The Curious Waitress: Nakatomi

By Janet Marloe

My name is Leslie Anne Brennemann, and my twenty-first birthday came with a partially eaten birthday cake and a summons. For those who do not know, an event trigger in law enforcement terms, is an action that causes or creates a life threatening incident, and usually it has something to do with a disaster or illegal act. I learned that term the hard way, just recently, when I summoned not one, not two, but three government agencies. It was like saying a secret word three times and opening a portal to hell. For a writer though, moments like these are the stuff of legends, and my imagination was rolling in like a thunderstorm. When I say my imagination was rolling in like a thunderstorm, it wasn't just poetic license, it was more like cheap word play, since a thunderstorm was about to roll over me. Like a metaphor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janet Marloe
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463492482

Janet Marloe

The Curious Waitress series comes from works by author Janet Marloe. She has been writing since 1987 and has previous works not published here.

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The Curious Waitress:

Nakatomi

A Novel by the Curious Waitress

Copyright 2019 Janet Marloe

Book IV

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Copyright 2019 Janet Marloe

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9780463492482

To: Alex

#

Prolog

My name is Leslie Anne Brennemann, and my twenty-first birthday came with a partially eaten birthday cake and a summons. Probably one of my worst years ever. I am the daughter of Loretta Lynn Brennemann and Dory Azod, and I live in the middle of nowhere in a town called Hyannis Nebraska.

Maybe I had gotten a little cocky over the last year, I thought I was a millionaire, but as it would turn out, I was far from it. Father Gilbert says it is avarice, because I did things for the wrong reason, but I didn't. I didn't do things because I wanted people to like me, that ship had sailed, and I didn't do it because I wanted to own stuff. I did them because I was honestly trying to do the right thing, but as any good Catholic knows, no good deed goes unpunished. You can't upset the balance in the universe.

For those who do not know, an event trigger in law enforcement terms, is an action that causes or creates a life-threatening incident, and usually it has something to do with a disaster or illegal act. I learned that term the hard way, just recently, when I summoned not one, not two, but three government agencies. It was like saying a secret word three times and opening a portal to hell.

On one hand, every day was new and wonderful. Kyle Eugene Kruger was in love with me, my best friend since I was zero, and suddenly I was engaged to be married. For the first time in my life, I saw flowers as a gift from God, there were expressions in the cattle's faces and words to songs made me cry. But on the other hand, the opposite side of the same coin, it was as if someone fired up a wood chipper, to just chew up my life, and consume everything I thought I held dear.

It's an odd moment when you wake up one day and you are your mother, not the good one either. When I say that, I don't mean to disparage mother Dory in any way, but let's be honest, only one of them drinks like a fish, curses like a Russian race horse and is attracted to the top of a bar like sticky and your elbow. I had two mothers who were polar opposites, so I became this amalgamation of good and evil. I know how to be kind, I know how to be good, but that line is never clear until after the damage is done. I have successfully alienated everyone, and if you thought living in the middle of nowhere was lonely, imagine what life was like after I put everyone in danger. Their hatred for me was palpable.

Then there are the mother issues I have to deal with. I know there is no reason for me to feel rejected, no reason to go ape nuts when my mother Dory leaves, it's not like she is still a raging alcoholic, but it happens. Like buttered toast on the floor, butter side down, I still go crack baby. The possibility is always there inside me somehow, and inevitably she will get up to go to the bathroom and I will fill with fear and rage that she is leaving me again. I can't explain it, and I cannot seem to change it.

The transformation, from curious waitress to hunted criminal on the run, began when I heard the old rickety truck coming up the hill from a mile away. It had been on its last leg for ten years now, but it refused to die, and it pulled up next to me.

There's been a murder. My best friend Carter says with a big grin. It's not even 6:00 in the morning and he's tracking me down. It didn't take long for my creative juices to start flowing and I had to see it. Nothing like that happens around here and I was excited. I was interested in how the law would handle things.

I documented everything.

When I finally headed back to the ranch that day, I was filled with a happy warm feeling inside, a feeling that only writers know. I know it's horrible, but I didn't know the guy and I never saw a body. For a writer though, moments like these are the stuff of legends, and my imagination was rolling in like a thunderstorm. When I say my imagination was rolling in like a thunderstorm, it wasn't just poetic license, it was more like cheap word play, since a thunderstorm was about to roll over me. Like a metaphor.

