Noel Street Page 3

  Again I bit down. “Here,” I said. I took the opened bottle of ketchup and poured out the rest of its contents onto the plate, pretty much covering everything in a sea of red. I noticed the men at the table next to us were laughing.

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  She looked at it for a moment and then said, “That will do.”

  I walked back to the kitchen, shaking my head. Fortunately she didn’t stay long. As I cleared her table I noticed her plate was clean. Like it had been licked clean. And she left a tip with a note.

  Here’s your tip. I shouldn’t have to ask for more ketchup.

  Around a quarter to five, a little before the dinner rush, Loretta came out of her office. “Elle, you’ve got a phone call. It’s Renato,” she said with unveiled enmity. Loretta knew Renato. Biblically, I mean. She’d once had a fling with him. I think just about every unmarried woman in Mistletoe had. I was an exception.

  I wiped my hands on a dishcloth. “My car must be done.” I walked back to her office. The receiver was sitting to the side of the telephone.

  “Hello.”

  “Elle,” he said, forgoing his usual terms of endearment. “I have bad news.”

  My heart panicked. “It cost more than five hundred dollars?”

  “No, it is something else. The reason your Fairlane backfired was not because it needed to be tuned up. Your timing belt is going out.”

  “The timing belt? What does that cost? I mean, it’s just a piece of rubber, isn’t it? It can’t be too much.”

  “It is like the clutch; it is not the part, it is the labor. The belt is only fifty dollars, but there are a lot of engine parts that need to be removed to replace it.”

  “Can I drive without it?”

  He gasped. “No, bella mia. The car will not run without a timing belt. It is more serious than even the clutch.”

  I groaned, rubbing my eyes with my hand. “How much?”

  From the length of his hesitation I knew his answer would be bad. I just didn’t anticipate how bad. “Six hundred.” He quickly added, “But I will work with you on it. Family discount.”

  “Six hundred more. With the clutch, that’s more than a thousand dollars.” I breathed out heavily. “I don’t even know if the car’s worth that.”

  “Old cars do not become new,” he lamented. “I checked the blue book on your car. It is worth almost two thousand. Maybe you should get a new car.”

  “But then I’d have a monthly payment…”

  “Yes, but you have one now anyway. If you sold the car, you could pay off the repairs and use the money toward a monthly payment. It would at least buy you a few months.”

  I pushed away my panic. “I’ll think about it.”

  “So do you want me to fix it?”

  I thought over my predicament. “I can’t sell a car that doesn’t run,” I finally said. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “I’m sorry, bella. I wish I could just do the work for you. But it is hard enough keeping the shop open as it is. I got the taxes and payroll. It is killing me.”

  “I understand. I’d never ask that. When will it be ready?”

  “We have to order the belt from Ogden, but William is fast. It should be done by tomorrow night. You’ll have it for the weekend.”

  “Thank you.” I hung up and tried not to cry. Maybe I should have. I’m told that crying waitresses make more tips.

  CHAPTER four

  There was a bit of excitement in town today. A man climbed under his truck. For this town, that’s front-page news. I’m not making fun of this. In larger towns, good news days tend to be bad days for humans.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  “I told the kids at school we got a new car, so they think we’re rich,” Dylan said the next morning on the way to school.

  “We’re not rich,” I said. “Why did you tell them that?”

  “Albert’s family got a new car. His dad’s a plumber. He’s rich.”

  I looked over. “Is being rich important to you?”

  “We only have old things.”

  “You’re not old. I’m not old.”

  “You’re kind of old.”

  “Didn’t need to hear that today,” I said.

  “But you’re still pretty.”

  I smiled. “Okay, you’ve redeemed yourself.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means Mama Gator ain’t going to eat her young.”

  I dropped Dylan off, then hurried to the diner. Loretta was sitting at her desk counting receipts. “Good morning, honey.”

  “Not so good,” I said, stopping at the door to her office. “I need to work more shifts.”

  Loretta looked up. “You got it, honey. You can start tonight if you like. Cassie just called in sick again. She’s got that influenza that’s going around. I swear, that girl catches everything. She’s a walking petri dish. Trying to earn a little extra for Christmas?”

  “Christmas is the least of my worries.” I frowned. “I’m pretty sure the universe has conspired to bankrupt me before the year’s out.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, honey. The universe doesn’t care that you exist.”

  “That’s… so depressing.”

  Loretta looked at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry, honey. Sometimes it feels like we’re running just to stand still.”

  “I’m running and still going backward.”

  “Now that’s depressing,” Loretta said. “So I’m going to start putting out the Christmas decorations today.”

  “Don’t do it all yourself,” I said. “I want some fun.”

  “I’ll have Bart bring down the boxes when he’s got a minute.”

  I loved it when we decorated. The diner, like the street it was named after, was made for the holiday and wore it well.

  “Hey, Elle,” Jamie said, invading the back room. “Dennis is here. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Thanks, doll.”

  I walked through the kitchen toward the front. Bart smiled when he saw me. “Elle.”

