Last Chance Llama Ranch

by Hilary Fields

  “I’m trying.” Merry looked around the diner. At least there’d be plenty of warmhearted folks to dilute her parents’ chilling influence. Every booth was taken, and several tables had been pushed together to make a communal seating area running the length of the restaurant. The Happy Hookers were represented by Randi, Rebecca, Pam, and Sage, all sitting together at one end of the community table, wearing their finest fiber arts. Steve and Mazel were at the other, and Federico had joined them, talking earnestly with them about something Merry suspected had to do with a certain “side business.” Mikey and Bernardo were sitting with their parents at one of the booths, and Joey was with a woman who looked tired but determined, and kept stroking his hair as if he might disappear at any moment. Those who weren’t sitting were clumped around the café in little clusters, chatting.

  Café Con Kvetch was bursting at the seams.

  Its owner was unraveling.

  For the first time since Merry had known him, Needlepoint Bob looked less than sanguine. He had an apron slung haphazardly about his paunch, and a hairnet was doing little to tame his salt-and-pepper mane. His eyes were wild as he hustled up to them.

  “Dolly, I need you,” he blurted.

  Dolly’s eyes widened.

  “You’re the only person who can save Thanksgiving,” he declared. “Feliciana had an existential crisis this morning, up and quit with the turkeys half-baked. ’Nesto took off in a show of solidarity, so now I’m in the weeds up to my neck. We’ve got no one to bus or bartend, and half the town showed up in search of sustenance.”

  The Mannings exchanged glances. Merry looked around the restaurant. The natives were definitely getting restless.

  “Overwhelmed, eh?” Dolly took a moment to relish Bob’s discomfiture. “No way to feed your charges? Heavens, I can’t imagine how that feels.”

  “Revenge may be a dish best served cold,” Bob sighed, “but stuffing’s better piping hot.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a searching look. “Please, Dorothy.”

  Dolly gave a put-upon huff, but her eyes were alight with energy. “Show me to the kitchen,” she ordered. “And no philosophizing while we cook, or I’ll show you hot stuffing.”

  Bob blew out a breath of relief. “Whether in this life or the next, you’ll find your karmic reward.” Now that help was on the way, some of his customary poise returned, and he seemed to see the rest of their party for the first time. “You must be the Mannings. Sam said you were coming.” He pressed his hands together in a quick Buddhist salute. “Welcome, and thank you for the gift of your daughter. She’s brought a lot of joy to us here in Aguas Milagros these last few weeks.” He turned to Sam. “Sam, can you play bartender?”

  “Sure.” Sam shrugged out of his coat, hung his hat on a hook by the door.

  “I think we could all do with a drink,” said Pierce. “Single malt, if you have it?”

  Sam nodded. “I’ll see what we’ve got back there. White wine for you, Gwendolyn?”

  “Vodka martini, and make it a double, if you please.”

  “An ultralight beer for me, Sam,” said Marcus.

  “Hit me up with a shot of tequila when you get a chance,” Merry side-mouthed to Sam. “Or maybe just bring the bottle.” Out loud she said, “How about I get the tables set, and some snacks going round so folks don’t get too hungry while you finish up in the kitchen. You’ve got some bar snacks stashed away, haven’t you, Bob?”

  Bob nodded gratefully.

  “I’ll grab the nibbles,” said Jane, shrugging off her jacket.

  “I’ll help you,” offered Marcus.

  “You can check coats,” Jane told him. “Since you’re basically a walking clotheshorse anyhow.”

  To Merry’s surprise, Marcus meekly did as bid. And was that a hint of a blush on his high cheekbones?

  “What would you like us to do?” Pierce asked Bob, piling his and Gwendolyn’s outerwear in the hapless Marcus’s arms.

  “Oh, you guys don’t have to do anything, Dad,” Merry answered for him. “Just find a seat and make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Nonsense, Merry,” Gwendolyn said. Her spine was steel. “I’m sure we’re not as useless as all that.”

  “Well in that case…how about you help me with the place settings?”

  * * *

  My father earned his stripes in the diplomatic corps. Over decades of dedicated service, he’s brokered peace between feuding tribes, forged bonds between entrenched enemies, fostered understanding amongst the estranged.

