***
Weeks passed, and, before anyone could figure out how it’d happened, the hot, humid days of August were upon them. The Family Feast nights were becoming almost more than three adults could handle on their own, and so, with fear and trembling, Livvie took Will’s encouragement to heart and hired an assistant cook—a middle-aged, dark-skinned man named Gus Anderson, who had plenty of kitchen experience, having worked at various establishments around town for more than a decade. She also hired an additional waitress, Georgia McIntire, whom she’d employed before having to let her go in light of the hard times that followed Frank’s death. As it turned out, the girl had just lost her job in a factory that had closed, and she’d been ecstatic when Livvie had asked her to return to the restaurant. Will had assured Livvie that the extra help would make things flow easier and benefit everyone, as the improved service would stimulate business and thereby increase revenues. It would also allow Livvie, Cora Mae, and Georgia to take off one morning per week, and the news had nearly sent Cora Mae into a fainting spell.
The longer Will had worked at Livvie’s Kitchen, the more he’d come to love it, and his passion for cooking and baking had grown ever stronger. Yet, while the boom in business was good news for the restaurant, it demanded more of his time and energy, and laboring day after day in a hot kitchen had started to take its toll. So, he was forever grateful to Livvie for agreeing to hire an assistant for him.
From his viewpoint, Wabash was fast becoming a city on the move. Even in the months since his arrival, new businesses had opened their doors, banks had been launched, the automobile industry had boomed, service stations and car dealerships had started popping up around town, and work had continued on the new Linlawn High School. Everywhere he looked, construction crews were digging new foundations and laying bricks. Of all the places he might have chosen to settle in after leaving Welfare Island, he didn’t think he could have picked a better town than Wabash. And that was not counting a certain strawberry blonde, her two towheaded sons, and a thriving little restaurant where he happened to work.
On a typical Saturday morning, as he scoured the griddle after flipping pancakes and frying eggs for the breakfast crowd, Will thought about the day he’d spent with Livvie at the river back in July and wondered if he ought to invite her fishing again. Maybe it was better if he left it up to her to tell him if she wished to join him. After all, she’d made no bones about inviting herself the first time. If she wanted to go again, she’d probably show up at the back door with her fishing pole, as before. The last thing he wanted was to make her think he had romantic feelings for her, even though there was no denying he did. Most nights, it took him forever to fall asleep, as his mind was filled with pictures of how she’d looked that day. Truth be told, his heart turned to mush every time she entered the room, and he often thought he’d reached the point of no return. But a simple reminder of the fateful name she’d whispered after the kiss they’d shared was all it took to defeat that notion. He knew better than to dwell on the far-fetched prospect of romancing Livvie. Frank Beckman would always live on in her heart, and Will doubted she’d ever find room there for anyone else.
Earlier that morning, after the breakfast rush had slowed, Livvie had taken her boys to a city park for some recreation. Cora Mae and Georgia were taking a Coke break at a table in the back, and Gus was busy cleaning out the refrigerator and organizing the kitchen shelves. At the front of the restaurant, a couple of customers enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and engaged in quiet conversation, giving the place an overall sense of peace and serenity—until the door opened and Sheriff Morris walked in, his gun holstered at his side, his belt sagging beneath his oversized belly.
The jumpy feeling fueled by years of living on the wrong side of the law poked at Will’s nerves, just as it did whenever an officer in uniform sauntered in, whether it was the sheriff, one of his deputies, or a policeman.
Sheriff Morris set his eyes on Will and immediately crossed the room, sat himself down on one of the bar stools, and crossed his pudgy hands on the countertop. “Mr. Taylor,” he muttered with what sounded like forced politeness. They had yet to become anything closer than acquaintances, and Will preferred to keep it that way.
“’Mornin’, Sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“A cup o’ coffee would be fine. Black.”
“You got it.” He whipped around, nabbed a cup from the shelf, and filled it to the brim with the strong, steaming liquid.
“Good to see you, Sheriff,” said Gus, pulling his head out of the refrigerator. “How’s business? You caught yo’self any bad guys lately?”
