The Strawberry Hearts Diner(5)

“Iced tea and tarts, right?” Jancy set a dome to the side and eased a heart-shaped tart onto each of two small plates, filled two of the largest glasses with ice and sweet tea, and put it all on a tray.

Shane nodded. “Here comes W-Woody. Do you remember him, Jancy?”

“Of course. He and Irma were friends with my grandmother,” she said.

“Irma’s been dead two years now.” Shane slid a long look from Jancy’s toes to her ponytail.

It had been six years since that infatuation, but not to her suddenly sweaty palms. She had to concentrate on walking or she would have dropped the tray.

“You are late,” Nettie called from the kitchen when Woody pushed through the doors, bringing in a rush of hot air behind him.

“Had to go up to the church to help them with some plumbing,” Woody said. “I’m starving. Give me your biggest breakfast, the one with pancakes on the side, and a cup of coffee. Who owns that car out there? Looks like it ain’t good for nothing but the junkyard now.”

Woody, a tall, rail-thin guy who looked like he needed rocks in his pockets to keep from blowing away when the north wind cut through the rolling hills of Anderson County, eyed her up and down twice before he took a booth behind Ryder and Shane. “You the new waitress here?”

“I am,” Jancy said. “Cream or sugar?”

Woody removed his Texas A&M cap and raked his fingers through his thick gray hair. “You look familiar.”

“This is Jancy W-Wilson. Her grandma was Lucy, and her mama was Elaine,” Shane piped up from the booth next to where Woody took a seat.

“I remember them both. Always thought it was strange when Elaine married a man with the same last name, but Lucy said there wasn’t no way they were related. Guess it is a pretty common name, ain’t it? What are you doin’ back in Pick?” Woody asked.

“That’s her burned-out car in the parkin’ lot,” Shane said.

“Do you answer anything for yourself?” Woody asked.

“I’m workin’ here. Coffee, black. Breakfast special, right?” She pasted on the brightest smile she could muster. She’d forgotten what small-town chatter was like.

“That’s right.” Woody nodded. “Hey, Vicky, when is Emily comin’ home?”

“Friday. One more year and she’ll have college done with, but she’ll be here for the summer,” Vicky said. “You want those eggs scrambled or fried this mornin’?”

Jancy blushed. She should have thought to ask that.

“Scrambled is fine, and don’t forget the picante sauce. Where are you going to live, girl?” Woody cocked his head like a gangly bird. “Your granny’s trailer has been gone since two weeks after she died. Some fishermen bought the thing and moved it up by the lake for a weekend place.”

“Jancy will be stayin’ with us,” Vicky said.

“I heard Emily turned down one of them internship things down at NASA this summer. Has the girl gone goofy? That’s a big deal.” Woody’s stream of conversation flowed right on, no matter the response.

Vicky shrugged. “She says she’d get homesick. Besides, she hates big cities.”

“So do I,” Ryder said.

Jancy picked up Woody’s order from the shelf, added a cup of coffee to the tray, and carried it to his booth. She’d only lived in one small town her entire life, and that was Pick. Before and after that, her father had favored the big cities where he could find a job easily, most of the time on an oil rig.

Woody picked up his knife and fork. “So how’s the offshore business going, Ryder?”

“Real good, but I’m not going back out anymore. The oil company is putting in an office in Frankston, and I’m going to manage it for them,” Ryder answered.

“Then you’ll be home for the festival?” Woody asked.

“Oh, yeah! Wouldn’t miss that even if I had to quit my job,” Ryder chuckled.

Jancy had attended the annual Strawberry Festival only once. Money was always tight in their house, but her mother had given her enough to buy either cotton candy or maybe a fried pickle and lemonade. She’d wandered around all evening alone wishing she had a group of friends like Emily had surrounding her. Finally, she’d bought cotton candy with her money, taken it home, and shared it with her mother.

“So where’s your mama and daddy these days?” Woody asked Jancy when she set the food and coffee in front of him.

“Both gone. Mama went right after I graduated from high school. Daddy died two years ago,” Jancy said.

“Sorry,” Woody mumbled.

A lump the size of a grapefruit formed in Jancy’s throat, like it always did when she thought of her mother, who had still been in her thirties when the blood clot went through her heart. Jancy had been flipping burgers when her father called and said, “Your mother is dead. You’d better come on home.”

She’d wanted to bring her mama home to Pick to bury her, but her dad wouldn’t have it. He’d insisted on cremation, and there wasn’t even a memorial service. No dinner. No friends. Nothing but a widower and a daughter standing at the edge of the sandbar in Galveston, Texas, dumping her mother’s ashes into the salty water.

They’d lived in a motel for a week and then he moved them into an apartment. Two months later he was ready to move again, but she didn’t go with him that time. She didn’t hear from him again until she got a call that he’d died with liver cancer in Pampa, Texas. She had him cremated and shook his ashes out near the same spot where they’d left her mother.