  “Morning, chef-man. Dennis is here. The usual.”

  “The Dennis usual,” he echoed. “Eggs fried hard, side of ham, drizzle of mustard on the side.”

  “You got it.”

  Dennis was one of my regulars, as predictable as a snowdrift in December. He was an older gentleman, eighties I guessed, a widower, tall with oversized ears and a massive red nose and silver eyebrows as thick as rope. He wore a gray wool Irish flat cap that I’d never seen off his head, his silver hair peeking out from under it like weeds growing out from under a fence. I had considered that his hair was woven into his hat so he couldn’t remove it.

  Dennis was sitting in his usual corner booth. He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, Elle.”

  “Good morning, Dennis.”

  His brows rose. “But is it?”

  “Not really,” I said. “But it’s a pleasant fiction.”

  “Indeed,” he said. “Got your Christmas shopping done?”

  “Haven’t even started. How about you?”

  He swatted at the air in front of him. “Humbug. I’m too old for that craziness…” He shut his menu. I don’t even know why he looked at it as he always ordered the same thing. “I’ll have the usual with a drizzle of mustard on the side.”

  “I know. I already put your order in.”

  “You did, did you?”

  “The second Jamie told me you were here. I thought I’d save you some time. Busy man like you.”

  “Busy man like me,” he said, making a low growl. “I’m about as busy as a sloth on sleeping pills. Who knows, I might mix things up on you sometime and order a short stack and hash browns just to keep you on your toes.”

  “You’ve come at the same hour, sat in the same booth, and worn the same hat for the last five years. I don’t think you’ll be mixing things up on me.”

  “Seven,” he said. “You weren’t around before that.”

  “I’ll make you a deal. Change the
hat and I’ll wait for your order.”

  He grinned. “Fair enough.”

  Outside the diner came a loud, prolonged honk followed by a staccato chorus of others. The front of the diner was all windows and along with everyone else, I looked out to see what was happening. From what I could see, there was an older model olive-green Ford pickup parked in the street in front of the diner. The driver’s-side door was open and, peculiarly, there was no one inside.

  “What in tarnation?” Dennis said. “Looks like some fool just ditched his truck in the middle of the road.”

  Just then Lyle Ferguson, a chunky red-faced man who owned the local hardware store, stormed through the front door of the diner. “Someone call the police.”

  “What’s going on?” Loretta asked, walking out from the kitchen.

  “There’s a man under that truck,” Lyle said.

  “He was run over?” Loretta asked.

  “No, he just got out and crawled under it.”

  I walked to the front door and looked out. I could see a man lying on his stomach underneath a truck. “What’s he doing?” I asked.

  “He’s crazy,” Lyle said. “He’s shouting things in Chinese or something crazy.”

  “The police are here,” I said.

  A blue-and-white police car with no siren but lights flashing maneuvered around the stopped cars and pulled up to the curb next to the diner. Two officers got out. I knew both men, as they were diner regulars.

  The driver of the police car, a lanky, red-haired officer named Andy, knelt down beside the truck. Then the other officer, Peter, a stocky, thick man with a crew cut, did as well.

  Pedestrians stopped on the sidewalk to watch as the drama unfolded. A few drivers, at least those stuck behind the stationary truck, got out of their cars.

  “He’s under his truck,” Dennis said. “That crazy got under his truck.”

  “That’s what I just said,” the red-faced man affirmed. “He’s lost his mind.”

  “Probably on drugs,” Dennis said. “It’s that LSD.”

  “He should be locked up in an asylum,” Lyle said. “Man’s mad as a hatter.”

  I had no idea what was going on, but my heart felt for him. “Maybe he needs some coffee.” I poured some coffee into a paper cup and walked out into the cold.

  Andy and Peter were still crouched down next to the truck, which was still idling, the fumes of its exhaust clouding the air around the scene. Like Lyle had said, the man underneath the truck was shouting in a foreign tongue. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I understood the tone—he sounded angry. Or scared.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  Officer Andy glanced up, surprised to see me. “Stay back, Elle.”

  The man kept shouting, his voice growing in ferocity.

  In spite of the warning, I moved a little closer and crouched down to see who it was. To my surprise, I recognized him. It was William, the new guy at Renato’s.

  “I know him,” I said.

  Both officers looked at me.

  “You know him?” Andy asked.

  I nodded, still looking at the man. Then I said, “William, can you hear me? It’s me, Elle. From the shop. Can you hear me? You’re going to be okay.”

  His gaze met mine. He suddenly stopped shouting. The intensity left his face, replaced by a look of confusion.

  “I brought you some coffee.”

  William looked to me like someone who had just woken from a dream. He wiped his eyes. Then he lay on his side and groaned a little, as if recovering from the outburst.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, shielding his eyes.

  “Sir,” Andy said. “We need you to come out from under the truck.”

  William looked back over. He still looked a little disoriented. Or maybe embarrassed. “Yes, sir,” he said. He slid out from under the truck, sitting on the wet asphalt. The front of his sweatshirt was soaked and dirty. He put his head in his hands.

