Mammoth Secrets (7 page)

“I know.” She tossed a red potato up, caught it, and added it to the veggie victims. She cleared the surface into a large steel bowl and handed the knife to Ray. “Like that. Only lots more.”

Knife tip down, he mimicked her movements, and then smiled. “Hey, that's kind of fun!”

Lilah turned back to the bowl, drizzled olive oil, dashed sea salt, and tossed the mixture. She added a generous heap of Parmesan cheese, poured the seasoned contents into a parchment-lined baking sheet and set the industrial oven to broil. “There. Shake it around in ten, with a handful more parm. Add the next batch.”

She washed her hands, and knowing Raymond would do her bidding, wiped off last night's advertised corned beef dinner special—unsold and untouched. With a quick scrawl, Lilah penned the morning's special: corned beef hash, poached eggs, and home fries. Maybe she'd actually get someone to eat it.

The bell rang, and Jake came in, shaggy hair damp from a shower. “Too early?”

“Why, hey, Pastor!” Eden hopped around the counter to give him a friendly hug and pat on the cheek. “I just flipped the sign.”

“I was heading to the market, but I saw you were open.”

“You sit anywhere you like. I'll bring you some coffee.” Eden went to the coffeemaker near Lilah. “It's like God knew we needed a new, single man in Mammoth. He could use a haircut. You're good with scissors, ain't ya?” Voice low, Eden elbowed Lilah.

Jake settled at the bar.

Eden went to him and poured a generous splash of coffee into a fresh mug. “Here you go, Pastor.”

“Thanks.” He did his thing with the creamer and slow stirred, his gaze fixed on Lilah as she lifted the board. “Need a hand?”

“No, I got it.” She smiled and propped the day's specials above the drink machine.

Bright blue, red, and white lights swirled—a paramedics vehicle—pulling his attention away from her sign. The siren burred once and then went silent.

“Someone call for an ambulance?”

“Nah.” Lilah poured a cup of coffee and leaned on the counter. “That's just Jeremy and Luke. The B shift, come by to drool over my sister.”

The bell jingled again, and Eden welcomed the paramedic team.

After nodding a friendly hello, Jake absorbed himself in the menu.

Conversation settled into a comfortable hum.

Raymond announced his chopping task done.

Scents of fresh brewed coffee wafted around the roasting potatoes and peppers.

“Smells like heaven.” Jake observed the Specials board. “What'd you do to spice that up?”

“How d'ya mean?” Lilah dialed the radio and landed on a ministry station tuning in to Pastor Bill Gibson's rich, welcoming tones of forgiveness and hope. With a smirk to Jake, she decided on country.

“Leave it!” Eden shouted out.

Lilah grabbed a bag of napkins and assembly-line jammed them into a waiting row of silver dispensers. She pointed to the board. “I've learned that's where you put your best stuff. Not that they'd know this.”

“So, all those peppers and potatoes?”

“They're in there.” She raised her eyebrows, daring.

“I'll have the special. Please.” He slid the menu back into the rack. “I don't think I'll ever read this again.”

“What an honor.” She kept her tone light. “It'll be up in five.” She went to the cooler, dragged out ingredients, and commenced to shred, mince, prepare, and set it sizzling on the griddle. The salty aroma mingled with the vinegar-steam and roasting veggies. His comment unnerved her. Cooking her special for the handsome pastor shouldn't get under her skin. She had no right to anticipate anything.

It was only a few days since the overnight package should have arrived back at the lawyer. She shouldn't be expecting anything save for trouble arriving once all parties were informed of her revised demands. Gooseflesh broke while she spooned frothy white poached eggs from simmering water. Not the time to think of that now. She glanced at the wall clock. Saturday at six-thirty, she had time for a quick bite and one for Eden, too. She made two plates and slid in beside Jake at the otherwise deserted bar.

Raymond poured glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice for each then disappeared into the back.

“Hope you don't mind. I needed something before the rush comes in.” She shot a glance at Eden.

Her twin set a hand to Luke's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The paramedic lit up like the neon “Open” sign in the window. Poor Luke gazed at Eden as if she were the only woman in the world.