#

The wind blows across Grant County, along the snow-covered rooftops and mailboxes, to a sign poking out of a snow bank that reads Welcome to Windmill Country. It shakes visibly. Across the tracks, Alden Avenue catches all the snow, making the road itself almost disappear under a layer of soft blowing powder.

A big white truck, with wide balloon like snow tires, slowly makes its way against the misty looking puffs of white that push it around. The driveway of a little white house, completely consumed by snow, has a large lump in the middle of it, a giant mound that at one time was a car. The oversized tires stop rolling when the driver door lines up right behind it in the middle of the street.

The door cracks open and then swings wide violently, snatched away from the driver by a gale force wind. A lone figure climbs out, cocooned in a lime green snowmobile suit, their face covered by a paisley scarf, offering a complete shield from the blistering cold.

The tempest puts up a valiant fight, but the individual wins the initial battle and slams the door. The driver struggles through the waist high snow, around the car, towards the back of the house. The wind remains way too strong to go through the front door, opening it would blow out all the windows.

Somewhere in the rolling white powder of the front yard, a Santa and some reindeer scream for help, buried or long since blown away. A boot gets snagged on a wire hidden under the snow and they topple down. Kicking gently to free their foot, they freeze when they recognize the engine heater cable going into the snowbank. Stumbling to their feet, covered in the soft powder, a big gloved hand checks the cable to ensure it did not get disconnected accidentally.

Like an astronaut in a storm on Mars, the green figure slowly makes it into the snow filled back yard. Pausing for a moment to gain their bearings, they choose a path to the back porch, completely hidden by a layer of smooth white powder, and then fight through it.

Someone has recently shoveled the snow away from the back stairs and the back door, but they still struggle to find the steps, the weather quickly covers up their work. A gloved fist knocks violently on the side of the house. A young man, Milo, opens the inside door and steps out into the mudroom in his bare feet. He pushes open the back door, Leslie? Hey come on in.

She takes off her boots in the mud room, shakes off the snow and removes her gloves. Then she slips through the opened door and follows him into the kitchen in her fuzzy multicolored socks. Dillon and his father Dennis stand at the kitchen table staring. Dennis puts a lasagna down onto a trivet and turns back to the stove, Leslie, c'mon in. You hungry?

She moves to the table and stands behind a chair. The boys sit down, all grown now. Dennis, Kyle's father, returns to the table with broccoli in a serving dish and carefully places it down. Leslie looks at Dennis and studies him. Bits of Kyle surface in his hair, in his eyebrows, in his movements. She can see the other bits of Celeste in Kyle when he writes on a computer or thinks diligently. Celeste stays on the ranch at the hotel, most of the time in bad weather, with Melissa E., and it seemed kinda weird at the time, but now it seems to make sense. The house smells like socks and farts. Maybe it's the lasagna.

You wanna fight me?

Leslie turns to Dillon who grins ear to ear, looking up from his place at the table. She smiles and shakes her head. No, dipshit.

Dennis clears his throat.

Leslie looks down, Sorry.

Sit down Leslie. He says very fatherly.

She pulls down the hood, unzips the suit and lowers it to her waist, takes off her scarf and hat, releasing her pony tail. She flings it behind her and sits on the edge of the chair as if she could get up and leave at any moment.

Milo takes a big drink of water and watches his dad sit down, then his focus turns to Leslie, What's wrong with you?

Dennis thumps Milo on the arm, Get a plate.

Milo slides his chair back with a loud screech and goes to the cupboard. She knows where the plates are. What, are her legs broken?

Leslie admires the layout, This looks good. You guys eat early.

Dennis smiles, It's five thirty.

Milo puts the plate down in front of her, Dillon gets up and gets the silverware and a napkin. They set up a perfect place setting and Dillon arranges the lasagna and spoon so that Leslie can take the first serving. Milo plops a canned drink in her space.

The awkwardness of the moment makes the whole day feel surreal. Leslie has set the table and washed the dishes. She has made the garlic bread with Celeste while the men watched sports. She sat at this table when a food fight broke out, and yet today, sitting in her normal spot, everything feels different, somehow weird. She stares at the lasagna for a moment while the boys stare at her, then unceremoniously cuts a big square and plops it on her plate.

