“Hi. What would you like?” Maribeth asked shyly, as he glanced at her in covert admiration.
“The number two, thanks. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes.” He blushed. He liked her red hair and tried not to stare at her figure.
“Salad, corn, or spinach?” She remained noncommittal.
“Corn, thanks,” he said, eyeing her. He knew he hadn't seen her there before, and he came in often. He had dinner there three or four times a week, sometimes even on weekends. Their food was plentiful and good and cheap. And when his mother stopped cooking it was the only way he could get a decent dinner.
“Coffee?”
“No, milk. And apple pie a la mode for dessert,“ he said, as if he was afraid it might run out, and she smiled.
“How'do you know you'll have room? We serve pretty big portions.”
“I know,” he smiled back. “I eat here all the time. You're new, aren't you?” She nodded, feeling shy for the first time since she'd been there. He was a nice kid, and she suspected he was about her own age, and somehow she got the impression that he knew it.
“Yeah, I'm new. I just moved here.”
“What's your name?” He was very direct, and very honest. But Julie was right, there was something devastating in his eyes. It almost made you afraid to look there, except that you knew you had to. Something about him drew Maribeth to him. It was as though she had to see who he was and know more about him.
“My name's Maribeth.”
“I'm Tom. It's nice to meet you.”
“Thanks.” She went off to order his dinner for him then, and came back with his glass of milk. Julie had already teased her by then, and said he had never spoken as much to anyone since he'd been there.
“Where are you from?” he asked when she came back, and she told him. “What made you move here, or should I ask?”
“A lot of things. I like it here. The people are really nice. The restaurant's great. I found a real pretty little room near here. Everything just kind of worked out.” She smiled, and was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. And when she came back with his dinner, he seemed more interested in talking to her than eating.
He nibbled at his pie for a long time, and ordered another piece and another glass of milk, which he had never done before, and talked to her a lot about fly-fishing nearby and asked if she'd ever done it.
She had, a number of years before with her father and brother, but she'd never been very good at it. She liked just sitting there, while they fished, and reading or thinking.
“You could come with me sometime,” he said, and then blushed, wondering why he was talking to her so much. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her since he'd walked into the restaurant and first seen her.
He left her a big tip, and then stood awkwardly for a moment on his side of the counter. “Well, thanks for everything. See you again next time.” And then he walked out. She noticed how tall he was, and how lanky and thin. He was good-looking, but he didn't seem to know it. And he seemed very young. He seemed more like a brother than a boy she'd have been interested in, but whatever he was, or would be, or even if she never saw him again, he'd been nice to talk to.
He came in again the next day, and the day after that, and he was deeply disappointed to find that she had a day off and he missed her. And then he came back again after the weekend.
“I missed you last time' he said as he ordered fried chicken. He had a healthy appetite, and he always ordered a whole dinner. He seemed to spend most of his paper route money on food. He ate out a lot, and Maribeth wondered if he lived with his parents, and she finally asked him.
“Do you live alone?” she asked cautiously, as she set his meal down and refilled his glass of milk. She didn't write it on the check. They gave free coffee refills after all, it wouldn't break Jimmy to pay for a glass of milk for a regular patron like Tommy.
“Not really. I live with my parents. But …they …uh …everyone kind of does their own thing. And my mom doesn't like to cook anymore. She's going back to work this fall. She's a teacher. She's been subbing for a long time, but she's going back full-time at the high school.”
“What does she teach?”
“English, social studies, lit. She's pretty good. She's always giving me extra work to do,” he said, rolling his eyes, but he didn't really look as though he minded.
“You're lucky. I've had to take some time off from school, and I know I'm really going to miss it.”
“College or high school?” he asked with interest. He was still trying to peg her age. She seemed older than her years, and yet in some ways, he got the feeling she was closer to his own age. She hesitated for only a moment before answering.
“High school.” He figured she was probably a senior. “I'm going to be doing some work on my own, until I go back after Christmas.” She said it defensively, and he wondered why she had dropped out, but he decided not to ask her.
“I can lend you some books, if you want. I can even get some stuff from my mom, she'd love it. She thinks the whole world should be doing independent studies. Do you like school?” He could see from the look in her eyes that she was being honest with him when she nodded. There was a real hunger there, an appetite that was never completely sated. On her day off she had gone to the library to borrow books that would help her keep up with her own classes.
“What do you like best?” she asked, clearing his plates. He had ordered blueberry pie a la mode for dessert. It was the pie they did best, and he loved it.
“English,” he answered as she set his pie down, and felt her back ache. But she liked standing there talking to him. They always seemed to have so much to say to each other. “English lit, English comp. Sometimes I think I might like to write. My mom would probably like that. My dad expects me to go into the business.”
“What kind of business is that?” she asked, intrigued by him. He was a smart, good-looking kid, and yet he seemed so lonely. He never came in with friends, never seemed to want to go home. She wondered about him, and why he seemed so alone, and so lonely.
