Chapter 5: Storyhour

Evidently, I didn't miss storyhour. Jason was just finishing his breakfast in the hotel dining room. I took a vacant seat at the far end of the counter, by the restaurant front door.

One of the "J's" dropped a cup in front of me and filled it. She added a spoon, a small stainless pitcher of real cream and a glass pour jar of sugar, rubbed my head and hurried away. I wonder which one that was?

For a town totally isolated by tropical storm flooding, there were sure a lot of people having breakfast. I didn't think that many old men could exist in one place. I didn't think that many old men could eat in silence, either. The quiet was 'unnerving'.

The four "J's" were keeping busy pouring coffee and serving peppered, over easy eggs, crisp bacon, scattered hash browns and toast; dry, not buttered. Scattered here and there among the locals were a few obvious summerfolk.

They were pretty easy to spot ... omelets, sausage and buttered toast, never mind the khaki shorts, loud Hawaiian shirts, or socks and sandals. It was spring so they must be full time residents but, summerfolk just the same.

It takes a long time and a few winters to become 'local'. Some folks never get there.

To a man, the locals were dressed in khaki pants, with pressed creases so sharp you could cut slices in the newspapers they were all reading. Starched button-down off white shirts with breast pocket protectors filled with ink pens, sharpened number 2 pencils and a slide rule.

They all wore deck-shoes, and that felt odd to me; 55 miles to the ocean and all these academic looking old men are wearing deck shoes.

Off in the distance, a bell clanged. Down the street a horn tootled.

Like puppets, the locals folded their newspapers, reached under the table, retrieved a white hardhat with some foreign writing fore and numbers aft, stood and filed out the front door of the restaurant.

A white school bus type bus stopped at the side steps, the men filed onboard, flashing a wallet badge as they passed the armed driver and took a seat, starting at the back and filling the seats on both sides as the bus idled. The driver stood, picked up a chart, and started checking the seating.

When he got to the middle he stopped, gave the two old men seated there a look. He cleared his throat

They jumped up, exchanged seats, and sat back down. The driver smiled, shook his head, finished his check list, sat down and accelerated away much faster than was either safe or prudent.

Jason picked up his cane, stopped by where I was watching the old men show. He pointed at the front door with his cane and said,

"I'll be out on the porch as soon as I finish up in the gentleman's reading room. When you take on a load in the morning, you should leave one. Regularity at my age is a blessing and much better than sex, it lasts longer."

He roared out his laughter until he dissolved into a fit of coughing.

A "J" stopped by me and said I could take my cup with me. "Don't let Jason start until we get there. The summerfolk are here for the story, too."

I stepped out of the lobby on to the veranda, my car was still in front of the steps. 'I should move that, ' I thought.

I stepped back in the lobby. There was some kind of confabulation going on at the desk. It stopped when I approached.

"John," I said.

"I'm Jerry, it's John's day off." The man at the counter continued, "You're Mr. Austin in the front suite." He looked at the ledger. "With." He traced his finger along the entry until he got to the heading SAFE. An involuntary, "Oh MY!" escaped his lips.

"I can see I'm going to be looking over my shoulder the rest of my stay."

"Oh?" He looked confused. Worried but confused.

"My dad is Mister. My brother is Junior. I'm plain Dave. David if it's formal, David James if I'm in trouble. Jerry, I am only my father's son." His face cleared.

Jerry laughed, "Yes sir, Dave it is. May I help you?"