The Stranger's Obituary Page 3

  He assembled one of his Gut Buster Burgers and piled the plate with fries before yelling “Order up” twice. Cami, the waitress, had taken Doug's misfortunes as a cue to take a break and was chatting at a tall, round table with a shaggy-haired boy.

  “Sorry.” Cami hurried to the window and grabbed the plate, then brought it to Griz.

  “I apologize for the wait, Griz,” Doug called through the window.

  “That's all right. Can't complain about dinner and a show.”

  Doug grinned. “Yeah, today only, don't expect an encore.” He looked at Bernie, whose wide eyes were locked on Griz's plate.

  “Impressed?” Doug asked.

  “What is that?”

  “Doug's Gut Buster Burger. Eat the whole plate and you get free pie.”

  “Should be called The Overcompensation Special. Do you keep a paramedic in the back alley?”

  “Oh, come on, you're a city girl now. You people don't know how to eat.”

  Bernie shifted on her bar stool, straightening her back. “You'd be surprised.”

  “Would I?”

  She nodded. “I've eaten food all over the world; squid, escargot, and turducken on one occasion. But I'm not eating that. I'd like to make it out of this town alive.”

  Doug shrugged. “Alive, but at what cost? You have everything in the world now, but you can't eat a decent meal. You're what, a size one? You couldn't eat a Gut Buster if you tried.”

  “That's not going to work on me.”

  “What? I'm just acknowledging your limitations. Everyone has them.”

  Bernie glared and folded her arms.

  Doug cocked his head toward the waify waitress.

  “Cami there can eat one, no problem. But whatever.”

  “So you're challenging me? We're adults now, right?”

  “Well, of course it's a challenge, that's why people order it. Except Griz. For him it's just a snack.”

  Griz guffawed.

  “Also, my pie is fantastic.”

  “I remember.”

  “So are you hungry or not?”

  Bernie glanced around. Doug watched her assessing the situation, estimating the number of eyes on her, just like always.

  One of the men chuckled. “Leave her be, Doug. She was made for the finer things.”

  Bernie's lips tightened. Her nod was barely perceptible.

  “Coming up.”

  Doug saw the fear in her eyes as he loaded an over-sized bun with a giant hamburger patty and all the toppings. He added fries and pushed the plate across the bar.

  Bernie stared at it. The burger looked almost as big as her face as she lifted it and took her first bite. She closed her eyes as she swallowed.

  Doug smiled. He knew she wouldn't back away from a challenge. Besides, she looked like she'd been dieting for years, and she was enjoying that burger. No matter what had happened between them, he couldn't turn away anyone who looked like they needed a plate of hot food. As far as he was concerned, it was like medicine. Bernie looked like she needed a heavy dose.

  He went to get her a soda. When he turned back half the diners had gathered around to watch Bernie eat. He set down the soda and made himself comfortable on a bar stool alongside them.

  There was a part of Doug that he wasn't proud of that wanted to watch whatever creature had overtaken the girl he once loved throw up all over the sidewalk, with photographers catching every angle. But most of him wanted her to show all these people that she was still one of them; that she belonged here. One glance down at those spiky-heeled leather boots that could feed the whole town for a day told him otherwise. It was just wishful thinking. She'd never wanted to belong here, or to him.

  Bernie downed half the burger like she was starving, but eventually she slowed down. By the time she was two-thirds done, each bite looked painful. Each swallow looked like a stone traveling down her delicate throat, and Doug wondered if that would be the bite that came back up.

  The spectators began cheering her on, and she set her face in determination. That was the Bernie he knew. A little attention and there was nothing she wouldn't do.

  When Bernie swallowed the last bite, the diner exploded with cheers. She tilted her chin up and smiled weakly, even though when Griz gave her a hearty thump on the back she looked like she was going to lose it all.

