Southern Fried Sushi, page 8
I’m sure it’s a great place.”
Faye looked down shyly, still smiling. “None taken, sweetie. An’ you’re right. It ain’t like people are knockin’ down our doors to get here. Kids don’t stay here much after they grow up, and why should they? Except now people are realizin’ what a beautiful place we have, without much crime and pollution, and they’re buying it up lot after lot.
“Staunton’s always been a small town. But some of us sorta like the quiet life, watching the seasons change and living where people know your name. I’m happy here. Doubt I’ll ever move. After my husband died I thought I might, but I feel closer to him here. It’s my home.”
I sighed, feeling depressed. There sure was a lot of dying in this town. The waitress poured more tea with a pretty tinkling sound into our glasses.
“I imagine you’ve seen whole worlds I cain’t even imagine, an’ still in yer young years,” said Faye a little wistfully. “I guess I’m too old for sushi, ain’t I?” She laughed.
My tongue tingled at the memory of salty soy sauce and pungent ginger. “You’ve never tried it? Where can we find sushi around here? I’ll treat you.”
Ah. Sushi. Now we were speaking my language.
“Here? Shucks. I don’t reckon Staunton’s got any.”
I blinked as if I hadn’t understood. “You’re kidding. I mean … nowhere? Not even …?”
Faye thought hard. “They had a couple a places in the past, I reckon, but they didn’t last real long. That last place got shut down.”
I stirred my ice, choking back a snarky comment.
“But if you find it, I’ll try it! You bet yer boots!”
I managed to smile back. For some reason I liked this woman, even if Staunton left … ahem … lots to be desired.
“Oh, look. I think that’s our dinner.”
The steaming tray loomed larger than I’d imagined, threatening to spill over. The waitress set in front of me a huge trout, golden-brown and crisp, along with my salad and a plate of something dark green and slimy looking.
Aha. The collard greens. I poked at them with my fork, and pink bits of ham smiled back.
“Well, here we are.” Faye smiled happily. “Do ya mind if I pray for our meal?”
I quickly put my fork down. To each his own. “Uh … sure. Go ahead.” And she took my hands.
She prayed for the food, for the hands that prepared it, and for me as I faced all the difficulties of the coming days. Then she said, “Amen.” I looked around to see people staring at us, but no. In Japan two foreign women holding hands with closed eyes would definitely attract attention.
I picked up my fork. “What’s ‘amen’? Everybody says that. What does it mean?”
“‘So let it be done.’ Something like that.”
We dug into our food. Right. Landlocked Staunton doesn’t have sushi. I poked at my golden-brown fish with a fork, hoping some redneck didn’t haul it here in his filthy bait bucket.
And the collard greens looked exactly like chopped grass, but tasted salty, hearty, meaty. From there, though, the meal went downhill. Faye’s spoon bread had a gross, spongy texture, like soggy breakfast cereal.
To cover my disgust, I excused myself and took a picture of my collard greens for Kyoko.
Faye chuckled. “You got one of them expensive pitcher phones, don’t ya?”
“Yeah.” I took a picture of Faye and asked her to take one of me with my collards. “But the TV doesn’t work. I’ve got to get it upgraded.”
“TV?” she gasped, turning my phone over. “On yer phone?”
“Sure. This model’s been out for years in Japan.”
“How do I press it ta take a pitcher? Like this? Did I do it?”
I examined her fuzzy picture. “Not bad. See? It’s a lot of fun.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever taken pitchers with a cell phone this snazzy. I’ve seen ‘em, but I never used one.”
If I’d come here even a month ago, I could have had this conversation with Mom. The thought sobered me. I stabbed at my fish and pulled out a bone.
“Did Mom … like it here?”
“She did, sweetie. She said it ‘fed her soul.’ She loved the autumn leaves an’ the fresh air. She helped out at church a lot. We ate here sometimes, she an’ I an’ a couple a other ladies because we were all single. Or wanted ta be.” She giggled girlishly.
