Dupree's Reward Page 2

  “Good afternoon to you, handsome sir!” Dara returned.

  “Badge number?”

  “1889, Dara Landry.”

  “Alright, you will be in booth # 26. Nice spot.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, right at the intersection. Traffic from both streets intermingle. Everybody is going to see your…?”

  “Banana Nut Bread and Chocolate Zucchini Bread!” Dara replied. “Come by. The first piece is on me.”

  “I’ll be sure and do that. I’m Carl.”

  “I’m Dara,” she said, sticking her hand through the car window.

  “You’re up ahead on the right. Numbers on the front of the table. When you finish unloading, you can park in the bank lot behind your booth.”

  “Thank you, Carl.”

  Just as she was told, her booth was right on the corner. Dara pulled up and got out and stood for a moment looking at the imposing eight feet of the white plastic table in front of her.

  “How am I going to fill that?”

  “It’s smaller than it looks.” A woman’s voice came from behind Dara.

  “Oh, hi,” Dara said, turning. “I thought I was by myself.”

  “I talk to myself too. The shrink says, ‘it’s okay so long as I don’t answer.’” The woman extended her hand, “I’m Cathy Walker, you already met by better half.”

  “Carl?”

  “Yep, twenty-six years. So what are you selling?”

  “Chocolate zucchini and banana nut bread.”

  “Oh, Rhonda won’t like that. Good for you!”

  “Who’s Rhonda?”

  “Preacher’s wife. Thinks her banana nut bread is God’s gift to the world.” Cathy wrinkled her nose. “Too dry for my taste.”

  “You’ll have to come by and try mine. See how it compares.” Dara smiled confidently.

  “Will do. If you need help with anything let me know. My son Mitch is around here somewhere. He’s the fix-it guy. Do you need electricity?”

  “No, but I might need some help hanging my banner,” Dara said, looking up at the two poles on the ends of the booth.

  “Then he’s your guy. I’ll send him over.”

  The table was way too big for Dara’s needs. She tried to figure out how to display her breads, but even if she put out every loaf, the table would swallow them. The loaves were carefully packed in large plastic tubs. Each layer was supported by sixteen-ounce cups in the corners and one in the middle. The tubs allowed for forty loaves each. The five tubs filled the trunk and back seat of the car. Her banner and sleeping bag rode beside her along with the ice chest full of butter.

  The first order of the day was to get the banner up. Dara plopped the plastic roll onto the table and realized that her sign was six feet long, not eight. This is just not what I figured on, she thought. For the first time, her confidence was beginning to show signs of cracking. What have I got myself into? She glared down at the banner she took such great delight in the night before with disgust.

  “Are you the one that needs some help?” Off to Dara’s left approached a tall, auburn-haired man in an Eagles t-shirt.

  “Yeah, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”

  “What seems to be the problem?” he frowned.

  “I got a six-foot banner and an eight-foot table. If I put everything out I brought, it will look like I’m half sold out, or at worst, have nothing to offer.”

  “Are you always such a ray of sunshine?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dara snapped.

  “Nothin’, you’re just kind of a Debbie Downer. I bet you’d be pretty if you smiled.”

  “Well, Studly, I’m just not in the mood for your Alpha Male come on.”

  “Okay,” he said softly, embarrassed by his fumble. “What if you just use one table? I’ll put one behind you and you can keep part of your inventory there. These poles,” he said, grabbing on, “are on stands and I can roll them wherever. What do you think?”

  “That would be perfect!” Dara’s confidence was on the mend.

  Her handsome helper went to work separating the tables. Dara went to the car, suddenly in a panic. Did she forget her table signs? Oh, you’ve got to be kidding, she scolded herself. She moved her sleeping bag and ice chest, nothing. She crawled into the back seat and looked under the front seats, nothing. After she removed the tubs from the trunk, she scoured the trunk for any of her homemade signs complete with cut out daisies, descriptions, and prices. They were nowhere to be found.

  “Is there a stationary store or school supply store in town?”

  “Yeah, Olson’s just up the block.”

