by Chase Connor
“What’s that one about the man in the bar flipping the coin, trying to decide on his future?”
“Heads or Tails?”
“Yeah. That one.” She nodded. “I liked that one. Only one that wasn’t too damn loud.”
I laughed loudly as I drove and waited for directions from Oma. There was still some slush in some of the gutters along Main Street. The early spring sun hadn’t managed to melt everything yet, especially areas that stayed in the shade all day long.
“I mean, they were all good and all, but you do like rock ‘n roll, don’t you?”
I frowned a little and shrugged.
“Here.” Oma grabbed a handful of the cardigan material at my elbow and pointed. “There’s Barkley’s. Just pull around back there. Lucas will help us real quick and we’ll get the Hell out of here and go eat.”
“Okay.”
I did as Oma had instructed, pulling around the building to the back where it appeared that things were loaded, unloaded, all the pallets of seed and soil and paving bricks and early spring plants were located. It was basically the garden center of the hardware store. When we got to the back of the store, near a large area with the gates swung open to the interior, I stopped the car and put it into park.
“Come see Lucas.” Oma was pulling at my elbow again. “He’s just the nicest kid.”
“Let me get my sunglasses.” I chewed at my lip.
“No one here is going to recognize you, you fancy asshole.” She scoffed. “You’re so skinny you don’t even look like yourself. Just come on.”
“Fine.” I sighed and slid out of the car as she did the same.
Oma marched away from the car right through the garden center gates, on the search for this mysterious Lucas. I scurried along to catch up to her. My bones ached. Due to my weight loss, I was probably rubbing bone against bone whenever I moved. There was nothing to pad me from normal movements. Oma moved like she was my age and I was moving like I was ready for the home.
Pulling my cardigan tightly around myself, trying to block out the cold, I finally caught up with her in the middle of the garden center. She was looking every which way, but there was no one in sight. Barkley’s was basically the same as I remembered it—though, of course, I had forgotten that it was called Barkley’s. After ten years away from home, some details just get expunged. I had replaced those things with song lyrics and lines from my movies. Remembering the name of my hometown’s hardware store just wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things. Oma disagreed, but that wasn’t something I really cared to argue about. I would pick my battles wisely.
“Lucas!?” Oma hollered even though it was obvious that no one was around.
“Oma.” I stopped her. “There’s no one here.”
“Well, obviously someone is here or the damn gates wouldn’t be opened, would they?”
“I have no answer for that.”
“Lucas?!” She bellowed loudly.
I jumped at how sudden and sharp her voice was. Pulling my cardigan more tightly around myself, hugging my arms around my middle, I was hoping this would be over soon. Within seconds, the sliding glass doors at the back of the place swooshed open, signaling that someone had heard my crazy grandmother bellowing for help like a lunatic. An older man, probably around my grandmother’s age came hobbling out, holding a cane. I chewed at my lip. Lucas obviously was a lot spryer than he appeared if he was delivering manure to little old ladies and selling tillers.
“Jackson!” Oma said. “What the Hell are you doing here?”
“It’s my store, ain’t it?”
“You’re too damn old to be out here.” Oma snorted. “You oughta be laying up in the home. Retirement or funeral, your choice.”
“Shouldn’t you be shooting the Irish in your garden?” He snorted as he hobbled over. “How the fuck did you miss three teenagers with a goddamn shotgun?”
“I hit the little shits.” She scowled. “I just wasn’t close enough to do any real damage.”
“Don’t let Sheriff Dennard hear you.” He said as he walked right up to her. “Kelly’s still giving him crap for not at least ticketing you.”
“They were on my property in the middle of the night.” Oma shook her head. “I can defend myself and my land as I see fit. How are you, Jackson?”
“It was seven in the evening. And fair to midland.” He shrugged and pulled her into a hug. “Yourself?”
“Eh.” She shrugged back as she pulled out of the hug. “Where’s Lucas?”
