The Strawberry Hearts Diner(8)

That was it. No poem. No hymn. No Bible verses. Elaine would have liked something scriptural said over her ashes, so Jancy had silently recited the twenty-third Psalm and added a few drops of salty tears to the water.

“Now let’s go look for jobs. We’ll have to sleep in the truck if we can’t get a motel that’ll let you do some cleaning to cover a room until we can get a paycheck,” her father had said that day.

She took her broken heart and the empty box with her to a cheap motel on the outskirts of Galveston and cried herself to sleep every night for the next week. When her father got his first paycheck, they moved into a trailer and she went to work at a fast-food place as a waitress. It was life, and there was no changing it back then.

Next she took out the stack of letters and cards tied with a faded pink ribbon. Those went into the drawer beside her bed except for the one marked with a small heart on the corner. She slumped down in the chair beside the window and opened it. Every first night in a new place she read that letter to remind her that her mother was with her no matter where the winds took her.

She carefully removed the lined paper from the envelope and held it to her heart before she unfolded it. Her lips moved as she read the all-too-familiar words.

My darling daughter,

If you are reading this, then I’m gone. When your father and I got married, I thought we’d settle down like most folks. He seemed to favor bigger cities and I didn’t care where we lived as long as we were happy. As you well know, he never could put down roots anywhere, but I’d vowed to stay with him through the bad as well as the good, and we did have some good times in our marriage. I loved him even if I didn’t love the nomadic way of life. But no matter where we lived, my mama wrote me a letter every week. When she died, the letters that she’d written to me over the years were such a comfort. Just seeing her handwriting and reading over her advice and feeling the love in her words have helped me so much. I want you to have that. There will be a letter for each major milestone in your life and a birthday card for a few years.

The happiest years of my life were those two that we lived in Pick, Texas. It was where I was raised and I got to spend that time with my mother. Even though your father is a wandering soul, I appreciate him staying there with me. Don’t fault him for what he does, Jancy. Some folks think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. I hope that you don’t get too much of that in your grown-up life and, if you do, that you never get married. You and your loved ones will be miserable.

Please know that you are the biggest blessing God could ever give me. I chose this life. Maybe I was too young to make that decision at eighteen, but I made my bed and I’ll sleep in it—no matter how many times that bed has to change. But I want you to remember that choices have consequences and I’m sorry that you had to pay for mine.

Jancy read through the last paragraph, slipped the letter back into the envelope, and put it with the rest of the letters. Swiping away a lonesome tear that escaped from behind her lashes, she touched her mother’s picture with her forefinger. “Mama, would things have been different if you hadn’t gotten pregnant with me? Was I really a blessing or a curse? Maybe you wouldn’t have married Daddy that summer otherwise.”

She finished unpacking, stuffed the duffel bags inside the suitcase, and set it in the closet. Taking a deep breath, she headed down the long hallway to the kitchen. Vicky and Nettie were sitting at the table, a pot of coffee and three cups sitting in the middle with a chocolate cake underneath one of those plastic cake carriers.

Vicky pointed. “We started without you. I’m only having half a cup or I’ll be awake half the night.”

“I’m immune to caffeine. This is my second cup,” Nettie said.

“Me, too.” Jancy pulled out a chair, sat down, and poured a full cup of coffee. “I know you’ve got questions, so fire away.”

“You done a good job today. Folks liked you,” Nettie said. “I reckon that’s all that’s important right now.”

“Except that we do need you to fill out some tax forms. We’ll do that tomorrow during downtime.” Vicky cut a thick slice of the layer cake and put it on a saucer. “We didn’t have leftover tarts today, but this is very good. You’ll like it.”

“Leftover tarts?” Jancy expected them to ask her personal questions, some that she’d probably not even want to answer.

“We usually bring home two to four in the evenings. We never serve leftovers. I make about fifty, and the rule is that a person can only take out two. We don’t cater them or sell them for parties, and when those fifty are gone, then there’s no dessert on the menu. Folks can eat as many as they want to buy in the diner or take two home with them, but no more. That’s rule number one,” Nettie answered.

“How many rules are there?” Jancy asked.

“Only a few, but they’re important. Go on and cut your own slice. I don’t know how much you want, but I’ll tell you right now, this is my second piece, and it’s really good.” Vicky took a bite. “Did you do something different with the recipe for this, Nettie?”

“Added a little bit of almond extract to the icing. You like it?”

“This is fantastic,” Jancy said. “It’s delicious, but I can’t wait to try a tart.”

“Didn’t you eat one back when you lived here?” Vicky froze with her tart halfway back to her plate in surprise.