The exact moment she deposits the spatula back into the pan, complete chaos ensues and things start to feel normal again. Everyone grabs and serves and clanks spoons against plates until suddenly the motion stops abruptly and it gets quiet. Dennis puts his hands together and everyone follows his lead, they all stay silent while he speaks, Bless this meal Lord, let it replenish us so that we may better serve you. In the name of your son Jesus Christ, Amen.

Everyone finishes with an, Amen.

You looking for Kyle, eh? Milo speaks with a mouthful before Leslie can even grab her fork.

She cuts into the lasagna and blows on it, stopping only to speak, No... No, I'm not.

Dennis just waits patiently, then cuts some broccoli and eats it, studying Leslie carefully. She sits uncharacteristically alone and oddly pensive. Something must have occurred since he knows what Kyle prepared to do, he grows uneasy, expecting the results to spill out all over the table. Kyle has never had to deal with rejection.

Do you know what Kyle did? Leslie asks suddenly frightened and demure, looking right at him.

Dennis prepares himself and just looks back at her with a slowly rising eyebrow. He puts one fist on his thigh and leans on his elbow.

You gonna be my sister? Dillon asks and Leslie turns to see his little round face full of smile.

Milo drops his fork and Leslie's head snaps to him, expecting him to have something to say, an opinion on the matter that she may find unpleasant, Did you say no?

No, no, no. I said yes, I just wanted to know you guys are O.K. with it, especially you Uncle Dennis. At the Brennemann ranch, every aunt or uncle remained unrelated, but it felt weird though, when she said it.

Dennis jerks, Why wouldn't I be?

Leslie's eyes began to tear up, I'm not the best...

Dillon interrupts without listening, We always thought you were our sister anyway.

I like you. Milo does not look up from his plate, continues to shovel.

Dennis cuts into his lasagna finally, You guys are good for each other. You just need to settle down a little bit.

Leslie nods, I get that.

Where's the ring? Dennis nudges with his chin.

Leslie looks up from her plate, What ring?

His shoulders drop and he points with some broccoli on his fork, He's supposed to put the ring on your finger.

He never...

Dillon responds shaking his head, What an idiot.

Milo too, Even I know that.

Shit. Dennis sets his fork down and plants both hands on the table.

Dillon looks at his father, He lost it. I told you.

Leslie interrupts, Maybe he's... Maybe he's not so sure?

Milo and Dillon get loud, That's all he's been talking about.

He's been in love with you for two years.

Leslie's heart suddenly begins to pump warm milk, and her eyes involuntarily fill with water. She wipes her face as some of it squirts out.

Leslie, I think, he's sure. I think he lost the damn ring. Dennis stands straight up and opens a file on the cabinet door.

Milo points at her with his fork, You can't be mean to us anymore.

Leslie has to giggle, I was never...

Images appear on the cabinets, the first one of Kyle, still in diapers, next to Loretta Lynn, who holds Leslie in her arms and dotes on her. The image of her mom cuts off every train of thought, every connection to the real world and she grows mesmerized.

Dennis steps back. I think your mom would be really proud of you. She loved watching you guys play together.

Kyle made this movie for us to watch. Dillon points with a look and a full mouth, It's all about you.

Tears pour from Leslie's face and soon her nose oozes too. She watches with wonder, wiping her face on her sleeve, her nose on the back of her hands. The images fade in and out with soft music, pictures of Leslie in the background, some of her when young and dressed like a walking scrap heap.

Omigod. Leslie sees the images of when she had a really huge afro.

Dennis grins, Your mother was experimenting... He begins to laugh, Lynn and Mary experimented.

Everyone chuckles, but quickly go back to eating. Leslie however, mesmerized by the memories, her heart swelling inside her chest, just can’t. The movies of them growing up continue. One of them displays in a jittery format, where the boys attacked Leslie and pelted her with snowballs, another one begins, where Leslie shoots Milo in the butt with a wrist rocket and all the grownups come running. Milo rolls in the dirt crying.

