Regrert Read online

We went back inside and ate our food, chatting around the kitchen table about nothing in particular and thankfully almost completely free of questions about my life.

  That talk would come later.

  After the late lunch I went back up to my room for a few minutes, planning on gathering my things and getting ready to head out. I lay on the bed, only intending to "rest my eyes", as they say, for a minute, and then bid my farewells to the Sanderson's.

  I woke up, quickly jumping off the bed and checking the clock. I’d slept for three hours. It was almost six o’clock. So much for traveling that day. I’d only have a few hours of daylight left, and by the time I even got into a good driving groove it’d be time to pull over and find another place to stay.

  I walked out of the bedroom and started down the stairs. Ralph was sitting on the next to last step, putting on his shoes. I walked around him and when he stood up I saw he was dressed in khaki pants and another flannel shirt, much like the one I had met him in. He smelled of aftershave and baby powder.

  "Well look who’s up." He said with that grin of his. "Storm wear you out? Or was it that beatin’ I put on you in chess?"

  I pointed at him with one finger and smiled, "Hey, I almost had you that second game. I had you on the run."

  "All part of the plan," he said. "All part of the plan."

  When I was about to ask if he and Minnie minded much if I stayed a second night, Ralph beat me to the punch.

  "You’re not planning on heading out this late are you? It’ll be dark before long, you might as well stay another night here. Unless you’re really in a hurry, ‘course."

  "No. No hurry. I think I will stay another night. As long as it’s no trouble."

  I don’t know why I was being such a pansy about the matter. Ralph and Minnie were running a Bed and Breakfast, after all. It’s not like I was some freeloading guest.

  "No trouble at all. I’ll even let it be on the house since you helped me with the shutters and all today."

  "Oh, hey you don’t have to do tha--"

  "Nope," he raised his hand. "Consider it done."

  "Well thanks. I appreciate it."

  "Don’t mention it. You hungry?"

  I was.

  "I’m about to head down to The Sawmill for some supper. I go down every Saturday night, tradition I guess. Minnie used to go too, but now she just likes to stay at home. Says she likes her alone time." He shook his head. "Go figure, right? Old as we are, just the two of us almost all the time, everyday might as well be her alone time." He laughed and opened the door. "So what do you say? I figured I might do a quick drive around town too, see if the storm did any damage. Never know when it’s time for the church steeple to finally give in."

  "Sure," I said. "The Sawhorse it is."

  "Mill. Sawmill."

  "Yeah, we can go there, too"

  I followed him around the house and got in on the passenger side of his Oldsmobile. I was off to see the town. Even then having no idea I’d be coming back with such a plan.

  Chapter 16

  It would have been pushing a long walk, but still, the trip to The Sawmill was definitely one that could have been made on foot by somebody with a little bit of energy or maybe a desire for some fresh air. Ralph swung his Oldsmobile out of The Sanderson Homestead driveway with a sweeping left, after checking for an extended period of time for traffic that was nowhere to be seen, and then we were headed into town, following the road that I had come in on. We hadn’t yet gone a mile before signs of civilization started to make their appearance.

  The road that we were driving on was the main road of the town. "Shoots straight up the gut," Ralph told me. And wouldn’t you know it, it was called Main Street. Oh the creativity of some people. I looked out my window as Ralph drove and examined the buildings lining the street. I saw a barber shop, a beauty shop, a comic book store, a small pharmacy, two lawyer’s offices, everything. The people of Jacob’s Bluff could literally do everything they needed to do on this one road it seemed. The town bore a striking resemblance to Mayberry in my mind, and I almost started to whistle the The Andy Griffith Show theme song right there in the car.

  "Yeah, Main Street here goes right through town and right out the other side. Another twenty miles and you hit Larendale," Ralph said. "That’s a much bigger city, livelier, ya know? They got the mall and the movie house and the bars… I hate the place. Too damn fast for my taste."

  Figured. He’d rather sit at home and watch his Blu-Ray discs.