“He's in produce,” he explained. “My grandfather started it. They used to be farmers. But then they started selling produce from all over. It's pretty interesting, but I like writing better. I might like to teach, like my mom.” He shrugged then, looking very young again. He liked talking to her, and he didn't mind answering her questions. He had a few of his own, but he decided to save them. And before he left that night, he asked when she was going to be off again.
“Friday.”
He nodded, wondering if she'd be shocked if he asked her to go for a walk with him, or to the swimming hole outside town. “Would you like to do something Friday afternoon? I have to help my dad in the morning. But I could pick you up around two. Hell let me have the truck. We could go to the swimming hole, or out to the lake. We can go fishing if you want.” He looked desperately hopeful as he waited.
“I'd like that. Whatever you want to do.” She lowered her voice then, so the others wouldn't hear, and gave him her address, and she didn't hesitate for a minute. He looked like the kind of person you could trust, and she felt completely at ease with him. She knew instinctively just from talking to him that Tommy Whittaker was her friend, and he would do nothing to harm her.
“Did you just make a date with him?” Julie asked with a curious grin when he left. One of the other girls thought she had heard him invite Maribeth to go fishing, and they were all giggling and laughing and speculating. She was such a kid, but they all liked her. And they liked him. He had been a mystery to them ever since he'd started coming in the previous winter. He never said anything to them, he just came in and ordered dinner. But with Maribeth, he had really come alive and he never seemed to stop talking.
“Of course not,” she said in answer to Julie's question. “I don't date customers,” she said pointedly, and Julie didn't believe her for a minute.
“You can do anything you want, you know. Jimmy doesn't mind. He's a cute kid, and he
really likes you.”
“He's just a friend, that's all. He says his mom hates to cook so he comes in here for dinner.”
“Well, he certainly told you his life story, didn't he now.”
“Oh for heaven's sake.” Maribeth grinned, and walked into the kitchen to pick up a tray of hamburgers for a bunch of students. But as she walked back with the heavy tray, she smiled to herself, thinking of Friday.
Chapter Four
On Friday, his father let him leave work at eleven o'clock, and he picked her up at eleven-thirty. Maribeth was waiting for him in an old pair of jeans and saddle shoes and a big shirt that had been her fathers. The jeans were rolled up almost to her knees, and she was wearing her bright red hair in pigtails. She looked about fourteen, and the big shirt concealed her growing paunch. She hadn't been able to zip her jeans up for weeks now.
“Hi, I finished earlier than I thought I would. I told my dad I was going fishing. He thought it was a great idea and told me to get going.” He helped her into the truck, and they stopped at a small market on the way to buy some sandwiches for lunch.
Tommy ordered roast beef, and she had tuna. They were big homemade-looking sandwiches, and they bought a six-pack of Cokes, and a box of cookies.
“Anything else?” Tommy asked, excited just being with her. She was so pretty and so alive, and there was something very grown-up about her. Not living at home, and having a job, somehow made her seem very mature and a lot older.
Maribeth picked up a couple of apples and a Hershey bar, and Tommy insisted on paying. She tried to split the expense with him, but he wouldn't let her. He was long and tall and lean as he followed her back to the truck, carrying their groceries and admiring her figure.
“So how come you left home so young?” he asked as they drove to the lake. He hadn't heard the story yet about her being a widow. He figured maybe her parents had died, or something dramatic had happened. Most kids their age didn't just drop out of school and move away. Something about her suggested to him that there was more to the story.
“I … uh … I don't know.” She glanced out the window for a long time, and then back at him. “It's kind of a long story.” She shrugged, thinking about what it had been like leaving home and moving to the convent. It had been the most depressing place she'd ever been, and she was glad every day she hadn't stayed there. At least here she felt alive, she had a job, she was taking care of herself, and now she had met him. Maybe they could be friends. She was beginning to feel she had a life here. She had called home a couple of times, but her mom just cried, and they wouldn't let her speak to Noelle. And the last time she called, her mother said that maybe it would be better if she wrote and didn't call them. They were happy to know that she was well, and doing all right, but her father was still very angry at her, and he said he wouldn't talk to her until after “her problem was taken care of.” Her mother kept referring to the baby as Maribeth's “problem.”
Maribeth sighed, thinking of all that, and then looked at Tommy. He had nice clean-cut looks, and he seemed like a good person to talk to. “We had a big fight and my father made me move out. He wanted me to stay in our hometown, but after a couple of weeks I just decided that I couldn't. So I came here, and got a job.” She made it all sound so simple, with none of the agony it had caused her, the terror, or the heartbreak.
“But you're going back?” He looked confused, she had already told him she was going back to school after Christmas.
“Yeah. I've got to get back to school,” she said matter-of-factly, as the road curved lazily toward the lake. His fishing pole was in the truck behind them.
“Why don't you go here?”
“I can't,” she said, not wanting to elaborate further. And then to change the subject for a little while, she looked at him, wondering what his family was like, and why he never seemed to want to be with them.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” she asked casually, as they arrived, realizing again how little she knew about him. He turned off the engine, and looked at her, and for a long moment there was silence.