Leslie starts laughing, louder and louder until the scene changes and the dirt sock challenges begin. Everyone stops and turns to watch. The camera angle from Carter's computer reveals he does not stand a chance, massacred almost immediately. Leslie cheers for herself, everyone makes noises and yells at the screen.

Dennis just shakes his head and goes back to eating, Some people's kids.

The door slams and Kyle rushes in, Whoa wait. Stop that. Stop that! He turns off the screen and whips around genuinely embarrassed.

Everyone stares at him, Leslie just smiles, her face wet with tears. She wipes her nose again.

You... Kyle looks angrily at his father, You weren't supposed to see that.

Hey stupid. Milo barks at him, pointing his fork like a sword, Where's the ring?

Kyle rubs his neck.

Dennis puts his forehead in his hand.

Dillon keeps eating, What an idiot. I told you dad. You should have given it to her.

Leslie wipes her face and pulls out a chair for Kyle.

He grumbles on his way to the seat, taking off his coat, Shut up Dillon.

Leslie snags her canned drink and tosses it into the air at Kyle. He instinctively lurches and catches it behind his back. They sit down together as he taps the top.

#

Strike One

The first warning came in hard, a thirty-five mile an hour gust of icy cold wind, and the kind of snow that slides in wet and hard. Everyone bundled up. Time had essentially run out. The ranch hands behind the trailer, pushed while the green truck spun tires and sank into the mud. Kyle put the chain and the step lock on. In the time that it took to do that, everyone got soaked, the rain turned to ice and clothing started crunching.

Leslie and Kyle stood back, watching the rear truck wheel and the metal contraption, waiting for the device to get a hold. The engine roared, the tires all begin to slip, and the lock on the rear wheel flapped around and violently splashed into the mud with a thump. The truck lifted up and out of the hole, and moved forward about three feet. Then the trailer stopped immediately with a loud crunch, the hitch squeaked with the rocking of the trailer and the stumbling of the cattle inside. It went quiet like church before a funeral.

Everyone's face twisted with concern except one, and they all turned to that one face. Leslie puckered, and shut her eyes.

She spent hours straightening and then curling her reddish locks last night, and she keeps pulling her hat off so Kyle can see, but he has said nothing. She can feel the ice on her scalp and the rain flowing straight down her back, cold and wet, the same sensation that courses through her veins, as the realization begins to take shape.

She points with her hat, Found it. Leslie shoves it down over her hair and rushes to the sound of the big crunch, but one of the hands gets there first.

No one finds her amusing in the least. The gravity of the situation forms in her eyes.

Kyle had removed the dash computer, to remotely guide the trailer backwards, and handed it to Leslie to hold, while they loaded the cattle. When they started to leave, the truck sank in the wet muddy earth, and all the hands and Kyle started digging out the wheels with their hands, pushing the snow back. She leaned down to help, and sat the computer on the tire, right under the fender of the trailer. Suddenly, in a blinding flash of the obvious, the fender looked more like a shelf, and would have made a much better choice.

Leslie looks down and closes her eyes, Damnit.

The men curse and gather around the crushed device. The two females just give Leslie the stink eye, their hands on their hips. Leslie can feel their stare, especially Michaela. The driver staggers out into the snow, putting her snow cap back on, What happened? The truck's dead.

It's the computer. Kyle knew it the second all the lights went off, before the trailer jerked to a stop. He heads towards the cab of the truck, We killed it.

Micaela exclaims more accurately, She killed it.

Everyone points, Leslie grimaces.

The driver steps up to the lifeless corpse in the hands of one of the others, and they stare in disbelief. It's curved like a bowl, the glass screen rendered into powder. She turns to Leslie, Brill-fucking-yent.

The two others turn away, one of them mumbles loudly enough for everyone to hear, Numbnuts. She could not make out who said that exactly, but it was probably Michaela. They disappear behind the trailer to hide from the wind.

Leslie stuffs her hair back into her hat, and climbs through the snow to the cab with Kyle, who sits crestfallen and dejected at the driver's position, staring blankly at the giant hole, where the computer should go. She just stares at him, not knowing what to say.

Kyle pulls his phone out of his snowsuit and takes off a glove. After a flick of his thumb, he puts it to his ear, Hey Cynthia, can we drive the truck with the maintenance wheel?

