by Alton Gansky
“Just like the movie,” Andi said. “Now we can all say, we had breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
Tiffany’s Café looked old on the outside and older on the inside. Tiffany herself was no spring chicken. She was short, round, sported a double chin that swayed with each step she took, and she smelled of bacon grease, burnt toast, and stale tobacco. She wore a green stripped waitress uniform with a white apron and frilly collar. I knew she was named Tiffany because she wore a name tag, the kind with a white space to write a name on. It looked like the letters and been penned a long time ago. When we walked in she had been chatting up one of the two customers in the place. She was smiling. That evaporated the moment the little brass bell at the top of the door jingled. She looked at us like we looked at the Tockity man last night.
“Charming,” Brenda said. “We’ve gone back in time sixty years.
“Maybe it’s one of those retro places,” I said. “You know, like fifties diner that serves burgers and malts.”
“If it is, they went out of their way to find original fixtures. Look at the booths. They have to be decades old. They have more scars, stains, and tears than I can count.”
We waited for her to seat us or at least say, “Sit anywhere.” That never came. She did telegraph a pretty mean scowl our way.
I sometimes work under the philosophy that forgiveness is easier to get than permission, so I sauntered over to one of the teal and white booths and squeezed onto the bench. Clearly, it had been designed for smaller folk than me. Daniel, obviously not put off by the look of the place or the owner, took the space next to me.
“Good call.” I elbowed the kid. “Now the wimmin’ will be able to look right into our handsome faces while they eat.”
Daniel giggled. “Wimmin’.”
“The trick will be keeping our breakfast down,” Brenda said. She and Andi scooted onto the the opposite seat.
Anyone listening to our conversation would think we were all happy campers. We weren’t. Dark clouds hovered over us. The team felt incomplete without the professor, plus Brenda’s revelation about leaving the group, the scary Tockity man, and the fact that we were in a town that made us feel like we weren’t wanted had us all sitting on razor blades. Of course, the fact that we had no idea why we had been sent here didn’t help.
“You folks lost?” It was Tiffany. She had a three-pack-a-day voice.
“Not at all,” Brenda said. “We’re seated in Tiffany’s café in Newland, North Carolina. Nope, not lost at all.” She was getting cranky again.
“We don’t get many outsiders in here.”
“Maybe we can start a trend.” Brenda’s face portrayed an innocent spirit I knew wasn’t there. It was an act for Miss Tiffany.
“You know, we’re just a small town dive, but up the road—”
“—there’s a nice place in Sugar Hill.” Apparently Andi had caught the same sarcasm disease as Brenda. “We’re here and we’re hungry now.”
“Breakfast for breakfast,” Daniel said.
Tiffany looked puzzled. I tried to explain. “We had breakfast for dinner last night at the hotel.”
“You stayed in town last night?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I figured one of the adults needed to be polite.
“At Jewel’s place?”
“Yes, ma’am. She let us use the kitchen.”
Tiffany’s face hardened. “She did, did she?”
“Yes, ma’am. I could really use some coffee. We all could.” I needed to change the subject before Brenda got in the woman’s face. “Except the boy, of course. Do you have milk?”
“We have milk. I still think—”
I could see Andi tense. Andi was sweet and smart and kind but she had limits. I was pretty sure Tiffany was about to cross into the danger zone.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Andi said. “I sometimes get things wrong but it seems you don’t want to serve us. Could that be because one of us is black? I’m sure that’s not it, but if it were, we would have to let someone know that Tiffany’s is still practicing segregation.”
Tiffany drew herself up as tall as she could. “Of course not. I ain’t got no problem with a person’s color. Like I said, we just don’t get new people in town and when we do, they have the good sense to keep moving.”
“Now that sounds like a threat.” Andi was pulling out all the stops. I had no doubt she was spoiling for a fight. Too many pent up emotions can make people a little crazy.
“No threat, darlin’. I’m just telling you the Gospel truth.”