  "Minnie and I do go there for our anniversary, though. Nice Italian place called Ramones. It’s very good, Minnie could die there happily, but I think it’s a little over priced. S’why we only go once a year. Plus the drive…"

  Some smaller side streets shot off to the left and right of Main Street and it was one of these, right past the court house with a high reaching tower and a statue of Blind Justice on top, that Ralph made a right turn and then parked next to the curb.

  He got out and I followed his lead.

  The Sawmill was one of three buildings, sandwiched in between a liquor store and a computer fixit shop. It had large glass windows and even though darkness hadn’t completely fallen the warm glow of the lights from inside was appealing. I saw a few people sitting at tables through the windows and realized then how hungry I was.

  "Here she is," Ralph said and opened the door for me.

  I stepped inside and took a look around. Turns out The Sawmill was the love child of a honky-tonk country bar, and a wannabe high-dollar classy restaurant who couldn’t quite make up its mind which it wanted to be.

  The floors were a light colored wood and kept very clean, the tables looked to be made of the same. Nice looking dishes with steaks and fish and salads sat atop many of them and a couple waiters and waitresses walked around wearing black pants and white shirts

  (Just like The Nest in New York)

  filling drinks and clearing plates. To the right there was a bar lined with a row of stools along with some high-topped tables and more stools. Flatscreen TV’s hung from the wall behind the counter and they were tuned to various sporting events and one to the news. Some up beat country music was playing over the speaker system and the bartender, a man who was maybe in his early to mid-thirties, was bobbing his head up and down to the beat while he stacked glasses.

  "I usually sit at the bar, since I’m by myself," Ralph said. "But if you’d rather get a table," he looked over to the family side of the restaurant, "that’s fine by me."

  I shook my head. "I’m good with the bar."

  Ralph went right, headed for a couple stools dead center the bar, and again I followed. He took a seat and I did likewise to his left.

  The song playing overhead changed to a Rascal Flatts piece, and the bartender stepped in front of us, laying out two napkin squares in preparation for our drink orders.

  "G’evenin’, Chuck," Ralph said. "I’ll have a--"

  "I know, I know," Chuck The Bartender said. "Coors Light to start with, then maybe something a little stronger for dessert."

  Ralph apparently was a regular. Although, given the size of Jacob’s Bluff, and a quick guesstimation of its population, I might be a regular by merely stepping through the door.

  Ralph gave off his high-pitched laugh and clapped a hand down on the bar. "Chuck, you know me too well. I’ll have to start mixin’ it up on ya. Keep things interesting."

  "I love a challenge," Chuck replied, turning to me. "Who’s your friend here?"

  "Oh," Ralph said, slapping me hard on the shoulder. His hands were strong, stronger than his looks would let on. "This here is Dan Dawkins. Stopped by for the night yesterday and staying again tonight, due to the storm and all. Heck of a nice guy, helped me all day out at the house before and after the storm blew through."

  Chuck looked at me for a second and I could see the gears in his head start turning and one of my small fears started to creep up my spine. Somebody was going to recognize me. It wasn’t that big a deal really, so what If I w
as recognized, I wasn’t a criminal or anything, I wasn’t hiding out from Jacob’s Bluff’s men in blue (I was in fact sleeping in the same house as one of their ex-finest). But still, the thought of somebody realizing who I was I feared would spawn questions about things I wasn’t ready to talk about.

  After Amy’s death, the story eventually made its way to the media. I was, after all, a New York Times Best Selling author, and had therefore sacrificed a bit of my privacy. Jenna would have had to tell the publishers something, as to why I made such a hasty exit from New York that day, and they in-turn had to tell the people over at the radio show something. So yeah, the news of my wife’s tragic ending got out, and it took only one small snippet of a news broadcast that I happened to catch on one of my many days lying on the couch for me to swear off watching any form of news for a good while. I didn’t know how many people the story reached, or how many people cared enough to remember, but odds are dangerous things to go against, no matter what. Somebody always loses.

  If Chuck thought he knew who I was he didn’t let on to it. Maybe he did figure me out but then dismissed the thought, thinking Now why in the hell would Dan Dawkins, The Dan Dawkins, be spending time in a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Jacob’s Bluff, Oklahoma. He wouldn’t, that’s why. So forget it Chuckie, don’t embarrass yourself.

