Bernadette's eyes.

  “Betsy Barker. I was a friend of your mother's. I used to come by sometimes. I always brought sugar cookies.”

  The cookies were the light that exposed the long-hidden memories. They were delicious. She remembered her mom liked Betsy, but occasionally when she knew she was coming, she'd pull Mina and Bernie down the hallway and shush them until Betsy stopped knocking. She was a strong personality, to put it lightly. And definitely someone you didn't tell anything you didn't want repeated.

  Bernadette smiled. “Of course, Betsy, I remember you. You made the most delightful sugar cookies.”

  Betsy grinned, her shoulders scrunched clear up to her ears. “And you were always such a little spitfire. And so beautiful. No one was surprised when you went and got yourself rich and famous. What's it like in Hollywood?”

  “It's very ... shiny, everybody and everything. At least on the outside.”

  “I knew it. I keep telling Eddie we should go and do one of those tours where you get to see all the celebrity's mansions.” She gasped, eyes shining. “Hey, maybe you could give us one of those tours.”

  Bernadette tried not to cringe as she imagined herself leading celebrity tours. “Maybe. I could definitely tell you the very best things to see.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Betsy squinted one eye and lowered her voice. “So, you going to the diner to see Doug?”

  Bernadette bit back the comment she wanted to make.

  “Yes. Turns out I ended up with a bunch of his keys somehow.”

  Betsy's mouth opened wide, her face all false innocence.

  “How about that? I hope they weren't too important. Guess fate wants to make sure you two work things out, even if you're leaving town soon.”

  “I'm not sure it was fate.”

  “Sure it was,” Betsy said, her hands gesturing grandly. “This town's full of other-worldly interference. Either that or crazy people. But I always felt your mother was the real deal—not the crazy—the other thing.” Her face puckered with pity. “Doug could certainly use a little interference in his favor.”

  “I don't know about otherwor—why? What's wrong with Doug?”

  “He's been so unlucky lately. He's dated a little since you left, but never found what he was looking for. Then Susan Walters set her sights on him.” Betsy half-covered her mouth, as if someone might hear. “Even though she's a little old for him. He went out with her once. I think he was just being nice. When he politely declined a second date she went all full-scorned-woman-fury on him. Accused him of pushing her outside the diner the other day, I'm sure you heard about that. Now she'll slander him to anyone who will listen, and he's so good-natured, you know. He doesn't say a word about it. Most people don't listen to her anyway, but his business is already suffering enough.”

  “Is the diner in trouble?”

  “Don't say I said so, but yes.”

  “But Doug's the best cook I know.”

  “Oh, he's wonderful. Everyone knows that. But the economy isn't what it used to be, and the daily Big Belly Breakfast is the first thing to get cut from a tight budget. That, and there have been other misfortunes, appliances and things breaking like crazy. It's like the place is cursed, especially the last week or so.” She shrugged, then patted Bernadette's shoulder. “No one would argue that Doug's a talented man and a hard worker, but we all know who the business brains of the operation was back when the two of you were together. He's told me about all the ideas you came up with.”

  Bernadette smiled, but it quickly faded. She bit her lip. Maybe Betsy didn't know about everything Bernadette did to Doug, and if she didn't know, the rest of the town might not either. It was so like Doug not to tell.

  “Well, sweetie, I'll let you get to it. I have a meeting to get to with the ladies, and I have a lemon chiffon cake to bake that's bound to beat out whatever Ada Foster comes up with.”

  As Betsy rushed off Bernadette walked on in a daze. When she'd seen how well Doug was doing, she'd felt so relieved. He owned the diner. It looked great. It still had the black-and-white tiled floor she remembered, and the green seats, but the fifties diner décor was gone, replaced by vintage photos of Auburn's people and the downtown area. It was simple and straightforward, like Doug. And his food was even better than she remembered.

  She'd told herself she hadn't ruined his life, and maybe he was even better off without her. Now she wasn't so sure.

  She fingered the note in her purse again, remembering the night when she'd stayed late to close the diner with Doug. After the doors were locked they sat perched on bar stools by the soda machine, laughing as they drank cola out of shot glasses with little Canadian flags their boss brought back from a vacation.

  He told her about how his father had pushed him to play football through high school, and how he'd wanted Doug to have a “real man's career”, which meant he should join him full-time in the construction business. For several years following graduation, Doug had one foot in his dad's world, working construction, and one foot in his own, cooking at the diner part-time for Jim Harris.

  But Doug had been baking pies with his grandmother since he was six. The way she could comfort people with homemade bread, or steak fried in a little butter, inspired him. He'd read an article about Blaise Harding, who'd started as a dishwasher and was now one of the most promising young chefs in the business. When he'd read that he knew that what he'd been dreaming about wasn't a stupid idea, like his dad told him. He didn't have to be famous or anything, but maybe he could buy the diner someday when Jim finally sold it and moved to Florida like he was always talking about. He just wanted to make people smile with a deep-fat-fryer and fresh peach pie.