I’ve read the Gospels many times, and I’m sure she wasn’t using the word the way the Bible does.
Andi stared at her with innocence on her face and laser beams in her eyes.
Tiffany sighed. “Coffee for three and milk for your boy.” She was speaking to me.
“He’s not my son,” I said. “He’s my little buddy.”
The woman looked at Andi who shook her head slowly.
“Daniel’s my son,” Brenda said.
Tiffany looked at Daniel’s white face then at Brenda’s black skin. We get that a lot.
“I’ll get the coffee then take your order.”
She walked away. The other two diners stared at us. I sized them up. Both looked to be well into their sixties and in no way a threat. I also noted the cook had come out. He was twice as round as Tiffany and sported the same double chin and dingy clothes.
“Girl,” Brenda said, “did you just play the race card?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The slight grin on Andi’s face told me she was lying.
Brenda beamed. It was good to see a smile on her face, even if it only lasted a moment.
Tiffany brought the coffee and a milk for Daniel, we ordered, and she trudged off. I used the time to bring the girls up to date about my walk. It was a short story, but they recognized the weirdness in it. There wasn’t much to discuss, but at least they were up to speed.
The food arrived quickly. I guess Tiffany felt the sooner we ate the sooner we’d leave. I dug into a Denver omelet, Andi had a bowl of oatmeal, Brenda had scrambled eggs and hash browns. Daniel wasted no time getting to his pancakes. We ate in silence for a few minutes, then Brenda asked the question we’ve all been waiting for: “What are the odds of getting me and Daniel to the Asheville airport?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to answer. I had been hoping that Brenda would change her mind. Considering the picture she had drawn, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t. She wasn’t concerned with her safety; she was worried about Daniel. So was I.
Andi broke the silence. “Since we don’t know why we’re here, I can’t think of a reason not to leave. It’s not like our mysterious, invisible handlers have given us any direction. Telling us where to go and funding our trip, putting money in our bank accounts to live on so we can be on call isn’t enough. Every situation we walked into we walked into blind. If they want our help, our gifts, then they should give us more than crumbs to follow.”
“Amen to that,” Brenda said.
I wanted to argue the point, but I had no material to use. Everything Andi said was true. We are sent places, bizarre things happen, we get sucked in, we fight for our lives and the lives of others, then nothing. We don’t anything about those who send us and fund us. We know they clean up after us, or so it seems. That’s it.
“Well, Cowboy?” Brenda was pummeling me with her eyes. “I can drive if you want. I know how to do that.”
“I know. I just don’t want to lose you and Daniel.”
I know it’s not possible, but I felt my heart melt. She was leaving to protect Daniel. I was being selfish by resisting her. “I’ll load up the car as soon as we’re done eating.”
Brenda’s expression softened. “Thanks, Bjorn. You da man.”
“Tank’s da man,” Daniel said.
Then he sat bolt upright. He looked up and to the area of the door we walked through a short time before. The he snapped his head around, seeing thi
ngs only he could see. “Uh oh.”
I didn’t like Daniel’s tone. Too much fear in it.
“What, buddy?” I stared at him.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he snatched the fork from my hand then gathered up all the silverware.
“Daniel, what are you doing?” Brenda sounded both irked and frightened at the same time.
He shoved his plate to the floor, then proceeded to do the same with everyone else’s plates and cups. The racket hurt my ears.
“Hey! You’re gonna pay for that.” Tiffany started our way. I saw the cook come out from the back.
If Daniel was just some other kid; if I hadn’t seen him in action before; if we hadn’t seen so many unexplainable things; then people would be right to think he was throwing a tantrum. I knew better.
“Hold on,” Daniel said clutching the silverware to his chest. Then his head snapped to the side as he directed his gaze out the window. I followed his example. “Tock-Tick.”
Just outside the window was the Tockity man. The same disheveled, ratty looking, homeless guy. The same freaky eye patch.
