Pie Town - Lynne Hinton [17]
Frank shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The two men glanced at the street. A car was turning in their direction.
Following it with their eyes as it stopped and pulled in, they both recognized the car and the driver.
“Mrs. Romero needs her tires rotated,” Frank said, acknowledging his next customer.
Oris watched as the car pulled in behind his Buick. He turned back to Frank. “Mrs. Romero has had those tires since the 1980s,” he commented. “Seems like to me they need more than just rotating.”
Both men waited as the woman steered her car around them and then stopped beside Oris’s, parked, and stepped out. “Hello, Oris,” Mary said as a greeting to the man she had known all of her life. She was carrying her purse on her arm. She was wearing a pink dress and high-heeled shoes.
“Mary,” he said in reply. He made a slight smile. “You going to a wedding?” he asked. “Or did you get dressed up for Frank here?”
“It’s Wednesday, Oris,” she replied.
He waited, not understanding her reference. “What? Nobody gets married on a Wednesday?” he finally asked.
She made a humph and turned to Frank. “Can you fit me in?” she asked the mechanic.
“Of course,” Frank replied. “Oris, always a pleasure,” he said as he nodded at his other customer. “You should get out of this heat,” he said to the older man, whose face was reddened by the sun. “It’s not good for white skin.”
Oris wiped his forehead but stayed where he was. “I’ll see you at the birthday party,” he said, referring to Alex’s weekend party. “Hey, how about bringing me a soda from your cooler?” he asked. “A little service can go a long way with customer loyalty.”
Frank grinned and walked over to Mary’s car and sat down in the driver’s side. The keys were still in the ignition, and he cranked the car and pulled it into the open garage bay.
Oris stood at his car next to Mary Romero. “So you’re going to have to help me out here, Mary,” he said. “What happens on Wednesday?”
“I go to Mass in the morning, and then I drive out to be with Clarence,” she replied, appearing as if she didn’t care to talk to the man questioning her.
“Mary,” Oris responded, trying to sound sympathetic, “Clarence is dead.”
“I know Clarence is dead!” she shouted, pulling her arms around her waist, her purse slamming against her hip. “I go to the cemetery and eat lunch with him every Wednesday,” she explained.
“Somebody serves food at the cemetery?” he asked, appearing bewildered.
She blew out a long breath and rolled her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I take my own lunch, an enchilada and some chips,” she said.
“You take Clarence anything?” Oris asked. “Or do you just eat in front of him making him even more envious of the fact that he’s dead and can’t have lunch?”
A young boy, a summer worker at Frank’s garage, came toward Oris and Mary with a couple of cans of soda. “Mr. Frank says you owe me two dollars.” He handed them the drinks.
“Well, for God’s sake,” Oris complained. He pulled out his wallet and got two one-dollar bills. “You should find somewhere else to work, young man. Frank Twinhorse is a bad influence.”
The boy shrugged and turned away, stuffing the bills into his pockets.
Both Oris and Mary popped open their drinks and took long swallows.
“So what were we talking about?” Oris asked. Before Mary answered, he recalled the conversation. “Oh, that’s right. You’re eating lunch at your husband’s grave, and you were getting ready to tell me what you take him to eat.”
“He likes posole,” she answered.
Oris smiled. “Well, now that’s the truth,” he noted. “Green chile on the side?” he asked.
Mary turned to face the man. She seemed to soften. “Of course, green chile on the side. How else would I serve my loving husband?”
Oris laughed.
“You used to eat lunch together every week,” she said, recalling the friendship her husband had with Oris.
He nodded. “At the café. Tuesday special. He