by Tyla Walker
I try to act nonchalant, but Hank really nails it. He slips on his clothes, gives me a wink, and saunters down the hallway. I stay in the bedroom for three more seconds, take a deep breath and leave the room.
Nathan is up. He’s watching TV, sitting on the living room floor. He was always an early riser. Hank leans on the doorway to the living room, casual as can be.
“Morning, Partner! You hungry? I make a mean scrambled egg. Put in all sorts of special ingredients that’ll put hair on your chest. Want some?”
I linger behind Hank, taking a sudden new interest in the color of the walls, while really trying to figure out what Nathan’s thinking from reading his back.
Nathan turns slightly. A look flashes across his face. It’s a look of surprise, confusion, anger and…something else that I can’t quite figure out. But, as quickly as it flashes, it disappears, covered over by 11-year old boy bravado.
“I’m gonna grow chest hair all on my own. And what about my Mom? Would she get chest hair too, if she ate ‘em?”
Hank laughs. A deep, throaty laugh.
“Heck, no! Only we men get those types a-eggs. I make special ones for the ladies. Wanna see? Better keep a good eye on me though, I can flip those eggs mighty high.”
With that, Hank doesn’t wait for an answer but turns and heads into the kitchen, whistling softly. As he passes, he gives me a cheeky wink.
I turn back to Nathan. The cartoons on the TV and the curiosity at seeing flying eggs are clearly vying for his attention. As if on cue, Hank’s whistling gets louder. Nathan sighs, turns off the TV and saunters into the kitchen.
Breakfast is, of course, delicious. I hadn’t made my grocery run yet this week, but somehow Hank manages to make a feast out of eggs, veggies and whatever spices he could find. Nathan and I are mostly quiet throughout, while Hank talks non-stop about seemingly whatever comes into his head.
Now, however, with the meal done, he’s ceased talking. He’s looking at me, with a semi-serious expression on his face, like he’s pretending to be a hard-ass and is failing at it.
Nathan, who is sipping on his orange juice, senses the change too. His eyes go to Hank.
“Well, young man, it seems to me we have to have a serious conversation.”
Both Nathan and I stiffen. Neither of us know what to expect. Hanks checks his watch.
“I’m not sure if you noticed, but today is a weekday. It’s 7:42AM, and I seem to be in your house making eggs for you and your Mom.”
“Yeah….?” Nathan replies.
“Now, I don’t know about you, but if I were the man of the house, as you seem to be, I might be a touch concerned about this turn of events. So, I want to set the record straight.”
“Okay….” Nathan sits up a bit taller. He is the man of the house. Poor kid.
“I like your Mom a whole lot. She’s just about the greatest thing that’s happened to me in…well, in about forever. And I don’t need to tell you how amazing she is. But, far be it from me to mess with another man’s house.”
Hank pauses, his face growing even more serious.
“What I’m asking, Partner, is whether I might have your permission to keep dating your mother. I like her so much, I’d even be willing to share my secret BBQ recipe with a passing stranger, if that’s what it would take. So, what do you say? May I date your mother, son?”
Hank sticks his hand out to Nathan for a handshake. There’s another pause. I try to keep my face calm as I scrutinize every tiny movement in Nathan’s face.
Slowly, Nathan’s hand lifts from where it rests on the table. He clasps it in Hank’s, his small hand engulfed by Hank’s. His eyes shift from the handshake to Hank’s face, his mouth blooming into a smile.
“Sure, man. She really IS the best.” Suddenly, he stands and impulsively gives Hank a hug.
I feel my heart swell with love and pride at my beautiful son.
The moment hangs. Hank’s face drops the serious persona and he lets out a whoop of joy.
Wait. It’s 7:42AM?
“Nathan! The bus!”
Nathan breaks his embrace, gulps down his juice, kisses me on the cheek and is out the door, his backpack scraping the floor as he bumps down the stairs to the bus stop.
“I think that went well, don’t you?” Hank says with a smile.