Will set the cup on a saucer under the sheriff’s nose, stepped back, and folded his arms, glad for Gus’s pleasant manner. Having lived in Wabash his whole life, the fellow got on well with folks and seemed to find it easy to converse with almost anybody.
Sheriff Morris sniffed, took a swig of the hot brew, and nearly choked. “Sheesh, this stuff is strong,” he said, ignoring Gus’s greeting.
“Sorry, it’s been on the burner since early this morning,” Will told him. “By ten thirty, it’s apt to taste like tar. I’ll make a fresh pot right away.”
“Don’t bother.” The sheriff lifted the cup to his lips again, took another swallow, and set it back down with a look of disgust. He then glanced at Gus and gave a cursory nod. “To answer your question, Gus, business is pretty slow, with the exception of a few robberies reported. I actually came by to ask Livvie if she’s come up short on any of her daily earnings.”
“She’s not here,” Will spoke up, “but I can tell you that she hasn’t mentioned anything about coming up short.” He knew she would have told him if the cash drawer had failed to balance. “Who’s been robbed?”
The sheriff turned his gaze on him, and Will was sure his eyes held suspicion. Having lived in Wabash a mere three months, he supposed he hadn’t quite passed muster with the man.
“A few businesses ’round town…McNarney Brothers Meat Market, Red Goose Shoe Store, Garland’s Flower Shop, and Kramer Cleaners, to name a few.”
“You mean, there’re more?” Will asked.
“That ain’t good,” Gus said, sticking his head back inside the refrigerator. The temperature was expected to reach ninety degrees this afternoon, which probably explained why Gus seemed to be taking his sweet time cleaning out the icebox.
“Yeah, there’re more, all right. Folks are now sayin’ they noticed a shortage in their cash drawers some time ago but figured they’d either given customers too much change or miscalculated the total and undercharged, so they didn’t file a report. Now, with formal reports comin’ in, others are surfacin’.”
“That’s too bad. I hope you get to the bottom of it.” A nauseating sensation swirled around his stomach when he recalled the number of times he’d played a part in similar robberies. As much as he’d wanted to fit in with the gang of guys he’d called his friends, his conscience had never failed to tell him that what he was doing in the name of fun was just plain wrong. That hadn’t stopped him back then, though, because crime was like gambling. It got a good, strong hold on you and wouldn’t let go. You pulled off a successful heist, and the triumph of that event spurred you on to the next, and the next, and the next. To most thieves, there was always a better job around the bend, and half the fun was in the planning—who breaks the window? Who enters first to trip the alarm? Who grabs the goods? It was a game of sick thrills. By the grace of God, he would never return to a lifestyle of such destructive activities.
“Oh, we’ll get to the bottom of it, all right,” the sheriff was saying, his beady eyes drilling into Will’s, as if probing them for a sign of guilt. “And, when we do, we’ll make the crook—or crooks—pay back every last penny. If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s a thief.”
He shouldn’t have let the sheriff’s words get to him. But it was the way he’d said them, and his manner of staring at Will, that bothered him. It was as if he knew his secret, even though Wil
l was sure no one could have told the sheriff about his past. Livvie knew better than to breathe a word about it to anybody. As for Clem Dodd, the guy stayed as far as he could from men in uniform. Good grief, Will remembered him saying that even army soldiers gave him the creeps.
“I’m prone to agree with you, Sheriff. Folks who steal are jus’ plain cruel,” Gus said, emerging from the refrigerator to set a carton of eggs on the counter.
“You got that right,” the sheriff said, his steely eyes still trained on Will.
Keeping his arms crossed and his feet planted on the floor, Will stared right back, as if to bore holes through the sheriff’s skull.
The sheriff broke eye contact when he picked up his cup for another swig of stale coffee. Swallowing loudly, he set it down again, huffed a loud breath, and splayed his hands on the counter to push himself up from the stool. “Well, I’ll be on my way, then. Just wanted to check with Livvie on that money issue, but I guess you’ve answered my questions as best you could. I’m makin’ the rounds at the businesses up and down this street to see if anybody else has come up short on cash.” He sent Will one last look and tipped his cap at him. “I thank you for your time, Mr. Taylor.”