  Chuck stuck out his hand, "Nice to meet ya, Dan."

  We shook and I ordered a Pepsi. Ralph disapproved.

  "Pepsi?" He laughed again. "Chuck get this man a beer. Coors ok with you?"

  It took me a bit by surprise. "No, Ralph, really. Pepsi is fine."

  Ralph looked at Chuck. "Bring him both."

  What the hell was with this guy? First he forces breakfast on me, and now a beer. Somebody needed to tell Ralph Sanderson that he didn’t always know what was best for people. Although breakfast had been delicious, so what the hell did I know?

  Chuck reached under the counter and with the skills of a seasoned bartender produced and opened two beers, sitting them in front of us faster than I could have said Thank You. He then went and got my Pepsi from the fountain machine at the end of the bar.

  He came back, sliding the Pepsi next to my beer and looked to Ralph. "Havin’ the usual tonight, Ralph?"

  "You bet."

  "Not afraid of the coffin are ya, Ralph."

  "I’ll go when God sees it my time. Not a minute earlier, not a minute later, and no young Bartender is gonna tell me otherwise. I’ve been eating it for ten years. I’m still here aren’t it?"

  They shared a laugh together and I had to ask, clearly left out of the joke. "What’s his usual?"

  Ralph spoke up first. "Oh, just a little concoction I created a while ago. Chuck, tell him, I don’t want it to sound like I’m bragging?"

  Chuck sighed. "We call it the Ralph, as he’s the only one who ever eats it. A full pound hamburger, cooked medium-rare, bloody but not mooing. Topped with sautéed mushrooms, onions, peppers and bacon. Three different kinds of cheese. Heavy mayo and barbecue sauce. But the kicker, the top and bottom of the bun is spread with one hundred percent pure lard, and then toasted. French fries on the side, extra crispy." Then he added with a smile directed at Ralph, "And one heart-attack to-go."

  "Amen," Ralph said.

  From the medical position, it sounded awful, like it should maybe come with a cell phone on the side for the 911 call after eating. From the view of somebody starving, and not really too concerned at all with his health at the moment, it sounded absolutely mouth watering.

  "I’ll have the same," I told chuck. "Just hold the onions."

  Ralph let out a squeal of excitement and slapped me hard on the shoulder again. "Damn it, I knew I liked this kid! You heard the man, Chuck."

  Chuck looked at me for just a second with wide-eyed amusement and then headed back towards the kitchen.

  Once Chuck was out of sight, I reached out for my Pepsi but about half way there my hand stopped, and then made the decision to head towards the beer instead. I was never much of a drinker, a couple nights of getting trashed in college and then pretty much a social drinker after that. A few beers at home to relax, that’s about it. I hadn’t touched an ounce of alcohol since Amy was killed. The reason was one that everybody should have learned in their D.A.R.E class in elementary school. Alcohol is a depressant, people. And God knows I didn’t need to be anymore depressed than I already was. But, I was enjoying myself that night, hanging out with Ralph at the bar, about to eat Ralph’s MTO creation aka The Cholesterol Burger, and one beer didn’t seem like that bad of an idea.

  The first swallow was cold, smooth, and refreshing. The taste coupled with the feeling of the beer gliding down my throat was good and satisfying. Ralph and I watched the TV's behind the bar in silence for a while, sipping our drinks and looking like two normal, everyday guys. Only half of that was true though. I was about to become far from normal.

  Chuck banged through the swinging kitchen door with more force than was probably necessary carrying Ralph and mine’s meals on his arms. He set Ralphs down first, and then slid mine in front of me. "No onions, right?"

  I nodded. "Anything else you guys need?" He asked.

  "I’ll have another one of these," I said, holding up my near empty bottle. Two beers didn’t seem like too bad an idea either.

  With as much speed and grace as before, a new beer was in front of me in no time and Chuck went down to the other end of the bar where a forty-something woman in leather pants and jacket, biker-chick, probably, had seated herself.

  I picked up the burger and looked at it. The meat was juicy and dripping, the bacon wasn’t soggy but crisp and barbecue sauce was oozing down the side of the bun. My mouth watered.

