The woman put her hands on her hips. She had the classic Western body of a barrel racer—wide shoulders, small breasts, tiny waist, strong thighs. “Do you want to see him?”
I said, “Pete didn’t want a showing.”
She seemed disappointed. “Are you the lover?”
“What?”
“We heard he had a male lover.”
“I’m…that’s me,” Chet said.
“Oh.” She studied him a moment. “Anything we can do to make your time of grief easier, let us know. I lost a lover once. I know how rough it can be.”
“Thank you,” Chet said.
“You two weren’t married? I suppose not.”
“No.”
“Being married makes it more bearable. Everyone admits you’re worthy of sympathy. My lover’s wife got the condolences, the money, and the name, and I had to keep up the act.”
“I’m sorry,” Chet said.
“I know what you’re going through. Believe me.”
“I do.”
Maurey blew across the surface of her coffee. “There’s nothing worse than a shallow person trying to be thoughtful,” she said.
“Pete and I are used to it.” Chet inhaled on his cigarette. “She meant well.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. Artificially deep people are worse when they mean well than when they don’t.”
We were sitting in a window booth at Dot’s Dine Out and I was nervous because when we walked in Hank waved at us from the far booth by the jukebox, where he sat facing Lydia. All I could see was the back of her head, but that was enough to pull my trigger.
Maurey continued. “Take ‘He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother.’ Whoever wrote that was actually trying to be profound.”
“‘Listen to the Warm,’” Chet said.
“There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark.”
I figured it was my turn. “Never take a rattlesnake by its tail or a woman by her word.”
Maurey poured creamer and stirred. “Doesn’t count. The author knew he was being cynical. We’re talking about sincere froth.”
“How about ‘Have a nice day’?”
Maurey smiled. “I can just hear Gloria Mildren chirping that as the hearse pulls away.”
Chet stared out the window. “Jesus loves me, this I know.”
Maurey and I glanced at each other, then down at our cups. I wondered if Lydia could hear us. I couldn’t hear her, but that didn’t mean anything.
Dot’s Dine Out may be the closest I have to a place that feels like home. It had a different name back then, but throughout junior high and high school I spent at least part of each day swilling coffee and trying to flirt with Dot Pollard, who was considerably more a mom than Lydia. Whenever the defeats and heartaches of puberty got me down, Dot was the woman I ran to, and I’d probably have starved to death if I had to depend on my own mother to feed me. That’s why when the owner, Max, died of hardened arteries, I loaned Dot the money to buy the cafe.
“Isn’t that your former husband?” Chet nodded toward Dothan Talbot coming from his real estate office across the street. “Pete pointed him out to me once.”
“I wish Pete wouldn’t go around exposing my shameful past,” Maurey said.
Dothan wore a camouflage jacket and light blue cowboy boots. He got into a new Ford pickup truck that sported an NRA decal and a bumper sticker reading
I didn’t get it.
“What’s the bumper sticker mean?” I asked.
“Filth,” Maurey said.
“Perhaps you should sue him,” Chet said.
“Oh, it’s okay. There’s been two ex-wives since me. Besides, it’s not considered cowboy to sue people in Wyoming. If he offends me bad enough, I’ll shoot his gas tank.”
“I still don’t get it,” I said.
Dot approached, carrying my chicken strip platter and Maurey’s chocolate malt. Chet was sticking to coffee. As far as I knew, he’d had nothing but coffee for two days, and it was starting to show on his face. Yesterday’s shock was being overwhelmed by today’s grief.
Dot watched with us as the truck pulled out of a handicapped parking space. She laughed and said, “Dothan tried to sell me a time share the other day. Took a lot of nerve, considering the grapevine says he’s bringing in a Roy Rogers roast beef franchise.” Except for adding twenty pounds, Dot hasn’t changed in two decades. She’s the only consistently cheerful person in my life.
“Where’d you hear that?” I asked.
“Where I hear ever’thing. Right here.”
“GroVont doesn’t need another restaurant. We’ve already got too many,” Maurey said. Dot’s Dine Out— under various names and disguises—and the Dairy Queen next to the Forest Service headquarters had been the only eating establishments in GroVont since the Second World War, until last summer, when a couple from Santa Barbara opened The Whole Grain out on the Jackson Highway. The Whole Grain specialized in hummus paninis and vinaigrettes.
“Hear from Jacob lately?” I asked. Dot’s son, Jacob, tends to go off on tangents, so it’s always risky to ask about him. You never know what you’re going to get. But if you haven’t seen Dot in a while, not asking about him is a pointed comment in itself.
Dot slid into the booth beside me and stole a French fry. “Jacob wrote a letter, said I was pedestrian and ruled by temporal lust and he’s chosen a new mother. Says she nurtures his inner spirit.”
Maurey stared me down. “Don’t you hate kids who turn on their mother?”
Dot dipped my fry in ketchup and went on, unaware of the arrow I’d just taken in the chest. “Ft. Worth Jones saw him in the Salt Lake Airport last month. Jacob was wearing a sheet and passing out free flowers. His head is shaved.”
If anyone deserves to be treated right by their son, it’s Dot. Had she been my mother, I’d buy her chocolates every day and a condo when she retires.
“Maybe we ought to drive down there and drag his cosmic butt home,” I said.
Dot laughed like I was kidding. “Lydia says it’s nothing but a phase they all go through and he’ll outgrow it.”
“I never went through an airport beggar phase.”
Dot popped the fry into her mouth. “Speaking of Lydia.”
“We weren’t,” I said.
“She’s sitting over there at Hank’s table. Maybe you should go visit with her.”
“Not likely.”
Maurey pointed her straw at my face. “When a loved one dies, all grudges are called off, Sam. That’s the rules.”
“Lydia doesn’t play by the rules.”
“If I can forgive her for mailing poison to Ronald Reagan’s dog, you can forgive her for faking rape.”
“The two sins aren’t equal.”
“How would you feel if Shannon refused to speak to you? Lord knows you’ve pulled stunts not everybody’s child would forgive.”
I considered this carefully. “At least if I ruin my daughter’s life, I won’t do it on purpose.”
