Southern Fried Sushi (13 page)

“But we got our problems, too, Lord knows! Some things’re jest real difficult to work through. I guess I’m luckier than most. I love my parents.” She looked up. “Was yer mom … sick? Or ya don’t wanna talk about it? It’s fine if you don’t. Ain’t none a my business.”

“No, it’s okay. She died suddenly. A brain aneurysm, supposedly. I need to review the medical reports myself, but …” My voice trailed off. All my talk of suing doctors had dissipated because not a lawsuit in the world could bring her back.

“I’m awful sorry, Shah-loh. Fer all of it. That’s just terrible.”

I looked out as a lone car drifted by on the road. “Yeah. Well. I’ll be fine.” I crossed my arms stiffly.

Finally Becky spoke. “How long ya gonna stay in town for the funeral an’ all? Ya got family here?”

“No family. I go back to Japan in a week. I just have to sell the house Mom left me, pay off some loans, renew my visa to Japan, and get back to Tokyo. That’s where my life is.”

“Wow, a house a yer own! How excitin’!”

“Yeah.” My voice conveyed the opposite. “It sounds terrible, but I could really use the money. More than the house.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that! Well, let us know if you need any he’p with finance stuff. Tim’s an accountant.”

“Thanks. I’m not so good with numbers.”

“Yeah, me neither. But Tim’s a whiz! He done he’ped people with all kinds of financial stuff before. So you jest call us if you need anything at all. Here’s my number.” She reached for my cell phone to type it in. Sans business card, like most people outside of Japan.

“Wow, that’s some snazzy cell phone!” She grabbed it out of my hand. “Why, it’s one a them models with a cotton-pickin’ TV! I seen the ads!”

Did all conversations go like this in Staunton?

“That’s wild! I’ve heard of ‘em but never seen one. What else’s it got?”

I mumbled some things, suddenly embarrassed at my fancy stuff. I’m sure they sold them here, but they weren’t a necessity for most people. Including me.

“Well, I’d love to have one with a real good camera like yours, but they’re kinda pricey.” She punched in her number. “To take pitchers of my kids.” She grinned. “Well, when we have kids, anyway.”

Just then a blue pickup truck rumbled slowly, paused by the parking lot, and turned in.

“There’s Adam,” said Becky, heading across the driveway with a friendly wave.

He turned off the truck and hopped out, taller than I remembered him. He ruffled Becky’s hair affectionately and walked over carrying a gas can.

“Hi. Adam Carter.”

“Hi.” I wiped my hands. He put his out to shake it, and I balked. “I don’t think you want to do that. I’ve been feeding that horse, and he’s pretty slobbery.”

Not the best way to introduce myself. I tried again. “I’m Shiloh Jacobs. I live in Japan, but I’m here for … well, a funeral.”

Becky’s eyes were still red. “Becky’s been keeping me company.”

“I’m sorry. I mean, about the funeral.”

In other circumstances his comment would have been funny. “It’s okay. Thanks.”

Adam turned my key in the ignition. The Honda gave a sick little chug and died. “It’s dead all right. Just needs a little gas. This your rental?”

“Yeah. From Richmond.” I colored, afraid he would ask me when I’d last gotten gas. In fact, I hadn’t. “I’m sorry to make you come all the way out here. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am.”

“Nah. It’s nothing a little gas won’t solve.” He unscrewed the gas cap. Compared to Becky, he spoke English perfectly. A little touch of Southern drawl, maybe, but impeccable grammar.

I studied him as he poured gas in my car: kind-faced and sober, with a much younger face than I expected. Some sandy hair poked out from under his cap.

I wouldn’t describe him as especially handsome, perhaps, but he looked … dependable. I don’t know why. But he did. Sturdy and dependable.

The kind of guy you could count on to bring gas to a stranger in the middle of Nowhere, Virginia.

“So you’re the gardener at the hotel?” I felt stupid just standing there while the gas glugged into my tank.

“No. I’m a landscaper. Run my own business.”

“Wow.”

“Not a big business. But I make do. Companies, or sometimes people, hire me to landscape their grounds.”

The gas can made a tinny pop as it emptied. “Do you like it?”

“I guess so. I like working with my hands and making something natural out of our concrete world.” He shook the can and went back to the truck to get another one. Poured it in my thirsty tank. “What about you?”

“She’s a reporter,” said Becky with bright eyes. “In Tok …

how’d ya say it? Ya said it differ’nt.”

“Tokyo. Without any syllable in the middle.”

“Tokyo,” repeated Becky, getting her sparkle back. “Wow, I sound so chic, like I know what I’m talkin’ about.” She giggled.

“That’ll be the day,” said Adam playfully.

She whapped him with her dandelion. “As if you would know. Ya off fer today?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“I’d invite y’all to go out to dinner, since Tim’s working late, but I don’t know if Shah-loh’s up to it.”

I desperately needed to be alone, but truthfully, I was starving. I’d skipped the church potluck, and my hollow stomach complained.

“I’m really hungry,” I admitted. “I could go.”

Adam brushed a chunk of hair back under the bill of his cap with his free hand. “Aw, look at me. I’m a mess.”

He was, actually. He had dirt all over his jeans and shirt like he’d been crawling on the ground. Stray pieces of mulch clung to his dusty work-boot laces.

