Gator Bowl (4 page)

Crème Brûlée and I woke up early—but not as early as Uncle Saul and Ollie. Neither one of them were in their sleeping places. I heard the loud sound of an engine starting, and realized why.

“It's our food truck!” I grabbed Crème Brûlée and ran outside with him. I was still wearing the purple shorts and tank top that I usually wore only to bed. My mother would have heart palpitations if she saw me.

Uncle Saul and Ollie were shaking hands and congratulating each other. Beside them, the old Airstream was running but with a clunking sound that finally stopped the engine.

“Well, it was a start anyway.” Uncle Saul grinned. “Let's go get Zoe up and have her fix us some of those biscuits she's so good at making.”

I moved to the side of the Airstream so they didn't see me right away. I thought it might be good to hear what they had to say.

“You must be pretty good at making biscuits, too, sir,” Ollie said. “Zoe told me who you are. I remember your place. I ate there a few times before I joined the Marines.”

“Thank you, son. But please, call me Saul. I'm no one's sir.”

“I know what you mean, Saul.” Ollie slapped his back and then walked around the side of the Airstream, suddenly scooping up me and Crème Brûlée in his big arms.

I let out a loud squeal. “Put me down. What's wrong with you?”

“I didn't know it was you,” Ollie said. “I thought it might have been the nosy, alligator-killing neighbor.” He set me back on my feet.

“You know, a snoop never hears anything good about themselves,” Uncle Saul said.

“I wasn't snooping.” I righted my sparse clothing and moved Crème Brûlée to a more comfortable position in my arms. “I was only standing there a minute. And if you want me to make biscuits, you two better be nice.”

Both men laughed. I started back toward the cabin. Ollie and Uncle Saul began cleaning their greasy hands.

“I think you might've overstated your case,” Uncle Saul said to Ollie. “No way you thought Zoe was
Norman
.”

Ollie made a loud, snarky laugh. “Just riling her up some. She's darn cute when she's mad.”

“She's with someone, you know.”

“I wasn't thinking about her that way,” Ollie defended himself.

I walked a little faster into the cabin, pretending I hadn't heard, but my face was red-hot. I couldn't believe Uncle Saul would talk to Ollie about me that way!

“I
hope
he isn't thinking of me that way,” I confided to Crème Brûlée before I put him on the floor. “Big brother, maybe. Or another uncle.”

I put it from my mind and changed clothes, putting on respectable shorts and a tank top. I'd have to wait until later to take a shower. Uncle Saul's shower was outside, fed by the rain that collected in the tank above it. You had to pull the handle attached to the chain, and the water dropped out on you. Not a great experience, or one I was looking forward to, but better than no shower at all.

I looked at my curly hair in the tiny bathroom mirror. It was enough to make me shudder. With no air-conditioning, the humidity was making it stand out from my head as though I'd stuck my finger in an electrical outlet. I quickly tied a scarf over it, smoothed on some lip balm, and headed for the kitchen.

By the time Uncle Saul and Ollie got inside, I had biscuits started. Eggs and bacon were frying in a heavy cast-iron pan. Crème Brûlée had already finished his breakfast and was asleep on the rug in the corner. I was glad I didn't have to keep such a close eye on him now, even though I was sorry for my uncle that Alabaster was gone.

“I think the next time around is gonna take care of that engine,” Ollie said as he grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. “Saul? Zoe? You two want some?”

Uncle Saul took a cup. I was sticking to orange juice in the heat. Besides, Uncle Saul couldn't make a decent cup of coffee if he tried, bless his heart.

“You made a lot of progress on it last night.” Uncle Saul took his coffee from Ollie. “I appreciate you jumping right in on it. You're good with engines. Maybe you should think about becoming a mechanic. Good money in that field for the right person.”

Ollie thanked him. “That was my job in the Marines. It's not something I want to do professionally.”

“So what do you have in mind?” Uncle Saul raised a black brow at Ollie's lack of enthusiasm.

“I'm just hanging around right now. It seems best for me.”

I put two biscuits, eggs, and bacon on each of our plates. We all sat at the tiny table. Ollie had to use a large ice chest as a seat.

“It was good hearing the engine start up.” I helped myself to some butter and honey for my biscuit. Uncle Saul kept bees and had collected the honey himself.

“It was,” Uncle Saul agreed, taking the honey from me and dropping his pursuit of Ollie's life goals, as I'd hoped he would.

