That’s how it all started. She put me through school.” He knocks on a door down the back. “Lucy, it’s Storm.”
The door opens and an elderly lady’s face lights up. “Oh, Storm, you devil. You’ve come calling, and with a lady friend.”
He motions me in and we both sit on a small sofa as Lucy goes back to her knitting.
I take out my recorder and she tells me her story, how she lost everything after the closure of the mill. I listen attentively.
Halfway through, Monica taps at the doorframe behind us. “Alice, dear, mind if I borrow your man for a moment?”
“Sure,” I offer, “he’s all yours.”
She slaps him on the ass as he walks past. “Come on, big boy. ’Bout time you helped out around here.”
“He came every day.”
It takes me a second to realize Lucy is talking again, her weathered, tissue-paper face folding over with each word.
“Sorry?”
“Storm. When I was alone, when Jerry left me, he came over every night and delivered me meals, cooked, helped me get a room here before the bank took the house.”
“Cooked?”
“Oh yes, he’s a marvelous cook, my Storm.”
My Storm. I love that.
Cooking? That’s the last thing I would have expected.
“People get the wrong idea about him, you know,” Lucy continues. “They put him in the same basket as his no-good parents, damn their souls, but he’s different. He’s smart as a whip, that one. Compassionate, too.”
“I had no idea.”
“Oh I know he’s handsome. If I was 50 years younger, well…” she drifts off and I can’t stifle the smile that’s spanning across my lips.
“I guess what I’m saying is, give him a chance.”
“I will.”
Storm and Monica arrive with tea and I give Storm a warm wink. His face remains blank. He’s got no idea.
On the way back to the bike, I ask, “How does she fund it all?”
“Monica?”
“Yeah.”
“Anonymous donor, I hear.”
“Really?”
“Any idea who it is?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Nope. Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I know just the place.”
We head off to the outskirts of the town, the poorer residential homes and streets full of weeds and cracked concrete. We pull into a home that looks like it’s on crutches, about to fall over at any second.
I take my helmet off and shake my hair out with my fingers. Something smells amazing.
Storm leads us down the side of the house into a small backyard. There, a man tends to what at first looks like the engine of a steam train but on closer observation is a BBQ.
Storm claps the man on the shoulder. “Alice, meet Texas Pete, the finest barbequer that ever lived.”
I shake Pete’s hand and try to take in his, uh, contraption. He closes the hood of it and looks me over. “Gosh, you are a pretty one. I hope Storm’s being a gentlemen.”
“Yes,” I admit, “he is.”
“Good, good. Two?”
Storm smiles and rubs his hands together. “You know it.”
Pete opens the hood and pulls out a rack of ribs, basting them in sauce. He moves behind the grand BBQ and comes back with two plates, standing with our back to us while he works.
“He never lets me see exactly how he makes them,” Storm whispers.
“Makes what?”
“The finest rib sandwiches in the universe.”
“Rib sandwiches?”
A terrible look of concern comes over Storm’s face. “Oh hell, you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you?”
I laugh, “Oh man, now it’s you that’s doing the stereotyping.”
“Thank god for that.”
Pete hands over two plates. “Here you go, kids. Two of my finest. Dig in.”
He watches as I try to lift the sandwich up. It’s a monster.
“That’s right,” he enthuses. “You’re going to have to get messy. Just go with it.”
I look to Storm. Indeed.
I open my jaw wide and shove a corner of the sandwich in.
Storm was right. This thing is amazing.
I nod. “Mmmmm,” wiping my mouth, “that’s delicious.”
Pete smiles and bows before returning to his BBQ.
“You should start a franchise or
The door opens and an elderly lady’s face lights up. “Oh, Storm, you devil. You’ve come calling, and with a lady friend.”
He motions me in and we both sit on a small sofa as Lucy goes back to her knitting.
I take out my recorder and she tells me her story, how she lost everything after the closure of the mill. I listen attentively.
Halfway through, Monica taps at the doorframe behind us. “Alice, dear, mind if I borrow your man for a moment?”
“Sure,” I offer, “he’s all yours.”
She slaps him on the ass as he walks past. “Come on, big boy. ’Bout time you helped out around here.”
“He came every day.”
It takes me a second to realize Lucy is talking again, her weathered, tissue-paper face folding over with each word.
“Sorry?”
“Storm. When I was alone, when Jerry left me, he came over every night and delivered me meals, cooked, helped me get a room here before the bank took the house.”
“Cooked?”
“Oh yes, he’s a marvelous cook, my Storm.”
My Storm. I love that.
Cooking? That’s the last thing I would have expected.
“People get the wrong idea about him, you know,” Lucy continues. “They put him in the same basket as his no-good parents, damn their souls, but he’s different. He’s smart as a whip, that one. Compassionate, too.”
“I had no idea.”
“Oh I know he’s handsome. If I was 50 years younger, well…” she drifts off and I can’t stifle the smile that’s spanning across my lips.
“I guess what I’m saying is, give him a chance.”
“I will.”
Storm and Monica arrive with tea and I give Storm a warm wink. His face remains blank. He’s got no idea.
On the way back to the bike, I ask, “How does she fund it all?”
“Monica?”
“Yeah.”
“Anonymous donor, I hear.”
“Really?”
“Any idea who it is?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Nope. Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I know just the place.”
We head off to the outskirts of the town, the poorer residential homes and streets full of weeds and cracked concrete. We pull into a home that looks like it’s on crutches, about to fall over at any second.
I take my helmet off and shake my hair out with my fingers. Something smells amazing.
Storm leads us down the side of the house into a small backyard. There, a man tends to what at first looks like the engine of a steam train but on closer observation is a BBQ.
Storm claps the man on the shoulder. “Alice, meet Texas Pete, the finest barbequer that ever lived.”
I shake Pete’s hand and try to take in his, uh, contraption. He closes the hood of it and looks me over. “Gosh, you are a pretty one. I hope Storm’s being a gentlemen.”
“Yes,” I admit, “he is.”
“Good, good. Two?”
Storm smiles and rubs his hands together. “You know it.”
Pete opens the hood and pulls out a rack of ribs, basting them in sauce. He moves behind the grand BBQ and comes back with two plates, standing with our back to us while he works.
“He never lets me see exactly how he makes them,” Storm whispers.
“Makes what?”
“The finest rib sandwiches in the universe.”
“Rib sandwiches?”
A terrible look of concern comes over Storm’s face. “Oh hell, you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you?”
I laugh, “Oh man, now it’s you that’s doing the stereotyping.”
“Thank god for that.”
Pete hands over two plates. “Here you go, kids. Two of my finest. Dig in.”
He watches as I try to lift the sandwich up. It’s a monster.
“That’s right,” he enthuses. “You’re going to have to get messy. Just go with it.”
I look to Storm. Indeed.
I open my jaw wide and shove a corner of the sandwich in.
Storm was right. This thing is amazing.
I nod. “Mmmmm,” wiping my mouth, “that’s delicious.”
Pete smiles and bows before returning to his BBQ.
“You should start a franchise or
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