The Bootlegger
Chapter 23

Copyright© 2019 by MysteryWriter

Sarah left the farm headed home to the bigger city of North Wilkerboro, so I was all alone. I didn’t cry, but I did have a deep feeling of loss. Not so much for my loss of Sarah, as a fixture in my life, since she never had been one. It was more a loss of innocence. I know you wonder how I can think of myself as innocent of anything. In the case of Sarah, I was an innocent. Her last visit opened my eyes.

I had no idea what her motives were, but I realized at that time how close I had come to ruining her life. If she had gone through with her plan to confess to everything, and because of her confession Marty walked away, she would be all lone in life. Just like I was alone. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Okay, maybe on Amos and Lucy, but no one else.

I hadn’t known that Sarah was in a serious relationship at the time, but no matter what I did know or didn’t, what I did wasn’t right. I had used her without regard for how it would effect her. I carried enough baggage of my own, so I determined to allow her to carry her own in this case. I did agree with myself, to maintain my relationship with Sarah on her terms, for the time being anyway. I did love her in my own way, which probably wasn’t like anyone else. There was something about taking a life before you got laid that warped your sense of values, I thought.

I knew that the thing with Sarah was going to end badly, and that worried me. It didn’t worry me enough to end it at that moment.

I mustered enough energy to plan on cooking dinner that night. I had no idea what got into me, but I wanted to make something from my own kitchen. It actually was the kitchen Lucy had demanded I put in for Ruth and Paris. That was only a technicality, which made no real difference.

I did have to walk the short distance to the chicken house. In the real farm world, the fact that the barn was so close to the house, would instantly give away it’s secret. On a real farm, a real chicken house, or even a real working barn would not be located so close to the house. It was all about the smells. When one took all that into consideration, it was obviously a storage building.

When I entered the front walk in door of the barn, the camper trailer was to the left, and the larger chest freezer was to the right. Beside the freezer, there was a double door metal storage cabinet with canned and dried foods. I found some Ground beef in the Freezer, a can of red beans, a bag of instant dried brown rice, and a can of crushed tomato sauce in the cabinet.

I knew that Ruth had kept dried onion flakes in her spice rack. So I spent the afternoon making a kind of Mexican dish. It would have no name, like the spaghetti western movie of the 1960’s. How did I know about spaghetti westerns, I asked myself.

I cooked it most of the afternoon. Even though half the shit was precooked. All except the ground beef and the instant dried rice. Somehow I managed to use almost every pan in the kitchen in the making of he simple dish.

When I finished, I realized that there was more food than I could eat, or store in the apartment sized refrigerator. With that in mind I started calling around. By the time I got to the last contact in my phone, I was ready to give up.

“Hey June, what are you doing for dinner?” I asked.

“Nothing at all why?” she asked.

“I had a wild hair up my ass and cooked way more food than I can eat alone. Why don’t you pick your favorite person, and come to dinner.” I suggested.

“What the fuck has gotten into you? You never cook, you have never invited me to dinner, and you never invited me to the farm,” she stated it as a fact not a question. The thing that is even more strange is you invited me to bring a guest. You never do that either.”

“Okay, if you aren’t interested, you could have just said so,” I replied.

“Hell no, you don’t get off that easy,” she said. “There is a second floor tenant. Would you mind if I brought him.”

“Of course not, but you can do one thing for me, stop by the bread shop and get a loaf of french bread. The kind served with spaghetti. I demanded. Don’t worry I’ll pay you back,” I promised.

“I know you don’t drink, but can I bring a six pack as well,” she asked.

“Sure, but you are not leaving here in the van, if you have more than two beers with dinner,” I warned her.

“Gotcha boss,” she answered.

An hour later June and Michael arrived at the gravel parking lot of the Shack. I walked out to greet them. I hugged June and shook Michael’s hand. Michael was almost as old as me. He was far too old for June. I hoped that she brought the older man because he needed a free meal, not because she was involved with him. She knew better than to date a resident of Peace Haven.

“Come on in. You two are my test, guests,” I suggested as they sat down with a beer each. While I sliced the bread, I sipped on a large glass of instant iced tea. I finished preparing to served up the plates filled with the mixture which I called ‘glop’. I called it that because I lacked a better name for it.

“So Michael how do you like your apartment?” I asked.

“I love it. It’s just the right size for a divorced man. Especially one who has difficulty getting around. You might have noticed I walk with a cane,” he replied. “I don’t need that inside the apartment, but it comes in handy when I’m outside.”

“You a Vet?” I asked.

“Yes, two tours in the sand box,” he said. “June thought you might have been there.”

“That’s the rumor,” June explained.

“One tour in Iraq, and one tour in the state’s prison farm,” I replied. I thought I would see how June took that news. She didn’t bat an eye. Obviously the Holler was filled with ex-cons.

 
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