Twenty-Five
Hank
It’s a good thing I’m back in the kitchen and not serving the customers.
I examine my face one more time in the little mirror of the visor in my truck. The bruises are a nice shade of purple.
I snap the visor closed and step out, ready for a new day. The morning feels fresh, full of possibility.
I lock the truck and head to the back entrance of the Smokehouse. Just as I’m about to pull the heavy metal door open, I see Cindy pull in to the parking lot. Despite our night together, we decided to drive to work in separate cars for a while. Cindy being the boss and me being the new guy, we thought it best to keep things slow, on the work front at least.
She throws me a wave, and I give her a deep, over-the-top bow before heading in. The smell of cleaner and industrial grade cooking oil is as comforting as it is powerful. Let’s get going.
I walk down the hall, run my timecard through the reader and get my apron on, double-knotting it in the front. Just as I enter the main prep area, Ernesto pops out from the behind the door of the blast freezer, a rolling pin in hand.
“Ah-ha! There he is! I wouldn’t mess with you, man!”
“Ha! I wouldn’t want to mess with you! That bat was serious business. Where’d you keep that thing anyway? Thought I had learned where everything was in this place.”
“Guess I’ll have to show you,” Ernesto laughs. “You earned it!” Just then, Juan enters, his hands full with a plastic tub of potatoes ready for peeling. He assumes a serious face.
“Don’t make me throw these potatoes at you, man!” Recalling how he threw Andrew’s tire iron to the ground last night, I really believe him for a second.
“What are y’all yelling about?” Ashley enters, a pile of napkins in her hand. She and Miguel are getting the dining area ready for the lunch shift. Ernesto yells out past the kitchen.
“Miguel, you didn’t tell her?”
Miguel enters, his mouth closed. It’s clear he is more disturbed than enthusiastic about the altercation with Andrew.
“Tell me what? What’s got you all fired up?”
They descend into a flurry of words and exclamations from Ernesto and Juan, complete with re-enactments and, quite possibly, exaggerations. Miguel and I stay quiet throughout, his face darkening with concern. I try to assure him with my eyes that everything is all right.
When Ernesto and Juan pause for breath, Ashley cuts in.
“My God, Hank! You ok?”
“Fine, fine. Nothing a little aspirin and Jack Daniel’s can’t fix.”
Cindy walks by the kitchen entrance, catches my last sentence, and pauses in mid-stride. She shoots me a look only I can see and licks her lips ever so slightly. A bolt runs through my spine. God, that woman. She keeps walking to her office.
“That Andrew was always a son-of-a-bitch.” Ashley says. “You better be careful, now. ALL of you.”
“Won’t mess with us again!” Juan declares, finally resuming his task of taking the potatoes to the prep station. Ernesto humphs his approval and flips the pin in his hand a few times. Miguel looks at the floor.
“Alrighty then, let’s move on. Those ribs won’t make themselves. We ready to go?” I ask, striding over to the smoker.
“Always!” Ernesto yells.
Ashley and Miguel return to the dining area to set up tableware and glasses.
Just then, Sarah ambles into the kitchen, apron slung over her arm. It’s clear she’s never been a morning person. She can sense a big conversation just happened and just can’t help herself.
“What did I miss?”
The rest of the day breezes by. It’s busy, but the team works we
ll together. Despite me being the new guy, everyone has an ease and rapport with each other that seamlessly adds me into the mix.
The lunch rush is busy but manageable. Ashley and Miguel are a blur, in and out of the kitchen, grading orders and bringing back dirty plates. Ernesto and Juan keep up a constant conversation I can’t really follow over the line, and Sarah and I work silently but magically in sync as we baste and prep each order.
Every so often, Cindy appears. Despite all the hustle and bustle around her, she moves with an ease and confidence that astounds me. I find myself stopping in the middle of whatever I’m doing whenever she’s near. At one point, Sarah raises an eyebrow in my direction.
“You gonna hurt yourself you keep doing that, friend.”
