A Friend to Call

A long stretch of a busy highway. It’s known for a flood of cheap car lots, lemons for sale. Every kind of advertising chokes the space. Sparkling flags, gigantic parachute figures flapping in the wind, deals that turn out to be empty promises.

Yep, they get me. Those slick car gods with fancy talk. From their well-oiled hair to their bright smiles and use of pet names, two of them in expensive-looking suits charm me into taking a van. They tell me, “It’s perfect for a mother on the go.”

Well, there isn’t anywhere to go at the moment. My battery refuses to come to life. I hope it’s not worse than a fifty-dollar fix.

Now, what do I do? I didn’t sign up for the auto club. I’m in a new town. I remember the last of my co-workers leaving for the long holiday.

I’m on the rooftop, in a rainstorm with thunder and lightning. What’s worse than all that drama? I have my six-year daughter with me, and she’s terrified of storms.

Who do I call? My family is hundreds of miles away. I’m a bit of a loner with no real friends. I have a few acquaintances through church and a sewing group. I don’t even know phone numbers or last names of these women.

A chill sets in. I see Gracie shiver. She’s dressed in a lightweight top and skirt. Tights cover her legs. She has her favorite shoes on, red flats with silver sequins.

“Here, baby. Take this blanket and cover up.” My words have a weird sound to them.

I see her staring back at me in my rearview mirror. Eyes bluer than an ocean on a sunny day, big with a few tears forming in the corners. Her smile is flat. She’s quiet and waiting for me to solve the problem.

This is parenting. Being the one with answers. Showing your child that the world will be right again. No matter how tired you are or how much your head aches, it’s up to the parent to do what’s best.

A silent laugh flickers in my mind. That’s me. I’m the parent. I’m the one that will either make this car work or I will magically find a way home.

I lay my head back on the headrest. My thoughts swirl. A grumble sounds from my belly. Gracie giggles from the backseat.

“Bringing your kid to work doesn’t sound so good now, does it? I hope she disagrees with me, tells me it’s fine.

“Mom, it’s fun. I want to be like you when I grow up, do your job.”

I chuckle. Oh, no you don’t. Being in a typing pool is hard. Fluorescent lights, a constant flow of letters to send out, and uncomfortable chairs make it rough. Add the low pay and long hours, and you have misery.

The only bright spots are the laughter from women nearby and the jokes about management. All that sums up my workweek.

“I’m hungry, and I need to pee,” she whispers.

“I do too, and that lunch isn’t filling me up anymore.” I stare back at her in the mirror as I speak, reminding myself that I am a parent.

“Can you call someone, Mom?”

“Yeah, I’ll find a guy with a tow truck.”

That idea dies as I realize I have a few one-dollar bills in my wallet. My cards won’t help. They’re at the max. I need a miracle.

An oversized umbrella wouldn’t hurt either. I reach under the seat with a silent prayer. Nope, nothing. Wait, what do I feel? A jacket for Gracie. Okay, it’s better than nothing.

“Ready to get out of here?” I ask in a halfway optimistic voice.

“And go where?” She stares at the unrelenting rain as she speaks.

“There’s a diner about a block from here. I know the woman who owns it. I’m sure we can get warm cocoa and cookies there.”

“What happened to the idea of calling someone?”

“No one will do anything in this weather, and I have a few bucks in my wallet.”

“Oh, okay.”

We run as fast as we can to reach cover. It takes us a few minutes to walk down each level of the garage. The elevators don’t work after hours.

Gracie clings to me. She cries out a few times as the storm crashes and bangs. I can’t blame her for reacting. Back in our old home, the structure did little in bad weather. She grew up with pounding storms that shook the walls and ripped trees from the ground.

We tumble in the diner, bringing puddles with us. I guide her to a booth far from the door. An old heater sits nearby. The warmth is nice.

“Look who it is! My favorite people ever!” Wanda sings the same words to every customer.

She bobs her way to us, her left leg dragging. Effects from a stroke render it useless. Her hands wobble a bit as she sits two mugs of cocoa in front of us. Every move is difficult for her.

Yet, she smiles as if the world is perfect. Her hair, red as strawberries, stays in the neat bun she prefers. Her makeup never runs or gets out of place. She tells jokes and laughs more than a pack of clowns.

