Bobby's Diner Read Online Free Page B

“Now, what the hell are we gonna do with only
one waiter?” She smiled at me for the first time since I’d known her.
    Well, needless to say, every
dinner was late coming out and getting to tables. The waiter, José and Vanessa
served tables, bussed and earned every dime they made that night. I cooked over
seventy dinners. Vanessa was warm and greeted everyone with a smile. And, she
was a whiz on that cash register. I overheard her proclaim to a customer,
“Well, stranger things have happened I’m sure.” As she commented, she patted
Mr. Rigger on the back as he was leaving. Mr. Rigger had lived in Sunnydale
nearly sixty-five years. He and his wife, Bethany, frequented the diner often
when Vanessa and Bobby were still married. They stopped coming in after the
divorce, but started back up about seven years ago. I guess they forgave Bobby.  
    Never once had they spoken to me.

 

 
 
    CHAPTER 3

 
    Going through my husband’s
belongings was one of the saddest times in my life. Prolonging the advent of
this task was my first desire. Let It Be, the Beatles song, came to mind.
“Mother Mary where are you?” I’d poke my head into his closet and smell his
scent. Then, I’d shut the door. Time after time, I’d go through the same thing.
Sometimes when the mood hit, Gangster, my cat, and I would sit on the floor and
rummage through old pictures, newspaper clippings and letters he’d mailed to
me. He was funny that way. Instead of handing me a card or note, he’d   mail them to me instead. What a thrilling way
to receive someone’s love, federally!
    On one of those days looking
through boxes and memorabilia, I happened upon an old letter hand written to
Bobby with a cancelled stamp dated June 1, 1980. Bobby’s name and address was
written in a pen I would soon come to know well. The letter was from Vanessa.
The date was years before we met and married. When I realized what I’d found a thousand
feelings flooded my mind, questions, you know. One question that rang in me was
why he would hold onto a letter from his ex-wife for so long. It wasn’t some
long- felt proclamation of love or bitter words from a recent argument. The
letter was   more, how shall I say, informational.
She was relaying a story from her childhood, a specific event that happened
long ago. After I read it the questions weren’t resolved in the least. In fact,
it created more questions for me. This is what it said:

 
    Dear
Bob,
    I
don’t quite get why you care or why you want to know about this. But, here you
go. When I was only eight years old, Terrence and I talked and threw rocks at a
saguaro while Uncle Joe and father would hunt dove and quail.
    “Stay
here and don’t wander off or you’ll get shot!” Father warned us as they
disappeared into the brush with rifles at their sides.
    The
desert didn’t offer much shade that day only a few scraggly mesquite where we
could sit if we dared! This wasn’t the first time Terrence and I went out with
father and Uncle Joe. I remember many times during our outings we would have to
shoo away a tarantula with a stick or see a rattler slither by. We’d scream
ear-piercing shrills and father and Uncle Joe would run back to us out of
breath. Like I mentioned, I was only eight and Terrence was seven. We were
little kids and petrified of the dangers we might find in the desert. While we
waited, we would talk and throw rocks.
    I
remember one time, father let Terrence hold and aim the gun. After much complaining
about it, he let me too. I was a girl and back then, girls weren’t supposed to
behave that way—at least, not while parents watched. But, I made such a fuss,
father let me hold and aim it too. Then I did a most unforgivable thing. I
pulled the trigger!
    When
it fired, I fell backwards. The kick of the gun was fierce and knocked me on my
butt.
    Father
ripped the gun out of my hands and got in my face. He screamed at me and told
me I was never to do that again.
    My
heart broke because