I start. I didn’t realize it was that obvious. My paring knife is suspended in mid-air, my hand frozen. Cindy has just walked by and I am transfixed.
Sarah’s right. This could get messy.
“Sorry. Guess I went off on a daydream there. Can’t think why.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Sarah nods to herself and keeps on working.
I make a promise to myself to be more attentive to my work and, for the most part, I succeed.
Cindy only appears if the waitstaff gets overwhelmed or an order needs a special adjustment. Each time, I work on concentrating very hard on the task at hand. It’s not easy and I can’t pretend the thrill in my chest every time I see her isn’t a boost to my workday but with sharp objects involved, I have to stay focused.
Seeing Cindy is a perk of this job, no doubt. I smile to myself, allowing the memories of the past few days wash over me for just a blissful second before the printer zips to life again, spitting out yet another order.
At around 4:15, we’re wiping down the line and getting things ready for the dinner rush. There’s only a handful of stragglers in the dining room, nursing iced teas and room temperature cheesecake.
I’m checking the smoker when I hear Cindy speak behind me. I can tell in an instant she’s working very hard to keep her voice calm.
“Hank, may I see you in my office for a minute, please?” I straighten up, wiping my hands on my apron.
“Course. Any time.”
She turns and heads down the passage to her office. I follow.
As I enter her office, I can see she is pacing. I close the door behind me.
“What’s up? Anything the matter?”
She looks at me, and her eyes immediately put me on edge. They are filmed with tears but she’s trying to remain under control.
“It’s Nathan.”
“He ok?”
“That’s the thing. I dunno. He was supposed to be here at 3:30. The bus always drops him off here after school.”
“Well, maybe they’re running late…”
“I called the school. They said he was picked up already.”
“Oh yeah? Did Uncle James come by?”
“No. That’s just it…” She starts to lose her voice and the tears spill over. “Andrew picked him up. That asshole has my son, Hank.”
I quickly cross the office and gather her in my arms.
“All right. All right. Ok.”
“It’s not ok. I can’t believe he did this!” Her body is rigid with anger.
“They sure it’s him?”
“Yeah. Described the truck and everything. He even told the teacher it was a special Dad-Son Day. What does that even mean?”
“Fuck knows. Ok. All right. Let’s think about this. You have any idea where he might have gone?”
“No… I… I can’t think...”
“Let’s take a breath.” Cindy does. I see a steely resolve fight with the worry in her eyes.
“I’m gonna make a list. Things are always clearer when I make a list.”
“That sounds good. I like a good list.”
“And then, I’m going out there. To look for him.”
“I’ll go with you.” I put my hands on each of her shoulders in an effort to shore her up.
“No! You have to stay here and run the kitchen. I’m sorry I put this on you. I just couldn’t think of who else to tell.”
“I’m the right person, babe. No apologies needed. You’re not alone in this.”
Cindy’s shoulders relax just a touch. I can tell it was hard for her to put me in this position. I’m glad she chose me for the job.
“I’m going to get you a glass of water. You get that list going and we’ll see what we come up with.”
“We? No, I told you—“
“I know what you told me. And I want to help. The kitchen will be fine. I’m the new guy, remember? Ernesto apparently has a whole weapons stash back there. It’s all good.”
She gives me a hint of a smile, but just as quickly, her eyebrows knit in concentration. She releases herself from my hands and sits down at her desk, pulling a pad of paper towards her.
Breathing in, she lets a deep sigh out. Then, she looks at me, her chestnut eyes full of resolve.
“Ok. Thank you.” She picks up a pen.
I turn to go get her the water. She stops me with her voice.
“Hank. We’ll get him back, won’t we?”
“Course, darlin. He’ll be back before you know it.”
She brings the pen down upon the paper and starts to write.
“Now. Where could that bastard possibly go?”
I leave her to it, my own thoughts churning, my hands balling into fists. Just wait till we find out.
Twenty-Six
Cindy
Come on, brain, come on. Give me some help here!
I’m trying to make a list of where that dickhead Andrew might have taken my boy, but nothing comes.
