Finding Bluefield (23 page)

The screen door was cool to the touch as Nicky pulled it open and stepped through the portal. The original art deco had become popular again and gave the place a hip look that was unexpected. Air-conditioners had replaced the two big fans, but little else had changed since the day Nicky said a silent good-bye to her kitchen and her past. Except the people. The people were different. Black and white hospital workers in their scrubs shared several booths. High school kids were sprinkled about the diner, and some were also in mixed groups. In fact, there might be more blacks in the diner at that moment than in all of Medford.

“Sit anywhere you like, ma’am,” the woman behind the cash register said.

Nicky wondered how long she’d been standing by the door and staring. She took a seat at the counter and a cup of hot coffee was placed in front of her. Yes, she was back in Southland. She read the specials on the chalkboard and went with the dinner special: chicken with biscuits, potatoes and gravy. The menu listed blackberry pie, but they had run out.

“You got someone at the hospital?” the waitress asked as she placed the food in front of Nicky.

“No,” Nicky said, trying to revive her accent that had been smoothed over by all those northern winters. She took a bite and smiled. That forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy alone made the whole trip worth it. They must be using the same recipes. Her recipes. With every bite, she felt more revived.

“How’s everything?” the waitress said, returning to fill Nicky’s coffee.

“Perfect.”

“You see the football game? I heard it was a good game.”

Nicky knew the game the waitress was playing. “Is this still Lucinda’s place?”

“You’re looking for Lucinda?” she asked.

“Just wondering.”

“You know Lucinda?”

“Once upon. Another lifetime.”

“Really? What’s the connection? Family?”

“I cooked for Lucinda a long time ago,” Nicky said.

“Really? Here?”

“Is she still around?”

“Well, Lucinda sold the diner about ten years ago. A couple of years ago she moved to Florida year-round.”

“Florida?” Nicky said.

“With her sister. She comes up every now and then during the summer.”

“The place looks great. Looks almost the same as when I worked here.”

“When was that?”

“Before you were born probably,” Nicky said.

“You don’t look that old, and I’m not that young.”

“Eighteen years.”

“You worked here eighteen years ago?”

“Yeah,” Nicky said.

“Nineteen sixty-four?”

“Seems like yesterday.

“You want to see the kitchen?”

“I’d love to.” Nicky followed the waitress through the swinging doors and was covered by a flood of memories. “Do you know who bought the diner?”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “My family.”

“Really?”

“Yes. My father bought the diner from Lucinda.”

“I’m glad he kept it the same,” Nicky said. “Whoever does the cooking, well, the chicken is awesome.”

“My sister. I’ll tell her.”

Nicky looked around at the pots and pans and utensils. She wandered over to the dishwashing area where a teenage boy was spraying down plates. She went over to a shelf that had books of recipes lined on it. She spotted hers and took it off the shelf.

“You’re Nicky? I knew it.”

Nicky looked up. “Yes, but—”

“That’s your recipe book. Charlene Hunter,” the waitress said, extending her hand toward Nicky as they strolled around like they were at a museum.

“Nicky,” she said, taking Charlene’s hand in hers. “Nicky Stewart.”

Charlene tightened her grip on Nicky’s hand. “And you say you worked here eighteen years ago and you left when you had a baby?”

“How do you know that?”

Charlene was still holding Nicky’s hand but finally let go of it. “Hunter is my married name. My family name is Ellison.”

“Ellison?”

“Yes.”

“I worked with a man named Leroy Ellison.”

“That would be my father.”

“Your father?” Nicky leaned against the side of the walk-in cooler.

“Yes. He always talked about you.”

“Is Leroy here?” Nicky said, standing up straight.

“I wish,” Charlene said. “He passed away last year.”

Nicky leaned back again and shut her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I hadn’t missed him.”

“Let’s go sit down,” Charlene said, leading Nicky back out of the kitchen to an empty booth. She asked one of the waitresses to bring over some coffee and a couple of slices of peach pie.

“Daddy always wondered what made you do it,” Charlene said after Nicky sat down.

“Do what?”

“Drive him.”

“I liked to drive. Still do.” Nicky knew that wasn’t enough.

“Weren’t you pregnant?”

“Thought I was about to give birth on the ride back. Turned out to be gas from the ribs I got at Bub’s over in Richmond.”

“Daddy had no idea why you took such a risk to help him,” Charlene said. “He said you offered, weren’t even asked.”

“Seemed like the right thing to do. Anyway, I owed him,” Nicky said. She was trying to absorb the fact that Leroy had come back to Bluefield and she didn’t. “I can’t believe Leroy bought the diner.”

“Why’d you owe Daddy? He never said anything. What’d he do for you?”

“He never knew it, but I owed him. I never told him that. I wish I had. I should have. He probably thought he owed me, but we were even. It’s going to sound silly,” Nicky said. “Won’t make any sense at all.”

“Doesn’t matter. Please tell me.”

“I went to the King march in nineteen sixty-three because of your father. I didn’t go with him, but something happened there that changed my life. I’m not trying to make a hero out of him, but I drove him to say thanks. That’s all. Of course, he never knew that.”

“What happened?”

Here goes. “I met a guy and got pregnant.”

“That’s it?” Charlene asked.

“I said it seems silly now, but it was a big deal to me back then,” Nicky said. “The thing is, I might never have had a child if I didn’t go to the march.” Nicky wanted to change the subject. “Now you tell me something. How did your father end up moving back? Wasn’t it dangerous?”