“So, what's next?” I asked.

“Ollie came up with a design for your food truck.” Uncle Saul took out the yellowed scrap of paper and passed it to me. “What do you think?”

I looked at the rough drawing on the paper—Ollie was no artist. But I could see what he was trying to do. “This looks good. But I'll need something to hold up the side window cover when I'm selling food.”

“I thought about that.” Uncle Saul pointed to the drawing. “We could put in a folding brace on either side that would lock it open in place until you were ready to shut down.”

“That's what I thought, too,” Ollie said. “These are the best biscuits I ever ate, Zoe. If you don't find some way to sell biscuits on that truck, you'll be wasting a God-given gift.”

I was a little teary-eyed at his sincere praise. After fighting an uphill battle with my friends, family, and Tommy Lee for the past few weeks, this was like sweet rain on a hot summer day.

“Don't cry,” Uncle Saul said. “What he said was good. Why do women cry when you say sweet things to them?”

I grabbed a napkin and blew my nose. “You just don't know how good it is for someone to say something
nice
about my food. That's what I want to hear. I can't take any more grief about my choices in life.”

Uncle Saul hugged me, and Ollie patted my back. I was still glowing from the compliment. “I'd like to make biscuits for the food truck,” I told them. “It's just that
everyone
makes biscuits. If I don't have some way to make them new and exciting, it won't make any difference how good they are. No one will want to try them.”

We talked about all the possibilities of what I could do with biscuits, but all of them were already being done. Ollie and Uncle Saul didn't quite understand my predicament. If the biscuits tasted good, they thought that was all that mattered.

Uncle Saul and Ollie went back out to work on the Airstream. I cleaned up after breakfast and then went outside to take a quick shower.

Uncle Saul had built the cement block shower enclosure and put a colorful shower curtain across the front. The rusted water container teetered above it, causing me to reconsider my need for cleanliness. It looked as though it could fall if I pulled the chain too hard.

I was trying to talk myself into going inside the shower, when I heard a rustling in the brush behind me. I grabbed my rose-pomegranate soap and my nylon scrubber, holding them out in front of me as though they would protect me from whatever was coming at me.

A raccoon ambled out toward me, sniffing the ground as he came. He sat back for a moment to consider me and then walked up to sniff my feet. This had to be the raccoon Uncle Saul was always talking about feeding food scraps. He thought of him as a pet.

That was it for me. I ran back to the cabin as quickly as possible. A good wash at the bathroom sink was going to have to do. No way was I taking a shower with a raccoon.

Ollie and Uncle Saul were still working in the shed when Minister Windom drove up in an old black station wagon. I wondered if anyone in Farmville owned a
new
vehicle. “Good day, young woman. I'm looking for Saul. Is he here?”

There was a woman with him. She got out of the car more slowly than Minister Windom. Her pink dress was threadbare, and might have been considered vintage if it had been in better shape. She wore a matching pink hat that had also seen better days.

I sent the minister to the shed, and the woman came up and introduced herself with a smile. “I'm Evelyn Windom. I hope you have some tea. I'm partial to it when I sit down for the first time with new church members.”

We sat down in Uncle Saul's homemade log furniture. I was pretty sure he'd used a chain saw to make it. There was sweet tea, and even a few cookies. I liked Evelyn right away, though I had to tell her that I wasn't staying long with Uncle Saul in Farmville.

“Well now, that's too bad. You are a lovely young woman, Zoe. I'm sure you'd do any church proud. Are you married?”

That was a trick question that I frequently heard from any older man or woman who had a relative to marry off.

“I'm engaged,” I told her—adding another to the list of times that mentioning Tommy Lee had saved me from matchmaking. “I'm starting a new business. My uncle is helping me make a food truck.”

Evelyn looked puzzled as she sipped her tea. “Really. What is a food truck?”

I spent the next twenty minutes telling her about my dreams and goals. She probably wished she had someone to save her from hearing me talk about making food and selling it. But she smiled politely and nodded as she ate her cookies and drank her tea. She was the perfect minister's wife.

As I was finishing my spiel, Minister Windom returned from watching Ollie and Uncle Saul work on the Airstream. He said he was thirsty, and I got another glass. He also asked about my marital status, and I told him about my food truck.

“Why would anyone go to one of these food trucks when they could just sit down and eat at a normal restaurant?” he asked.

“Food trucks go to places where there aren't any restaurants. They park by Mobile Bay, and in downtown near the places where people work. They also go to festivals.”