He was grinning again, exposing what few teeth he had left.
Through the glass I heard him say, “Tock-tick, tock-tick, Tockity-tick-tick.”
Tiffany’s voice sounded a mile or two away. “What’s he doing in the daylight?”
Then the world went white.
There was pain.
There was fear.
Then there was nothing but white.
Chapter Seven
I Don’t Think We’re in Kansas Anymore
Once, on the football field, back when I was playing on a junior college team (before I transferred to the University of Washington and made a hash of that), I put a wicked tackle on a running back. I got the worst of the deal. I couldn’t breathe and my head felt like a team of workers were trying to knock a hole in my skull using sledgehammers. It was my first and only concussion. One is enough.
When the white went away, I felt the same. I struggled to open my eyes and had to focus just to breathe. The air tasted funny. The light seemed a shade or two off from where it had been. It took less than a second for me to stop thinking about myself and start thinking of the others. With eyes now wide, I looked first at Daniel. He looked pale, slightly green, and more than a little stunned. He clutched the silverware to his chest. He had missed one—a butter knife that Brenda had been using. I found it stuck deep in the backrest of the booth between Daniel and me. Daniel had saved us from becoming pincushions—or silverware cushions.
Andi was in her spot, her hands on the edge of the table as if pushing herself back. Her sometimes wild red hair was wild again. “What . . . was . . . that?”
Brenda looked ready to upchuck her breakfast. Her mouth hung open and she gulped for air like a fish tossed on the dock.
“Are you choking?” I feared her mouth might have been full of food when whatever happened, happened.
She shook her head. I knew what the problem was. I’ve experienced it a few times; many football players have. She had had all the wind knocked out of her. Her diaphragm was in a spasm. It’s a lousy feeling. I reached across the table and put my hand on the side of her head. “Look at me.”
She didn’t.
“Brenda, look at me. Right in the eyes.”
She did. Those eyes were growing wider.
“Relax. Just look at me and relax. Your breath will come back. Just give it a moment.”
I rubbed my thumb on her cheek. Andi slipped an arm around her.
Then Brenda inhaled deeply—and noisily. She sounded like someone who had gone down with a ship and just made the long swim to the surface.
“There it is. There it is.” I continued to stroke her cheek. “Keep looking at me. There ya’ go.” Another deep inhalation. Another noisy gasp. “Stay relaxed. You’re doing great.”
It took a minute or two before she was breathing in a normal fashion.
“Can you speak now?” That would tell me that her airway was clear and everything was working as it should.
She spoke. I won’t tell you what she said because it would earn an R-rating. I’ve been around football jocks all my life and those boys know how to swear. Nonetheless, Brenda could give lessons.
She spoke again. “I don’t ever want to do that again.”
I lowered my hand. “Me neither.”
“Cowboy, you healed me. Thanks.”
I mentioned earlier that we all have our own special gifts. Andi sees patterns, Brenda draws the future, Daniel sees angels, and I can heal people. Well, sometimes. It doesn’t work every time. In fact, I never know if it’s going to work or not. You can imagine how frustrating that is. If I had full control of that gift, I’d spend my days walking through hospitals putting doctors out of work—if you know what I mean.
“Glad to help, but it wasn’t me.”
She raised a hand— “I know. You think it was God.”
“Well, that too, but I don’t think I healed you. You just had the wind knocked out of you. All you needed was a little time for your breathing to reset itself.”
“Is that all. I thought I was dying.”
“Me too,” Daniel said.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts and tame my emotions when I saw it. I glanced around Tiffany’s, or what used to be Tiffany’s. “Um guys . . .”
They saw me casting my gaze this way and that. While we were blinded by the bright white light someone had snuck into Tiffany’s and repainted the walls. They also added a dozen customers, and changed Tiffany’s uniform. Except it wasn’t Tiffany. The lady moving from table to table filling coffee cups and joking with the patrons was painfully thin, had short black hair, looked to be in her twenties, and stood close to six feet tall if she were an inch.