  Doug reached behind the counter and grabbed an old Polaroid. He pointed it at Bernie, and before she could stop him, he pressed the button. It was a low blow, considering what she'd already been through with all those horrible reporters, but Doug figured she owed him. Besides, he had to play with her a little.

  “Give me that photo. How dare you!”

  “I'm not passing up the opportunity of having Bernadette Fairchild on my Gut Buster Champions wall. You should consider it an honor.”

  She stumbled after him as he took the photo and pinned it as high as he could reach on the champions wall, amid photos of round-bellied men in flannel and wiry teenage boys. Bernie jumped, trying to grab at it. Then she clutched her stomach and leaned forward.

  “Easy, Bernie.” He placed a hand on her back, but touching her made it all too real. She was here, and yet she wasn't his Bernie anymore. He stuck his hand in his pocket.

  When she straightened, she glared at Doug.

  “Pack up four more of those burgers. And I want my pie. It's time for me to go.”

  “Don't be mad, Bernie—”

  “Bernadette.”

  “Right. Bernadette.”

  Doug ducked his head and headed to the kitchen. He filled the buns with meat, lettuce, pickles, and tomatoes, topping them off with his signature sauce. He grabbed two slices of pie (Lemon Meringue, he didn't have to ask). As he was piling them into styrofoam containers, Junie darted around the bar and reached behind the register.

  “What—Junie, don't—”

  Junie had already snatched the folded up piece of notebook paper and run around to Bernie.

  “Here. You lost this.”

  Bernie unfolded the paper as Doug watched, helpless. Her mouth dropped open and for a moment she was speechless.

  “You still have this?”

  “It's just—it just fell back there. The kid has a crazy talent for finding things.”

  Bernie stared at him. He placed the styrofoam boxes in large, white bags and handed them to her. Without saying a word, she placed a bill on the counter and walked around the bar and into the kitchen, careful to leave plenty of space between her and Doug.

  “Wait, honey.” Betsy Barker hurried over, grabbing a large handful of napkins from the bar. “You're going to need these.” She slipped the napkins into the bags. “And welcome home.”

  Chapter 4

  The Life-Saver

  In Mina's dream, she was reclining on a chair at the beach, listening to the ocean again. A large hat shielded her eyes from the sun, which stared down from a clear blue sky. She felt long fingers intertwining with hers; she turned her head, and his eyes locked on her just like every time she looked outside. He was smiling.

  Mina couldn't get that dream out of her head. She peeked out the window at ten forty five. He was still there. The others had left, but the lean reporter in the sweater vest still sat on the curb staring at the house like he was waiting for something to happen. Did he know something Mina didn't? She didn't really think so, but the idea wasn't beyond consideration around here. It wasn't something people admitted readily, but there were people in this town with unusual attributes. And sometimes people who were different found this place. People like her mother.

  She pulled herself away from the window. Somehow that one reporter made her more nervous than all the others combined. She'd beg all the others to come back if he would just leave. Every time she looked out he was staring right at her. That's the only reason he had made it into her dreams. He'd wormed his way in. She wasn't sure if he sat there staring at her window all day or if he knew when she was going to look. Either possibility was disconcerting.

  It
wasn't exactly true, what Bernie had said about Mina never leaving the house. In fact, in order to keep a good relationship with this house, Mina had to get out of it once in a while. She chose to shop during the slower hours, and she took her walks in the evenings. This was an early to bed, early to rise town, so evening walks were calm, and she didn't see many people.

  When all the reporters came, she couldn't get out for her walks. There was no way she was facing that hoard of strangers waiting to flash a camera in her face, hoping to dig up things they had no business to. Mina was finally beginning to resent these protective walls.

  She'd always tried not to think of her childhood home as a prison, even though she was often sorry that when she and Bernie and Mom stopped in Auburn their roaming days were over.

  There was something about Auburn. “The veil is thinner here,” was how her friend Gladys put it. Mom's gift came easier in this town. She'd said it was like pulling taffy rather than teeth. And when she'd made the cookie discovery it was a dream come true for two little girls. Their kitchen was rarely without a plateful of them after that.

