Part 4 (2/2)
My mind alternated between how I was going to explain this to Christina and scanning the area for signs of the elusive and mysterious Myles Shepherd.
The arrival of a tow truck and an ambulance forced us to relocate. We decided to go somewhere where we could talk. Jana told her news crew to return without her.
I couldn't help taking one last look at the scene, one last look around for Myles, and one last look at the car. The burned remains sat in the center of a charred starburst.
CHAPTER 4.
It was Myles's body in the car. I'm certain of it.” Jana spoke with conviction. ”He would sooner share his toothbrush with a stranger than let anyone drive his Lexus.”
I hadn't asked her if there was any chance Myles may not have been the driver. She offered the observation, her way of dealing with the unexpected loss.
Jana removed her sungla.s.ses and placed them between us on the table. I hadn't told her I'd seen Myles standing beside the fire truck. I didn't know if I would.
It was Jana who suggested we go to Bruno's-a questionable little coffee shop we used to frequent on Friday nights after football games. The place was showing its age. The orange vinyl booths were patched. The tabletops worn. The clientele was mostly elderly men nursing cups of coffee and reading the newspaper.
While we waited for a waitress, Jana played absentmindedly with her sungla.s.ses. The other patrons began to recognize her. They whispered and pointed.
Pulling a tissue from her purse, Jana dabbed red, swollen eyes.
The other patrons took note. From their expressions they seemed to conclude I was the cause of her tears.
”Grant, isn't that the same s.h.i.+rt and suit you were wearing yesterday?” Jana said.
Before I could answer, our waitress appeared holding a pot of coffee. She was a full-figured brunette with the face and body of a woman in her late forties wearing the clothing of a twenty-year-old-tight, black jeans with a clingy, white blouse-with mixed success. It did not flatter her bulging midriff. ”What can I get you folks?” She set down the coffeepot and pulled out a pad. She looked to Jana first. ”Hey! Aren't you that reporter? Yeah! The one on Channel 2. Umm . . . Torres!”
”Jana,” Jana said with her on-camera smile. She offered her hand. ”And you are?”
”Alida,” the waitress said, flattered to be asked. ”It's not often we get a real celebrity in this dump.”
”And this . . .” Jana said, motioning to me, ”is a world-famous author.”
The waitress's brow furrowed as she looked at me, trying her best to recognize someone famous.
”Grant Austin just won the Pulitzer Prize for his biography of the president.”
”The president? I didn't vote for him,” the waitress said. ”Is the prize a big deal?”
”The biggest,” Jana said.
Waitress Alida offered me a half-smile and limp handshake. ”Well then, congratulations.” Turning back to Jana, she said, ”Tell me, is your weatherman as loony tunes as he looks on television? I mean, what's with that 'Woooooeeeeeeeeeee!' he always does?”
The waitress noticed the tissue in Jana's hand and her swollen eyes. The woman turned motherly. ”Are you all right, dear?” she asked.
Like the others, the waitress acted as though I was the source of Jana's tears. Her att.i.tude toward me went from indifferent to hostile. Jana a.s.sured her she was fine.
”What can I get you, dear?” she asked Jana.
”A cup of hot tea,” Jana replied. ”With lemon.”
”Coming right up.” Reaching down, she patted Jana's hand, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up the coffeepot and turned to leave.
”Um . . . Miss . . .” I called after her. ”If I could have some coffee, please.”
The waitress swung around with tight lips forming the thinnest line I've ever seen on a face. I turned over a mug that was already on the table, making it impossible for her to ignore my request. She held a pot of coffee. I had the mug. We were in a restaurant. How could she say no?
She thought about it. Then, with a grunt, she returned to the table. I met her halfway by extending the mug.
The streaming coffee cascaded down one side, picked up momentum at the bottom, and slid easy as you please up the other side cresting like an ocean wave onto my hand. The waitress continued pouring. Luckily gravity came to my aid, turning the black wave around and into the mug. Swallowing the pain, I held it steady until it was full. The waitress stomped away without apologizing.
Jana didn't see the a.s.sault. She was staring absently out the window.
I looked for napkins. There were none. So I dried my hand with my handkerchief.
”Did you get to see Myles yesterday?” Jana asked.
The understatement of the century. ”Jana, about yesterday,” I said. ”I'm glad you brought it up. You see, I didn't know you were back in San Diego. Besides, the White House press corps handles all access to media events, and you know how they can be. Believe me, had I known . . .”
Jana dismissed my apology with a flip of her hand. ”No worries, Grant . . . it's all part of the job. You can make it up to me by giving me an exclusive interview before you head back for Was.h.i.+ngton.”
”That would be something, wouldn't it? I look forward to it.”
”Did you get to see Myles?”
”I went to his cla.s.sroom following the a.s.sembly.”
Jana leaned across the table and took my hands. ”How was he?”
There was a spark in her eyes that went beyond concern. My jaw tensed. She still had feelings for him. ”He was . . . he was Myles,” I hedged. ”Only more so.”
Still holding my hands, Jana looked away, lost for a moment in memories.
”This morning I went to see him again. That's when I learned of the accident.”
”So the two of you remained friends over the years? That's nice.”
Before I could correct her, the waitress arrived with Jana's tea. For self-protection I put my hands under the table.
Jana performed a tea ritual that had not changed since high school. Two packets of sugar in an empty cup. A long squeeze of lemon. Stir. Add the tea bag. Pour the water. Let it steep to the count of seven. Stir again. She'd told me once the origin of the ritual, but over the years I've forgotten it. I think it had something to do with her grandmother.
”How about you?” I asked. ”When was the last time you saw Myles?”
She stirred her tea for a long moment before answering. Not part of the ritual. ”Oh, I don't know . . . it's been so long . . . years, really . . . I guess, not since college.”
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