  His mission today? Find common ground with the folks of Aguas Milagros.

  With a little help from his lovely wife.

  * * *

  Gwendolyn glided about the café as if born to waitress, graceful as the figure skater she’d once been. She set tables and arranged glassware—even slipping outside for a moment and returning with her arms full of autumn boughs, which she arranged into centerpieces the guests all oohed and aahed over. Pierce, meanwhile, pored over the jukebox until he found music to set the mood, settling on some Bing Crosby. Sam made sure everyone was liberally supplied with libations, and very quickly the atmosphere grew more convivial. Marcus, Merry noticed, spent most of his time attempting to catch Jane’s eye. From the kitchen came the sounds of pots clanking, food sizzling, and two old friends slinging good-natured insults while they saved the day for Aguas Milagros.

  I may survive this meal after all, Merry thought as her family rejoined her.

  “Hey, Mer-Ber, who’re the squares?” Steve Spirit Wind wanted to know.

  Or not.

  SSW studied the Mannings. “I’m getting a heavy vibe here. I think they could benefit from our product,” he confided to his woman.

  “You speak truth,” Mazel concurred. “My fellow travelers in the light, in the spirit of this holiday—and ignoring, for the moment, the insult to our Native American brethren—we would like to offer you a gift.” She rummaged in her macramé tote and came up with a mini bong and a baggie containing an unmistakable herb. “It’s a special blend of our own. Also great for waking the appetite—not that we’ll need help in that department with Dolly in the kitchen.”

  Marcus stepped in front of his openmouthed parents. “Allow me to accept on their behalf,” he said.

  Mazel gave Marcus a look that said something had woken her appetite. Steve offered him a distinctly less friendly appraisal, and changed the subject. “Our Merry’s been a real gift to this town,” he told the Mannings, using nearly the same verbiage Bob had. “Brought a breath of fresh air into the place—and I ought to know about that!”

  “This is Steve Spirit Wind,” Merry explained to her nonplussed parents. “And Mazel Tov, his, er…”

  “His more enlightened half,” Mazel finished for her. “Be welcome, travelers.” Before they could fend her off, she’d enveloped the Mannings in a patchouli-scented embrace. Steve came around the other side and sandwiched them in, squeezing until Merry heard her mother squeak.

  She started to rescue her parents from the hippies’ embrace, but was foiled when she was engulfed in hugs herself. Mikey and Bernardo jumped her, hanging off her like a jungle gym, eager to introduce their parents. Joey trailed them more shyly, while the woman she’d seen earlier stood uncertainly behind him.

  “Check it out, Ms. Manning, look what I got!” Mikey stuck a foot out, clad in top-of-the-line winter boots. The rest of his clothing was new too, and scrupulously clean.

  “You should see the space-age sleeping bag I scored,” Bernie chimed in. “Don’t tell Sammy, but it totally beats a bag of leaves.” He cast a sheepish glance at Sam, who was slinging brewskis behind the bar.

  “Our folks want to meet you,” Mikey said, waving the adults over. Merry stuck her hand out…and was pulled into more backslapping hugs.

  A man with hair as wild and woolly as Bernie’s gave her a breathtaking squeeze, then introduced himself and his wife. “Lou and Lydia Ruis,” he said. “Our son can’t stop bragging about how he’s famous on th
e Internet! Now he and Mikey want to take computer classes so they can have their own blog.”

  “Column, Dad,” Bernie said.

  “We’ve never seen the kids so enthusiastic about anything,” said Lydia. “We spoke with the mayor and he’s going to see about getting better Internet around here, and one of the schoolteachers from Angel Fire is going to come teach classes once a week.”

  “That’s amazing,” Merry said, seeing the excitement on the kids’ faces.

  The other parents nodded shyly. “Thank you for what you’ve done for our boy,” said Mikey’s mother, a chubby brunette who introduced herself as Melissa. “We’ve seen such a change in him these past weeks. He’s trying harder in school. More outgoing. Confident.”

  “Mom,” groaned Mikey. “Embarrassing much?” But he didn’t look embarrassed. He looked proud.

  His dad ruffled his hair. “Anyhow, we’re glad you came, and we hope you’ll stay awhile longer in Aguas Milagros.” He beamed at Merry’s parents. “You must be so proud of your daughter.”

