Winning Dixie Page 3

  “It might as well be,” she complained. “Texas, for God’s sake.”

  “Texas has been very good to us,” he reminded her. “We have two productive printing plants in Fort Worth and a profitable shopping mall in Houston.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want my only son there,” his mother said tersely. “You know it hasn’t been that long since—”

  “Mother,” he interrupted. “It’s been two years since my transplant, I’m in excellent health, my doctor says there’s no problem with my taking a trip and I’m here. It’s a done deal.”

  “I’m sure if I knew how you discovered the name of your donor, I would not approve. Neither would the medical community.”

  “Relax.” If he’d been in the room with her, he’d have dropped a light kiss on his mother’s forehead. Instead, he chuckled. “I did nothing illegal. Mostly it involved reading the paper and looking at a few police reports. Public records.”

  “You know who your donor was.” His father wasn’t about to let Wade make his case without his input. “Why did you need to go to Texas at all?”

  “I need to know more than just his name. I need to know what kind of man he was.”

  “I don’t see why,” his mother said tersely. “What are you going to do if you find out he was…unsavory?”

  Wade and his father burst out laughing. Either of them would have used a harsher word, but Myrna Harrison did not, would not, under threat of death, allow anything approaching a swear word to pass her lips.

  Wade grinned. “Maybe I’ll start being unsavory, too, and blame it on him.”

  His mother tsked. “This is about that comment you made when you woke up from surgery.”

  “Two points for Mother,” he said.

  “There’s no need for sarcasm. I thought we decided months ago that your comment about ‘the boys’ meant nothing.”

  “You decided,” he said. “I met them.”

  “Met who?” his mother demanded. “The boys?”

  “Yes.” He still felt the sense of awe swelling in his chest, just like when he’d first seen them in the diner’s kitchen.

  “Wade, no,” his mother protested. “You didn’t go up to those boys and tell them who you are.”

  “Would you give me a little credit? As far as they’re concerned, I’m just the new dishwasher.”

  “The what?” His father’s voice, finally.

  “That’s my other news. I took a job today.”

  A long silence stretched from New York to Texas and back again. Then suddenly both of his parents spoke at once.

  “A what?”

  “Washing dishes? You don’t know how to wash dishes.”

  “Hush, Myrna,” his father said. “Son, explain yourself.”

  He told them how he came to be working for the mother of the boys he’d come to find.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake,” his mother said. “When can we expect you home?”

  “Home?” The question gave Wade a jolt, and it shouldn’t have. That told him how affected he was by meeting Ben and Tate McCormick. He hadn’t even thought of going home. He’d thought of nothing but the boys since he’d entered the diner and saw their mother.

  Well, okay, he’d thought of other things, too. A pair of deep blue eyes—Dixie’s. And dishpan hands—his.

  “Yes,” his mother said. “You remember home, don’t you? New York? That place where you live?”

  “Very funny,” he responded. “But don’t leave the light on for me. I’m going to spend some time here, check things out.”

  “Things?” his father asked. “You’ve seen the boys in question. I assume they were fine. Case closed.”

  “They seem fine, yes.” Wade felt inexplicable anger at the thought of leaving Tribute and returning to New York. The feeling wasn’t rational, he knew, but it was there. “I just want to stick around long enough to make sure. Besides, I don’t want to walk out on the diner, on my job, without giving some notice.”

  “A pitiful excuse,” his mother said in the same tone she might have used when asking if that was a skunk she was smelling. “What dishwasher ever gave notice when quitting?”

  “This one,” Wade said. “Relax, Mom. Remember that last birthday I had? It was my thirty-sixth. I’m a big boy. I know how to think for myself.” He hoped his smile came through in his voice. He wouldn’t hurt his mother’s feelings for the world. Even when she did try to treat him like a kid.

  “You never told us what the boys are like,” his father reminded him.

  “I don’t know,” he said, hedging, not sure what to say. “I only saw them for a couple of minutes.”

  “You,” his father said, “who once deduced that the Carrington chain of movie theaters would be a bad investment after three minutes with the CEO, and you cannot tell what two young boys are like?”

  “I didn’t have several million dollars riding on what I thought of them. They seemed like good kids, smart, funny. You know—kids,” Wade responded. “I know next to nothing about kids.”

  “But you know they’re healthy?”

  “They appear to be.”

  “They’re clothed, have plenty to eat, go to school?”

  Wade sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then, I would say your mission has been accomplished.” As head of the family and the corporation, Jeffery Harrison was used to being obeyed. It came through in his voice when he added, “So you can come home now with a clear mind.”

  “The last I heard,” Wade said, “the company was doing great in the capable hands of my sisters. I’m not needed at home.”

  “You’re not needed in Texas, either,” his mother said sharply.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Wade said easily, despite the tension starting to tighten his gut. “I’m needed to wash dishes at Dixie’s Diner.”

  “Wade—”

  “Look.” He cut off his mother. “I’m fine, I’ve got all my meds with me. Tell yourselves I’ve gone on a much-needed vacation if that helps. I’m going to hang around here for a while.” He wouldn’t ask if that was all right with them, because it was his decision, not theirs.