I looked around the restaurant with new eyes. Mom had sat at one of these tables. Sipped tea from a glass like mine. I took in the simple country paintings, the crowded tables, and waitresses handing out plates of fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
“Was she … normal?” I didn’t know how else to put it.
“She was.” Faye suddenly took my hand in hers and patted it. “She’d struggled a lot, cried sometimes, but by the time we met I think she’d found some answers for her life.
“She was a good teacher, ya know. Helped a lotta kids. Not very rewardin’ work at times, in the way we might think of rewardin’. Sometimes these kids don’t outwardly show much progress. She got tired, but she loved it. I wish you coulda met her in her better days.” Faye looked sad. “She shoulda invited ya here.”
I bristled. “I don’t think I’d have come.”
“I know, honey. But … we just never know what the Lord is up to in all a this. He has His ways, an’ He saw fit to allow her to live her life—an’ end it—the way she did.”
“Do you really believe in God like that?” I asked skeptically, poking at my collards.
“I do, sweetie. With all my heart.”
“Did my mom?”
“Toward the end, yes. Absolutely.”
So that’s what she’d meant in her random letters about finding new meaning for her life. At the time I’d wondered if she’d met a man or gotten a dog. People sometimes go overboard with animals. I heard about a woman who married a dolphin.
“Do you have children?” I pulled a Kyoko.
“No, I don’t.” Faye folded her napkin. “Mack and I … well, we couldn’t, an’ at that time it was difficult to adopt, so we didn’t. I wanted to.”
“But I thought you believe in God.” The contradiction made me grumpy. I hated contradictions and how people keep on believing them anyway. Like the Japanese housewife offering daily tea and rice to her ancestors but saying she doesn’t believe a word of it. Why not forget the whole thing and eat the rice yourself?
“I believe in Him with all my heart, honey. But that doesn’t mean we get everything we want in life. God’s ways are differ’nt. He never promised heaven on earth.”
I felt a whole bitter diatribe coming, but I pressed it down. Our conversation had slipped into directions I didn’t like.
“So how about the funeral? Who’s even doing it?” I felt confused. The family should, right? But Mom, for all practical purposes, had no family.
“Some friends from church and VSDB. We got together and agreed we’d honor her memory because she’d become so dear to us.”
“What about the arrangements? The flowers and … and … everything?” I couldn’t bring myself to say “casket,” but I knew the zeros lined up behind those price tags. A proper funeral, plus burial plot and headstone, cost thousands.
“The church and all of us took care of things, and your father sent a check.”
My father. Who did nothing but leave occasional messages on my cell phone, which I deleted immediately.
“Really.” Everything made me angry. What if I wanted a
different casket? What if I didn’t like their choices?
Well, Shiloh, you could pay for a different one, couldn’t you? I snapped silently. I was even mad at myself. But you know in your heart you wouldn’t want to spend your money on that.
Maybe now I would.
Maybe now it’s too late.
Horrified, I looked up from my inner conversation. Was I schizophrenic? Had I followed in Mom’s footsteps without realizing it? I put my fork down, feeling shaky.
“You okay, honey?” Faye looked up from her chicken. “Too much all at once, I reckon.”
“I’m okay.” I forced a smile and rubbed my forehead, jet-lagged and exhausted. Half-awake and half-asleep. “Just need to get used to everything.”
“I guess you’d better get some shut-eye.” Faye got out her wallet to pay. “Take a warm bath when you get back to your hotel room. That’ll help ya wind down.”
She closed her purse. “Want me to pick you up t’morrow, or are ya gonna drive yourself?”
“I’ll drive. Thanks.”
Faye left me at the hotel lobby with a warm hug, and I felt a bit like I was leaving Mom behind. Almost changed my mind and went with her. But since I’d paid for my room, I said hi to Patty and took the elevator up. Parked my shoes by the door and turned on the bath water.
Tomorrow would be a big day.
I just had no idea how big.
Chapter 9
I awoke at 9:42 a.m., leaden-eyed. I’d overslept. The hotel radio clock had been playing country music since eight.