My fingers cramp. They’re curled too tightly around the pen.
I bolt up from the desk and throw the pen to the floor. Then, I tear the blank piece of notepaper off the pad, wad it up, and throw it to the floor. Finally, I throw the pad to the floor, too.
I can’t think. Can’t clear my mind enough to come up with even one good idea about where to find Nathan. My son. It’s now 4:30.
Andrew’s had him for an hour.
“Hey, how’s your list coming?” Suddenly Hank is at the door. His soft brown eyes search mine. I can tell he sees that I’m seconds away from a full-blown panic attack. In two strides, he crosses the room and reaches for me.
“No, Hank, the door’s open—”
“It’s gonna be okay, Cindy.” He hugs me, hard. It helps. The knot of terror eases in my throat. I take a shuddering breath, finding comfort in how the big muscles of his chest press into me.
“Hey Cind—whoa!” Ashley freezes in the doorway. I push away from Hank and turn to her. Her eyebrows rise, but before she can comment on our embrace, she gets a good look at my face. “Oh shit. What’s wrong?”
So I tell her.
A few minutes later, they’re all in the doorway, grim-faced and eager to help. Ernesto and Juan toss out ideas for finding Andrew, all of which seem drawn from TV crime shows. Miguel blinks at the floor, hands clenched into fists. Ashley’s eyes dart between me and Hank, equal parts curious and concerned. Sarah shakes her head and repeats, “That man is no damn good…”
“Alright, hold it, everybody!” Hank raises his hands and the group stills. “We’re all scared for Nate.” The group nods assent. “We all wanna help Cindy find her boy.” They nod again. “We need a plan.”
“Where do we start?” Ashley slips her arm around my shoulders and looks at Hank. The new guy’s now the leader. How did that happen?
Hank suggests that first, I call the cops. I’ll tell them what’s happened, and detail what Andrew’s truck looks like, what Nate is wearing, and so on. Then, he and I will head out to search for them.
Ernesto, Juan, Miguel, and Sarah will close the Smokehouse as soon as the last midday customers leave. They’ll post a sign on the door telling dinner patrons we’ve had to close for an unexpected emergency. Then the guys will head out to search in two cars. Sarah will stay b
ehind in the unlikely event that Andrew shows up here.
Ashley will hang out at my place in case Andrew shows up there. She’ll use my spare key to let herself in.
All told, it’s a pretty good plan. For a new guy.
“Everybody got their phones?” Hank surveys faces now lit with purpose. “Stay in touch. Let’s go.”
I close my eyes for a second to steady myself. Then, I dial the Burnet police. Officer Park picks up, and I tell her everything I can think of. She listens, asks a couple smart questions, then assures me she’ll pass on the info to her superiors and to neighboring squads.
“And we’ll send out a car to poke around town.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask right now. Thanks.”
“I’ll drive.” Hank guides me out the back door to the parking lot. He opens his passenger door for me. We’re buckling up when something strikes me. What if…
Hank clocks my stillness as he’s about to turn the key in the ignition. He waits.
“This might be nuts,” I say. “But I’m thinking about something Andrew said right before we split. That I’d made his son ‘soft.’”
“Meaning?” Hank fires up the car. The engine roars and settles.
“It’s bullshit, of course, like everything that comes outta that man’s mouth. But he said that I’ve pampered Nate and turned him into a weakling. And he needs to be toughened up.”
“Toughened up how?”
I press my lips into a tight line. Andrew’s obsessive machismo never fails to make my blood boil. As if a jerk who abandons his wife and young son knows anything about being a man.
“Do you know where the Rodeo Arena is?”
“Yeah, I might.” He flashes me a grin. “I’ll get us there. You tell me what you’re thinking.”
I let my mind burrow back to when Nate was barely seven years old. Andrew had come home from a mysterious errand with a bright orange flyer crunched in his hand. He’d shoved it in my face as Nate and I sat at the kitchen table, sharing a cut-up apple.