  “Oh…ah, yes, of course,” said Pierce. He patted Merry’s back. “Very proud.”

  Ha, Merry thought. If Gwendolyn had her way, she’d probably be airlifted out of Aguas Milagros by commandos before dessert was served. “I hope I can stay,” she said. She extended her hand to the nervous-looking woman, who was still hanging back behind Joey. “And you are?”

  “Joey’s mother,” said the woman, coming forward shyly. “Christa Ramirez. I wanted to thank you for what you did for me too.”

  “What I did for you?” Merry was confused.

  “You woke me up, Ms. Manning. Made me realize how much my Joey needs me.” She stroked the boy’s hair again, her eyes damp with tears. “I haven’t always been the best mother, but I want to be there for him now.” And before Merry could react, the smaller woman threw her arms around her too.

  If hug collecting were a job, I’d be out of debt in no time, she thought, patting the wraithlike Christa on the back.

  And speaking of backs, Merry could feel laser-like eyes on hers. She turned to see her mother watching her with a peculiar expression on her face. I don’t even want to know what that look means, she thought. She turned back to the kids.

  “Where are Zelda and Thaddeus?” she asked Bernie.

  “Zel dragged Thad to her parents’ place for Thanksgiving,” he said. “Poor sap.”

  Mikey snickered. “T and Z, sitting in a tree…Better him than you or me!”

  Merry smiled, but a thunderous voice brought her up short.

  “Woman, why aren’t you wearing that sweater I gave you?!”

  Merry glanced around, and saw Randi bearing down on her. Oh, no, she thought. “Randi, I’m so sorry…I had to cut it up…”

  “You what?!” Randi feigned fury for a moment, then burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you, woman. L’il Bill wears it well! Hey, these your folks?” She slapped Merry on the back. “You did great with this one, y’all. Can we keep her?”

  “Really, Randi. Try not to look like a lunatic in front of Merry’s parents,” suggested Rebecca, who had come up behind her fellow hooker. Today her braids had been adorned with autumn leaves, giving her a fairy-queen-ish feel. She held her hand out. “I’m Rebecca Donovan. We’ve been delighted to have Merry here in our town. You must be so proud of your daughter.”

  “Of course,” Gwendolyn said stiffly, accepting the handshake. “And what do you do here, Ms. Donovan?”

  “I’m the town historian,” she said. “I keep the archives for Aguas Milagros.”

  Gwendolyn looked intrigued. “I’m something of an amateur historian myself,” she said. “I run an institute dedicated to historical preservation. You may have heard of it—the Hollingsworth Heritage Foundation?”

  “I can’t say I have, but I’d be happy to hear about it now.” Rebecca put an arm around Gwendolyn. “How about you join me at the visitor center down the street while we wait for dinner? It’s where we keep all the old records, for want of a better location. I’d love to pick your brain.” She turned to Merry. “You won’t mind if I steal your mother for a bit, will you?”

  Merry stifled the several things she wanted to say. “Feel free.”

  The two women disappeared out the door. Was it her imagination, or did the temperature inside Bob’s café warm up a degree?

  Marcus was certainly feeling the heat. The mayor had sidled up to him, placing a hand on Marcus’s biceps. “Merry, who is this charming young man?”

  Marcus flexed like the showman he was, and Merry stifled a grin. “Federico, this is my brother, Marcus. Uglymug, this is our town mayor, Federico Rios y Valles. He’s also a fantastic stylist.”

  “I do appreciate a cutting-edge haircut,” Federico allowed. He examined Marcus’s expertly gelled coif. “And a man who knows how to show himself to his best advantage. Of course, you don’t need help with that, do you, gorgeous?”

  Marcus cast a triumphant glance at Jane, as if to say, “Now here’s someone who appreciates me!”

  Jane merely snorted. She couldn’t have looked less impressed examining mange on a dog.

  Marcus turned his back on her. “So, Mr. Mayor, what’s your favorite product?” he asked, and soon the two men were deep in conversation about pomades versus waxes. Jane wandered off to swap amigurumi advice with Sage.

  And Merry found herself alone with her father.

  “Seems you’ve had quite an impact here, young lady,” Pierce said.

