The Serpent King(77)

Their server bent in close. “Well, I’ll take great care of y’all on your special night.”

Dill played the little peg game at the table while they waited for their Diet Sprites (the most pathetic of all beverages, according to Lydia). Dill was about to win the game when Lydia casually reached out and flicked it onto the floor, scattering the pegs.

“Sorry, Dill,” Lydia said as Dill scrabbled around on the floor to gather the pegs. “Winning the Cracker Barrel peg game is not pathetic. It’s a triumph of the human spirit. Come on. You invented this idea.”

The server returned with their Diet Sprites. “Have y’all decided?”

“Yes,” Lydia said. “I’ll have a bowl of fried chicken livers; a stack of blueberry pancakes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top; and a piece of Double Chocolate Fudge Coca-Cola Cake, also with vanilla ice cream on top.”

Dill started to speak. “And I’ll have—”

“He’ll have what I’m having.”

The server looked from Dill to Lydia and back.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Dill said, with happy resignation.

The server gave Lydia an admiring look. “Yes, ma’am. Coming right up.” She shuttled off.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that isn’t objectively the world’s most pathetic meal I ordered us,” Lydia said.

“What if you got a scoop of ice cream on the chicken livers?”

“Yeah, then we’re entering postfood, performance art territory. Which is not pathetic. I appreciate the thought, but please, follow my lead tonight.”

“This all was my idea.”

“I don’t care.”

“Got it.” He sipped his soda and pointed at one of the pictures hanging on the wall. “You ever think about how many pictures of dead people there are on the walls of Cracker Barrels?”

“I think you’re supposed to say ‘Crackers Barrel’ if you want to be grammatically correct. What if when they hang your photo up at Cracker Barrel, your ghost has to forever haunt Cracker Barrel?”

“We should sneak a framed photo of Travis into a Cracker Barrel and hang it, just in case,” Dill said. “I think Travis would enjoy haunting a Cracker Barrel.”

He and Lydia laughed. She felt a sharp, fleeting twinge. “I miss Travis,” she said. “I wish he were here.”

Dill looked down and toyed with the peg game, suddenly less cheery. “He’d have had a lot of fun tonight. He would’ve asked Amelia.”

“What do you think Travis would have thought of…our current situation?”

“He’d have approved. I know for a fact. We talked about it. He tried to get me to make a move with you before he…” Dill’s voice trailed off.

Tears flooded Lydia’s eyes and began to fall. It wasn’t only because of Travis. Yes, mainly Travis. But it was Dill too. Specifically, the impending lack of him. It was even a bit that there were no Crackers Barrel in New York City. There’s no way I could have played this night straight. I’m a mess even with the jokey premise.

She reached out her hand. Dill took it. He’d started crying too, right as their server walked up with their food.

She eyed them with concern. “Are y’all okay here? Everything all right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Lydia said, wiping at her eyes gingerly with her ring fingers, taking care not to poke herself with her fake nails. “It’s that we both keep losing the peg game and we’re emotionally fragile.”

“Well, honey, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the game make someone this upset. Maybe y’all should just let it be for a little while if it’s upsetting you, okay?”

Lydia sniffled and laughed.

“Here we are on prom night, crying at a Cracker Barrel in Cookeville, Tennessee. I’d say we’re getting the hang of this Pathetic Prom thing,” Dill said, after the server left.

Lydia wiped her nose with a tissue. “Let’s get a quick selfie while it still looks like we’ve been crying.”





“Good thing it’s a nice night,” Lydia said as they pulled into her driveway.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Dill said.

Lydia gave him a mischievous grin—the one Dill had come to know all too well. “You won’t need to ask. You’ll find out.”

She opened her front door. “Dad?” she called. “Bring the limo around.”

“Sweetie,” he called. “Are you sure about this?”

“Pathetic Prom.”

He sighed.

“We need to head to the dance. Come on.”

“Sweetie, look, I’ll drive you. Having your dad drive you to prom is pretty pathetic. I’ll wear a goofy outfit.”

“As opposed to your many outfits that aren’t goofy? I said bring the limo around.”

Dr. Blankenship shook his head and disappeared around the corner. He returned, wheeling a creaking, rusty, thrift-store Huffy mountain bike.

“Oh man,” Dill said, laughing. “I haven’t ridden a bike since I was a little kid. I’m not sure if I remember how.”

“They say it’s like riding a bike,” Lydia said.

“Be careful!” Dr. Blankenship called after them as they tottered away with Lydia perched on the crossbar.