  It was silent for a long moment, then his mother sighed heavily. “I’m sure dinner is almost ready, so we’ll let you go. For now,” she added darkly.

  “I love you, Mother. You, too, Dad. Give my love to the girls,” he added.

  After a couple more rounds of “love you” and “miss you” and “call soon,” they finally ended the call.

  Wade fell back onto the bed in his motel room with a groan. He loved his family, but, Lord, they could drive him nuts. Especially since his surgery. He understood that they were still frightened for him, worried about him, and probably always would be. He’d been within hours of dying the night of his heart transplant.

  This was the first time he’d been away from home since then. They couldn’t fuss over him. Couldn’t take care of him. Couldn’t watch him take his pills. Couldn’t nag him about exercising. “Do it, but don’t overdo it.”

  He was gathering the energy to sit up when his stomach growled.

  He laughed. He’d been in a diner all day and hadn’t eaten. Now he had to find himself a meal. There were several other places to eat along the mile-long stretch of Main Street; he’d noticed them when he drove in to town that morning. He would walk. He needed the exercise.

  Part of his medication consisted of a steroid that helped prevent his body from rejecting the new heart, but it also, among other things, softened his bones. To combat that, he spent a portion of every day doing weight-bearing exercises. Everything from walking to running to weight lifting. If he was to stay in Tribute for more than a few days, he would need to find a way to work out with weights.

  Wade had imagined that the days in Texas would be warm, and this one was. Being more than a hundred miles from the gulf, he’d figured that the air would be on the dry side. On that he’d been mistaken. By the time he walked to the end of Main and crossed the street to return on the other si
de, his shirt was sticking to his back.

  On his way he passed a flower-and-gift shop, grocery store, ice cream shop, auto parts store, and dentist’s office. Next to the pizza parlor sat a bank, then the town square. He didn’t walk the square, but noticed the businesses lining it included a newspaper office. It was still open, so he decided that after he ate, if they were closed, he would walk by and peer through the front windows. Harrison Corporation owned more than a few newspapers.

  His great-grandfather had started the family’s first newspaper from nothing, wrote the columns, edited, set the type, printed the copies and sold them. A true one-man operation for the first several months of publication. But, since his had been the only paper in the tiny Wyoming town, it had been a hit.

  The rest, as they said—at least, in his family—was history.

  Wade would enjoy poking around this particular weekly paper, but he would settle for a view through the window later.

  The center of the town square was occupied by city hall, the police station and county sheriff’s office, and the courthouse. Around the perimeter sat the town library and several other small businesses.

  He walked on past the square, past a ladies clothing shop, Mexican restaurant, hot dog drive-in. There was a video rental store, a feed-and-seed store, post office, hamburger place, real estate office, law firm, doctor’s office, Dixie’s Diner, hardware store, two other motels, four bars, three gas stations, plus a gas station with a convenience store and an attached car wash.

  Down a side street here and there he spotted a fire station, an auto repair shop, veterinarian clinic, VFW hall, several churches and a small apartment building.

  Eventually he quit taking note of the businesses and simply walked. It felt good to be out in the open, to be moving. To be breathing and feel the heart beating beneath his sternum. Never again would he take such a miracle as a heartbeat for granted. He walked until he reached his motel again, then kept walking until he returned to the Mexican restaurant. The aromas coming from their doorway lured him in.

  As he ate the enchiladas covered in salsa hot enough to clean out his sinuses, he thought of the paperwork he had yet to fill out for Dixie McCormick, and smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to fill out an employment form, but it might have been when he was sixteen.

  It was over a mouthful of refried beans that he realized that out there on the main street of the Texas town of Tribute there was one—count ’em, one—traffic light.

  He’d heard about towns this small, maybe even driven through one without realizing it, but he didn’t think he’d ever stayed in one.

  Who would have thought that Wade Harrison had led a sheltered life?

  Dixie didn’t have time to wonder whether or not her new dishwasher would remember to fill out his paperwork and bring it with him in the morning. She would be pleased enough if he showed up.

  She would be even more pleased if somebody would give her about three extra hours every day. With three more hours on this day, she might get the house a little cleaner, read a chapter or two on the novel she started a month ago, indulge in a long, hot soak in the tub and possibly even get to bed in time to allow for eight hours of sleep.

  As things stood, she felt as if she’d done pretty good getting the yard mowed—with “help” from the boys. She oversaw the rest of the boys’ homework, ran their Little League uniforms through the laundry, cooked dinner, supervised the cleanup, watched a half hour of television with the boys, then sent them one at a time to their baths, then bed.

  “G’night, Mom.”

  She leaned over and kissed Ben good-night. “’Night, Ben.” She moved to the other twin bed across the room and kissed Tate. “’Night, Tater. Love you both.”

  “Love you, too, Mom,” they said together.

  Dixie’s heart swelled. No matter how exhausted she got, hearing her sons say they loved her filled her with so much joy it sometimes felt impossible to hold it all in.

  Benny and Tater love me.

  I love Benny and Tater.

  Life simply didn’t get any better, she thought.

  Oh, a little more money would be nice. Okay, a lot more money, so her boys could go to college. She was socking a little away every month, praying that the stock market and mutual fund gods would be kind.