Leslie stands silently listening, and the hands begin to gather behind her. She knows what the maintenance wheel does, it plugs in and shows all kinds of diagnostics. They use it to work on the engine, but it has to get plugged into the wall somewhere. Leslie puzzles and listens.

No, we're not on the highway we're at the fence line. Kyle fidgets in his seat, Well this computer died.

It didn't fucking die, it was murdered, Comes from the peanut gallery behind her. Leslie shrinks just a tad, and sadness fills her features.

Kyle continues after a short pause, Ok. Ok. Second question. Can you bring it to me?

Leslie listens to the voices behind her, refusing to face them, Dottie why don't you and David head back on foot and get a tractor. I'll bet the truck gets frozen right here by the time Cynthia shows up with the maintenance wheel.

Kyle leans out of the cab, Get the cattle out and just herd them down the trail.

One of the guy’s yells, I've got it.

Leslie watches them all move in unison, to get the cattle out of the trailer and gather the three standing at the fence. They each have already grabbed rope and start moving the lead steers towards the trail that they drove down in. It's about a four mile walk in a blizzard.

Leslie grabs a rope from the back of the truck, and starts pulling one of the heifers, marching into the wind, back to the rubber building. She walks in the middle of the line, following behind silently, alone and dejected, listening to the conversations about privilege and hard work. She says nothing in response.

#

Penance

Leslie kneels in the confessional, her lips puckered, and her hands in her jacket. Father Gilbert can sense her anger and he rubs his forehead. His frustration presents itself in his deep sighs and grumbles. Leslie, it was just an accident, but you're not a child anymore. He tries to express constructive criticism but Leslie's track record stands firmly in the way, You have to take on more responsibility for your actions. You have to be smarter Leslie.

She does not speak. She wanted to say, Father Charles would have been more constructive... but the words slam against the door in the back of her throat. Luckily her brain fights the impulse back and she swallows it down. She sits quietly, dejected and harassed, her eyes welling with tears, the bullying taking its toll. Everybody hates me, Squeaks out.

Father Gilbert does not speak and Leslie slowly looks up, waiting, expecting something. She squints through the mesh screen at him, but he does not look her way. He appears lost in thought, shaking his head slowly.

I want you to say the rosary, say the luminous mysteries and pray that the Holy Spirit finds you. Pray that whatever you do, you do for the love of God. And Leslie, have respect for other people's property.

Leslie’s head drops. She mumbles through gooey lips, It was an accident...

Father Gilbert takes another deep breath, Let me hear a good act of contrition.

#

What is Love?

Leslie studies her grandmother with a kind eye. She has a penchant for being wide eyed and innocent about the world, a good catholic, but on the same token, she can be pretty mischievous. Her soft blue eyes beam towards the stables, and no one is around. This seems the perfect moment to bring up a subject not covered by normal conversations. Meemaw, don't take this the wrong way but... Ummm, you sure crush on Aunt Alba, Leslie peels the edges of a bandage on Reesa's hand with a curious smile.

Reesa smiles and looks away shyly. Well, I just wanted to be her so bad. She was so pretty and she talked all street like back in the day. She was tall and wore cool clothes, and her life was so exciting. Such a rebel girl. I wish I could beat up someone.

What? Leslie recoils, not as much surprised as uncomfortable.

Reesa chuckles softly.

She poses another question, as if approaching a wild animal trapped in the fence, You… You guys never... Hooked up?

Reesa turns confused, Wha? She studies Leslie, What are you talking about?

Well, you know... Leslie quickly looks back down at Reesa's fingers, She thinks you were an angel.

She does?

Leslie examines the wound, Meemaw this is getting very red. Does it hurt?

Reesa nods, It aches. I'm used to aches.

I'm gonna call Dr. Kathy.

I'll be fine.

I know you will, but I don't want you to be in pain. Leslie puts a clean bandage on and wraps it back up.

Reesa puzzles, tripped up by the question that fell in front of her, So, what's going on? Why are you asking these questions?

She looks away, reluctant to speak, Dory cried last night.

Oh my... Why? Reesa's face turns genuinely concerned.

Leslie shrugs, She misses that girl Leslie, I guess. She says it haunts her.

Reesa looks down and frowns, I can see that. She rubs her