Page 5 of Full Circle

“Your nana’s got a bit of a point,” he hedged, patting my knee. “We don’t know much about this boy.”

I took a large bite of my pancakes, knowing the sight of me eating would sway him. “I can get to know him, Daddy. He’s new here and all alone.”

He took a large bite of bacon and chewed for a moment while thinking carefully. “Just be cautious,” he finally said.

That was as much of an approval as I would ever receive from him. I couldn’t hold back my smile as I took a long drink from my glass of fruit punch.

* * *

“Has Miss Shirley arrived yet?” I asked Marla for what felt like the millionth time. Miss Shirley was normally like clockwork, walking through the door at exactly quarter til noon for the daily lunch special. It never mattered what the special was, that was her order. She hadn’t opened a menu for The Comfy Cushion in my working memory.

However, it was now five past and there was no sight of Miss Shirley…or her great-nephew.

“Maybe they decided to head down to Savannah for the day,” Marla offered. She stuck paper orders in the ticket window for Jesse, the cook, who did his best to keep up with the demand without Mama’s help. Business hadn’t slowed down and for that I was grateful. It kept Mama’s memory alive.

The Comfy Cushion looked like a diner straight out of a movie. A shiny red countertop wound all the way around the back wall where the kitchen window opened to the line cook. There was a swinging pony door at the halfway point so servers could get in and out, but the rest of counter was circled with vinyl barstools. Big booth tables with Tiffany glass pendant lamps curved around the outside perimeter next to the windows. Every pendant was unique; Daddy said he and Mama found them at an antique shop on their honeymoon and Mama wouldn’t leave the shop without them.

There were several tables spaced out on the floor in between, large and made of solid wood by Ol’ Man McInworthe down at the lumberyard. He still wouldn’t eat anywhere else because he was so proud of his contribution to Mama’s restaurant. We could count on his presence for dinner every day of the week.

Best of all were the big, fluffy cushions that Nana and Mama stitched by hand for every booth and chair in the place. There was no rhyme or reason to the fabric, it was just whatever scraps they came by. It created a mismatched sense of whimsy that somehow made the place feel just as cozy and inviting as home. If I really thought about it, the air of the place was one hundred percent Mama, which was why I couldn’t imagine a better restaurant anywhere. A large jukebox—still operational—sat in the corner leading towards the bathrooms and Daddy’s office. It cranked out an old crooner from Loretta Lynn at the moment, Don’t Come Home a-Drinkin’ (With Lovin’ On Your Mind).

I was perched on the last stool of the counter in perfect view of the only doorway in or out. As soon as Wesley stepped through that door, I would know it. Mama’s book of recipes was sprawled out on the counter in front of me as I helped Daddy pick out the menu for fall. It was difficult to even look at her tiny writing in the giant scrapbook she kept, but I didn’t want anyone to realize how intensely I watched for a certain someone to walk through the door.

The bell over the door clanged again and despite the sinking feeling in my gut, I sat up higher in my seat, straining to see over the diners seated at the counter across from us. My hopes were quickly doused as Jimmy and Bill from the mechanic’s shop down the road came in.

My shoulders visibly sank as disappointment weighed them down. Where was Wesley? I knew I hadn’t imagined him because Marla met him, too.

Ever in tune with my emotions, she plopped a warm slice of strawberry pie in front of me. “You just get your mind off him and then see how fast he walks in,” Marla suggested. She started to roll silverware into napkins as I morosely pushed the pie around on my plate. Marla thought everything could be fixed with a slice of pie. She had an uncanny knack for guessing everyone’s favorite flavor.

“Miss Shirley always comes here for lunch, though,” I huffed out.

Marla nodded. “That she does, but it’s not every day you take in your great-nephew. Maybe they’re just settling in.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wesley doesn’t need to settle in.” His presence was already too overwhelming. I couldn’t picture him settling into anything.

One of the customers called out a request for a refill on their lemonade and Marla acknowledged them with a wave and a smile. “Comin’ right up, sir!” She dropped the smile as she took in the remnants of smashed pie before me. “You take a bite outta that, you hear? Gonna turn into skin and bones if you keep this up.”

If I didn’t eat something, she was liable to tell Daddy, or worse—Nana—and then I really wouldn’t be allowed to do anything with Wesley. I shoved a forkful into my mouth and did feel a slight lift in my spirits to taste Marla’s little slice of heaven. She was a great baker like my mama was a great cook.

The bell clanged loudly as one of the diners exited, but I didn’t bother to crane my head this time. Clearly Miss Shirley was dining elsewhere today.

I wasn’t aware of a presence next to me until a voice commented, “That sure looks good.”

Wesley.

My eyes darted to my right where he sat grinning at me like a Chesire cat. He had on a clean white T-shirt that highlighted his angelic features and a pair of camo cargo shorts. Somehow my brain short circuited at the sight. Kids our age weren’t supposed to look that good, right?

That had to be why it took me a full two minutes to formulate something to say. “You shouldn’t wear white if we’re gonna play outside,” I said.

Oh my word, I did not just say that!

Wesley’s smile widened like he found me entertaining, but he didn’t contradict me. “What else is there to do around here?”

I frowned at the question. What else was there to do anywhere on a warm spring day in Georgia?

Thankfully I was saved from voicing my ignorance out loud when Marla returned. “Well, hello there again, Wesley,” she greeted him. Her sharp eyes were still sussing him out. “Wouldn’t you rather sit with Miss Shirley?”

Marla gestured over his shoulder to the booth by the door where Miss Shirley usually sat. She occupied it now across from a man who could not have looked more out of place if he had green skin and a second head. He was impeccably dressed in a crisp gray suit with a white button down and lavender tie. He even had a matching pocket square, something I thought only men in the movies wore. The man’s dark hair was slicked back away from his face, but his features weren’t discernible behind the large sunglasses he wore. He was talking rapidly with someone on a cell phone, a large silver watch catching sunlight on his wrist. It was the first time I ever saw someone actually use a cell…nobody in River’s Run owned one.

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