Pepper bottles filled with plastic daisies nestled against the table caddies of off-brand artificial sweeteners and big bottles of hot sauce. The Dalliance old-timers—judges, plumbers, doctors, and cobblers—crowded the long counter that fronted the kitchen, bumping elbows as they sipped black coffee, traded gossip, and made the deals that kept the town running.
Cal and I raised some grizzled eyebrows when we took a table together near the back of the diner. He held my chair for me and handed me a vinyl-covered menu.
“How’s Sherbet?” he asked as he took his own seat.
I grinned. “He’s better. A dumb ass, but a healthy dumb ass.”
Cal’s mouth widened in a lazy smile. “He’s just a little fella,” he said. “He’ll make better choices as he gets older.”
“Really? Is that how it’s supposed to work?”
“For cats,” he said. He gave me a teasing wink. “For people, once a dumb ass, always a dumb ass.”
“Hmmmm. That doesn’t bode well for me.”
“Nah, Tally, you’re not a dumb ass. Just too big-hearted and gullible for your own good.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Alice vouched for you. She said the whole stunt in Bryan’s office was her idea, and you didn’t know what she planned.”
I pulled a face. “What does that say about me, that I was duped by a teenager?”
He laughed. “It says you’re human. Teenagers are ornery little buggers.”
I accepted his olive branch with a smile.
“Oh, yeah?” I teased. “Have a lot of experience with ornery teenagers, do you?”
“Let’s see.” He held up his hand to tick off his points on his fingers. “First, I was one. Second, I’m a cop. Third, I’m an uncle. Bryan was a high achiever, but he got into his share of trouble.”
He looked out over my shoulder and cleared his throat. “He was a good kid.”
“I’m sorry, Cal.”
“It’s okay,” he said, waving off my concern. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about him lately. You know, I was still a kid when Bryan was born. Eleven, twelve, something like that. I was working on Eagle Scout when he became a Cub Scout. I took him camping a lot, worked on getting his badges. Dang near singed off all my arm hair trying to teach the kid to make a hobo dinner.”
I laughed along with him.
“I don’t know if he really enjoyed much of what we did, but he sure wanted to get those badges. The only time I was completely sure Bryan was having a good time on our camping trips was when we were making s’mores.”
“He liked sweets, huh?”
“Lord, yes. But plain old regular s’mores wouldn’t do. Bryan had to take everything to the next level. And so peanut butter s’mores were born.”
“Mmmm. I’m hooked. Tell me more.”
Cal took a sip of his water. “It’s just what it sounds like. He’d smear his graham crackers with peanut butter, then top it with the chocolate bar, and finally the toasted marshmallow.”
“That’s genius,” I said.
“His mom thought so. She tried to convince the scout leader to give Bryan an extra badge for innovation. Threw a hissy fit when the scout leader informed her that adding peanut butter to a well-known snack didn’t constitute innovation.”
“I’m with Marla on this one.”
“I figured you would be,” Cal said. He sighed. “It’s good to talk about him. Marla can’t go there yet. It’s too soon.”
“I’m glad you have good memories, Cal. And I’m glad you can share them with me.”
I was getting so accustomed to thinking of Bryan as an overly ambitious young man with questionable ethics. It was good to be reminded that even this unlikeable young man had a mama who loved him, a family who loved him. That once upon a time, Bryan Campbell had been a wide-eyed little boy with no greater ambition than to earn merit badges and eat gooey sweets around a campfire.
Before either of us could grow more sentimental, the waitress sashayed up. We placed our orders without even looking at our menus: chicken-fried steak, mashed
Cal and I raised some grizzled eyebrows when we took a table together near the back of the diner. He held my chair for me and handed me a vinyl-covered menu.
“How’s Sherbet?” he asked as he took his own seat.
I grinned. “He’s better. A dumb ass, but a healthy dumb ass.”
Cal’s mouth widened in a lazy smile. “He’s just a little fella,” he said. “He’ll make better choices as he gets older.”
“Really? Is that how it’s supposed to work?”
“For cats,” he said. He gave me a teasing wink. “For people, once a dumb ass, always a dumb ass.”
“Hmmmm. That doesn’t bode well for me.”
“Nah, Tally, you’re not a dumb ass. Just too big-hearted and gullible for your own good.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Alice vouched for you. She said the whole stunt in Bryan’s office was her idea, and you didn’t know what she planned.”
I pulled a face. “What does that say about me, that I was duped by a teenager?”
He laughed. “It says you’re human. Teenagers are ornery little buggers.”
I accepted his olive branch with a smile.
“Oh, yeah?” I teased. “Have a lot of experience with ornery teenagers, do you?”
“Let’s see.” He held up his hand to tick off his points on his fingers. “First, I was one. Second, I’m a cop. Third, I’m an uncle. Bryan was a high achiever, but he got into his share of trouble.”
He looked out over my shoulder and cleared his throat. “He was a good kid.”
“I’m sorry, Cal.”
“It’s okay,” he said, waving off my concern. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about him lately. You know, I was still a kid when Bryan was born. Eleven, twelve, something like that. I was working on Eagle Scout when he became a Cub Scout. I took him camping a lot, worked on getting his badges. Dang near singed off all my arm hair trying to teach the kid to make a hobo dinner.”
I laughed along with him.
“I don’t know if he really enjoyed much of what we did, but he sure wanted to get those badges. The only time I was completely sure Bryan was having a good time on our camping trips was when we were making s’mores.”
“He liked sweets, huh?”
“Lord, yes. But plain old regular s’mores wouldn’t do. Bryan had to take everything to the next level. And so peanut butter s’mores were born.”
“Mmmm. I’m hooked. Tell me more.”
Cal took a sip of his water. “It’s just what it sounds like. He’d smear his graham crackers with peanut butter, then top it with the chocolate bar, and finally the toasted marshmallow.”
“That’s genius,” I said.
“His mom thought so. She tried to convince the scout leader to give Bryan an extra badge for innovation. Threw a hissy fit when the scout leader informed her that adding peanut butter to a well-known snack didn’t constitute innovation.”
“I’m with Marla on this one.”
“I figured you would be,” Cal said. He sighed. “It’s good to talk about him. Marla can’t go there yet. It’s too soon.”
“I’m glad you have good memories, Cal. And I’m glad you can share them with me.”
I was getting so accustomed to thinking of Bryan as an overly ambitious young man with questionable ethics. It was good to be reminded that even this unlikeable young man had a mama who loved him, a family who loved him. That once upon a time, Bryan Campbell had been a wide-eyed little boy with no greater ambition than to earn merit badges and eat gooey sweets around a campfire.
Before either of us could grow more sentimental, the waitress sashayed up. We placed our orders without even looking at our menus: chicken-fried steak, mashed
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