“I’m good, ma’am. I just finished talking to Father George, and he gave me more than I could handle.”
Before I was finished, she was doing the sign of the cross and looking pretty pale. “Child, bless your soul. Father George has been dead for over a decade.”
I dropped my chin to my chest. Of course he was. Only the dead and the hoboes talked to me.
“Do you need me to take you inside, sweetie?” I knew grandma was not being patronizing. It was the South, and everyone around wanted to be helpful.
“No, I’m good. I probably didn’t hear him correctly.” How could I say this without sounding crazy or wild?
“Sweetie, you probably did see Father George.”
OK, now I was really confused. “You don’t think I’m crazy?” Because I was starting to question my sanity at times.
“I don’t think you’re crazy. There are too many unexplainable things going on. If you said you spoke with Father George, I believe you. You’re not the first one to say that.” She looked at the cemetery with hope.
“You think he’s stuck here on earth as a punishment?” Why would any soul want to stay in this place after passing?
“I believe his calling was so strong, he’s still serving after his death. Now run home, dear. None of our priests are in. You’ve already experienced enough for one day.”
In agreement, my stomached growled. I was so embarrassed. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a good day.”
She patted my cheeks and sent me on my way.
I rushed to Bumblebee and climbed in. Constantine needed to explain how to tell the difference between the dead and the living to me. I couldn’t be having conversations with dead people and not know it. Those things were helpful to know so I wouldn’t share things with the wrong person. It appeared the dead were a lot more helpful to me than the living.
My stomach did one more loud protest, and I headed for food.
Chapter 28
I was having lunch at my favorite place in Texarkana, Big Jake’s on New Boston Road. I had no idea whatever possessed me to start going there. For someone who didn’t eat meat, a BBQ place was almost sacrilegious. The smell of cooked meat never bothered me; the taste, on the other hand, made me sick. Another reason I was weird. Someone who didn’t eat meat in Texas: I was an endangered species.
I remembered the first time I had gone in. It was a Saturday night, raining, and I was starving. I prayed they would have some side dishes I could eat. To my surprise, their baked potatoes and chili potatoes were to die for. I was hooked. To make the addiction complete, this place was like Cheers, where everybody knew your name. Big Jake’s was pretty busy for lunch, but most people didn’t stick around too long, so finding a table wasn’t hard.
I walked in, and I immediately relaxed. It was probably the only normal thing I had done all week. I was fourth in line, but I didn’t care. After my crazy day, I was going to indulge in a fried pie. It was like an oversize empanada with fruit filling and deep fried. Nobody could ever say Texans didn’t know how to eat. I learned that in Texas, they fried everything. This included veggies. Amazing taste, but I was sure my arteries were collapsing.
The people in front of me were obviously new in town, because they had been staring at the menu for over five minutes. Thankfully, the staff at Big Jake’s were the happiest people I had ever met. They actually loved their jobs, and I later learned they got paid really well. Maybe I should had looked harder for work before settling on Abuelita’s. Not that I was complaining—I loved working at Abuelita’s, and her hours were more my style.
It felt as if I were in line forever, probably because I was starving.
“Hi, Isis. The usual?” My day had just gotten ten times better. My favorite Big Jake’s staff member was on the register, T. J. T. J. was at least six feet tall, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a mocha complexion. I was sure he was mixed, but I had no idea with what.
“Make it a large and a pie.”
“Wow, you’re living dangerously today.” T. J. laughed at me. For the last three months, I had always ordered the small chili fries. On most nights I barely finished my order.
“It’s been a long day and an even longer week.” I normally could stare at T. J.’s eyes for hours. Today they had a different hint to them. There were specks of gold I had never noticed before and an intensity that was a bit overwhelming. I had to look away.
“Isis, you OK?” I had a horrible poker face, and most people could easily interpret my moods.
“Yeah. Sorry, T. J. Just hungry and tired.” At least that much was true.
“You’re having a hard week.”
I handed T. J. a twenty and tried to smile. He handed me my change and a cup. “Here you go, girl. Grab a seat. I’ll bring you your food in a minute.”
“Thank you so much.” I was so hungry, I was sure I looked pitiful, because T. J. just shook his head.
I walked over to the drink area. Between the drink area and the register, they had a barbecue-sauce-and-baked-beans bar. I filled my cup with ice and sweet tea. Only in the South would I ever drink sweet tea. Some things do not make the crossover well across the country. It was like asking for clam chowder in Texas. You were looking to be disappointed. Then I grabbed some baked beans. They were free if you dined in. I made it a point to pay attention to