  A man would—naw, scratch that. She’d had a man in her life, God rest his soul. Jimmy Don had been her high school heartthrob. A good-time, barrel-of-laughs kind of guy. Too bad he never grew up. She didn’t want another child to raise. She was just fine on her own.

  There was one man she wondered about, though—her new dishwasher, Wade Harrison. He didn’t fit. If he was an unemployed drifter, it was only because he wanted to be. And she’d bet her most comfortable shoes that his situation, if it was even real, was temporary. He reeked of money, wealth with a capital W. Polished. Privileged.

  So, what, she wondered for the hundredth time, was he doing washing dishes in her diner?

  She decided she didn’t care. As long as he showed up and did the job, she’d be satisfied.

  Wade couldn’t recall the last time he’d been up and out the door before sunup. He’d forgotten how early 6:00 a.m. could be.

  He decided to walk to the diner. Driving such a short distance and taking up a parking space all day when there weren’t that many of them in the middle of town to begin with seemed ridiculous.

  At 6:00 a.m. sharp he entered Dixie’s Diner right behind Pops. Dixie and her boys were already there.

  Wade was surprised to see young Ben and Tate McCormick at the diner so early. Dixie had put them at a booth in the banquet room this time. There was a television mounted on the wall in there, currently tuned to cartoons.

  “You came back,” Pops said to Wade.

  “I work here,” Wade answered with a slight shrug.

  Pops looked at him and smiled. “Yep, guess you do, at that.”

  “You came,” Dixie said.

  Wade couldn’t tell if that was surprise or relief in her voice. “Was I not supposed to?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I mean, yes. You were supposed to.” She finally smiled. “I just wasn’t sure you would.”

  “With my paperwork all complete.” He handed her the finished form.

  She glanced at it and frowned. “Your address is Main Street?”

  He shrugged. “The Tribute Inn until I find a place.” As soon as he said the words, he realized he was going to do just that—find a place to live. An apartment, maybe a small house to rent.

  He hadn’t come to Tribute to stay, but he wouldn’t leave until he had alleviated his concerns about Ben and Tate. There was no law that said he couldn’t be comfortable in the meantime.

  “Where did you live before the Tribute Inn?” Dixie asked him.

  “New York.” He wasn’t going to lie. Unless he had to. “Oh, yeah,” she said while reading the form. A moment later she looked up and smiled. “Well, thanks for taking care of this. Now I need you to roll some more silverware in paper napkins.”

  “No problem.”

  “And please check the salt and pepper shakers at all the tables. Lyle’s got a sick mare at home and hasn’t been getting much sleep lately. Sometimes he misses a table or two at closing.”

  “I’ll check them.”

  “Thanks.” Dixie smiled and thought he was surely too good to be true. An agreeable man who didn’t mind having a woman question him and tell him what to do, even if it was the lowliest of jobs? What manner of strange creature was this?

  With Wade handling those chores, Dixie turned to start the coffee before customers arrived, but Pops was already on it. That meant there was nothing standing between her and the paperwork from the night before. Dammit.

  “Do your boys always come to work with you in the mornings?”

  She turned back toward Wade. “What? Oh, yes. I don’t want to leave them at home alone when I come to work.”

  “Oh,” Wade said. “I don’t blame you. I guess scho
ol isn’t far from here?”

  “It’s just a few blocks,” she told him.

  Wade took a breath and plunged into the subject he’d been wanting to raise. “What about their father?”

  “He died a couple of years ago.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks, but we were divorced. He was out of the picture for a long time before then.”

  “That’s rough.”

  She gave a short chuckle. “Not nearly as rough as keeping him around would have been, God rest his soul.”

  “Oh.” He looked blank for a moment.

  “Sorry,” she said with a grimace. “I don’t talk much about him.” And she wondered why she was running off at the mouth this time. “The boys barely remember him.”

  “That’s too bad,” Wade offered. “I can’t imagine growing up without a father, but these days I guess kids do it all the time.”

  “They do,” she agreed. “And many of them are better off for it. I know mine are.”

  There came that blank look on Wade’s face again. “I’ll just go check those salt and pepper shakers,” he said. “Then I’ll get to the silverware.”

  “Thanks.” She wondered what Wade was thinking to give him that blank look.

  Wade was thinking that maybe McCormick hadn’t been the best father, but he wanted Jimmy Don remembered in a better light, not for what he hadn’t done right or well, but for that one great thing he did do that made such a difference to so many people.

  He needed a plan.

  During the next couple of days, business at Dixie’s Diner kept everybody hopping. Wade felt the beginnings of a friendship developing between Pops and himself. The old man knew a little, or sometimes a lot, about practically everything—particularly if it had to do with Tribute or Texas or horses—and he was full of stories that generally started with, “Back when I was a boy,” and ended with, “And you can take that to the bank.”

  Wade even felt as if Ben and Tate were beginning to accept him, if not as a friend, exactly, then at least as part of the diner. He found himself eager each morning to see them and watching the clock every afternoon, waiting for the minute they barreled through the front door to announce all the news from school and complain about their homework.