No River Wide Enough

Chapter 5-2

A few days later on Thursday morning, I was in my office, looking over our books and writing checks, when Drika popped her head in the open door. “Chris,” she said, in a drawn voice, “I have one of those stomach aches again. Can barely stand up. I need your help out there.”

I quickly rose out of my chair. “Of course. Is it the same as last time?” I asked, coming around to where she was bending over my desk. “Sit down, Drika. Here.” I pulled a chair out for her. The office was so tiny and cluttered, it was hard to maneuver. “You want me to call Jill?” Jill was the town physician and John’s wife.

“No, no, hon. Don’t bother.” She cringed and slowly sat back, rubbing her belly. “Anyway, she’s just gonna tell me I need an operation and I’m not getting sliced open. No way.” She blew out a breath, clearly fighting the pain.

Drika had a hernia deep inside her stomach muscles but refused to do anything about it. Though in the last few weeks, I could tell the pain was changing her mind.

“Get out there,” she said between her clenched teeth. “We have a little morning rush.”

I hated being at the front. She was the people person. But I didn’t have a choice. Anyway, it was my business too. Had to face its customers, one day or another. “All right, holler if you need anything.” I stopped in my office door and gave her a stern look. “I don’t like to see you in such pain. You really need to think about that operation, Drika.” I left before she could retort.

After I thoroughly washed my hands, I stepped into the front, where a line of people were waiting at the counter to be served. I immediately spotted Mark and Stephen—Hank’s workers—at the back. Hank wasn’t there. No surprise after the other night, I guessed.

“Here I am,” I said, grabbing the clean white apron on the hook and tying it around my waist. “What will it be?” I addressed the first customer. It was our police chief, Sheriff Bowles. He was accompanied by five or six cops. They’d never spoken a word to me and I’d done everything I could to avoid them.

“Where’d Drika go?” one of the cops asked, sniffing the air like he was on a trail or something. “She all right?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Just taking a break.” I tried to act tough. “Coffee?”

Bowles eyed me over and then exchanged a long look with the other cops. “Six green teas. No milk. And one with two sugars. That’s cane sugar. None of that toxic white stuff.”

“Oh…right.” I was dumbstruck. Tea? Cane sugar? I hadn’t expected that. “And anything to eat?”

“Scones all around.” Bowles stared straight at me, his dark eyes glimmering with humor under his gray bushy brows. He was a tall, imposing man with a deep voice and a head full of thick salt and pepper hair. “Blueberry, if you have it.”

I assessed the line of customers, hoping they wouldn’t ask for anything too complicated, and then quickly started on loading a white carton box with the scones. “I have four blueberries and two orange and lemon. Will that do?” I looked at him through the glass.

“Yeah,” Bowles said, peering back at the cops and smiling. What was he smiling about? Were they laughing at me? “That’ll do just fine, son.”

Son? That wasn’t too bad.

I hurriedly fixed their teas, trying to be cool and collected, but I nearly scalded my hand pouring the hot water into the large take-out cups. I arranged the containers in a tray, rang everything up, and then handed him the box of scones and his change. What did they think of me? Why was he looking at me like that? Kept staring at my every move. What did he think would happen?

Talking and laughing, the cops walked away, heading out with their breakfast, but Bowles stayed behind and dropped some change in the tip jar. “So you finally decided to give Drika a hand out front.”

I was going to serve Annie, one of the town’s bank tellers, but stopped and looked over at Bowles. “Uh, yeah,” I muttered, not sure what he’d meant by that remark.

Bowles picked up his tea. “Good. She needs help.” He stared at me and smiled. It was a sincere smile, full of kindness. “Have a good one, Chris.”

I didn’t even know he knew my name. For a moment, I was dumbfounded. “Yeah, thanks,” I said. “You too, Sheriff.”

When he’d left the counter, Annie leaned in a little over the counter. “See? You don’t have to hideout in the backroom all day like no hunchback of Notre Dame or something. People here ain’t gonna bite you, Chris.”

“Guess not.” I couldn’t help shaking my head. All this time, I thought those cops hated the sight of me. They’d never spoken to me, but it turned out I’d never given them a chance to. “So, uh, what will you have?” I paused to gaze over the faces of the people waiting behind the counter. These were my neighbors. My people. None of them seemed to be impatient or angry.

“The usual,” Annie said, her sharp brown eyes narrowing behind her red-framed glasses. “I guess you don’t know what that is, huh?”

“I’m a fast learner.” I laughed, feeling more at ease. “Shoot.”

I spent the next half hour serving customers and even chatting with people.

When the morning rush was over, I stood behind the counter—it was a complete disaster and so was my apron, but I’d managed to pull through without any major incident. “Well,” I said to myself. “That wasn’t so bad.”

As a matter of fact, I’d enjoyed the excitement. I hadn’t felt this alive in a while.

Behind me, the door opened. “So how’d it go, Gingerman?”

I unhooked my dirty apron and tossed it in the bin under the counter. “Piece of cake,” I joked.

Drika dusted my shoulder. “Good.” She looked around and laughed. “A little messy here.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Fine. Let’s clean up and then you can go back to your safety zone.”

“Nah,” I said, enjoying the warmth of the dining room, “I think I’m gonna do the books out here instead. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I’d be delighted to have some company.” Drika pinched my cheek. “Well then, welcome back to life, Christensen Peiders.”