CHAPTER 51

Mort shouldered through the front door of the Crawlback Inn and shook the rain from his Squall hat. 

He gave a satisfied appraisal of the little wind-blocking wall with the restaurant license on display. That led to the new framed doorway and the ten tables beyond it. 

Reservations started at six, but at 4 o’clock, the only activity seemed to come from the kitchen.

Swinging his hip onto his usual barstool, he slapped two rolls of crepe paper onto the bar.

“Unis sent this over,” he said as Rude Crawlback appeared out of the dark. “She said it would look better for the ribbon-cutting than the police tape.” 

“Prob’ly,” Rude said picking up the red and yellow paper. “Prob’ly,” he leaned back over his shoulder. “So, you staying for the shindig or what?” he yelled down to a shadowed figure.

“I said I don’t know” a voice growled.

“Hey Clem,” Mort said, looking at his knuckles.

A mumble that sounded like “Bah” came from the far end of the bar. Mort couldn’t see the floor, but when he called out “Hey Cherrybutt.” The familiar tail thumping confirmed her presence.

Mort turned to study the rain pelting on the window. “This is gonna clear up, you know.” He assured Rude. “By dinner time this will be over and everyone will show up.”

“Sure,” Rude said, screwing his mouth to one side. “Seven and Seven for you?”

“Put it on the tab,” Mort sighed.

Rude Crawlback set Mort’s drink in front of him and went to change the tape on the dining-room door.

Mort took a deep whiff of onions and garlic starting on the grill and began watching his son and Ethyl Esther through the service window to the kitchen. Almost over night EmT had graduated to sous chef. He was chopping onions and seemed to be humming that song about staying alive.

Mort began thinking about the day he and Unis picked EmT up from the VA hospital. The doctors had said that they just didn’t know if his motionless, dull-eyed son would ever be anything other than what he was at that moment.

And now, watching through the window as EmT threw more onions on to cook, Mort felt a sense of wonderment.

So it was a big shock when Kay Kay came through the back door, kissed her mother, and then marched over and kissed EmT too.

Mort was stunned. It was beyond anything he had imagined. He watched in fascination as Kay Kay removed her coat, donned an apron and started preparing to cook.  

“Hey Rude, I’m taking that bottle of Crème de Mint for the frosting, OK?” she called out as she popped through the kitchen door.

“Sure, fine,” came the answer. “I don’t know what else to do with it.”

Mort studied Ethyl Esther’s daughter in awe. Denver had changed her all right, and she was a gem, decked out one of those long Madras hippie skirts and wearing some kind of vest covered with little round mirrors. Her fingers and ears were loaded with rings and her hair was twisted into a green, Madras scarf and seemed to be very uncombed and very neat at the same time.   

She grabbed the bottle of liqueur off the shelf and turned to see Mort staring at her.

“Oh, hey Mr. Soapinski,” she said and suddenly seemed to not know where to look.

“Katherine” Mort said quietly.

Kay Kay began a blush that started with her cheeks and rose to the roots of her hair.  “Well,” she said with a little shrug. “Gotta go.” And she ducked back to the kitchen. 

As Mort watched her measuring cream and sugar, he had a feeling of someone close by. He turned to a movement and there, staring from the mirror, in the hole left by the liqueur bottle, was his reflection. It was a middle-aged, slightly spreading man wearing a blue plaid shirt.

“How did you get to be fifty-two years old?” was the first thing Mort imagined the man saying.

Mort noticed all the lines around those brown eyes, but no, those were smile lines. And those eyes had a twinkle in them.

He found himself curious about what that man had to say to him, and the longer he looked the more the man seemed to be saying, “This could all come out alright. Yeah, it could be just fine.”