  He’ll probably be calling me “young lady” well into my sixties, Merry thought, looking at her father fondly. “I hope so,” she replied. “They’ve had quite an impact on me, Dad. Dolly and her friends…they’re pretty amazing people.”

  “Then they’re in good company, sweetheart. Because I think you’re pretty amazing too.”

  Merry warmed under her father’s words. “Wish Mother thought so,” she said, then wished she’d kept the thought behind her teeth.

  “Your mother loves you very deeply, Merry,” Pierce told her. “I know she regrets how hard it’s been for you two to see eye to eye. When Dolly reached out to us with her invitation to share the holiday, your mother jumped at the chance—even knowing there’d be barnyard animals.”

  Merry couldn’t bring herself to laugh at her father’s lame attempt at humor. “I wish I could believe that. But it seems like she just wants me to come home, toe the line like a good little daughter.”

  Pierce shook his head. “She wants you to be happy, Merry,” he corrected. “It’s what we all want.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “I…I think I am, Dad.”

  Pierce pulled her in for a hug, and for a moment Merry inhaled the scents of childhood—of tweed sport coats and the cigars her father still snuck when he thought Gwendolyn wouldn’t notice. He kissed her cheek. “Then your mother and I are happy too, sweetheart. It just may take her a little longer to realize it.” Pierce clinked glasses with her, then drained his as he watched his wife reenter the restaurant with Rebecca. “Be patient.”

  “You’ve been patient long enough!” shouted Dolly, emerging from the kitchen. She banged on a pot with a huge wooden spoon. “Take your places, people. It’s chow time!”

  What Bob and Dolly drew forth from the tiny café kitchen was an astounding culinary feat.

  What they drew forth from yours truly was both simpler and more savory.

  Gratitude.

  Happy T-day, friends and neighbors. I hope your holiday was as full of love and good cheer as was mine.

  * * *

  There was a mad scramble for the tables, now laden with fragrant dishes from marshmallow-topped sweet potatoes and cranberry relish to green bean casserole, chestnut stuffing, and of course, perfectly browned turkeys. Plate after plate of Dolly’s prized biscuits rounded out the offerings, with gravy moored alongside in deep boats. The smell alone was enough to make Merry’s knees weak. She found herself seated between her brother and Sam, her parents across from her. Dolly took
her mother’s left, with Bob on her left. Jane had landed up beside Marcus, seeming none too pleased about it.

  “I’d like to start tonight’s festivities with a traditional thanksgiving blessing,” Bob said, loudly enough for all to hear. “The author of this one may be lost to the mists of time, but his message still rings true today. Everyone grab hands, and I’ll expound.” He inhaled a breath and took on his toastmaster tone.

  “Count your blessings instead of your crosses;

  Count your gains instead of your losses.

  Count your joys instead of your woes;

  Count your friends instead of your foes.

  Count your smiles instead of your tears;

  Count your courage instead of your fears.

  Count your full years instead of your lean;

  Count your kind deeds instead of your mean.

  Count your health instead of your wealth;

  Love your neighbor as much as yourself.”

  He settled back, beaming at the assembled guests. “And…go!”

  Across the table, hands reached out to snatch whichever dish was nearest.

  “Hold on, heathens!” Dolly shouted. She smacked Bob’s biscuit-thieving hand with her spoon. “No one eats until he or she says one thing he’s grateful for.”

  Groans rang out around the table. Dolly ignored them in queenly fashion. “I’ll pick a victim to get us started,” she said. “How about you, Randi?”

  “I’m grateful for my fellow hookers!”

  Gwendolyn looked alarmed.

  “I’m grateful for The Walking Dead being back on!” said Sage.

  “For another year with my main squeeze,” said Steve, kissing Mazel.

  “For Aguas Milagros!”

  “Hear, hear!”

  Around the table, sentiments both sweet and silly were shared, until finally, it was Dolly’s turn. The guests grew quiet, apart from the growling of stomachs.

  “I expect you’ve all heard this might be the last year for us Cassidys at the Last Chance,” she said. Heads nodded solemnly. “And it’s true; we may have to fold our tents if we can’t find a way outta this mess pretty quick. But I’m not one to bemoan what’s lost, or worry about things I can’t change. I’d rather focus on what we’ve got, and right now, that’s each other.”