  She'd always known that for her mother the roaming days weren't peaceful ones; that finding a place she felt safe enough to stay and raise her daughters properly was what she dreamed of every time she stopped the station wagon in a new town. So of course Mina was happy that her mother was happy, and it was nice to live in a real home together, but Mina had missed the nomadic life.

  As a child she'd kept a notebook. She'd watched for the green signs with white letters welcoming her to a new town, and eagerly jotted the new name down. Each new experience, a bird she'd never seen, rocks perched atop each other in impossibly precarious stacks, an accent she'd never heard before, a drive-in movie theater, went in the book.

  She'd dreamed of the day she would write down what the ocean smelled like, how it felt when the waves crashed down on her, what the sun looked like dropping below its depths.

  Staying in Nebraska meant no page scrawled with delicious details about the ocean. She'd promised herself she'd go on her own when she got older, to all kinds of places, but that was before she knew what the future held. She tried to deny the fact that she was afraid. She'd never told anyone what she knew, what she'd tricked her mother into telling her with a plateful of secretly baked cookies.

  She was okay here. She was safe, just as she and her sister and mother had found safety here so many years ago. She could still experience the world through the postcards she plucked from her mailbox, with the magical realm of the internet, and using her memory and imagination.

  It was true Mina preferred to keep to herself. Living here had never been exactly easy for her. She'd never learned how to be permanent. She remembered the fascination she'd felt when she was young, and they were driving from one place to another. They'd stop to get gas and dinner somewhere along the way. Those were always her favorite places. Not only were there new things to see, she could imagine what it would be like to be part of that place, sometimes without even getting out of the car. And what she imagined was always better than reality.

  But once they stopped she was expected to fit in. People weren't like those towns you could pass through and never worry about belonging or not belonging to. She found each new place was filled with new faces, but the inhabitants were more or less the same. She didn't pay much attention to them, and, if she was careful, they didn't take much interest in her. She'd always concentrated on what the next town would be like. But after they settled in Auburn the next town never came.

  By then Mina had already learned to keep her distance from people, other than Mom and Bernie. But sometimes she thought it would be nice to belong. Maybe she should have started keeping notebooks about people. Perhaps then she would have understood them better.

  A knock on the door made her jump. She hurried to the door and peeked through the peep-hole, then sighed with relief. She opened the door barely enough to pull Gladys, clutching a covered baking dish, through it.

  “Mina, how are you holding up, dear?”

  Mina slammed the door, then leaned against it.

  “My long-lost diva sister is asleep in her old room and tall-dark-and-opportunistic won't take his eyes off the house.”

  Gladys went to the window and pulled the curtain aside to look out.

  “He's a handsome one.”

  Mina lunged toward her, tugging on her arm.

  “Gladys, he'll know we're talking about him.”

  “Tell him to come a little closer. He'd make a fine lawn ornament, better than a garden gnome. Maybe you could just get used to him?”

  “You don't think it's creepy, the way he sits there?” She didn't want to ask it outright, but she needed to know what Gladys made of him. It was difficult to explain, but it mattered what Gladys thought. She had a way of being right about people.

  Gladys turned, staring into Mina's face with her giant bifocals. It always made whatever Gladys said seem either wise and mystical or very funny.

  “Seems alright to me. But you'll have to judge for yourself.”

  “Will I? I'd rather just get rid of him.” Mina took Gladys's fur coat and hung it in the entry closet.

  “Doesn't look like that's going to happen. Anyway, I don't know if you will or not, really. I can't tell the future.” Gladys shuffled to the dining room and set the dish on the table. “I do know you, though. Change is a hard thing, and you've been fighting it a long time. You won't be happy until you give your soul what it needs. The journey has to start somewhere.”

  So it was mystical today. Mina sighed. When Gladys spoke, she listened. But she didn't always fully understand.

