Promise to a Boy. Mary Brady

down,” a big, grizzly bearded guy said, and they all shifted their chairs until there was a space for him. Highly unusual human behavior if you compared it to the near stranger-phobia he was used to in the big cities he frequented. He liked this friendly behavior. It was—nice, he thought as he sat down.

      “And don’t let them get to you. They talk about all of us,” the grizzly guy continued, and then he peeked over his shoulder and grinned at the women.

      The women at the other table and grizzly guy all laughed together, like people who didn’t always need words to communicate. Like old friends.

      “I’m looking for my brother and I thought I’d ask around in here if anyone has heard anything about where he is or where he planned to go.”

      The phone near the cash register jangled and the waitress hurried to answer it.

      “You one of them Chicago folk, too?” asked the grizzly guy. “I’m Fred Nivens, by the way. I own the auto repair shop and tow truck in town. Jesse worked for me—”

      “Fred, it’s for you,” Vala, the waitress, called from across the diner. “And you better hurry up.”

      Fred leaped up so fast the pleasant-looking man next to him had to make a grab for Fred’s chair to keep it from flopping backward to the floor.

      “Hi, I’m Bessie Graywolf,” the woman with the checked apron said as she pushed the plate of sweet rolls toward him. “Don’t mind Fred. Some emergency or other is always happening at his place.”

      Over near the cash register, the man spoken of was gesturing emphatically as he talked into the phone.

      “Nice to meet you, Bessie,” Reed said as he turned his attention to her.

      Fred returned to the table a moment later, but only to grab his hat.

      “What’s the matter, Fred? That guy from Jersey set the place on fire?”

      Fred’s eyes just got bigger. “I gotta go.”

      “Poor Fred. If it’s not one thing it’s the next with that darned shop of his,” one of the women at the other table said as Fred rushed out the door.

      Bessie leaned toward Reed in a conspiratorial manner. “Jesse only worked for Fred one month. Something about no auto aptitude, according to Fred.”

      “Did my brother cause trouble in town?”

      Instead of shifting looks, the table broke out in grins.

      “That boy is a dear,” the woman across the table said.

      Good. If the townspeople liked Jesse, it might be easier to get information.

      “Now,” Bessie said, “go on and have a sweet roll.”

      When Reed’s stomach accepted her offer of a sweet roll with a loud growl, Bessie laughed and pushed the platter closer.

      The roll was warm with some sort of dark jam inside and Bessie pointed at the couple on the other side of the table and continued. “This is Rachel and Jim Taylor, they own Taylor’s Drug Store. Over there is Curly Martin from the Squat D Ranch.” The old rancher gave a quick nod of acknowledgment.

      She continued, also naming the local funeral director, and the pair of similarly dressed women who ran the boardinghouse, which incidentally had no boarders right now. The pair gave him extra bright smiles and he wondered what that might be about. Reed listened to the names and bits of information and put them away where he could draw on them when he needed. He greeted them with smiles, stood and shook offered hands and then relaxed down onto the seat of his chair. Every one of them seemed, if not entirely warm and fuzzy, at least cordial.

      “We all knew Jesse. He sort of wandered in and out of our lives,” Bessie said as she signaled Vala for more coffee all around.

      “He was such a card,” one of the women who were probably sisters said, and Reed was sorry to say he had forgotten which was Cora and which was Ethel.

      “Is that bad or good?” he asked.

      The sisters laughed and together said, “Both.”

      “He’d forget he was supposed to do a job for us and then he came and did it and then insisted we weren’t supposed to pay him, cause he said it was a mitzvah, whatever that is.”

      “I think he meant he was doing a good deed,” Reed replied.

      “Yup, he was a card,” Cora or Ethel said. “Remember that dog he tried to adopt and the dog just wanted to run around free and not belong to anybody?”

      Both tables of people laughed and Reed got the feeling no one was laughing at Jesse, just about the story.

      “I didn’t know whether to feel sorrier for Jesse or the dog,” the old rancher Curly Martin called out from the other table and then guffawed until he coughed and one of the sisters had to pound him on the back.

      The waitress poured coffee all around and when she brought his breakfast, she brought his flatware and water from the table where he had originally sat.

      “Thanks, everyone. I appreciate your Jesse tales. I just hope they aren’t too exaggerated.”

      Several of them chuckled and the rest grinned and Reed continued. “I’m trying to find out where he might have gone and I wondered if he said anything to any of you, or if you’d heard anything.”

      Many heads shook.

      “You’re best bet for information might be John Miller over at the hardware store. Working there was the last real job Jesse had before he left,” one of the sisters said.

      “Do you need him for anything in particular or are you juss lookin’?” Curly asked. The drilling look of inquisition he gave Reed seemed contagious and soon they were all looking at him as if he were going to fore-close on all their homes.

      Sometimes there was nothing that would suit better than the truth. “Our mother needs to see him.”

      Bessie Graywolf pinched her lips together and shook her head slowly. “I know that one—my daughter, been gone over a year.”

      Reed looked directly at Bessie.

      “Sorry, Bessie,” he said and was surprised to realize he actually meant it.

      As his reward for acknowledging Bessie’s pain, seven expressions lightened collectively. In some circles, mothers carried a lot of weight.

      “Any other suggestions?” Reed asked.

      “You might ask at the sheriff’s office,” Jim Taylor offered. “He fished with a couple of the deputies.”

      A couple more names were mentioned, but they were “out of town anyway.” Reed shoveled food into his mouth as he listened and nodded his thanks.

      The door to the diner opened and a big, blond young cowboy strode in with his hat in his hand.

      “Baylor!” Several of them greeted the young cowboy as if he were an anticipated family member. Bessie motioned Baylor to Fred’s empty chair. “Reed Max well, this is Baylor Doyle. The Doyles own the Shadow Range Ranch and Bay is one of our very own volunteer firefighters.”

      Baylor’s eyebrows drew together as he studied Reed. “Jesse’s brother. The one staying with Abby.”

      Reed recognized the challenge and decided it would be best to sidestep it. “Abby was nice enough to let me stay in my brother’s apartment for a couple of days.”

      Baylor nodded at the people in general. “I can’t stay.

      Just came for some coffee.”

      “I thought you were moving outta town, boy,” Curly called from the other table.

      “Soon, Curly, soon, you old buzzard,” Baylor responded affectionately.

      As if on cue, Vala set a to-go