  “Wonderful!” Dara said, showing her relief.

  “They’re closed though. Most of the merchants took this weekend off because you guys fill up the street. Most of the stores along here are not what festival-goers are after anyway.” There was a slight groan as he pulled over one of the poles. “Whatcha need?”

  “Oh, I left my table signs at home.”

  “That sucks.”

  “And he’s articulate. Never mind.”

  Within a few minutes, the banner was up and the tables rearranged. “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Much better. Thank you.” Dara paused for a long moment looking at her helper. “I’m sorry if I was a bit nasty with you.”

  “A bit?” There was a pleasing quality to Dara’s helper as he shyly teased.

  “Okay, a lot. I apologize. I’m Dara.”

  “Mitch Walker.”

  “Yeah, your mom said.”

  “Alright, I have extension cords to run and panic attacks to talk down. Good luck tomorrow. If you need anything else, my folks are always wandering around somewhere.”

  “Thank you, Mitch,” Dara said coyly. “Sorry again about the…”

  “No problem. See you later.”

  “Come back for some…” Dara spoke to Mitch’s back as he turned and made his way up the street. He either didn’t hear her or didn’t care.

  Bright and early the next morning, long before the other vendors, Dara was lugging her tubs from the bank parking lot and to her table. She slept in the back seat of her car and seemed to wake up every time the volunteer night watchman came through shining his flashlight in all the car and truck windows. Still, she was wide awake and excited for the first sale of the day. That sale turned out to be Carl.

  “Good morning, I’m here to collect my free slice!” Carl held up a large coffee mug. “Think it’ll go good with this?”

  “Perfect!” Dara said cheerfully. “Banana nut or chocolate zucchini?”

  “Never had chocolate zucchini. Let’s go with that!”

  “Coming right up!” Dara turned and popped the lid off the tube tagged with a Z. “There you are!” she exclaimed. Sitting on the top of the loaves of zucchini bread were her table signs.

  “What’d you find?” Carl queried.

  “The perfect start of my day, I found my missing table signs!”

  “You made quite an impression on my son Mitch,” Carl said, slyly.

  “Yeah, Debbie Downer is a hit at every party.”

  “He called you that?”

  “I didn’t blame him, I was kind of snarky.”

  “We have a tough time getting him to even talk to girls, let alone insult them. You are more than just a pretty face.”

  Dara could feel her face redden as she cut a thick slice of the bread. “Butter?”

  “Don’t tell my wife.” Carl smiled.

  Dara handed the piece of zucchini bread to Carl. He looked at it closely.

  “This has got real, like garden-grown, green, tubular zucchini in it?”

  “The grocery store variety, but, yeah. What do you think?” Dara watched as Carl took a bite and chewed.

  “A lot better than the zucchini crap Cathy makes with tomatoes and garlic.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dara said, hopefully.

  “For sure it is! This is great. The gates are about to open. I’ll catch you later.” Carl turned to walk away. He turned back and said, “Good luck today. And if you see Mitch, be nice!” He laughed and continued down the street.

  She didn’t see Mitch that day. What she did see were hundreds of people coming by her table and buying her baked goods, fifty cents a slice or three dollars a loaf. The gates opened at eight and by two o’clock there was not a loaf of her bread left. Not knowing quite what to do, Dara sat for nearly a half-hour on the table, feet gently kicking back and forth, and seven hundred and sixty-five dollars in her apron.

  She was preparing to leave when a large woman with a bright green, checkered apron approached the table.

  “I came to try some of your banana nut bread I’ve been hearing so much about.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m all sold out,” Dara replied.

  “Well, sweetie, this is a big event. Not like a high school bake sale. You need more than a few loaves to get through the weekend.”

  “I brought two hundred loaves. I didn’t know how many to bring, really. Next year I’ll plan for more.”

  “How many?” The woman asked.

  “Two hundred, a hundred banana nut and a hundred chocolate zucchini. I was afraid I’d be eating it for months if it didn’t sell.” Dara laughed. “Do you have a booth too?”