  Andy turned to Peter. “I think we’re okay. Go direct traffic.”

  Peter stood and walked around behind the truck.

  Andy turned back to William. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not sure what happened.”

  I moved in closer to William. “I brought you some coffee,” I said again. I offered him the cup. “It’s black.”

  William hesitated for a moment, then took the coffee. He drank the entire thing in two gulps, then lowered the cup to his side. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Would you like me to take the cup?”

  He handed it to me.

  “We need to get your truck out of here,” Andy said to William. “Do you mind if I have Peter drive it?”

  “I can move it,” he said.

  “I’d like my deputy to move it,” Andy said.

  William rubbed his face. “The keys are inside.”

  “Thank you,” Andy said, though he already knew. The truck was still idling. He turned toward his officer and shouted, “Pete. Move the truck.”

  “On it,” Peter shouted back. As Peter came back around, I said, “Can we get his coat?”

  “Grab his coat,” Andy said.

  Peter grabbed William’s thick army-green jacket and handed it to me, then climbed inside the truck.

  “Where are you going to take it?” William asked.

  “Not far,” Andy replied. “Just down to the station. I’ll drive you there. We just need to ask you a few questions. Make sure you’re all right.”

  William nodded. Andy stood and offered William his hand. He helped him up. “My car’s right here,” Andy said.

  “Here’s your coat,” I said.

  He took it from me and put it on. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  William followed Andy to the police car. I just stood there watching as Andy opened the back door and William climbed in. Andy glanced back at me, then got in the driver’s seat. The police car drove off followed by William’s truck. I walked back inside the diner.

  “What was that about?” Loretta asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said.

  “It’s that LSD,” Dennis said. “Kids and drugs these days. I tell you, the world’s coming apart at the seams.”

  CHAPTER five

  Music can open doors our hearts have locked and dead bolted.

  —Elle Sheen’s Diary

  Later that afternoon I called Renato’s. Renato answered the phone.

  “Hi, it’s Elle.”

  “Ciao, bella.”

  “Did you hear what happened with your new guy?” I asked.

  “Si. William told me. He did not look well so I sent him home. That means your car is not going to be done by tonight.”

  “I understand.”

  “Not to worry, bella. You can keep the Valiant for the weekend. It is a sexy car.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Is William okay?”

  “I do not know,” he said. “But he is a good man. We can hope.”

  * * *

  I woke the next morning to eighteen inches of new snow. Dylan wanted me to take him tubing and was upset when I told him that I had to work.

  “But you don’t work Saturday mornings,” he said.

  “I know. We just need a little more money right now.”

  “I hate money,” he said.

  I hugged him. “So do I. But I wish I had more of it.”

  Fran watched Dylan while I worked a double. Andy and Peter, the police officers, came in during the dinner shift.

  “Hey, Elle,” Andy said.

  “Hey,” I said. “Sit wherever.”

  “Thanks.” Andy always walked stiffly. He once told me that, as a teenager, he had broken his back riding a motorcycle and had never fully recovered.

  I grabbed some water glasses and brought them over to the table. “Need a menu?”

  “No,” Andy said. “We know it by heart.”

  Pet
er, who was the more quiet of the two, just shook his head. “I’m good too.”

  “Wouldn’t go that far,” Andy said.

  “What can I get you boys?” I asked.

  Andy said, “I’ll have the open-face turkey sandwich smothered in gravy with mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and mixed vegetables.”

  “One Thanksgiving come early,” I said. “And what would you like to drink?”

  “Ginger beer. And save me a piece of that pecan pie if you still got some.”

  “We didn’t get any today.”

  “What you got?”

  “Apple.”

  “Apple is good.”

  “Apple it is.”

  “I’ll have the meatloaf special,” Peter said, rubbing a thick hand through his spiky brown hair. “Gravy on top and on the smashed potatoes.”

  “Smash the potatoes,” I said. “Did you want some pie?”

  “I’ll have the apple.”

  “À la mode?”

  “I’ll have cheese with it.”

  “Apple with a chunk of cheddar. Hold the à la mode.”

  I went back to the kitchen and put in the order. Then, while the chef was cooking, I took a short break to eat my own dinner. I was halfway through my meal when the kitchen bell rang.

  “Order up, Elle.”

  “Thanks, Bart.”

  “Did you finish your dinner?”

  “Do I ever?”

  “That’s why you’re so thin. I’ll cook slower next time, let you put some meat on those pretty little bones.”

  “I’ve got enough meat on my bones.” I grabbed the plates. “And you cook slow enough.”

  “Oh, you’re cold, girl,” he said. “Cold as a Mistletoe winter.”

  “I may be cold, but you’re slow.” I grinned. “Slow but good.”

  “That’s what all the ladies say,” he said.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  I carried the plates out to the police officers. “Here you go, gentlemen.”

  They both thanked me. Then Andy said, “Hey, I wanted to say, that was really nice of you to take that coffee out to that guy. He really appreciated it. He mentioned it several times.”

  “So, are you guys friends?” Peter asked.