After dinner with Faye the night before, I’d taken a warm bath but just couldn’t seem to get sleepy. Sent some stories to Dave, texted Kyoko and Carlos. Kyoko and I chatted for a few minutes online, but Carlos’s account showed a red bar across it: offline.
As soon as I got comfortable in bed, the room vibrated. I scrambled under a doorway for protection out of habit, mistaking it for one of Japan’s famous earthquakes. But no, a midnight train rumbled past. Patty had failed to mention it.
Then another at 1:27, and another. No whistle, just the whir of tracks and wheels.
The last time I looked, the clock read 3:49, and I hadn’t slept a wink.
And it was too late now. I grabbed my stuff for the shower and flew through the bathroom, drying my hair and digging frantically through my suitcase.
I didn’t know what was appropriate to wear to a funeral for one’s mother, so I threw on an ugly black dress I’d bought at a street-side sale in Yokohama. I’d considered it a deal at fivedollars, but it was ill-fitting and too dark for my coloring. But it did the black and sorrowful job well.
I pulled on a dark-colored headband and a pair of black ballet flats then added somber makeup. I studied my black ensemble, feeling like Goth Girl from one of Kyoko’s bands.
But all the black reminded me I was indeed heading to a funeral. A good-bye. Mom’s good-bye. The thought put a damper on my already sour mood.
I grabbed a small black purse from my suitcase and shoved some stuff in it then locked my door and ran down to growl at Patty about the train. Instead of Patty I found Bobbie, an older woman with too-long hair and big bangs.
I crabbed with Bobbie about how I couldn’t sleep, how the Best Western ads didn’t show any train, and I demanded to change hotels. She promised me a room on the other side of the building, but I’d have to wait until tomorrow to move.
“Fine,” I grumbled, even though it wasn’t. I grabbed some coffee and a banana on my way out the door.
I sat in my car with the door open and sunglasses covering my puffy eyes, trying to make sense of Faye’s hand-drawn map. My mind wasn’t cooperating when she drew it, and she might as well have been playing tic-tac-toe. If I’d just written down the address, the GPS could have done the rest. But alas. Jet lag. I kicked myself for not letting her drive me to the service.
But my bad luck was just beginning.
I pulled out my international calling card, but the paper with Faye’s number was gone. I riffled through my purse and dumped it on the seat. Sorted through my credit cards and “Southern Speak” notebook, shaking it upside down. In a panic I ran back up to my hotel room, where I emptied the desk drawers and checked every pocket. Tore through my suitcase, throwing clothes on the floor.
I gripped my head in my hands, trying to focus. It must be in the car. It had to be.
I rushed back down to the Honda, door still open, and dug around on my hands and knees under the seat. Bumped my head on the steering wheel. Hit the windshield wipers by accident, and when I swiped to turn it off, turned on the car alarm.
And for all of that, nothing under the seat but a suit-coat button the rental company’s vacuum had missed.
I wearily plopped back in the seat and called information. I tried to remember Faye’s last name and groaned loudly into my hand. Snapped my phone shut in a huff. There I sat, not knowing a single soul in Staunton who could help me.
I gave a long, angry sigh and slapped the map out straighter. Now I’d have to go to a gas station and get directions, wasting more time, because I sure wasn’t talking to Bobbie again in my frame of mind.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone brushing mulch around a small tree, baseball cap pulled low. Gardener or something. He looked up at the same time, and I grabbed my map and stalked over.
“Excuse me. Can you help me?” I pulled off my sunglasses.
“Sure. You seemed a little frustrated over there. Lost?”
“Yeah. I need to get to … here.” I poked my finger at the funeral home.
His stood up and studied the map, and his eyes met mine. They were bluish-colored, or grayish, nondescript—but kind.
“I’m sorry.”
I guess my black dress did make me look like a mourner, and my mood festered by the moment. “Thanks. Do you know the street address? I could use the GPS system.”