  “Yes,” the woman said curtly.

  “I’m Dara.”

  “Rhonda.”

  “Oh, the pastor’s wife! Nice to meet you. Sales going good?”

  Rhonda whirled around and said, “Maybe they will be now.” And off she went down the street.

  It took a bit of doing, but Dara was able to pull over the poles and untie her banner. She hummed I’ve Got Confidence as she carefully rolled up the banner. “Dara’s Delights, indeed!” she said,
as she put the banner under her arm, picked up the stack of empty tubs, and headed for her car.

  As she rounded the corner of the bank, a voice called out, “Where you goin’?” It was Cathy, walking quickly towards her.

  “Oh, hello! All sold out! What a great day!”

  “Will you be back next year?”

  “For sure! Put me on the list. Want me to pay now?”

  “No, no we’ll send you the application next spring. I’m so happy you did well. I saw Rhonda stomping off from your booth.” Cathy laughed. “She hasn’t sold diddly. I love it!”

  “Oh, come on,” Dara said, frowning.

  “No, she’s madder than a boiled owl. She’s been just sitting down there. Even the locals are talking about your stuff. Carl was nuts about your chocolate zucchini bread. I meant to get over and get a loaf.”

  “Next year I’ll bring you a loaf. I just love this town!”

  “It seems to have taken a shine to you, too! Especially, Mitch. What did you say to the kid? He’s like a different person.”

  “Nothing, really, honest, nothing. He was so sweet. I was kind of snotty to him. Please tell him how sorry I am, I was out of line.”

  “No problem. Have you got somebody? Boyfriend, or…? Oh, gee, that’s tacky. Forget I asked. It’s a mother thing.”

  “Nope, free as a bird and open to possibilities.” Dara smiled, knowing she wouldn’t be back for a year. Anything could happen in a year.

  “Here, let me give you a hand.” Cathy took the tubs and walked Dara to her car.

  On the way out of town, she smiled as she passed the Moon Café. “See ya later!”

  Dara was a vendor for the next two years. Mitch was waiting for her the next year and they got along much better. She brought six hundred loaves, two hundred each of the banana nut and chocolate zucchini, and two hundred of a new addition, chocolate chip banana. By noon the second day, all six hundred were sold.

  To celebrate, she accepted an invitation to dinner with Mitch. Dara ended up staying at Cathy and Carl’s an extra day. Mitch showed her the town, told of his plans to become a fireman and how, in the winter, he drove the snowplow. Dara found the bashful, small-town hunk quite charming, and when she left they exchanged numbers and promised to stay in touch. In a moment of abandon, Dara gave Mitch a big kiss on the cheek.

  In the months that followed, they chatted, emailed, and texted each other often. In December she came the day after Christmas and rode shotgun in the snowplow, and gave Mitch their first real kiss. As much as Dara hated to admit it, she was falling for Mitch, his family, and the little town.

  Dara came three times to visit White Owl that year. Work kept her from visiting more. On Valentine’s Day, she received a dozen roses and a simple note from Mitch that said. “You’re the one!”

  Dara confided in Halley at lunch one day that she was in love with her firefighter boyfriend. “I think we just might end up married! Can you believe it? He hasn’t asked or anything, but come spring, don’t be surprised.”

  Dara married Mitch in June of that year. Rhonda’s husband officiated and the whole town seemed to turn out. Halley was maid of honor, Nancy was her bridesmaid. Mitch asked his lifelong friend, Ryan, to be his best man, and a very handsome fellow fireman was his groomsman.

  Halley and the groomsman dated on and off for a few months but the distance was too big an issue. Dara loved her new in-laws. Her parents divorced when she was little and she never heard from her father again. During Dara’s third year of high school, her mother remarried. Their relationship was permanently damaged. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in several years and received no RSVP for her wedding invitation.

  The newlyweds settled into a two-bedroom A-Frame just outside of town. Dara became a perfect housewife and worked part-time at Olson’s Stationery.

  Shortly after their third anniversary, Mitch went with a group from Washington to fight California forest fires. The money was really good, and they planned to put the extra away to start a family the following year.

