The American Café

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199 29 The next morning, Tom Duncan stormed into the café just as Sadie emerged from the kitchen. “I need to talk to you again,” he blurted. “Can it wait, Tom? Rosalee doesn’t work on Tuesday mornings, and I’m kind of busy.” She picked up the coffeepot and refilled coffee cups up and down the counter. Virgil Wilson and his son, Junior, held their cups in midair as she poured. One of the other sawmill workers jumped up to make another pot for her. Tom stood for a moment and then sat on the last empty stool at the end of the counter. “Okay, I’ll wait.” Sadie automatically filled a glass with water and slid it in front of him. “Want something to eat or drink?” He took a sip of water. “Thanks to you my office is going to be crawling with auditors tomorrow.” “That’s not my fault.” “Was you-know-who on the you-know-what?” he asked hoping to disguise the content of his question to anyone listening. “I don’t know.” Sadie turned away to take a customer’s money, then returned to clear dishes from a nearby table. Tom swiveled on his seat as she walked past him carrying dishes toward the kitchen. “What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t you see it?” “Nope.” “Why not? What happened?” Two plates appeared in the pass-through window. Sadie stacked them on her left hand and wrist like a pro, picked up the coffeepot, and delivered all of it to a man and woman seated in the corner booth, then returned the coffeepot to its burner behind the counter. “They took it with them, Tom,” she said. “I didn’t get to see it. It’s in their hands now. They’ll take care of it, I promise.” 200 “You know the auditors are going to ask for it.” “So?” “I shouldn’t have let you take it.” Distress crept into Tom’s voice. “I didn’t take it. Just tell them what happened, Tom. You didn’t do anything wrong by giving it to the police.” Tom looked around quickly when she mentioned the police. “Tom, try to think logically,” she said. “If the home office is sending auditors, who do you think contacted them? It wasn’t me.” Tom gulped down the rest of his water. “If I get fired, it’s going to be your fault.” Sadie shook her head as Tom stomped out the front door. It was the first time in a long while that Rosalee didn’t want to go to her AA meeting. But then she thought about her dead friend, Logan, how he had helped her turn her life around, and about the promise she’d made to him to stay sober. She had made that same commitment to Sadie when she took the job at the café. With those reminders echoing in her head, she took a deep breath and turned her Jeep south toward Tahlequah. Her stomach growled and she wished she had taken time for breakfast. But her reluctance to see her mother had overridden her hunger pangs. Maybe she would stop and get something on the way. Labor Day had come and gone, and the early autumn days were beginning to shorten. The road between Liberty and Tahlequah crawled with active wildlife enjoying the cool mornings. A herd of deer stood motionless near the road until her vehicle got close, then they darted in all directions. She shrieked and hit the brakes. White tails and hooves bounced over a nearby fence and disappeared into a line of trees. She let out a long breath and resumed her normal speed, wondering if she would run into John Mobley at the meeting. What would she say to him? The idea of securing a DNA or blood sample from him seemed less feasible now that they were about to come face-to-face. It was at times like this she questioned her obsession to find out the truth about her past. What if she uncovered something she didn’t really want to know? In the larger scope of things, she thought, maybe the identity of her birth mother wasn’t that important. 201 When she parked in front of the church where the AA group met, she noticed John Mobley’s motorcycle. A small towel lay on the ground...