“And that’s differ’nt from any other day … how?” teased Becky.

“Ha. Okay. If we go, I pick.”

“Shoot.”

“Tastee Freez. The one in Churchville.”

“Okay. If it’s good with Shiloh.”

“You like burgers and fries?” He straightened his cap. “Not my normal fare, but the best I can do dressed like this.”

A hot, identifiable, non-deep-fat-fried, un-Southern hamburger!

“Yes!” I said quickly, before they changed their minds and had me eating that awful spoon bread. “But I’ve got to stop at a gas station first.”

Becky chortled and tried to cover it with a cough. “There’s one in the same place as the Tastee Freez. It’s kinda expensive, but it’ll gitcha back into town.”

I turned the key in the ignition, and my Honda roared to life. Purred. I felt sorry for putting her in this predicament.

“Bye, horse!” I called, waving. He swished his tail and snorted, rooting for more grass as I followed Adam’s blue pickup into Churchville.

I parked next to Becky at a tiny fast-food place in “downtown” Churchville. The concept of “downtown” was hilarious because

(1) there existed no town, unless I counted a few scattered houses,

(2) there were no stop lights, and (3) Tastee Freez, along with one run-down gas station and an even more run-down grocery store advertising lima beans and beer, constituted the only franchises in Churchville.

I’d call it “in-between-the-horse-pastures-and-shops-that-have-seen-better-days,” not “downtown.”

The Tastee Freez was conveniently located right next to the local dump. I swear Kyoko would have a field day here.

For a redneck fast-food chain, though, I had to say this: Tastee Freez served up some pretty good burgers. Beautifully salted, crispy fries. I ordered root beer per Becky’s glowing recommendation, a mistake I certainly wouldn’t repeat. It tasted horrible, like bad cough syrup.

Halfway through my country-music-glossed dinner (which they both paid for) I opened my wallet to show them some Japanese yen bills, and out floated that little scrap of paper. With Faye Clatterbaugh’s phone number in perfect pen.

“I found it!” I excused myself and turned away from Becky and Adam, punching in the numbers on my international phone card. I pressed my ear closed and listened for a ring, nearly knocking over my cup in my haste. Not that spilled root beer would have been a travesty.

“Shiloh? That you?” Faye cried even before I could say her name or identify myself. “I tried and tried ta call you! I’d almostdialed the sheriff’s department to come find ya when you called just now! Lands, Shah-loh! You just took off, an’ I got so worried!”

I suddenly found my cheeseburger difficult to swallow. “Thanks.” That made no sense. But I meant it.

“I drove around awhile and tried to find ya, even went by the hotel an’ got real worried when ya didn’t show up!”

“I’m so sorry. I misplaced your number.” I picked up my cup and straw to drink then sniffed noxious root beer fumes and pushed it away.

“Where’d ya go? China?”

“Sorry.” I nibbled a fry. “I shouldn’t have. I just needed to drive.”

Becky and Adam pretended not to hear, laughing quietly over something printed on the paper-tray liner.

“Are you all right, doll?” Faye asked after a long silence.

“I’m … I’m okay. Thanks.” My voice softened. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to meet you again. Maybe we can go to Mom’s house tomorrow.”

“You bet, sugar. I’ll pick you up.”

Adam heard it and raised an eyebrow slightly, and I made a face back. As if Faye wouldn’t take the chance of letting me drive on my own.

One more thing. “I left a bite for ya ta eat at the hotel,” said

Faye. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Back at the front desk, Patty handed me two overflowing paper plates from the hotel refrigerator, loaded down with the works: barbecued chicken, baked beans, deviled eggs, potatoes with cheese, green beans, some kind of foamy pink Jell-O salad, a dinner roll, and pieces of coconut pound cake wrapped in foil.

She’d left a note:
Eat up. See you tomorrow. Faye
. And some plastic silverware wrapped in a napkin.

If Faye called this “a bite,” I couldn’t imagine the full spread.

Warmth crept into my shut-up heart as I carried the heavy plates, wedged in a plastic bag, to the elevator. People had brought me gas, paid for my dinner, and left a feast at my hotel room door. Why me?

It almost didn’t seem fair, like I should … I don’t know. Pay them or something. My heart stung with overflowing emotions I couldn’t place.

I peeled off my black clothes and sank into the tub, trying to forget the funeral, then hauled myself out and collapsed on the bed. Train or no train, I was going to sleep. My horrible day had finally come to an end.

My bedside telephone jangled.

I woke, disoriented, and fumbled for the clock on the bedside table. Three in the morning.

The ringing stopped, and I rolled over to sleep again. My thoughts had just fizzled into delightful darkness when this time my cell phone vibrated, rattling against the table.

I groped for the lamp in annoyance, blinking in the harsh light, and scrolled through the missed calls. Ten of them. International calls.

Huh? Of all the weird …! I rolled back through the list, not recognizing anything but the Japan prefix code. Is Carlos finally trying to call me from a phone booth or something?

I waited, but my phone sat silently. I switched off the lamp. The pillow felt so soft and fluffy compared to the thin airline cushions, cupping my cheek gently as if made out of marshmallows. Yellow ones. Marshmallow Peeps. Peeping incessantly, louder and louder. Shouting, squawking, flapping feathers.