  Dara’s Delights made their sixth appearance at the Music Festival street fair. As always, her baked goods were a huge hit. The line expanded to six items. She arranged through a friend to use the kitchen at the elementary school to produce her biggest inventory ever. She recruited Halley to help her work the booth, now expanded to the full eight feet.

  Dara was loved by the town’s people, and Carl and Cathy insisted she stay a couple of nights a week while Mitch was away. She began to think seriously about having a baby. Mitch made good money, and they were looking into buying a bigger house. She was happier than at any time in her life.

  Dara smiled and waved as she saw her mother and father-in-law coming up the street toward her booth. She was giving a customer their change when the pair stepped up to the booth.

  Dara’s stomach jerked hard when she looked up into Cathy’s red-eyed, tear-stained face. She looked quickly to Carl. He was pale and seemed to be struggling to breathe.

  “What’s wrong?” Dara asked.

  “It is Mitch, sweetie. He’s been killed,” Carl said.

  Dara heard nothing after that. She vaguely remembered Halley taking her in her arms, feeling her hot cheek, and the sound of her sobbing.

  There were no remains to be returned to White Owl. A flag-covered casket sat at the front of the church where they took their vows. Mitch’s White Owl Fire Department helmet sat atop the casket, but Dara knew the wooden box was empty. She refused to go to Carl and Cathy’s after the funeral. She didn’t want to hear anyone say how sorry they were, what a great guy Mitch was, or if there was anything they could do, just ask. She went home alone. Dara laid in their bed and listened to Mitch’s favorite Eagles album over and over.

  In the days to come, she considered going back to Portland, but the idea was soon dismissed, White Owl was now her home.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Greyhound Bus Lines didn’t have a station in White Owl. Passengers boarded and exited right in front of the Post Office, mostly because there was a good place for the bus to turn around at the end of the street.

  Dupree’s back ached from sitting up all night. His seat partner was still sleeping it off when he stood to leave the bus. Pack in hand, he stepped into the morning air with a grunt. He stretched, twisted, and took a deep breath of the amazingly crisp air.

  He walked half a block before he stopped to take a real look around. The little town was clean; the mountains that surrounded it were snowcapped even this late in the year, and the buildings and businesses looked like they dropped right out of an old movie. Many doors and some windows announced the names and hours of the businesses in gold gilt paint. Hawke’s Pharmacy was the most elaborately painted, with its name spelled out in a beautiful, early twentieth-century script.

  There weren’t many cars on the streets, and the bus sounded like thunder as it roared past Dupree and back to the highway. The other two passengers that got out in White Owl were greeted by a man in a heavy four-door pickup.

  “Well, here you are,” Dupree said to himself, realizing the town wouldn’t come awake for another couple of hours.

  Somehow, White Owl was not what Dupree was expecting. The image of artists, hippies, and craftsmen, with shops lining the street, didn’t square with what he saw before him. It was certainly more Mayberry than Woodstock.

  Dupree was overcome by a feeling he couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t disappointment exactly, but it wasn’t excitement either. His early morning arrival perhaps wasn’t the best time to size up the community. He traveled so many miles with an image of his own creation floating around in his head that the reality was hard to process. It’s a bit like having Ringling Brothers Circus imagined and arriving at a two goat, traveling petting zoo.

  Then Dupree stopped walking and chuckled aloud. “Who cares? You had no direction but north when you left L.A. Just because some kid gives you the name of a town doesn’t mean you are somehow required to stay there.”

  Dupree put his hand out in front of him and stuck his thumb up. Still works, he thought. He shrugged and kept walking toward Inspiration Street. He vaguely remembered passing a coffee shop on the bus. That might be a way to get a better idea of where he landed.

  The eight spots in front of The Quarter Moon Café were all filled. That’s a good sign, he thought, as he walked across the street.

  “You could be arrested for jaywalking you know!” a white-haired man called from where he was getting in his car. “But not here!” He burst into laughter at his joke and got in the car.