Irritation balled in her gut. “Eden!” Lilah called.

“What?” Eden came over, frowning.

“Don't be short with me.” Lilah pointed at the artfully plated hash. “You need to try the special.”

“Why?” Eden's look darkened. She bookended Jake at the bar, speared a poached egg, and took a dainty bite.

Lilah watched the two of them as they ate; the expressions on their faces as they each experienced the subtle explosion of flavors. Jake was just in from a morning run and in need of sustenance, while Eden was starving on a completely different level. From what Lilah could tell, her sister barely ate anything, intent on keeping herself the same size since high school. Lilah's own frenetic energy had always been enough to keep her metabolism steady. Something her twin insisted was a constant battle.

“Wow.” Jake mopped up the last drops of yolk with his sourdough toast.

“Yeah.” Eden's brows rose. “Wow, indeed.”

“Now, you can recommend it.” Lilah dragged the plate back away from Eden's searching fork, and took a bite herself.

Eden set off to chat up an elderly couple and expound on the morning special.

“My work here is done.” Lilah pushed off the stool. “Big plans today, Jake?”

“Working on the church this morning, then I thought maybe later—”

“Two specials, Ray!” Eden swung the order on the rack. Frothing drinks into ice-filled cups, Eden caught Lilah's attention. “I get it. Why it's important to you.”

“Thanks.” Lilah carried Jake's plate to the sink. She waited for that flush of accomplishment, pride, and joy but her heart was hollowed out. None of them knew how much she'd sacrificed to return to Mammoth.

Not even Eden.

Nana and Papaw wandered in at seven.

Eden wrapped her arms around them both and pecked her grandfather on the cheek.

Nana held on an extra minute, as if Eden was her life raft.

Lilah tossed more empty dishes into the sink, a bit harder than necessary. She loaded glasses into the trays. Seeing Nana and Eden hug like that shouldn't bother her. She dragged the orders off the rack and set to work. Two specials. So far. She was sure to sell out by lunch. She showed Ray how she wanted it plated, then set the white platters to the window. “Order up!” she called and blinked at Jake still at his barstool.

Her Papaw sat on Jake's left, his time-worn fingers worried the sugar packets.

Nana stilled him with a steady hand.

Lilah poured them each a coffee and said her good mornings. No hugs. A hand squeeze for Papaw. A measured stare at Nana. She nodded, turned back to Jake. “You need something else?”

“Just—“ He cleared his throat at her approach. “I was hoping maybe you'd show me where to catch a fish later. If you're not too busy.”

“Lilah's the best fisherwoman on the river.” Papaw's smile touched his clear, green eyes. “Knows just where to cast. And when. That's the trick.”

“I hope she'll show me. I can cook up a mean trout.”

“You want to cook trout. For me?”

“Maybe.” Jake grinned. “Maybe I could teach you something about grilling fish.”

“Pastor Jake...” Nana interrupted the repartee. “You should know something about our sweet, wayward Lilah here.”

Lilah's heart speared with her grandmother's tone. “Really. It's OK–”

“No,” Nana interrupted, tone sweetened with southern drawl, but her meaning sharp as her stare. “I don't believe it is.”

Suddenly Lilah was ten, sitting in the corner, her backside stinging as Eden cried a river in the living room. Sweet little Eden, who never did anything wrong. Lilah would remain mute, not saying a word to defend herself, eyes wide, hard focused on the future and her someday escape. Frozen, she stared down at the counter, praying for this to end. Fast.

“Lilah's still married in God's eyes.” Nana's ice blue eyes flashed with intensity. “She can't go hanging around with single men.”

“People get divorced every day.” Jake splayed his hands around his coffee cup, then reached for the glass of ice water. “It's part of life.”

“Not part of our Lord's plan, surely.” Nana turned her disdain from the new pastor to her wayward granddaughter. “He should know the truth of it. He's your pastor, after all. You followed someone we barely knew out to California 'bout five years ago.” Nana's words sliced deep. “Thankfully, she's come back to us. But, what's done is done.”

“Apparently, that means our romantic interlude over fish guts is off,” Lilah spat before she could bite the sarcastic comment back. Her stomach dropped, but she hid it with a wavering laugh. “Sorry, Jake.”