As she puts a plate of cookies and fruit in front of us, I see her watching me. She has sharp instincts. I know because every time I come in, she figures out how my life is moving along.

She pulls up a chair to the end of the booth. “What trouble bubble you stuck in this fine, Friday evening?”

Gracie whispers, “I think my mom’s car is dead forever.”

Wanda stares at her. “There, now. It’s a battery issue, more than likely. Easy-peasy. You’ll see.”

“Except that I can’t call anyone for help.” I look away, not wanting them to see my tears.

“Hmm . . . I’d be happy to help if I had a car myself.” Wanda snaps, chewing her lip.

Gracie says, “I know Dad’s number.”

Dad? Hers? The man that left me in a bloody pulp because I didn’t get the right beer? No way. I left him three months ago with a promise that gone forever would be for eternity. I could just hear him laughing at me, gloating about how I couldn’t make it on my own with Gracie.

I shake my head, and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window. Red hair, shaggy style; shoulders hunched over; wearing a frumpy dress and sweater; and no makeup. Wow, how times change.

Silence looms at the table. I see a flashback of me at seventeen, a model for a swimwear company. How does someone go from being fit and tan in string bikinis to a lame duck? I’m only twenty-seven. Yet, I feel like I’m in my forties.

“Mom? Are you okay?” Gracie’s voice is too quiet.

I blink. Where am I? Oh, The Dew Drop In Diner, Wanda’s baby. I remember her telling me that her husband gave it to her for an anniversary present. He passed away a year later.

“I’m fine. Just blanking out after a long day.” Immediately regret my words. “It’s just the weather and the typing, not you being there, Gracie.”

‘Be a parent,’ I tell myself. ‘Be the parent you want to be. Tell her how much you love her, how she’s your world.’

“Gracie, you’re my everything. No day is happy without you. Having you at work, seeing you type letters to your friends, it’s all a joy. Car trouble is just life. Like bad weather.”

She grins at me. “I love you too, Mom.”

Wanda gives us both a hug. She heads back to the counter. Then she turns back. “Say, here’s an idea for you. You need a friend to call. Try these people.”

Handing me a paper, she gives me an encouraging nod. I take it and scan the words. It sounds like my miracle.

Thirty minutes later, I try to give Wanda my last few bucks. She refuses and grins. “You need those more than I do.”

A friend waits for us in his car. He seems nice, smiles quite a bit, and drives us back to where my car waits. In minutes, he has on our way.

I feel relief as warmth flows from the vents. Gracie, tuckered out, falls asleep until we pull in a parking spot at our apartment building. It’s not much for us, yet it’s a solid roof and the walls don’t shake in storms.

As I’m giving her a warm bath and shampooing her hair, I stop. It dawns on me that I called a friend for help. Yet, I only know a few scraps of details about him.

I remember him telling us his name, Jeff or Joe, something like it. I think back. His black hair reminds me of fresh coal for a grill in the summer. I am a child then, and there is an appeal to the smell of a picnic cookout.

I see his green eyes now, teasing my heart. I’ve always been a sucker for that shade. Mine are brown, plain and simple. Not at all like his. His dance as she speaks. I will never forget that memory from sitting next to him.

I don’t recall much of his clothing. Simple, regular, comfortable. His shoes stand out in my mind. Bright yellow, almost neon, such a contrast to his fashion style.

That’s all I remember. He was a friend to call in need. He came, he helped, and he left. The real friend, the one that I dropped in on, is Wanda.

We didn’t even ask for the cocoa and cookies, and the fresh fruit. She just knew. Customers sat in every booth. Servers hummed around, platters in their hands.

Yet, I remember the way she sat with us. Pulled up a chair and listened. That’s the way she always does. It’s a nice feeling to know that there is one person who cares for Gracie and me as a friend.

I finish getting Gracie to bed after I braid her hair so it doesn’t tangle. I’m just about to curl up on the sofa with a good book when I can’t stop thinking of Wanda.

She doesn’t leave my mind all through the next week. It’s one hell of a mess. I come up short in the layoff lotto. I carry my small box of personal items to the car as a security guard stares at me.

Gracie gets the flu, and then I get it. Crackers, soup, and water are all we can barely keep down. Time moves at a peculiar pace. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something big.

Another week goes by, and then a few more. It’s not long and a new season sets upon us. Gracie has a break from school.

“Let’s go to Wanda’s and see how she’s doing,” I say, my voice light and carefree.