“Not at all, Sheriff.”
“Bye, Sheriff Morris,” Gus called from inside the refrigerator.
Little more than a grunt was the sheriff’s response.
Ignorant slob, Will thought, watching the guy’s back till he pushed open the screen door and ambled outside into the sweltering heat.
***
“When’s Aunt Margie pickin’ us up?” Alex asked for at least the tenth time that afternoon.
Livvie looked at her watch. “It’s only ten after two. She said she’d be here at closing time, so she’ll be along soon.”
“Why can’t Will come, too?” Nate asked. Somewhere along the line, the boys had taken to calling him by his first name, at his urging.
“You already asked that, dummy. Mom said he’s goin’ fishin’.”
The truth was, Margie hadn’t invited Will, nor would it have occurred to her to do so. She knew very little about him, other than that he worked for Livvie and seemed a friendly sort whenever she happened inside the diner, which wasn’t often. Livvie had yet to tell her how they’d shared a kiss, how she’d tagged along on one of his fishing excursions, how their friendship was growing, and how he’d served time in prison, the detail that would upset her the most. Gracious, if Margie ever got wind of his being an ex-convict, she would insist that Livvie terminate his employment at once, and then she’d probably encourage the man by way of a formal letter to leave Wabash altogether, lest he tarnish the town’s fine reputation and corrupt its impressionable youth.
Livvie loved her sister to pieces, even owed her her very life, but Margie had a strict set of beliefs when it came to such things as church attendance, dress, hairstyle, and observance of the Sabbath, which she always spent quietly reading the Scriptures and praying. Why, when Livvie had been a young teen, her sister had refused to wash the Sunday dinner dishes until Monday morning. Thankfully, she’d eased up on many of her rituals, and her kitchen now shone spotlessly on every day of the week.
“I’d rather go fishin’ with Will,” Nate groused.
“Me, too,” Alex put in.
“Don’t be silly. You love going to Aunt Margie and Uncle Howie’s house. Besides, Aunt Margie has a brand-spanking-new car, and she wants to take you for a ride. Won’t that be fun?”
As the three of them sat on the bench in front of the restaurant beneath the shade of the awning, awaiting Margie’s arrival, the boys swung their feet back and forth, Alex’s touching the ground, Nate’s merely skimming it. My, but they were growing up fast.
“Yeah, but Will’s teachin’ us all sorts of different stuff. Uncle Howie only teaches us farm stuff, but Will knows other important stuff,” Nate said.
“What ‘stuff’ are we referring to?” she asked, looking up the street for any sign of a sparkling red Chevrolet Superior four-door sedan with the staunch, independent Margie behind the wheel. She might be a fuddy-duddy when it came to keeping her outward appearance plain and modest—why, she didn’t even wear her wedding ring!—but, when it came to her automobiles, Margaret Grant demanded only the finest. And Howard knew better than to deny her.
“Like catchin’ frogs ’n’ turtles,” Alex was saying.
“And throwin’ rocks ’n’ chasin’ crabs,” Nate added.
“Chasing crabs?” She was mildly intrigued.
“Yeah! You pick up a rock and find one under it, and then you try to catch it, but it gets away, and Will says that’s best, ’cause those things’ll pinch you,” Nate explained, scrunching up his sunburned, freckled nose. His expressive eyes helped to tell the story.
“And he’s learnin’ us the harmonica, too, don’t forget,” said Alex.
“He’s teaching you,” Livvie corrected him.
“And he’s also learnin’ us the right way to hook on worms,” Nate added.
She figured she may as well leave the grammar lessons to their teachers. “So, you like Will, do you?”
“Yeah, he’s the best!” Nate said.
“Will’s great!” Alex echoed.
“Did someone just use my name in vain?” Will appeared around the corner of the building, fishing gear in hand. As usual, her heart took a tumble at the sight of him.
“Will!” Alex and Nate shouted together.