“I suppose you think that's funny?” Nana shook her head, turned to face her new pastor. To give him a lesson in what was moral, no doubt.

Back to them, Lilah grabbed a cloth, and set to drying coffee cups.

“She's still married in God's eyes,” Nana challenged with her piercing gaze.

“I think God knows I've not been married for quite some time.” Lilah shot the barb back at her grandmother. “Not in the Biblical sense.”

Jake choked on his ice water, coughing into another napkin.

“Lilah Dale!” Nana snapped.

“Order up!” Eden called cheerily as she clipped tickets to the teetering wheel, blatantly ignoring all the tension from Nana and Lilah's tight exchange.

“Excuse me, everyone.” Lilah angled past her sister. “This bit of damaged goods has work to do.”

 

 

 

 

 

10

 

That afternoon, Lilah dragged her feet in the cooling rush of water, her fishing pole in its Y-branch rest at the river's muddy edge. The constant roar from the river's head did its work to douse the fire of her anger.

Some folks said the pool beneath went down ninety feet, others said only twenty. No one agreed how deep, and no one cared enough to do a study on the matter. Most thought the fish didn't stay after the hatchery dumped them off every Friday.

Lilah knew otherwise, and that's why she came here to fish. She cast her line toward a fallen tangle of tree roots from a stump. That shady spot, this time of day, was a perfect hiding place. Her gift was knowing more than anyone ever needed to about the best hiding places.

Lilah tilted her head back to the pre-dinner sun. Its warmth through the cotton clouds wrapped her in a golden glow. Just her private chapel here at the water's edge. With ear buds in place, she watched the line and flipped to the playlist carefully designed to mourn her failed marriage.

A singer crooned of letting go, and someone had to go. That someone was her, though it hadn't been love that she had abandoned back in California. It was icy-cold indifference. Her soon-to-be-ex-husband's bitter, unexplainable resentment of everything she did or said.

It didn't take counseling to see the mistakes she'd made with Ryan Simpson. One thing she had stood her ground on: getting married in Vegas, on their way to California, as if that bit of subtle propriety would matter to her grandmother. She'd hoped it would have meant something to Papaw.

Ryan delivered on one or two of his dangled promises in the beginning, then left the brunt of his dreams weighing on her shoulders. He'd worked her, made a name off of her recipes in public, while he'd broken her spirit in private.

It shamed her to the core, how many nights she'd stared into the darkness and prayed to return to the edge of those falls. Walk that thin bridge by the old electrical plant and grain mill. To gather up one of those big, heavy millstones and just let the cool of the spring wash over her while she took the plunge. To find out how deep the water really went.

Freeing her ear, music was replaced with the pounding chaos of water. Hand to head, a gasp at her lips, she turned.

Jake Gibb stood smiling, fishing rod in hand, his gear slung over his left shoulder.

Lilah powered down her player. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” He sat at her side and opened his tackle box, gathered a golden barbed hook from its plastic case. “Beautiful spot you've got here.”

She checked her reel, to have something to do with her hands. “How'd you find me?”

“Just prayed for a friendly face.” He shrugged, baited a hook with a wiggling minnow from his bucket. “Guess you'll have to do.” Jake angled his line with a practiced hand. The bait plopped into the root ball's shadow, just next to hers—a perfect cast.

“Nice.”

“Soda?” He offered a soda from the cooler and cracked one open for himself, his grin acknowledging her compliment.

They didn't talk.

His silence spoke volumes to her soul.

Lilah observed his profile.

Strong chin, his hair curled long about his collar, neat but unkempt. He'd rolled shirtsleeves up to three-quarter length. Scabbed knuckles showed he'd been working, faded blue jeans were worn over tattered brown work boots. This wasn't a man who stayed behind his pulpit or in a stuffy office. He got to know every one of his parishioners. Wouldn't he be disappointed the next morning, if he expected to see her in the crowd?

That thought brought a morose, yet satisfied smirk to her lips.

“What?” he finally spoke.

“Just an idle thought.” She crushed the can and stuck it in her tackle box. “This'll be your first Sunday at church. You ready for them?”