“He had to run over to Toledo first thing this morning to drop off a chainsaw.” He explained. “That boy could run circles around ten these others.”
“You’re lucky to have him.” Oma nodded, still holding onto the man’s arms. “You remember my grandson?”
Suddenly, I flashed back to the fact that this rickety old man was Jackson Barkley, owner of the store in which we were currently standing. Mr. Barkley turned slightly to me and appraised me with bushy eyebrows and suspicious eyes. I stood there, smiling, as I hugged my cardigan around myself. Slowly, I reached out a hand, hoping to God that the man didn’t remember a thing about me.
“Bobby?”
“Robbie.” Oma corrected him.
“Rob’s fine.” I nodded as he took my hand.
He had an incredibly strong grip for someone whose legs weren’t exactly in tip-top working order. Guess slinging bags of manure around kept a person pretty strong late into life.
“Yeah.” He nodded with a small smile. “I guess I remember you a bit. You’ve been gone for a bit, haven’t you?”
“Yessir.” I nodded.
“Well, you look familiar, so I’m just going to assume I remember you.” He chuckled.
I just smiled back.
“You might have seen him on…” Oma began.
“We’re here to buy Oma a tiller, Mr. Barkley.” I interrupted her.
“For that little ole garden you have?” He turned to Oma with a teasing grin. “You’re getting old, Esther Jean.”
“Says the man who can barely stand.” She puffed up. “Lookin’ like the scarecrow using his legs for the first time.”
He laughed loudly.
“Got as many brains, too.” She finished. “But I want one that’s going to do the job quick and easy and last a lifetime.”
“Most of ‘em got at least a 5-year warranty—that oughta work for you, old as you are.” He returned.
“I’ll shove that cane up your ass, Jackson.”
“Well, you won’t need nothin’ too fancy for that garden of yours.” He shrugged, ignoring her. “I got a Troy-Bilt in stock, 208cc engine, 24-inch front-tine tiller with a 7-inch tilling depth. It should work really nicely for your garden, Esther Jean.”
“Well, how much is it?” She asked.
“Right under four-hundred if I remember correctly.” He replied.
“For something I can do by hand?” She scoffed. “What the Hell is wrong with you, Jackson?!”
“That’s fine, Mr. Barkley.” I interjected as I reached for my wallet. “It sounds great if you think it’ll work.”
“The Hell it will.” Oma growled. “This sonofabitch is trying to grease me up. Of all the nerve, Jackson Barkley!”
“I got a sixty-dollar one back here that will break down after two uses if you want you old hateful thing.” He snapped back. “Probably kick back and cut your toes off, too. If you can even feel ‘em anymore with the gout.”
“You know your Betty Lynn died to get away from you, Jackson Barkley?” Oma glared at him.
“And Robert the Eldest died because the Devil couldn’t be worse than you.” He glared back.
They stood there, glaring at each other.
“I’ll give it to you for three-hundred.” Mr. Barkley finally rolled his eyes.
Oma nodded once and they both switched to smiling.
“Okay.” I shook my head and dug into my wallet. “So, here’s my credit card…uh, yeah.”
Mr. Barkley took th
e card from my hand and immediately stuck it in the breast pocket of his coat.
“What the Hell are you wearing, son?” He looked me up and down.
“He thinks he’s fancy.” Oma waved her hand dismissively.
“It’s…it’s a cardigan.” I shrugged with a sigh.
“Yeah. Betty Lynn used to wear one. You need you a proper coat, son.” He shook his head before shambling off towards the inside of the store again.
Exhaling heavily, I turned to Oma. She was eyeing all of the bags and stock stacked on the heavy shelving around us.
“Is everyone in this damn town still rude as Hell?” I asked. “Or is it just you and him?”
“He’s just feisty ‘cause I’ve turned him down five times now.” She waved at me dismissively. “After Betty Lynn died two years ago, he went into a funk. Year later he was sniffin’ ‘round my hems. Old pervert.”