“Sorry, I don’t. But I can tell you how to get to the funeral home. It’s out in Churchville.”
“Churchville?” I started. “You’ve been there?”
“Sure. Lots of times.” He squinted at me strangely. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“I get that all the time.” I made a face. “No. But I needed togo to Churchville anyway, so now I can kill two birds with one stone.”
“Well, as long as you’re killing birds, make them starlings.”
“Sorry?”
“Starlings. They’re little black birds.”
“Like crows?”
“Smaller.”
“Why? Do they dig in the trash here, too?”
“No, they bully the native birds out and take over. Sometimes they sit there and watch them build a whole nest before kicking them out of the tree. Or steeple. Or whatever it is they want. And they flock in the thousands—imagine the mess.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure study your birds.” I made a mental note to write starlings in my “Southern Speak” notebook. I’d already started the second page, thanks to Faye and Bobbie.
One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I try. So, Churchville. Let me see the map.”
I followed his directions, asking questions, until he drew a big circle around the funeral home. “That’s it right there, just off 42. Or Buffalo Gap Highway. But you might not see any road signs. Out there things are a little … well, less posted. People just sort of know where they are. So look for these things.” He drew in some more notes and—I’m not making this up—something like bugs with stick legs.
“What are those?” I asked, not intending to sound rude. “Roaches?”
“Those are cows. There’s a pasture here.”
“Oh.” I covered my mouth. “Okay. I’ll look for them.”
“I never promised artwork. Only directions.” He gave that slight smile again.
“No, really. I appreciate it. Thanks.”
“Sure.” He straightened his baseball cap and looked at the map again. “Just in case you get lost, though, here’s my cell phone number. I can try to talk you through wherever you are.”
He wrote it on the corner of the map.
“Thanks.” I took the map back, a spurt of honest-to-goodness gratitude springing up. I had no idea people here were so helpful, and despite my sarcasm and grumpiness, he’d just done me an enormous service. “You’ve really helped me.”
“No problem. Hope things get better for you.”
I sighed and put my sunglasses on. Now back to the funeral. Half of me wanted to go, and the other half wanted to skip the whole thing and pretend it never happened.
He called something after me.
“Huh?”
“You okay?”
I paused, fiddling with my purse strap. “I’m fine. Just have a long day ahead of me.”
He gave a sympathetic smile and turned back to his mulch. And I got in my car and headed for the last place in the world I wanted to go.
Chapter 10
I half-hoped I’d need to call the gardener just so I could thank him, or even just get my mind off the funeral, but he’d written perfect directions. Even the pasture, just as he’d drawn, scattered with loafing cows. At first I breezed through Staunton without noticing much—just an older small town as expected—but when the buildings began to melt into pastures and farmland, my sad heart lifted just a little.
Sloped, jagged mountains loomed blue and stalwart ahead of me, strangely comforting. They’d come with me along the Interstate like a good friend. Sort of like having Kyoko in the car, minus the cigarette smoke and snide remarks about Carlos.
Pastures gleamed brilliant green, like something out of a fantasy movie, shining in the sun and dotted with trees. Even the roadsides gleamed with color, all splashed with wildflowers and pink sweet pea vines.
The sun hid in and out of clouds, and during one darkish moment I rolled down the window and let in the summer breeze. If they could capture this fresh, clean, earthy scent, it would sell better than bottled Japanese tangerines.
I found myself in the middle of nowhere surrounded bywoods. Just as the gardener had labeled it: “Middle of nowhere.” I chuckled as I checked my map.
I turned right at a lonely intersection and passed a long, low brick school, again as indicated, smack in the middle of a giant, rolling cow pasture. Thus the cow drawings. I laughed again.
When pastures gave way to a CHURCHVILLE sign, I slowed the car and stared at large, blocky farmhouses from eras long gone. If I blinked, it could be 1850. Only cars, asphalt, and power lines gave us away. Which one’s Mom’s? That one with the porch falling in?
And then right in front of me stood the funeral home, already full of cars.
