Trailer Park Heart
Page 5
“Anything else?”
Feeling guilty for having spilled Dolly’s secrets, I busied myself with finding him a menu. “Not that I’ve heard. You know nothing exciting ever happens here.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know, I disagree. I’m exciting,” he argued effectively. “That happens every single day.”
RJ was in his late sixties, still lean and muscled from a lifetime of hard labor and leathery from the same amount of time spent beneath the harsh sun. He was one of those old guys you would assume lived on a fixed income and ate dog food to save money. But I knew for a fact that he was one of the wealthiest farmers in Western Nebraska.
He’d worked as hard as humanly possible to build an agriculture empire out here in the middle of nowhere. And instead of going the way of suits and smarminess, he’d stayed true to his roots and his business.
His dedication to his farm was partly because he knew nobody would ever work as hard as him. He’d told me as much over nine years of coffee at this counter. But I also knew he was an extremely paranoid man. He didn’t trust anybody in this town to run his business.
I thought that made him savvy.
I didn’t trust these people either.
It was only in the last several years, after a stroke, that he’d let his son take the reins. Mark Thrush was as diligent and badass as his dad. RJ didn’t like letting go of the company he’d spent his life turning into a gold mine, but he was proud of his son.
Another fact I knew from countless cups of coffee.
Grinning at him, I pulled out my order pad. “It’s true. You’re the most exciting thing in my day at least.”
He winked at me.
“Okay Mr. Exciting, what are you having today?”
He stared at the menu with hard eyes. “Aw, hell, it’s Monday, let’s get a little wild. I’ll have the Denver omelet, double order of bacon, and hash browns on the side.”
“Slow down there, slugger. Are you sure that’s on the approved list of foods?”
He leaned forward with a steely look glinting in his brown eyes. “I said it’s Monday, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want Mark coming down here to chew my ass.”
Since the stroke, RJ’s kids had been all over him about eating healthier. He was muscled and lean, but the man ate like Garfield the Cat.
And I suspected that Mark had installed a bacon breathalyzer in his car. If I ever gave in and let RJ order what he wanted, Mark and his wife Sherry would haul down here to scold me for spoiling their dad. Then they would pull the, “You don’t want him to have another stroke, do you, Ruby? Or worse?” card and I would crumble.
I played a hard ass, but I was a softy when it came to this old man.
RJ’s teeth ground together, but he relented. “Fine do the omelet with the damn egg whites. Will that make you happy?”
“One order of hash browns,” I countered. “And no bacon.”
His jaw moved back and forth as he worked his teeth against each other. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I hated that sound. But I stayed quiet. “Can I at least have the Canadian variety?”
Nodding curtly, I filled out his order ticket and slid it through the kitchen window to Reggie, one of Rosie’s day-shift chefs.
“How’s that boy of yours, Ruby?” RJ asked as I moved down the counter to swipe the glass of the pie display. When I first started working here eleven years ago, everything was inexplicably sticky. The tables, the vinyl on the booths and stools, the countertops, the floors, the bathrooms. Everything. When I became a full-time waitress, I decided this establishment was better than being sticky. I’d spent the last seven years turning this place around, scrubbing it until it gleamed.
I might be stuck in this nowhere town at this nowhere job, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t take pride in my work.
“He’s good,” I answered quietly. I didn’t like to air my business in public anywhere in this town. I didn’t need anything misheard and then repeated all over the place. Hell, I didn’t need anything rightly heard and then spread all over town. I’d been the subject of town gossip my entire life. It wasn’t a spotlight I wanted to willingly walk underneath.
“He being good to you?”
I smiled at the lemon meringue, unable to help myself. “Always,” I agreed readily, despite my dislike of opening up about my personal life.
“Yeah, well if you have any problems, you send him my way. That boy needs a father.”
I spun around on my heel and pointed my dishrag at RJ. “Hey, now. That’s too far.”
RJ held up his hands in surrender, but his words were as sharp as ever. “You know it’s true, Ruby. He’s going to turn wild in that home of yours. Your mama ain’t no help.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I told him briskly, “I’m going to see if Reg needs help.”
He made a sound of acknowledgment, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. It didn’t matter to me how I’d wounded his sensitive feelings. He was the one coming after me and my parenting. He should know better.
