man—at least a head taller than me and twice as wide—nodded toward me before handing me a small bowl of boiled peanuts. I assumed this was Frank, the regular grill man. Unlike Claude, he said nothing. Not much of a chatter, which was fine with me.
In honor of my grandfather, I ordered a BLT with fries and a pickle. Behind me, I overheard two guys at one of the tables talking about their fishing trip the weekend before, lamenting their lack of luck, and debating better places to try the following weekend. I peeked over my shoulder. Both were wearing baseball caps; one had the sinewy arms associated with construction, while the other wore a uniform of one of the propane distributors. When one of them mentioned that he’d spotted an alligator recently, my ears perked up.
“Four of ’em actually,” he went on. “Sunnin’ right there on the bank between the trees.”
“Big ones?” his friend asked.
“Nah. Juveniles, probably.”
“Where?”
“You know where the boat launch is? A couple of bends in the river after that, on your right. You remember the bald eagle’s nest in the cypress tree? Right around there.”
“What eagle’s nest?”
“Same nest as last year.”
“I didn’t see it last year.”
“That’s because you never take the time to look around.”
“I’m fishing,” he answered, “not sightseeing.”
“You try the quarry? I’ve had some luck with bass there lately…”
The conversation returned to fishing again and I found myself tuning out. I was, however, interested in the alligators and the bald eagles and wondered if Natalie might want to join me.
By then, my meal was ready, and Frank placed the plate in front of me. I took a bite, confirming that it never tasted as good anywhere else. I finished the sandwich and the pickle, but had only a few of the fries. I could feel my arteries hardening as I sampled them, but my taste buds were happy.
As I was finishing up, I glanced through the windows toward the front of the store and saw a pair of elderly gentlemen sitting in the rockers on the porch. Just what I’d been hoping for. Rising from my seat, I approached the register. Claude, without the apron and shiny face, seemed far more content than he was the last time I’d been here.
“Hey, Claude,” I greeted him. “Is that your father out front?”
He leaned forward to peek over my shoulder. “Yeah, that’s him. The one with the overalls. The other guy is Jerrold.”
“Do you think your dad would mind if I spoke with him about my grandfather?”
“Feel free. Can’t guarantee he’ll know anything. Assuming he even hears what you’re asking.”
“Of course.”
“Word of advice? Watch out for Jerrold. Half the time, I have no idea what he’s talking about or what he finds so funny.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly but I nodded. “How long do you think your father will be here?”
“They haven’t eaten yet, so I reckon he’ll be here at least another hour.”
“What does he usually have for lunch?”
“The barbecue sandwich with slaw. And hush puppies.”
“How about I buy that for him?”
“Why? It’s not like I can charge him. He still owns a portion of the store.”
“I figure if I’m going to try to get some information from him, it’s the least I can do.”
“It’s your money.” He shrugged.
I pulled some cash from my wallet and handed it over, watching as he added it to the drawer. He cupped a hand at the corner of his mouth and called across the store. “Hey, Frank. Get Daddy the usual, okay? And hand it to Trevor here. He’ll bring it out.”
The meal didn’t take long to prepare and when it was ready, I ferried the plate to the front door. As I passed the register, Claude loosened the cap on a Yoo-hoo, then tightened it slightly before holding it out to me. “You’ll need this, too.”
“Yoo-hoo?”
“It’s his favorite. He’s been drinking it as long as I can remember.”
I took the bottle and with my hands full, I used my hips to push open the door. As I approached, Jim looked up, his face as gnarled and wrinkled as his hands, all bone and skin and liver spots. He wore glasses and a few of his teeth were missing, but I thought I saw a spark of curiosity in his expression that made me believe he was sharper, and more aware, than Claude’s description of him might indicate. Then again, maybe I was just being optimistic.
“Hi, Jim. I thought I’d bring out your lunch,” I started.