  Bernadette had encouraged him to do what made him happy. She remembered the excitement in his face, the intensity of his blue eyes, when he told her she was right, and that he knew what he wanted. Then he'd leaned in, clanking his glass against hers, and kissed her with a determination that made her certain Doug could do whatever he set his mind to.

  They'd spent the next hour writing down all the ways Doug could come up with the money for the diner, and how he'd run it once it was finally his.

  “Will you stay?” he'd asked her. “I can cook, but I don't have any idea how to run a business. We would be awesome together.” Doug drew himself on the sheet of paper, then added Bernadette, holding his hand.

  She'd just laughed and took his hand like in the picture. Somehow she'd known she wouldn't stay, but for a moment she tried to imagine living forever in this town with Doug and running a diner, not having to prove anything to anyone.

  As she looked down at the piece of paper, she felt someone grab her arm. She started and jerked her head up, expecting to see Betsy again. Instead she stared into a pair of green eyes set into a gaunt face. Regardless of the tired lines and the sharp edged jaw, she could see the face was lovely once. The pleading expression alarmed Bernadette.

  “Please, I'm looking for someone.” The woman wrung her hands.

  “I don't live here, but I'll help if I can. Who are you looking for?” Bernadette looked around her and found she'd already reached the diner. Maybe someone inside had seen something.

  Her eyes went frantic as the woman jerked her head one way, then another.

  “You don't understand. She took her from me!”

  The woman's tone was quickly escalating toward panic. Bernadette gingerly touched her shoulder.

  “Don't worry. I know the sheriff. Come with me.”

  But as Bernadette led her along, her foot caught on the sidewalk and she fell, knocking her knee and scraping her elbow on the concrete. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and pulled herself up, then looked around for the woman, but she'd gone.

  She turned to see Doug rush out of the diner.

  “Bernie, are you okay?”

  She brushed the scuffed knees of her Escada jeans, her cheeks burning.
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  “Yes, I'm fine.”

  Doug put a palm to his forehead as he looked down.

  “When did that get there?”

  Her eyes followed his to a large crack in the sidewalk. She was sure the sight of it made her more uneasy than Doug.

  “I swear, that wasn't here this morning. Come in, let’s take a look at you.”

  “I told you, I'm fine. I swear, I'm not going to sue.” She laughed. “It's my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going.”

  He breathed a sigh, but his face was still full of tension.

  “Where's that woman? She needed help.”

  Doug glanced around. “I didn't see anyone.” He looked at the crack. “I gotta get that taken care of.”

  “I think that would be wise,” she said, keeping her voice even. Doug didn't know how much filling in that crack would put her nerves at ease.

  Bernadette followed him inside, where he glanced around the nearly full diner, finally locating an empty chair. He took it outside, and Bernadette watched through the window as he placed it over the crack. She craned her neck, distracted by the thought of that poor woman and hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Maybe she'd gone looking for the sheriff herself. She'd ask Frank later.

  “That'll have to do for now,” Doug said as he came back in. He took Bernie's elbow, frowning, then gently let it go and hurried past a customer waving for his attention on his way to the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of peroxide, a paper towel, and a Band-Aid.

  “Thank you. I can do it.” She tried to grab the bottle from his hands.

  “Just hold still, Bernie.”

  She sighed as he dumped peroxide on the towel and gently dabbed at the scrape. He hastily tore the plastic off the Band-Aid and stuck it on her elbow.

  “Everything else okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  She looked down to where his fingers still rested tenderly on her elbow. Doug followed her gaze and stepped back abruptly.

  “All right. Unless you've got an order, I have to get back to work.”

  As Doug grabbed the coffee pot and poured a cup, nearly dropping it on the table in front of a prim old woman, Bernadette realized he was the only one working the diner.

  Bernadette followed him into the kitchen.

  “Where's your waitress?”

  Doug shook his head as he washed his hands.

  “She left. As in left town. As soon as they get the keys to a car, it doesn't take 'em long to leave town.”

  Bernadette looked away, her cheeks burning. The night she drove away in their mother's car, leaving Mina stranded here and Doug's grandmother's ring still on her finger was etched into her mind. Of course by that time it didn't look like Mina planned to go anywhere anyway.

  It was eleven forty five, and the diner buzzed with anxious customers waiting for their food, some of which was burning on the stove. Doug cussed and scraped what he could save onto a plate. She remembered what Betsy told her about the diner, and the guilt that had been gnawing at her sharpened its teeth.

  She stuck her purse on the shelf under the counter, then grabbed an apron from the hook and tied it on. Doug paused, mouth slightly agape as he stared at her. She wasn't sure if he was grateful or just wanted her to leave, not that it mattered. She'd made her decision.

  Chapter 7

  Dinner and a Show

  Bernadette Fairchild was going to play the part of a lowly waitress?

  “The tabloids are gonna have a heyday with this,” Doug said. “I guess that's what careers are made of.”

  She set her jaw and stalked to the coffee pot.

  For a moment he felt bad for saying it, but the sight of her in the apron was almost more than he could take. She was like the ghost of what might have been, or the ghost of diner days past. He rubbed his eyes, reminding himself that she may as well be a ghost. For all he knew none of it had been real, at least on her part. So why was she doing this? Was she trying to clear her conscience? He sighed and went back to flipping patties. He'd given up trying to figure her out years ago.