Not that I could even blame him. Nosiness was how this whole damn town worked. Everybody was in everybody else’s business. My thoughts flickered briefly to Dolly Farrow and how I’d aired her business earlier.
“Hey, Reg,” I greeted the gigantic black man that could cook just about anything you asked for. I had no idea why he stuck around this town when he could have gone anywhere with his culinary skills.
He always said something about loving the wide-open space out here. He claimed to get claustrophobic in big cities. But I hardly believed him. This town made me itchy.
Not that I would leave either. I made my choice seven years ago when I’d found out I was pregnant with Max. Freshly graduated from high school, with all my hopes and dreams in a giant dumpster fire, I settled at home with my mom and decided Clark City would have to do. For me and my little guy.
“Mick giving you problems?” he asked intuitively.
Letting out a steady breath I rubbed my temples soothingly. “RJ’s out there,” I explained.
He made a sound in the back of his throat. “Trouble on the best friend front? I hardly believe my ears.”
I glared at him and his faux sense of surprise. I loved RJ like the father I never had, but he also irritated the bejesus out of me. “He’s not my best friend.”
Reggie gave me a look. “Uh, huh.”
“Coco’s my best friend. You know that.”
“Yeah, and she’s also a bad influence. You should stick with the old man.”
I snorted. He was right. My real best friend since kindergarten was a bad influence. But in the best way. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have locked myself away in my mother’s double wide a long time ago and probably starved to death.
No, that’s not true. Meals on Wheels would have found me. But I would at least be a cob-webbed version of myself. And Max didn’t deserve that.
“What’d he say?” Reggie asked with genuine curiosity.
“He’s just trying to give me parenting advice per usual.”
“This whole town tries to give you parenting advice, have you noticed that?” I blinked at him. Was he serious? Had I noticed? He laughed again. “Not too many single moms around here I guess.”
I shrugged. I was raised by a single mom, so it wasn’t strange to me to raise Max by myself. And in the part of town I was from, there were plenty of single-parent homes. They weren’t always moms. Dad’s shared the statistic too. And grandparents doing the worthy work of raising their grandkids when the parents stepped out. There were plenty of statistics available for the trailer park on the wrong side of the tracks.
Feeling guilty for having spilled Dolly’s secrets, I busied myself with finding him a menu. “Not that I’ve heard. You know nothing exciting ever happens here.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know, I disagree. I’m exciting,” he argued effectively. “That happens every single day.”
RJ was in his late sixties, still lean and muscled from a lifetime of hard labor and leathery from the same amount of time spent beneath the harsh sun. He was one of those old guys you would assume lived on a fixed income and ate dog food to save money. But I knew for a fact that he was one of the wealthiest farmers in Western Nebraska.
He’d worked as hard as humanly possible to build an agriculture empire out here in the middle of nowhere. And instead of going the way of suits and smarminess, he’d stayed true to his roots and his business.
His dedication to his farm was partly because he knew nobody would ever work as hard as him. He’d told me as much over nine years of coffee at this counter. But I also knew he was an extremely paranoid man. He didn’t trust anybody in this town to run his business.
I thought that made him savvy.
I didn’t trust these people either.
It was only in the last several years, after a stroke, that he’d let his son take the reins. Mark Thrush was as diligent and badass as his dad. RJ didn’t like letting go of the company he’d spent his life turning into a gold mine, but he was proud of his son.
Another fact I knew from countless cups of coffee.
Grinning at him, I pulled out my order pad. “It’s true. You’re the most exciting thing in my day at least.”
He winked at me.
“Okay Mr. Exciting, what are you having today?”
He stared at the menu with hard eyes. “Aw, hell, it’s Monday, let’s get a little wild. I’ll have the Denver omelet, double order of bacon, and hash browns on the side.”
“Slow down there, slugger. Are you sure that’s on the approved list of foods?”
He leaned forward with a steely look glinting in his brown eyes. “I said it’s Monday, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want Mark coming down here to chew my ass.”
Since the stroke, RJ’s kids had been all over him about eating healthier. He was muscled and lean, but the man ate like Garfield the Cat.
And I suspected that Mark had installed a bacon breathalyzer in his car. If I ever gave in and let RJ order what he wanted, Mark and his wife Sherry would haul down here to scold me for spoiling their dad. Then they would pull the, “You don’t want him to have another stroke, do you, Ruby? Or worse?” card and I would crumble.