  Gladys glanced toward the kitchen.

  “Speaking about the future has made me crave cookies. Got any of those chocolate chunk your mother liked?”

  “I'm sorry. We've eaten nearly everything in the house. Bernie made it as far as the diner yesterday and brought home a pile of gigantic hamburgers and pie so we wouldn't starve. That's the only reason we haven't torn each other's throats out yet.”

  “I'm sorry, dear. I would have come earlier, but I thought you and Bernie could use some time to work through things. I brought you a chicken pot pie.”

  Mina lifted the lid and sniffed. “I love your pot pie. You're a life-saver, Gladys.”

  “So, Bernie went to the diner, huh?” Gladys raised her brows. “I guess she saw Doug.”

  “Of course. Does he ever leave that place? She's been very emotional since she got back. You know I don't hear town gossip, but I did see a picture of her laying into one of Doug's Gut Buster burgers plastered all over the internet along with the heading, 'Bernadette's Burger Bender after Break-up.'”

  Glady's shook her head. “Who needs reporters when everyone's got a camera in their pocket? Poor dears, both of them.”

  “A lot of other things came up too, that stuff she did to her boyfriend. Pretty impressive, actually. Fuchsia's not such a bad color for a dog. Maybe she could go back to California and make a living doing that.”

  Gladys shook her head again.

  “I don't know how she lives with everyone poking into her business all the time,” Mina said. Then again, it was different for Bernie. She didn't know she had anything to hide, apart from her odd relations.

  “Maybe she's had enough of it.” Gladys's cell phone rang, and she rifled around in her purse for it. “It's Betsy.”

  Mina shrugged. “Enough attention? We'll see.” She put the baking dish in the fridge. She tried to give Gladys her privacy, but the alarm in Gladys's voice as she answered Betsy tugged at her curiosity.

  “I'll do what I can,” Gladys said before turning away and lowering her voice, “but you know how she hates crowds.”

  Mina's muscles tensed. “What is it, Gladys?” she asked as Gladys tucked her phone back into her purse.

  “There's a situation downtown.” She paused, as if searching for the right thing to say.

  Mina took a step back. “And they want me again?”r />
  “It involves Doug, so I know you won't say no. Remember what we talked about? You have to get out there and see what life has in store for you.”

  Mina slumped her shoulders and exhaled, wishing for the millionth time that she'd never eaten that cookie. “I'm pretty sure I know what's waiting for me out there.”

  She knew it wasn't just the cookie, though. Growing up with her peculiarities wasn't conducive to developing normal relationships.

  Gladys walked out of the dining room and found her fur coat. She held it out to Mina.

  “Did I ever tell you the story of my fur coat?”

  “You're coat has a story?” She smiled.

  “Sure it does. Now days it's not politically correct, but there was a time it was every woman's dream to have a coat like this.” She stroked the brown fur as she spoke. “Many years ago, Dale was out working when a traveling salesman came along. We didn't have much money, but Dale was such a kind soul. He felt sorry for the man trying to sell fur coats to poor folks in a town like this, and he just imagined me wearing that fine coat. So he bought it for me. I thought it was beautiful, but as I put it on Sunday morning I started worrying. I didn't want to wear this fancy coat among all my neighbors, as if I was flaunting it, putting on airs. I finally decided not to wear it to church. When Dale and I walked into the meeting I looked around, and wouldn't you know it, nearly every woman there was wearing a coat just like mine. I laughed at myself. Now I wear it to remind myself not to care what other people think.”

  She walked over to Mina and put a hand on her arm.

  “You can't let worrying about what other people think or do dictate how you live your life.”

  “You're right, Gladys. That's why I stay inside, but it's not why I stay in Auburn.”

  Gladys watched her attentively.

  “I made a batch of cookies once. I told my mother they were from somebody else.”

  Gladys didn't look as surprised as Mina had expected, but then, Gladys had been good friends with her mother.