“Oh.” He digested the information. “When I worked as a young man in Mobile, they called them roach coaches.”

Evelyn, being the perfect minister's wife, changed the subject, and avoided any possible hard feelings. She told me about her daughter and asked me about my parents.

We were searching for something nice to say to one another when Uncle Saul drove the Airstream in front of the cabin and blew the horn.

I ran outside, excited to see my food truck actually moving. The sunlight made me realize that it needed a bath more than I did. It was going to be a big job getting it cleaned up.

“She's moving!” Ollie said. “All she needs now is the right name.”

“I can't give it a name until I know what I'll be serving,” I explained. “The food trucks have names that involve the food. Terry's Tacky Tacos. The Dog House. You know.”

Ollie nodded. “How about Biscuit Heaven?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don't think so. Thanks anyway.”

“You'll come up with something,” Uncle Saul said. “In the meantime, I was thinking we could hurry and get this baby cleaned up for the cookout contest on Saturday. I used to do a bang-up job when I drove her around Mobile. I think she could help me get Alabaster back home.”

I hugged him. “I'm sure we can get it going by then. What food are you thinking about making?”

“I don't know yet. I'll have to get my old cookbooks out.”

Minister Windom and Evelyn came out on the porch to look at the motorhome. “Don't forget about that hundred-dollar fee to take part in the contest, Saul.”

“You have to
pay
him to try to get Alabaster back?” I shrugged. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“Norman will have to do the same,” Uncle Saul said. “That's my consolation. And Craig said tickets are flying out of the church since the contest has a new prize. Let me get my checkbook. I'll be right back.”

I walked into the back of the Airstream again. Sunlight pointed out all the flaws and leftover grime inside. I was going to have to get out some rubber gloves and tough cleaning supplies to get it passed for inspection once I got it back in Mobile. The health department was very strict with food trucks.

“Saul and I are going to get braces for the side window now that it's open.” Ollie followed me inside. “I think it's gonna be great when it's finished, don't you?”

“I do!” I could barely contain my excitement. “If things go well, I could be out on the street in the next week or two.”

“I know a man in Mobile who does a great job on spray-painting. He could buff up this dull skin outside and make her shine again. Have you ever driven a motorhome?”

“No. But I don't see where it would be too much different than driving my Prius.”

Ollie patted me on the head. “You've got a lot to learn.”

Later, when the Windoms had left and Uncle Saul and Ollie had gone to town, I was on my knees scrubbing the floor in the back of the Airstream. It was so filthy that I hadn't realized it was green and white tile until I started cleaning it.

There was some grease from the last time Uncle Saul had used the motorhome, but the majority of the dirt was from it sitting empty and unused for so long. I worked from the floor up along the walls. I'd decided to do the cooking area last. Uncle Saul had hooked up the electrical system for me before he'd left, so there were lights on the inside.

I would have to replace the sink, fryer, and probably the countertop for my own use when I got back to Mobile. What was in there was too small for a professional kitchen, though it would work for Uncle Saul during the cooking contest. I thought the grill would have to go, too. There was still a lot of work ahead but we were making progress.

It would've been easier hosing out the whole inside with hot soapy water, but I didn't have that option. Uncle Saul had running water, but there was very little pressure to it. I had to fill buckets, scrub, and then dump the buckets before I filled them again. My back was aching and my knees were raw even through my jeans.

But on my next trip back with clean water, I stopped inside the door and stared.

The walls and cabinets were clean and shining. The floor was sparkling. I'd just gotten started on the deep fryer, but the small sink beside it was clean. There was one long cabinet on the side by the open window. On the opposite side were shelves to hold food.

I was so pleased with my progress so far that I brought Crème Brûlée out to see it. “We'll cook over here, and supplies will be over on this wall. We'll need a small microwave for sure. Maybe an oven, too. We'll have to see.”

I knew it was becoming more important to decide what food I was going to serve. The name was only a small part affected by that decision. How could I order supplies or know what cooking utensils I'd need if I didn't know what I was going to cook?

The thought made me a little less happy. I had to make a decision.

Crème Brûlée wanted to be outside with me so I put his cat seat into the front of the Airstream. He sat back, purring in the warm sun filtering through the old oaks and pines that surrounded the cabin.

“I think that will work just fine on those days when you might need to come with me,” I told him as I started scrubbing out the deep fryer. “Mostly, I'm sure you'll be at home in the apartment, just like when I worked at the bank.”