“He seemed…nice enough.” I said. “I mean, you two obviously have a lot in common. The cussing and rudeness, I mean.”
“You and that smart mouth.”
I laughed as she started to stroll around the perimeter of the garden center, looking at this thing and that thing, as though she were actually shopping instead of just wasting time. Following her around, I felt completely chilled to my bones. I knew that I had lost way too much weight and that was the main reason for why I felt so cold. Mr. Barkley was wrong about my cardigan, but he wasn’t wrong about the fact that I needed a new coat.
“By the way, I meant to thank you for washing my cardigan.” I said to Oma. “Did you take the sweater and jeans to the dry cleaners?”
“Huh?” She frowned at me.
“I figured you hand-washed this.” I indicated my cardigan. “Did you take the rest to a dry cleaner while I was sleeping the last three days?”
“Oh.” She chewed at her lip. “Yeah. I’ll pick ‘em up for you.”
“Well, we could do that today.” I said. “That way you won’t have to let me know how much it was so I can give you cash, and…”
“I can handle it you little asshole.” She turned to me and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll go tomorrow or the next day.”
“Fine.” I gave up. “Just let me know how much it costs.”
“I can pay for your damn dry cleaning.” She snapped.
“Well, you sure haggled over the price of a tiller.” I mumbled.
Oma spun on me, but luckily, Mr. Barkley chose that moment to come out of the sliding doors, holding my credit card and a receipt. I turned in his direction, leaving Oma with no one to direct her ire at immediately. Instead of jumping around me to face me again, she just gave up. Maybe staying with Oma for a bit wouldn’t be a constant barrage of insults and screaming and cursing. As long as I could adapt to the way she behaved.
“Here ya’ go.” Mr. Barkley handed the receipt and my card over. “Never seen a credit card look like that. I thought American Express cards were green, gold or platinum? Had Wilby look at it since it was black, but it ran through just fine, so…”
I took the card and receipt from him.
“Told you he’s fancy.” Oma mumbled.
“Thank you, Mr. Barkley.” I said quickly. “Can you have them deliver the tiller tomorrow when they bring her…um…manure?”
He looked around me with a scowl at Oma.
“Now you’re trying to get free delivery out of me, you old bat?”
“I already paid Lucas for delivery when I ordered the cow shit, ya’ old bastard.” She snapped back. “Just throw it on the truck with the manure.”
“I hate you down to your bones.” He growled at her before turning his face back to me. “Here, you need this, son.”
He shoved a very familiar looking tan coat at me.
“I couldn’t take…”
“Nonsense.” He practically spun me around and shoved the coat onto me. “It’s one of Lucas’ old ones he barely wears anymore. We’re going to get another cold snap or two before spring finally settles in. You’ll need this.”
Oma smiled smugly at me as Mr. Barkley shoved the coat onto me and spun me back around.
“It’s a bit big on you, skinny as you are, but it’ll keep you warm, son.” He nodded at me.
“Thank you, Mr. Barkley.” I reached out and shook his hand again.
“You’re welcome, Robbie.” He smiled at me before scowling at Oma. “Lucas’ll bring your goddamn tiller tomorrow, you old bat.”
“Suck it, Barkley.” She made the rudest gesture.
“H’Okay!” I spouted. “Let’s go, Oma.”
Mr. Barkley waved genially as I ushered my grandmother back out the gate and practically shoved her into the car. I dashed around the car and slid into the driver’s seat before anything else would happen to cause Mr. Barkley and Oma to swear at each other. Oma was still fastening her seatbelt when I pulled away from Barkley’s. A few finger points and verbal commands and Oma had us parking in front of a restaurant just off of the main drag of Point Worth. My phone dinged in my pocket.
When I swiped my thumb across my phone and read the text, I simply had to shoot off a one-word response before shoving my phone back into my pocket. Oma watched the whole interaction with great interest. I undid my seatbelt as I just looked at her.
“Quickest text reply I ever saw.” She snorted.
“It was just the credit card company.” I said. “Making sure I really bought something at a hardware store in Ohio.”
