Page 33 of Truck You

I’ve been here for less than a week, and this is my first time within the limits of the village. I expect it to be similar to the ones I’ve passed through before. That is, until we stop at a red light at a three-way stop.

I glance around, and we’re the only car on the road. We don’t have to wait long before it changes to green, but then we’re immediately stopped at a second red light not two hundred feet up the road. It’s also at a three-way stop.

I glance over at Clara. She’s tapping her finger on her steering wheel like there’s nothing odd about the lights. I shake my head and ask, “Why are there red lights here?”

She shrugs. “Dunno. They’ve been here for as long as I can remember.”

“But there’s no traffic.” I glance over my shoulder to make sure there’s no one behind us, and there’s not. There’s not even a car coming down the connecting road. “Does rush hour traffic hit later in the day or something?”

She laughs. “Rush hour traffic in Beaver? That’s funny. Occasionally two or three cars pass on this road at the same time, but it’s rare.”

“And that level of traffic requires not one, but two red lights?”

“Probably not.”

“Does everyone stop for them even though there’s no need for them?” I ask, knowing that I’d have a real hard time with these lights myself.

“Oh yeah. Trust me, you run these lights, and Elvis will chase you down.”

“Elvis?” I raise a brow.

Clara chuckles. “Officer Ricky Warner, aka Elvis, our local law enforcement. We call him Elvis on account that he wears his hair in that big swoopy way Elvis always did. And he dresses up like him and sings all Elvis’s hit songs at the Oktoberfest every year. Sometimes he even comes out for karaoke night at Posey’s Lounge if he happens to be off duty.”

I blink several times as I process what she just told me. “Beaver has an Elvis impersonating officer protecting its streets?”

Her shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Yeah, when you put it that way, I guess it is kinda funny.”

I tilt my head to the side. “It’s original. I’ll give you that.”

The light changes to green without a single car ever passing by. Clara takes the next right and pulls into the parking lot of a tiny diner with a sign at the corner that reads Frank’s Frosty Kreme.

“Oh good. We’re early enough that we can get a table.” Clara grabs her purse and steps out of her car. I do the same and take in the cool, fresh air.

It’s not exactly warm out, but it’s not cold either. It’s one of those fall days where a light sweater or jacket is necessary, but you won’t freeze without it. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There’s even a light breeze blowing the fallen leaves across the paved road.

Aside from a few cars parked next to the neighboring building on the back side of the parking lot, we’re the only car here. I only see two picnic tables. One is under a small overhang on the back corner of the building and the other is occupying a parking space in the back.

“Come on.” Clara calls out to me. “I don’t have all day.”

I turn to see she’s holding a glass door open for me to enter the restaurant. Although, I don’t think restaurant is the right word for it. The inside is nothing more than a waiting area. There are no dining tables or servers ready to take our orders. It’s carry-out only.

Clara walks up to the window that reminds me of a receptionist’s window like I’d see in a doctor’s office, not a restaurant.

“Well hello, Clara Bell.” An older gentleman, who looks like he could be our grandpa, greets her with a smile. “Don’t usually see you here at this time of day.”

Clara smiles in return. “Hi Frank. I snuck out for lunch today. I’m entertaining a new friend.” She turns her smile to me. “This is Sophia Becker. She’s new in town. Just started working for the Mutters.”

“You don’t say.” Frank turns his friendly gaze to me. “Well, aren’t you a pretty thing? My Rosie May had red hair just like yours. Miss that woman every day.”

“Thank you, sir.” I give him a wave, feeling my face warm from his complement. “Who’s Rosie May, if I may ask?”

“Oh, she was my wife.” The sparkle in his eyes fades slightly, but he’s still smiling. “Married thirty years before she passed. Heart attack. But I don’t suppose you young ladies came here to listen to my sorrows. What can I get you?”

“Any idea what you want?” Clara looks at me. “Everything here is good.”

I study the menu that’s on the wall above the counter. They serve a little of everything, from ice cream and milkshakes to hot dogs, burgers, subs, and pizza.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and maybe some fries.”

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