“I did,” he said quietly. “Annie. She was five. She died just after Christmas.” He got out of the truck then, without saying anything more, and went to get his fishing pole as Maribeth watched him, wondering if that was the pain one saw so easily in his eyes, if that was why he never went home to his parents.
She got out of the truck, and followed him to the lake. They found a quiet spot at the end of a sandy beach and he slipped off his jeans. He had bathing trunks on, and he unbuttoned his shirt as she watched him. For the flash of an instant, she thought of Paul, but there was no similarity between them. None. Paul was sophisticated and smooth, and very much the man-about-campus. He was also married by then, and he was part of another life. Everything about Tommy was wholesome and pure. He seemed very innocent, and incredibly nice, and she was startled by how much she liked him.
She sat down on the sand next to him, while he baited his hook.
“What was she like?” Her voice was very soft, and he didn't look up from what he was doing.
“Annie?” He looked up at the sun, and then closed his eyes for a second before glancing at Maribeth. He didn't want to talk about it, and yet with her he felt as if he could. He knew they were going to be friends but he wanted more than that from her. She had great legs, and great eyes, a smile that melted him, and a sensational figure. But he wanted to be her friend too. He wanted to do things for her, to be there for her when she needed a friend, and he sensed that she did now, although he wasn't sure why. But there was something very vulnerable about her.
“She was the sweetest kid that ever lived, big blue eyes, and white-blond hair. She looked like the little angel on top of the Christmas tree …and sometimes she was a little devil. She used to tease me, and follow me everywhere. We made a big snowman right before she died….” His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head. It was the first time he had ever talked about her to anyone, and it was hard for him. Maribeth could see that. “I really miss her,” he admitted in a voice that was barely more than a croak, as Maribeth touched his arm with gentle fingers.
“It's okay to cry …I'll bet you miss her a lot. Was she sick for a long time?”
“Two days. We thought she just had influenza, or a cold or something. It was meningitis. They couldn't do anything. She just went. I kept thinking it should have been me afterwards. I mean, why her? Why a little tiny kid like that? She was only five years old, she never did anything to hurt anyone, she never did anything but make us happy. I was ten when she was born, and she was so funny and soft and warm and cuddly, like a little puppy.” He smiled, thinking about her, and moved closer to Maribeth on the warm sand, laying his pole down beside him. In a funny way, it felt good talking about her now, as though it brought her back to him for the briefest of moments. He never talked to anyone about her anymore. No one ever brought her up, and he knew he couldn't say anything to his parents.
“Your parents must have taken it pretty hard,” Maribeth said, wise beyond her years, and almost as though she knew them.
“Yeah. Everything kind of stopped when she died. My parents stopped talking to each other, or even to me. No one says anything, or goes anywhere. No one smiles. They never talk about her. They never talk about anything. Mom hardly ever cooks anymore, Dad never comes home from work till ten o'clock. It's like none of us can stand being in the house without her. Mom's going back to work full-time in the fall. It's like everyone's given up because she's gone. She didn't just die, we did too. I hate being home now. It's so dark and depressing. I hate walking past her room, everything seems so empty.” Maribeth just listened to him, she had slipped her hand into his, and they were looking out over the lake together.
“Do you ever feel her there with you, like when you think about her?” she asked, feeling his pain with him, and almost feeling as though she knew her. She could almost see the beautiful little girl he had loved so much, and feel how devastated he had been w
hen he lost her.
“Sometimes. I talk to her sometimes, late at night. It's probably a dumb thing to do, but sometimes I feel like she can hear me.” Maribeth nodded, she had talked to her grandmother that way after she died, and it had made her feel better.
“I'll bet she can hear you, Tommy. I'll bet she watches you all the time. Maybe she's happy now …maybe some people just aren't meant to be in our lives forever. Maybe some people are just passing through …maybe they get it all done faster than the rest of us. They don't need to stick around for a hundred years to get it all right. They get it down real quick …it's like …” She struggled to find the right words to tell him, but it was something she had thought about a lot, especially lately. “It's like some people just come through our lives to bring us something, a gift, a blessing, a lesson we need to learn, and that's why they're here. She taught you something, I'll bet …about love, and giving, and caring so much about someone …that was her gift to you. She taught you all that, and then she left. Maybe she just didn't need to stay longer than that. She gave you the gift, and then she was free to move on …she was a special soul …you'll have that gift forever.”
He nodded, trying to absorb all that she'd said to him. It made sense, more or less, but it still hurt so damn much. But it felt better talking to Maribeth. It was as though she really understood what he'd been through.
“I wish she could have stayed longer,” he said with a sigh. “I wish you could have met her.” And then he smiled. “She would have had a lot to say about whether or not I liked you, who you were prettier than, and whether or not you liked me. She was always volunteering her opinions. Most of the time, she drove me crazy.”
The Gift Page 8