  He peeked out to watch Bernie, who was beaming a movie-star smile as she filled coffee cups and took orders. Some of the customers crossed their arms and looked at her skeptically, as if they doubted she'd remember they said 'medium-well' and 'no onions', or they thought there might be a hidden camera somewhere recording a reality television show. But Bernie drew them out, like she'd always been able to do. She'd made good tips as a waitress all those years ago, although, apparently, it wasn't enough for what she'd had in mind.

  Bernie clipped new orders to the board as Doug put in a batch of fries and assembled burgers for the customers who had been waiting for thirty minutes. He didn't want to let Bernie do this, but he didn't have any other options. He prided himself on staying on top of things, but it was hard to keep an employee here for very long. And lately everything seemed to be going wrong, from the broken dishwasher to the crack that had shown up out front. If he wasn't careful he'd have a lawsuit on his hands before Susan Walters was finished threatening him about the last incident. He knew everyone in town saw him as an easy-going, glass half-full kind of guy, but he didn't know what he'd do if he lost the diner.

  As Doug loaded two plates, he heard a shout and poked his head out again. A crowd had gathered around Bernie, who was standing perfectly still and giving directions as customers stacked plates and cups on her hands. She reminded Doug of a Jenga tower just waiting for one imperfectly balanced addition to tip the whole load. He winced and came out of the kitchen, walking softly as if one heavy step would be enough to send the towers crashing to the floor. He didn't need any more incidents or extra costs.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but the words dissolved as he saw the calm, confident expression on Bernie's face. He looked at the crowd, laughing and engaged. They looked like they'd forgotten about their delayed lunches.

  He shuffled backwards, not wanting to turn his back on the situation, and watched from the kitchen as the customers cheered her on. A few of them took pictures with their phones, and still Bernie seemed unphased, her toned arms handling the load and her warm smile unbroken.

  Maybe this was a stunt after all. Not so much outcast movie star finds work as small-town waitress as movie star condescends to put on a show in a humble diner as she fraternizes with the locals. Leave it to Bernie to figure out how to make the most of a situation.

  Doug sighed. He had to stop thinking that way. It really wasn't like him. Since Bernie's return, his defenses had been up, and it occasionally came out in a toxic negativity. He had good reason to want to protect himself from being hurt again, but he didn't need to become someone else to do it.

  The crowd fell silent as Bernie turned and walked slowly to the kitchen.

  “Doug?”

  He turned and looked at her, casually flipping a patty.

  “That was a good show.”

  “Could you help me unload this?”

  “I don't deal with the dishes most of the time.” He glanced toward the back door. “The Richards' kid comes by and does them. But he should be here pretty soon.”

  Creases formed between her brow, and the dishes chattered as her arms quivered under the weight.

  “Please.” Her voice was sugar-coated, in the way that let him know he shouldn't push her much further. Doug grabbed some plates and dropped them in the sink.

  “Those getting heavy?”

  Her lips twitched. “Not really.”

  He grinned and helped her unload the rest of the dishes.

  “You didn't learn that talent here.”

  “I've been practicing.”

  “You've been waitressing in California all this time? I thought you were in the movie business.”

  “I played a waitress once.”

  Doug's smile faded. “I remember that one. Your best role.”

  Her lips tightened. “I mean in California. I learned a few tricks.”

  “I thought you already knew 'em all.”

 
Bernie frowned. Doug felt that twinge of shame again. He couldn't resist messing with her. There was a lot he wanted to say, and a lot he wanted to hear. But he couldn't ask her, so he baited her a little.

  Bernie smoothed her apron, then grabbed the plates of food and hurried out of the kitchen. After delivering the orders, Doug watched Bernie approach a small table, where a woman sat hidden behind a menu. When she lowered it, Bernie was staring into Susan Walter's narrowed eyes.

  Bernie stiffened, her shoulders pulling back as if she wanted to get as far away from the woman as possible while still standing her ground. Doug tried to keep the food from burning while eavesdropping over the sizzle of the grill. Considering Susan's resentment toward him, this could get ugly very quickly.

  “That was quite a fiasco in California. I read all about it in the papers,” Susan said.

  Bernie stood, her pen poised over the order pad, her smile stiff. “The ones in the supermarket checkout lane?”

  “Of course.” Susan's voice was as smooth as pudding. “I know some people find them silly, but there's often quite a bit of truth in there. I mean, look around this town. No one would believe the shocking things that go on around here.”

  It was as if a wire was tied tightly between the two women, a tense connection Doug didn't understand. He didn't remember Bernie having any kind of relationship with Susan before she left. Did she hate Susan for his sake?

  “And the people, they'd make the cover right alongside the boy raised by aliens. Speaking of troubled people, will you be staying with your sister now? I think she's to the point where she could really use someone. I worry about her shut up in that house.”

  “Gut Buster to go, then?” Bernie asked, her words clipped, her cheeks flushed.

  “Heavens no. I never eat like that. It's not lady-like. Maybe a Big Fish Sandwich. I heard that was named after a certain someone.”