“We wanna go fishin’ with you instead of goin’ to Aunt Margie’s farm,” Alex explained.
Will’s thick eyebrows lifted, and his mouth turned down at the corners. “What? And disappoint your aunt and uncle with your absence? I’m sure that would make them very sad. Next time, okay, buddies?” They dropped their jaws to pout for a moment. “Hey, I’m putting something extra good on the menu tonight. Want to know what it is?”
“Yes!” came their suddenly cheery reply.
At that, he crouched down beside them, and Livvie couldn’t help but notice the breadth of his thighs through his Levis, stretched taut over his muscular legs. Mercy, he would be the death of her yet!
He leaned closer to the boys, and Livvie found herself lowering her head to their level. She heard him clear his throat and whisper, “Chocolate cake with the best chocolate frosting you ever tasted.”
“Haw!” The boys’ mouths and eyes had gone as round as tart pans.
Lately, Will had fascinated Livvie even more with the way he handled her sons. One minute, they could be whining louder than a Model T’s brakes, and, the next minute, they would be laughing uncontrollably at something Will had said. He had a talent for turning their focus off of themselves and onto something else. Come to think of it, he’d even used his inimitable technique on her a time or two.
A horn blew from somewhere up the road, turning all four heads to the west end of Market Street. Several pedestrians stopped to gawk as the shiny red vehicle pulled up to the curb. “Is that Aunt Margie’s new car?” Nate asked.
“It sure is,” Livvie said. For a moment, she remained seated on the bench, transfixed by the fresh look of the big, glossy red box on wheels, with four doors that would keep out the cold in winter and windows that opened to let in the breeze on a hot summer’s day.
Will gave a low whistle. “Very nice.”
“My sister’s husband spares no expense when it comes to her desires,” Livvie said as she finally stood up. By now, the boys had deserted the bench and run to see their aunt, still seated behind the wheel.
Livvie looked from Margie to Will, who turned and gave her an assessing gaze. “I wasn’t talking about the car. I see you’re wearing that fine new dress your secret admirer sent to you. You should know, I’m feeling a little jealous.”
“What?” She jerked back her head and felt a fluttery sensation sail up her spine. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, it doesn’t even fit me that well. See? It’s a little loose in places and too tight in others.” As soon as she pointed that out, she felt a blush warm he
r cheeks.
“Humph.” He fastened his gaze on hers. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Margie sounded her horn once more, which drew the attention of several more pedestrians. Will strolled up to the partially open front passenger window, leaned down, and tipped his fisherman’s hat at Margie. “Mighty fine car you have here, ma’am.”
Margie rolled down the window so that it was open all the way. “Why, thank you, Mr. Taylor! Howard insisted we needed a new car. Men! They always have to have the latest toys.”
“Isn’t that the way of it?” he replied with a chuckle. But Livvie knew better. This man owned little more than his harmonica, his Bible, and a few outfits from the Salvation Army store.
And Margie wasn’t fooling anybody by blaming her husband. Howard liked his farm equipment, but cars? He’d be happy to drive his dilapidated truck to the ground.
“Well,” Livvie said, stepping up beside Will and pointing to his fishing pole. “Catch some big ones.”
“If I do, you want to help me eat them later tonight?”
“What? Me? I mean—”
He touched her cheek. “Got a smudge mark.”
“Oh.” She licked her finger, then rubbed the spot. “Is it gone?”
He nodded and grinned, a simple gesture that seemed to release a flock of butterflies in her stomach. “All gone. It wouldn’t be a date. In fact, bring the boys.”
“Well, that’s…good. I mean, its not being a date and all. But what about the dance?”
“I thought I’d stay home tonight, maybe serenade myself—and you, if you’d like.”
The very notion of Will serenading her—and the boys, of course—made her giddy. It would be the first time she’d been serenaded, unless she counted overhearing Frank trying to sing in the bathtub.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Olivia Beth, are you coming?” Margie asked. The boys had jumped into the backseat and were bouncing around, checking out everything there was to see on the car’s interior.
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