“About six months after Daddy moved to New York and got settled, Mom brought us north to stay with him,” Charlene said. “Anyway, he hated living up north. He used to think the north was the answer because so many black folk went up there and never came back. The thing is, he lived a Southern life in the middle of Harlem and finally, he decided that he should live that life back in the South. By nineteen seventy, it seemed like enough time had passed, enough had changed, and Daddy said he would rather take his chances back in Bluefield than in New York City.”

“How’d he end up buying the diner?” Nicky said.

“Daddy worked as a cook in New York,” Charlene said, “Amsterdam Avenue, close to where we lived. People up there loved his Southern cooking. Anyway, he saved up a lot of money, and when we came back, he convinced Lucinda that if she gave him a job, more black folks would start eating here and she would be able to retire sooner and sell him the diner. After he started working here, he just kept reminding her that he was going to buy her place. When all the chains started opening up along 147, Lucinda took Daddy up on his offer. Probably thought she’d lose the business eventually anyway, so may as well take his money.”

“I still can’t believe he came back,” Nicky said. “I’d have never guessed.”

“So how come you left?”

“That is either a very short or very long story. I’ll just say that it wasn’t easy for me to leave, but it was even harder to stay.”

“There are some pictures of Daddy by the cash register,” Charlene said. “See if you recognize him.”

Charlene would not let Nicky pay for anything and insisted that she come back the next day to meet her mother and sister. Then she called ahead to the Bluefield Motel to be sure that Nicky had a room waiting for her.

Back in her car, Nicky remembered driving Carol-Ann back to the Bluefield Motel the last time they saw each other. It’s likely, Nicky realized, that Carol-Ann had returned to Bluefield with her family more than once over the years. Probably ate right there in the diner.

Nicky checked in, got the key, and opened the room. She had no luggage to carry in and nothing to change into. After collapsing on the bed, she took off her clothes and aired them out for the next day. She ran the bath and pulled the phone close to the tub. Time to phone home.

1982

Barbara finished up with her patient and checked in with her receptionist. She hadn’t heard from Nicky all day and was hoping to meet her in town for dinner.

“Still no messages,” the receptionist told Barbara.

“Could you try my house again?” Barbara said, heading back to an exam room. I’m getting Nicky a beeper. I don’t care how much she objects. I’ll tell her it’s so Paul can get in touch with her anytime. She’ll go for that.

There was still no word from Nicky when Barbara left the office, and when she pulled into her driveway, Nicky’s car wasn’t there. At that moment, she was less concerned than annoyed. Since Paul had left for college, Nicky didn’t stick around the house waiting on Barbara’s return. But it was Friday night, and plan or no plan, it was unusual for them not to spend it together. By nine, Barbara had eaten enough leftovers, read enough newspaper, drank enough wine, and watched enough TV. By nine, it was time to worry. She dialed Susan.

“Have you heard from Nicky this evening?” Barbara asked.

“Not me,” Abe said. “Let me get Susan.”

“I haven’t spoken to her all day,” Susan said. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know where she is. She left this morning for a doctor’s appointment,” Barbara said. “Maybe she had a meeting, but it’s not on the calendar.”

“Could she be with the sanctuary family?” Susan asked.

“When she’s with the Salvadorans, she doesn’t put them on the calendar, but she writes something down. There’s nothing. I think this has to do with Carol-Ann.”

“You sound awful,” Susan said. “I’ll be right over.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m coming over.”

By eleven o’clock, Susan had put up a fresh pot of coffee, and had called the state and local police, and the emergency room. Barbara was glad not to have gotten any leads but was still frustrated, nervous, and angry at Nicky’s disappearance. She sat at the kitchen table picking at the marble cake Susan brought over. She was showing Susan pictures of Carol-Ann.

“Did you speak to Paul tonight?” Susan said. “Maybe Nicky called him.”

“I’ll try him,” Barbara said, heading for the phone. “It’s Friday night and he’s in college,” she said, as his phone rang several times. “There’s no answer.”

Susan yawned.

“Go home, Susan,” Barbara said. “Get some sleep. I’ll call if anything comes up. Nicky’s probably out driving around trying to figure out how to deal with Carol-Ann’s death. She can drive endlessly without looking at the time.”

“I’m sure Nicky’s fine,” Susan said. “It’s you I’m worried about.” Susan gave Barbara a hug.

“Me?”

“You have to promise to call me as soon as you hear something.” Susan turned to leave. “You have to promise to wake me or I won’t be able to sleep.”

Barbara lay down on the couch and drifted off to sleep during Johnny Carson’s monologue. A few minutes later, she was jolted awake by the phone’s ring. Her brain raced to orient itself like she had trained it to do. Her adrenaline kicked right in, her pulse quickened, and she remembered Nicky. Her hands shook as she lifted the receiver.

“It’s me,” Nicky said softly.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Where are you? I’ve been worried sick. I tried all the hospitals and the state police. I called the Meeting House. I didn’t know if you were arrested or lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere?”

“Why is it always a ditch?” Nicky said.

“I added arrested.”

“I’m in Bluefield.”

“Where?”

“Virginia?” Nicky said.

“Now that hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Me neither. I was driving home from my doctor’s appointment. I wasn’t paying much attention, just driving. I must have got on Eighty-one heading south instead of north. I drove for an hour before I even noticed. That’s when I realized where I was going and I knew I had to just keep driving.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Barbara said.

“You would have made me stop. Or I would have stopped myself. I don’t know. But I knew if I called I wouldn’t go, and I didn’t want to turn back.”

“You’ve been gone for twelve hours.”

“Yeah, I made good time. The Chevy was great,” Nicky said.

“I meant you could have called sooner.”