“Do we have the money?” Gracie chews her lip.

I feel terrible that she worries. “Gram and Gramps send us a bit extra each week, remember? A drink and a cookie or two won’t be too much.”

Gracie’s face lights up. She is fond of Wanda. Who wouldn’t be?

We happily make out way to the diner. Gracie tells jokes on the way. She sings a song from music class.

All the joy goes flat as we stand in front of Wanda’s. It’s dark. The door is locked. Sale signs hang in the windows. Dirt collects around the front.

Gracie stands next to me, frozen. I don’t know what to say. I no longer have a friend. I feel alone, lost.

“Let’s go to the park,” I whisper.

Gracie shakes her head no. What do I say now?

“Movies? Library?” I try to find some happy place for her.

We sit on a bench and stare at the diner. It’s like a dead battery. I feel the need to save it.

Nothing changes for the remainder of the season. I walk by the diner each day. It stays dark. Trash builds up. Pigeons flock to it. No one seems to even know that it exists.

Summer arrives with heatwave. It’s not surprising to me. Avaleigh Hills is within a short distance to the ocean. The city tears down trees. Humidity rises. People go by like nothing ever happens.

A woman sits by me one day, a Wednesday I believe. I don’t notice her at first. Then she strikes up a chat.

“That sure was the best place to eat around here,” she says.

I nod. “Yeah, Wanda wouldn’t leave it like this. She loves it.”

Dressed in a bright yellow dress and hat, she leans back. “Is that her name? The woman who owned it?”

“Owned it?” I can’t believe what I hear.

“Yeah, she’s in Heaven now.”

I stare at the ground. In Heaven? As in she died? When? Where the hell have I been?

“When?” I feel so dumb for asking. I should know.

“Oh, about a couple months ago, maybe longer. It was a small service, private and quick. Read about it.”

I thank her for the information and head home, my steps heavy, my heart shattering with each breath. Dead? Wanda?  

More than ever, I need to hear her voice, the laughter she loved. I dial her number. I know no one will pick up. I just want to hear the greeting.

Tears fall. It’s not even her voice. It’s just some dumb mechanical one that tells me to leave a message at the beep. Why should I?

I want to call a friend, not leave a message. Now what?

A knock on the door causes me to jump. I find a man in a dark suit standing there. He introduces himself and hands me a card. There’s a date and address on it.

Two days later, I sit in a law office, dumfounded. Wanda left me the diner? Trenton James, the attorney that just shook my world sits across from me. He urges me to sign his paperwork.

As I do, he hands me a set of keys. I look down at them. I see a pink unicorn keychain. There is a message on the back.

I follow the instructions to call. A woman’s voice gives me a message.

“This is from Wanda in case of death. Thanks for calling, my friend. You need this more than I do. The diner is yours. Treat it well and it’ll bring you treasures for life.”

I wait to hear if there’s more. The woman at the other end tells me there is none. I thank her and hang up.

Shock flows through me. The diner? Treasures? All this because I called a friend? How did she know I am in need?

The answers await Gracie and me as we unlock the door to the diner. I sense Wanda’s presence in every corner and drawer.

“Hah, look at this, Gracie! Her secret cookie recipe!”

“Mom, I don’t how to tell you this.”

I pause and look up. “What is it?”

Gracie’s laugh turns to giggles and snorts of humor. “There’s money in the walls.”

I find her standing in the back. She points to dollar bills. They barely stick out from gaps between the edges. I pull a few out. These are hundreds, not just fives or tens.

All day the same happens as we clean up the diner. Wanda must have spent quite a bit of time taping these in different spots.

Two weeks later, we open the diner. Customers flood in, curious to see our style. Gracie proudly escorts them to booths. She wears a red, curly wig in honor of Wanda.

I still find bills in the weeks after our big day. Gracie and I move into the apartment above the diner. Making friends comes easier for me as I learn how to talk with people.

As for my old car, the lemon? I paint it bright yellow and add flowers to it. I hire a quiet teen to drive it. He’s a good sport with it, safe and courteous. Wearing a curly, red wig and a giant smile ensures a nice number of tips as he delivers orders.

Wanda, my friend for a short time, the one I didn’t even realize that I needed, lives on. Stop by and see Gracie and me if you’re ever in Avaleigh Hills and hungry or in need of a friend.