Crème Brûlée was snoring. I hummed a few songs to myself as I scrubbed.

When the fryer was finished, I started on the inside of the cabinets. One of the first things I saw was an old picture that had been left there. Everything else had been cleaned out. Because the doors to the cabinets had been closed, the insides hadn't gotten too dirty, thank goodness.

I took off my gloves and picked up the old photo. The man in it was definitely Uncle Saul. No one else had wild, crazy hair like that. He was much younger in the photo, maybe a teenager in high school. He was thin and happy, and there was a girl with him.

She was pretty and blond. It was hard to tell what color her eyes were—the color was badly faded and cracked But she looked happy, too, and oddly familiar. One of her arms was around his neck. It was obvious that the two were a couple.

Was this the mystery woman who'd made Uncle Saul give up his restaurant and his life in Mobile? I wanted to ask him—or at least show him the photo and see what his reaction would be. But that seemed mean, if this was the woman and she brought back bad memories.

“Where did you find that old thing?” Uncle Saul asked over my shoulder.

It seemed I didn't have a choice about whether or not I was going to show it to him.

“I found it in one of the cabinets.” I handed it to him. “That's you, right?”

He stared at the photo for a long time. Emotions chased across his face. “Yeah. That's me.”

“Is that your girlfriend?”

“Sort of.” He smiled sadly. “I was hoping she'd be important in my life.”

“Who is she?” I gazed at the image again, holding my breath. Was that—?

“She hasn't changed that much, Zoe. Don't you recognize your mother?”

I'd seen a few younger shots of her but she was stingy with older pictures when she said she ‘wasn't at her best'.

My eyes almost bulged out of my face. “You dated my
mother
?”

“That was before she made it clear to me that I would never amount to anything if I didn't run the family banking business. She didn't think much of someone who wanted to own a restaurant and serve food. That was beneath her.”

I took it all in—it was almost too much. No wonder she was so against me running a restaurant. “And then she married Daddy because he kept the bank going?”

He put the photo in his pocket. “It was a long time ago. I don't blame her for wanting something better. It was hard between me and your father for a while. I felt like he'd taken her away from me. But they brought
you
into the world. I'm not complaining.”

“So you gave up your awesome restaurant because of Mom?” I could hardly believe it.

He glanced away. “You've done a heck of a job getting this place cleaned up. It almost looks brand-new. Did it help you think what your signature food should be?”

I knew the conversation about him and my mom was over. I still felt shocked that Uncle Saul might've been my father, if things had gone differently. Thinking that my mother was the mystery woman gave me a different insight into her. Maybe all that tough exterior and play-by-the-rules attitude was just a façade for her broken heart.

On the other hand, maybe she was always that way and that's why she didn't marry Uncle Saul. My father was much more ambitious. Of course, they had never been happy together, not as long as I could remember. Which was what had made their divorce such a relief.

It was really odd thinking about my mother and Uncle Saul kissing and thinking about being together. She barely tolerated him now. Maybe they would have been happy together if she hadn't been so worried about how much money they'd have. I purposely made my tone light as I pointed out how I'd like to arrange the inside of the food truck once it was ready for me to take home. We talked about the contest and I pelted him with ideas until that sad look on his face went away.

“What food are you planning to make to win Alabaster back?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I was thinking about some spicy pulled-pork sandwiches.”

“Seriously? Everyone makes pulled-pork sandwiches for this kind of event. There must be something better we could try.”

“Like what?” He leaned against the counter with his arms folded across his chest.

“You love shrimp and grits. We could make that.”

“Difficult to make in here and hard to serve. Any other ideas?”

I sorted through thousands of recipes tucked away in my brain. “Maybe I should make biscuits. We could serve something with those.”

“I like that idea.” He smiled. “We could win just on your biscuits.”

“No. We need something with them. Maybe Ollie has some ideas.”

I started to walk out of the motorhome, but Uncle Saul stopped me. “You don't have a crush on him or anything, do you?”

“No. Of course not. And I don't think he sees me that way, either. Don't worry. We're not running off together. Ollie likes to eat. I was just thinking he might have some different ideas.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “But I think you're wrong about how he feels toward you. You're both adults. I won't say anything else.”

I thought about it again as we went into the cabin. Uncle Saul was just wrong. Ollie and I weren't destined to be a couple, or anything. It was just the circumstances.