Visitors, part four

Finally Leta was able to serve her son Dale and his young lady. They had come to the truckstop diner she managed for supper on a stormy Saturday evening, expressly for Dale to introduce to each other those he would soon be calling “the two most important women in my life”—his mother and his girl. Because of diverging schedules, the best time for the two women to meet was that night at the diner. What Leta had not anticipated was that the stormy weather would leave over a dozen truckers stranded and lined up to eat. Since it was a small establishment, just her and one very limited waitress, she was unable to visit much with her guests. But having just served Dale and Kate fresh fried chicken (one of her specialties) with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans, along with home made biscuits, she decided to take a short break and sit with them for a few minutes.

One activity she did enjoy was watching those she loved happily dining on her food. But it was not to be. Before either of her guests could take a bite, one of her regular customers called her name.

“Leta, more pancakes!”

“Just a minute,” she snarled back.

Then she smelled something burning and immediately rose to run back to the kitchen. It figured. The sweet, but mostly incompetent waitress Susan couldn’t even make toast that evening. The poor girl was in tears. Leta refrained from chastising her but directed her in a firm tone that she should make a new pot of coffee. Still whimpering, Susan obeyed.

Leta swiftly discarded the burned toast and started four other pieces. While it cooked, she started a pancake batter. That’s when she heard words that stopped her in her tracks.

“This chicken is raw!” her son exclaimed from the dining room.

Leta froze momentarily, Dale’s loud voice reverberating in her ears. Every other sound seemed to fade away and a coat of shame surrounded and grabbed her. She quick turned off the toaster and ran back into the dining room, where Dale and his lady friend were staring at each other, both still holding their silverware. They could not have looked more distressed had a mouse run across their table.

“Are you sure?” she asked Dale, sotto voice, when she reached them.

“Look at it, Ma,” Dale said, pushing himself away from the table in disgust and spreading the breast where he had just cut into it. Sure enough, it was not only pink, but also juicy. Leta sighed a high, grunt kind of sigh and stepped away from the food herself. She looked at the young lady’s plate, which was already devoid of green beans and potatoes and several bites of thigh.

“Oh drats!” Leta growled, as she reached for their plates. “I’m terribly sorry. Let me whip up a couple of hamburgers for you.”

“No, Ma,” Dale countered, gently grabbing her wrist. “It’s all right. We’ll just have coffee. Right, Kate?”

“Yes, coffee,” Kate said, smiling with a light embarrassment. “That would be nice.”

“And pie,” Leta added. “I made pie for you.”

She looked at them imploringly, and after a few moments, Dale nodded.

They stayed another fifteen minutes, but Leta avoided them. It was easier for her to focus on the needs of her customers, and the diner was busy enough. Once she gave them the pie a la mode, Susan kept their coffee replenished. What that young woman must think of me, she kept telling herself over and over again. Serving uncooked chicken like that was disgraceful.

Would she ever do anything her children could be proud of? Could she ever become the loving mother-in-law she wanted to be? Or would she always be a drunk, lousy cook, terrible hostess or even the loose woman that they couldn’t really talk about?

Certainly, she remained polite to them. When they departed, leaving the pie practically untouched, drowning in melted ice cream, she saw them to the door, shook Kathryn’s hand and let her son kiss her on the cheek, as he usually did.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked Dale. “After church?”

“We’ll see,” he answered. “What time is the service, Kate?”

“We can go at eight, nine, ten or eleven,” Kate answered. “My family usually goes at nine.”

“Then, yes, I will stop,” Dale answered. He was definitely not pleased with how the evening went, which cut Leta to her heart. But she held in her disappointment and smiled.

“See you then,” she said, forcing a smile. “And so nice to meet you, Kathryn.”

Then they were gone.

“Leta!” her customer shouted. “Where the hell are my pancakes?”

The End