I played a hard ass, but I was a softy when it came to this old man.
RJ’s teeth ground together, but he relented. “Fine do the omelet with the damn egg whites. Will that make you happy?”
“One order of hash browns,” I countered. “And no bacon.”
His jaw moved back and forth as he worked his teeth against each other. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I hated that sound. But I stayed quiet. “Can I at least have the Canadian variety?”
Nodding curtly, I filled out his order ticket and slid it through the kitchen window to Reggie, one of Rosie’s day-shift chefs.
“How’s that boy of yours, Ruby?” RJ asked as I moved down the counter to swipe the glass of the pie display. When I first started working here eleven years ago, everything was inexplicably sticky. The tables, the vinyl on the booths and stools, the countertops, the floors, the bathrooms. Everything. When I became a full-time waitress, I decided this establishment was better than being sticky. I’d spent the last seven years turning this place around, scrubbing it until it gleamed.
I might be stuck in this nowhere town at this nowhere job, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t take pride in my work.
“He’s good,” I answered quietly. I didn’t like to air my business in public anywhere in this town. I didn’t need anything misheard and then repeated all over the place. Hell, I didn’t need anything rightly heard and then spread all over town. I’d been the subject of town gossip my entire life. It wasn’t a spotlight I wanted to willingly walk underneath.
“He being good to you?”
I smiled at the lemon meringue, unable to help myself. “Always,” I agreed readily, despite my dislike of opening up about my personal life.
“Yeah, well if you have any problems, you send him my way. That boy needs a father.”
I spun around on my heel and pointed my dishrag at RJ. “Hey, now. That’s too far.”
RJ held up his hands in surrender, but his words were as sharp as ever. “You know it’s true, Ruby. He’s going to turn wild in that home of yours. Your mama ain’t no help.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I told him briskly, “I’m going to see if Reg needs help.”
He made a sound of acknowledgment, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. It didn’t matter to me how I’d wounded his sensitive feelings. He was the one coming after me and my parenting. He should know better.
Not that I could even blame him. Nosiness was how this whole damn town worked. Everybody was in everybody else’s business. My thoughts flickered briefly to Dolly Farrow and how I’d aired her business earlier.
“Hey, Reg,” I greeted the gigantic black man that could cook just about anything you asked for. I had no idea why he stuck around this town when he could have gone anywhere with his culinary skills.
He always said something about loving the wide-open space out here. He claimed to get claustrophobic in big cities. But I hardly believed him. This town made me itchy.
Not that I would leave either. I made my choice seven years ago when I’d found out I was pregnant with Max. Freshly graduated from high school, with all my hopes and dreams in a giant dumpster fire, I settled at home with my mom and decided Clark City would have to do. For me and my little guy.
“Mick giving you problems?” he asked intuitively.
Letting out a steady breath I rubbed my temples soothingly. “RJ’s out there,” I explained.
He made a sound in the back of his throat. “Trouble on the best friend front? I hardly believe my ears.”
I glared at him and his faux sense of surprise. I loved RJ like the father I never had, but he also irritated the bejesus out of me. “He’s not my best friend.”
Reggie gave me a look. “Uh, huh.”
“Coco’s my best friend. You know that.”
“Yeah, and she’s also a bad influence. You should stick with the old man.”
I snorted. He was right. My real best friend since kindergarten was a bad influence. But in the best way. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have locked myself away in my mother’s double wide a long time ago and probably starved to death.
No, that’s not true. Meals on Wheels would have found me. But I would at least be a cob-webbed version of myself. And Max didn’t deserve that.
“What’d he say?” Reggie asked with genuine curiosity.
“He’s just trying to give me parenting advice per usual.”
“This whole town tries to give you parenting advice, have you noticed that?” I blinked at him. Was he serious? Had I noticed? He laughed again. “Not too many single moms around here I guess.”
I shrugged. I was raised by a single mom, so it wasn’t strange to me to raise Max by myself. And in the part of town I was from, there were plenty of single-parent homes. They weren’t always moms. Dad’s shared the statistic too. And grandparents doing the worthy work of raising their grandkids when the parents stepped out. There were plenty of statistics available for the trailer park on the wrong side of the tracks.
