Sweet Caroline(49)

“I haven’t been driving as much. Guess she just wanted to retire and sit in the shade.”

“Sounds good to me.” The dyed and painted waitress taps another cigarette from a crumpled pack. “You have plans with J. D. tonight?” She flicks her lighter and touches the flame to the cigarette. “Don’t you just like to look at him? I think his face is just about perfect.”

The memory of his face from last night is etched in my mind. My heart skips one beat. “Just about perfect, yes.”

“You know, I never took to handsome men for myself.”

“What kind of men do you like?” I shift the box from one arm to the next.

Smoke billows from her nose like she’s a steaming kettle. “Roughed-up looking, but with soft hearts. The boys’ daddy was sweet, but he could rumble if need be. Broke his nose in three places, had a crushed cheekbone that never got fixed, and a scar right here.” She slashes her red nail across the side of her face down to her neck. “Never would tell me how he got that one.”

“Where’s he now?” This is the most Mercy Bea’s ever opened up to me.

“Only God in heaven knows. He got weird and ran off.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her cigarette crackles and burns as she takes a long drag. “Your mama was a loose nut. Prettiest girl around, too, but—” Mercy whistles cuckoo and makes the crazy circle with her finger. “Ever get scared you’ll turn out like her?”

“Once a day and twice on Sunday. But I try to think of her good qualities. Creative, uninhibited, free . . .”

“Your mama did one good thing.” Mercy flicks her second cigarette to the ground. “You.”

The compliment surprises me.

“Guess I have to give your old man most of the credit for you turning out so nice.” She gestures toward the Café. “Your mama would’ve never kept this place if she’d had a chance to fly off to Barcelona. Didn’t look after her kids, why would she care for a dang Café?” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t fret none over it. You’re not like her. Not that I can see.”

A light wash of tears blurs my vision. Go figure. Encouragement comes from the strangest places. “Good to know.”

“Well, better head out.” Mercy Bea starts to walk off but stops, digging the toe of her shoe into the gravel. “I lost my job down at the nursing home. Wanted you to know.”

“What happened?”

“They said I was snippy with the old folks.”

Not surprised. “I’m sure it’s not an easy job.”

She flicks her wrist at me. “Shift happens, doesn’t it? So, I’m avail-able for more work if you aren’t keeping that skinny gal Paris around.”

“Paris wants to keep working. For now.”

Mercy Bea clicks her thumbnail against her middle fingernail. “If you need me, let me know.”

“Will do.” I wait for her to walk off, but she stares off toward the river for a long moment. “Is there something else?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Naw, I’m good. See you in the morning.”





DAILY SPECIAL


Tuesday, July 24

Meatloaf

Choice of Three Sides: Baked Beans, Cole Slaw,

Mac and Cheese, Mashed Potatoes, Green Salad,

Turnip Greens, French Fries, Okra, or Peas

Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits

Sweet Caroline Pie à la Mode

Tea, Soda, Coffee

$6.99


21

To: CSweeney

From: Hazel Palmer

Subject: Re: The Frogmore and me

Caroline,

Sorry, got swamped with end-of-fiscal-year accounting. Meant to e-mail about Fernando. Charming, lovely Fernando. Oh, Caroline . . .

He took me to Semproniana, a muy romantic place in L’Eixample. It’s converted from a ’60s factory. Has these great iron columns, old furniture, paintings. A very cozy atmosphere.

Handsome Fernando (think Antonio Banderas without the wrinkles) is all habla, habla in espa?ol with his arm lightly around my waist, body whispering. I might have swooned a little because I don’t remember walking to the table.

He knew everyone, including the owner, who sat down with us for a few minutes.

We ate, talked, drank a little wine, but not too much. I’m still a Southern Baptist girl, but when in Rome—in my case, Barcelona . . .

We strolled the shops, and C, it felt like we’d known each other for years. His English is perfect, yet sprinkled with the most delicious accent. He tried to coach my Spanish along and we laughed so hard we couldn’t speak at all.

He kissed me tenderly good night and said, “Hasta luego.”

Apparently, his “luego” was ten minutes later. He dropped me off and called me on his way home! Shocked me so much, I didn’t even know it was him for the first minute of the call. I’m like, “Who is this?”

LOL. I’m meeting him again for dinner tonight.

So, J. D., huh? I haven’t been around much in the last four or five years, but isn’t he a ladies’ man? The more the merrier? Big surprise to hear you’re interested in him.

Didn’t he have a crush on you in junior high?

I keep up with home by reading the Gazette online and loved seeing you on the front page in the raft race. I loved the quote you gave Melba Pelot: “The Frogmore is here, bubba.” Cracked me up. I called Carlos “bubba” the next day. Didn’t get it. (Thank goodness.)