Other things had changed. In the place we had just been, Tiffany brought us menus. Here the menus were held in a wire holder. I grabbed one. Brenda and Andi did the same.
“This ain’t good.” Brenda was right.
“This can’t be.” Andi kept her gaze fixed to the menu. Her eyes darted back and forth. “I-I can’t read this.”
“Nothin’ wrong with your eyes, girlfriend.” Brenda touched the printing on the menu as if she could absorb its meaning through her fingertips. “I can’t make heads or tales of it, myself.”
I had noticed the same thing. There were plenty of words but they were written in some other language. Something tickled my brain. It looked familiar— “The scroll!”
I said that a little too loud. Several people turned to face us. Worse, the waitress came over. I didn’t see how that could be a good thing.
Andi nodded. “That’s where I’ve seen these letters.” She paused just a moment then asked, “Am I the only one who feels like we just made some kind of trip?”
I wanted to say more, but the waitress arrived. She said—something. I have no idea what. Her tone was light and sing-songy. No anger. She did, however, look a little puzzled. I glanced at Andi and Brenda and they looked as lost as I felt. Andi shrugged. Brenda shook her head. She pointed at a particular item on the menu. That made me wonder what happened to the breakfast we had just eaten when we were in Tiffany’s. The silverware had made it but not the dirty dishes Daniel had pushed on the floor. That was fine with me. I don’t know how I’d explain that. Of course, I didn’t know how to explain any of this.
Reaching deep in my gut I brought out what I felt was a pretty convincing smile and held up one index finger. I hoped the universal, “Give me a sec” sign would be, well, universal. “Could we have another moment?”
Daniel cranked his head my direction. Brenda slapped her forehead. Andi sat still and looked like I had just undressed in front of everyone. The waitress cocked her head. That’s when I realized, in my infinite wisdom, that if I couldn’t understand her, she couldn’t understand me. I had just proved that we weren’t from around these parts.
She studied me for a moment, nodded, and walked away.
/> “I’m an idiot.” I squeezed my eyes shut as if that would back the clock up. It didn’t.
“Anyone want to argue with him?” Brenda said.
Andi, who normally was kind said, “Not me.”
“Now that the cat is out of the bag, what do we do?” Brenda said.
“We need to go somewhere where we can talk.” Andi reached for the small purse she carried. “I don’t think it’s wise to stay here.”
“What if what just happened happens again?” The washing machine in my head was set to high speed. “If we move from this spot and the thing happens again, then we’ll miss our ride back to our world.”
“We can’t sit here doing nothing.” Andi looked around the café. “People are staring.”
I glanced around again. She was right. We had become the morning’s entertainment. “Okay, you win. I don’t have any better ideas.” To Daniel I said, “Scoot on out, buddy. We’re gonna blow this popsicle stand.”
He set the silverware down and wiggled out of the booth. I slid across the seat. Brenda and Andi were already out and watched me try to work my bulk out of a booth made for thin people.
“Uh oh,” Brenda whispered. “Heads up.”
The waitress walked in our direction again. I couldn’t help noticing that she was looking at us, then looking at the door. At first I thought she was going to block our way out. Then I noticed what she had already noticed. A yellow-and-white sedan had pulled to the side of the street. It had some lettering over a round symbol on the doors. On the top of the car was a globe about the size of a large softball.
“Guys . . .” I nodded out the window. The others turned just in time to see two men get out of the front seat. They wore matching green uniforms. There were yellow patches sewn to their sleeves near the shoulder. My Uncle Bart is the sheriff of Dickerson County in Oregon so I know a cop car when I see one. And I was seeing one.
“Nuts.” It was the best I could manage.
The skinny waitress opened the door and I was pretty sure she wasn’t opening it for us. I was wrong. She smiled. Bowed her head for a moment and waved us out.
Out we went.
