Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [103]
“Magical mysteries, fabulous fables, soulful songs, and terrifying tales. You’ll hear it all in the next two and a half days. So set your imaginations free, hold on to your hats, and let the stories begin.” I ended my speech with an Olympic-like flourish. Evangeline took the stage after me, pulling up a stool and calling the children to come close to the stage to hear the story of Gabriel and Evangeline and their porcine adventures.
“You’re missing your story,” I told Gabe when I joined him and the Clearys at a redwood picnic table near the food court.
“I’ll survive,” Gabe said. “What do you want to eat? Jim and I were just going to check it out.”
“What story?” Jim asked. I explained about Evangeline’s swine-filled rendition of the traditional Cajun poem.
“Sounds interesting,” he said, nudging Gabe. “Too bad we’re missing it, Oneeda.”
“She’s repeating it tomorrow,” I said. “Check your program. I just wanted something special to get the ball rolling.”
“Let’s see it, Jimmy,” Oneeda said.
“Whatever you want,” he replied, his hand stroking her thick black hair. His actions with her were always so easy and caring. I knew from Oneeda that her illness, first diagnosed when she was in her late thirties, had been difficult on both of them, but the deep and steadfast love of thirty-five years had seen them through the days when they both wanted to walk out. I glanced over at Gabe, who watched their actions with an odd look on his face. Was he wondering the same thing I was? We hadn’t even known each other a year. If that were him and me in that position, would our love be that strong?
Jim gave Oneeda’s hair one last stroke. “Now, what is it you ladies are craving? Me and the boy here will see if we can use our hunter skills to capture it.” His teasing words told me that Jim had moved into his civilian mode. At work he was entirely professional in his relationship with Gabe, but whenever we saw them socially, he instantly took advantage of the twelve-year difference in their ages and treated him like a younger brother.
“Go, go,” Oneeda said, waving her hand at him. “You choose.”
“I want beef,” I told Gabe. “None of those barbecued vegetable kabobs. And a Coke.”
“Help, I can’t breathe,” he said in a squeaky cartoon voice. It was a joke he’d started in an effort to get me to eat better. Supposedly it was the voice of my arteries screaming for mercy.
“Chief Ortiz, you’re going to be screaming you can’t breathe if you don’t go get my dinner without any backtalk.”
“Tell ’em, honey,” Oneeda said, hitting her hand lightly on the handle of her wheelchair and letting out a delighted chuckle.
“Better do as she says,” Jim advised. “She’s been in training with a pro. The things I could tell you Oneeda’s done to me—”
“Hit the road, Officer,” she commanded.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her. He and Gabe laughed easily as they melted into the crowd moving toward the snack booths.
“Okay, girlfriend.” Oneeda reached up and gestured her knuckle toward my swollen eye. “Doorknob?” Her expression was a mixture of affection and the look a mother gets when you’ve done something you shouldn’t have. After raising four children, Oneeda was especially proficient with that second look.
I gently swatted at her hand. “Now, don’t try and mother me. I know Jim told you the whole story. And you would have done the same, so don’t go throwing any sharp stones at my little glass bungalow.”
She smiled slowly. “Yes, but I still worry. How much did Gabe yell about this one?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “Frankly, I think poor Sam took the brunt of it. I’m really worried about him and Gabe. It doesn’t look like they’re ever going to be on decent speaking terms.”
“Jimmy and Martin didn’t talk for two years once.” Martin was their only son. He was thirty-two and an assistant DA in Fresno.