  "Go ahead and dive in," Ralph said. "It’s the best when it’s steaming hot, enhances the flavor."

  Ralph, burger extraordinaire.

  I took his advice and sunk my teeth in for a huge bite. Flavors and juice exploded in my mouth, it was hot--too hot--but that made it better somehow, just as Ralph had said. I chewed slowly, relishing the taste, and then swallowed, chasing the burger down with a swig of beer. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  "Well," Ralph said, with a cheesy, child-like grin on his face.

  "I think you should patent this, sell it, and make millions."

  He granted me another clap on the back and of course his squeal of a laugh. "I told ya, didn’t I? I wouldn’t lie to a man about food, that’s almost sacrilegious."

  I took another bite, just as good as the first, and Ralph started on his. We watched the TV’s behind the bar, talking together and joking while we ate. The French fries were extra-crispy, as promised, and were almost as delicious as the burger itself. I thought to myself then, that if I ever ended up passing through Jacob’s Bluff again in my future-uncertain life, I’d be sure and stop at The Sawmill for another one of Ralph’s burgers.

  With two empty plates and six empty beer bottles between the two of us, we rested our elbows on top of the bar and belched almost simultaneously. We laughed, and when Chuck came to clear out plates and ask if we needed anything else, Ralph ordered a Jack and Coke for each of us. I was buzzing from the beers and didn’t even try to put up a fight this time.

  Chapter 17

  I’d like to discuss now what I have coined as the Ah-Ha moments of life. You know what I’m talking about, trust me, we’ve all had them. An Ah-Ha moment is one of those times where you can quite literally feel the light bulb switching on in your brain. That quick second where perhaps an elusive answer suddenly shows its pretty face, or a seemingly impossible problem suddenly has a clear solution. Ah-Ha moments can be triggered by anything, of course. It might be something you see, something you hear, a word, a phrase, a sound. Hell, it could even be a smell I’d imagine. Although I have personally never had an aroma induced Ah-Ha moment, doesn’t mean you haven’t. Ah-Ha moments are powerful, sometimes hitting you with enough force to knock you head back and slap a smile on your face. They can be truly great thing
s to experience.

  I had an Ah-Ha moment in The Sawmill the night Ralph and I ate our burgers. Only mine wasn’t exactly a feel good moment. Instead it sucker punched me in the gut, and at the same time I was glad. Glad that my so-called problem suddenly had a solution. My Ah-Ha moment came courtesy of Ralph, although please, and I’m dead serious, don’t place any blame on that kind old man. He was the last friend I ever had. He innocently and unknowingly planted a seed. It was I who made it grow into something it was never meant to be.

  Chapter 18

  Chuck delivered our drinks and said he was going out back for a quick smoke, asking us to keep an eye on the place for a minute. Ralph took a long sip of his drink, licked his lips, and then turned to look at me with eyes that were as serious as cancer. His goofy grin was gone and his look bore down on me with a level of intenseness I wouldn’t have thought possible from him. My smile quickly faded also as I waited for what he had to say.

  "Dan…" He said, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not usually one to pry on friends and all, and yes, even though we’ve known each other all of one day, I’m considering you a friend, but I’m just curious. You see, I’ve never met a man who was married that could sit down and talk with me and spend the day with me like you have and not once mention his wife. Whether it be him braggin’, complainin’, or just saying her name a time or two, a wife will always come up. How come you ain’t like that?"

  My body went cold and it felt like I was a thief who had just been caught with a gun in one hand and the money in the other. The evening had been great, Ralph and his little town had done exactly what I was looking for, and that was to take my mind off of Amy, the purpose of my whole trip, leaving her behind. And now, with nothing but his fucking curiosity, he’d cracked the one egg I didn’t want to break.

  "I…" I reached for ways out. "Who said I’m married?" I grabbed my Jack and Coke and took a long gulp. It burned.

  Ralph took another sip, too. "Well, if you want to get technical I guess you could say that nobody actually said you were married." He paused a second. "But the wedding band on your finger there seems to be somewhat of an indication, even to somebody old and crazy like me."