Page 22 of Corkscrew You
“And yet you have a broken computer.”
“First I’ve heard of it,” she has the nerve to say. “I do everything on my phone, or on paper. Can’t you use your laptop?”
The answer should be yes. As it happens, I left it at home, on the floor next to my dignity. Then again, it’s a wonder I managed to put my pants on the right way around this morning.
I search “computer repairs” on my phone. Thereisone in Verity. It’s called Byte Me. Of course it is.
“I’ll take a trip into town,” I say. “Need anything?”
“Are you buying?”
“Depends what you want.”
Onmylist are super strength Advil, more coffee and possibly hair of the dog.
“Key lime pie from the Cracker Café,” she asks.
“Is that the place with the stuffed alligator?”
“Iris is very proud of her Florida roots,” Shelby tells me. “Rumour is she killed it herself. With her bare hands.”
“I’ll make a note not to skimp on the tip.”
“Say hi to her from me,” Shelby says and hangs up.
Growing up outside of Martinburg, we never had much reason to come to Verity. In this county, cute small towns are a dime a dozen. And Dad wasn’t big on family outings that involved cruising main streets and eating in diners. He’d take us hiking, or trail running. If we went to the beach, we were expected to swim at least a mile before he’d countenance any sunbathing.
From the day we turned five, all the Durant kids had to compete in a sport. I picked track, Ava picked trackandhorse riding, Danny chose soccer and the twins tennis, because they could play it together. Weekends were a logistical operation to rival D-Day as we all went in separate directions. Looking back, I’m not sure how Mom felt about spending all day tag-teaming with Dad to drive us around. I never heard her complain.
“Your father wants the best for you,” is what she said if any one of us complained about our relentless schedules, and the pressure on us to not only compete but also win.
Mom was the only one we’d ever voice any discontent to. Dad didn’t respond well to whining. “Healthy mind needs a healthy body” was his mantra. Along with “Discipline is choosing between what you want and what you want more” and the perennial favourite, “Excuses don’t get results.”
I’d say it’s fortunate that we’re all genetically half Dad. None of us Durant kids likes to lose, and we’re prepared to put the effort in to make sure we never do.
Still, as I pull up outside the Cracker Café in Verity’s tiny, picturesque main street, I wonder what our childhood would have been like if we’d eaten pancakes as a family on weekends, instead of being scattered across the county, amped up on competitive nerves. Those parties around the fire pit, initiated by Ava the rebel, were the first time we kids had connected as a social group. First time we did anything together that felt like fun.
The bell above the door jingles as I enter the diner and the woman behind the counter looks up. She’s sixty-ish, all sinews and wire like the gator-wrestler she’s rumoured to be, gimlet eyes that alert to a bullshit tolerance of zero. This must be Iris.
She appraises me. I can almost see the words “city slicker” forming in her mind. She’ll be checking my palms next to see if I’ve ever done a hard day’s work. The gator Iris may or may not have strangled is mounted on a high shelf to my left, lying full length with its mouth open. It doesn’t look as if it likes me, either.
“What can I do for y’all?” she asks.
“Coffee, thank you, ma’am,” I say because I’ve been well brought up, and I don’t want her spitting in my cup of joe.
“Nothing to eat?”
I know a threat when I hear one. Thankfully, I can say, “A slice of key lime pie to go. And I’m to tell you Shelby says hi.”
My buttering-up tactic is a solid fail.
“You the Harvard fella come in to order her around?”
“No, ma’am.” I should have shopped for the AdvilbeforeI came in for coffee. “We’re a team.”
“That gal’s a hard worker,” Iris informs me. “And generous as they come. ’Round here, we’re a real community, and folks know we gotta pull together. When the big fires came, we all pitched in, helped those in need. Shelby Armstrong didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘tired’. She just kept right on until the last job was done.”
I’m seriously considering putting my head in that alligator’s mouth and slamming its jaws shut to put me out of my misery.