“That’s…efficient.” She cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the credit limit on that card?”
I stared at her for several seconds.
“I’ll buy breakfast.” I replied as I opened my door and started to climb out of the car.
“You buy my purse with that card?” She hollered after me as she started to pull her own seatbelt off and climb out of the car.
“Let it go, Oma.” I said over my shoulder as I locked the car with the fob.
“Could you buy a car with it?” She asked, hustling along to walk along beside me. “A small house?”
“Who buys a car with a credit card?” I frowned, still walking. “Or a house for that matter? That’s just crazy.”
“Hypothetically, could you?”
We approached the door of the café and I grabbed the door handle.
“Are you going to drop this?” I asked.
“Probably not. No.” She shook her head.
“Hypothetically I could, I guess.”
She made a whistling sound.
“You buy that car with a credit card?”
“What?!” I was taken aback. “No. That’s crazy.”
“Is it paid off?”
“Why are you so concerned about my financial situation?” I frowned. “I mean, you’ve never asked before.”
“Just trying to figure out why you’re back here looking like you’ve been on that stuff and waving around a credit card instead of cash.” She explained. “You got money problems?”
I braced myself against the door handle of the café, hoping no one would want in or out while I collected myself. Oma just stood there, hands on her hips and waited for me to answer.
“I bought the car outright when I went to purchase it. It’s an American Express Black Card.” I sighed. “I have plenty of money. The card doesn’t technically have a spending limit. I use my card and my accountant pays the bill out of my actual bank account…accounts. That way I don’t have to carry cash or a debit card or anything like that. And I’ve already told you why I look the way I do. There is literally no motive behind me coming to visit other than wanting rest and to see you. What’s made you so goddamn suspicious since the last time I saw you?”
“It’s been two years since you last saw me.” She snorted. “That’s not ‘all of the sudden’, Robbie.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to wake up one day and you’ll have dashed off in the middle of the night.” She said evenly. “It’s hard to believe you’re r
eally here and planning to stay for any length of time.”
“Well, I can’t leave ‘til I don’t look like a skeleton—as you’d put it—and that’ll take some time, so I don’t think you have to worry yet, right?”
“I suppose.” She sniffed haughtily.
“Can we just have breakfast?” I sighed. “And can you stop looking for some ulterior motive for my visit that doesn’t exist? Please?”
She made a relenting facial expression, so I gripped the door handle and opened it for her. We made our way into the café, which was nearly empty, due to the fact that it was after eight o’clock on a Monday morning. The waitress was behind the counter fixing a new pot of coffee, so she just announced that Oma and I should seat ourselves wherever and she’d bring us menus in a minute. Oma led us to the back and slid into a booth. I slid in opposite her and just stared at her.
“What?”
“I don’t remember this place.” I replied.
“It used to be the Red Rooster Tavern.” She explained. “Remember? Clancy and Darby ran it? Well, when they moved, Barkley bought it for his daughter and she changed it to a breakfast and lunch café, changed the name, redecorated it, changed the menu…”
“Ah.” I nodded as the waitress approached.
She was a youngish woman—probably a few years younger than me and still possibly in college. Pleasant and smiling, she handed us each a menu and took our drink orders. Oma turned an eyebrow up when I asked for the biggest cup of coffee that they had and a water. My grandmother ordered a coffee and a glass of juice before opening her menu to peruse the options. I had a feeling that she’d been to this café numerous times—being that it was one of the few restaurants in town—but she still liked to see her options.
When I looked at the menu, I realized that Oma’s mission to quickly put weight on me would be further advanced by this café. After everything Oma had shoved down my throat over the last few days, I was hoping for something a little lighter. The café didn’t really have a lot of those options. Even though, I too, wanted to gain weight back and rest up, I didn’t want to develop coronary disease in the process, either.
“Their omelets are pretty good.” Oma spoke from behind her menu. “And their cinnamon rolls are the best in the state.”
