Page 7 of Townshipped
“You want biscuits or cornbread with your pot pie?”
“May I substitute a salad for the bread item?”
“Suit yerself, but that cornbread sops up the leftovers just right if you ask me.”
I chuckle. “Okay, cornbread it is.”
Why not? I’m on my honeymoon. Or my one-ee-moon. That’s what I’m going to call it from now on.
When Donna brings my meal back to the table, she lingers. “You passin’ through?”
“I’m on my honeymoon,” I tell her. “Without the groom because I called off the wedding.”
I’m not sure what led me to spill, but Donna doesn’t flinch.
“I shoulda done that for my first wedding. But I went through with marryin’ despite my daddy and friends warning me. I was young and dumb and awful romantic back then. Brady ended up leavin’ me to move to Nashville and make it big. That was a blessin’, trust me. Thought he was the next Blake Shelton. If Blake Shelton were five six and crooned like a drunken donkey, I’d have agreed.
“’Course on my second husband I truly was in love. He loved me back. Unfortunately, he loved half of Ohio too, come to find out. So, I left his sorry self. A man who can’t keep it in the marriage needs to go and pronto. Now I’m on number four.”
My mouth hangs slightly open until I shut it. “What about number three?”
Donna makes the sign of the cross.
“Bless him. James. That was his name. Met him in that booth right over there.” She points across the restaurant. “He came in regular when he was drivin’ his rig. Pretty soon he asked me out. He was a good one. Solid and reliable. We were married six months later. He went off to Afgannystan to serve. Never came back to me.”
Donna doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“You better eat, hunny. That food’ll get cold and you’ll be wantin’ me to heat it up. Can’t do that for ya due to the health code and such. So, eat up.”
I take a bite, resisting the urge to ask Donna to join me. She’s quite a character. Hearing her history puts my canceled wedding strangely into perspective.
Donna rests a hand on her hip. “Now this man I’m with now—Charles—he’s a keeper. He’s only got eyes for me. Funny story. We grew up knowin’ one another, but never thought a thing of it ’til after James passed. Charles’ wife passed too. We have that in common—widowed young. Sometimes it takes a while to meet the one you’re gonna stick with for life. Charles treats me real good. Even barbecues for me so I don’t have to cook a couple nights a week when the weather’s right.”
Donna’s eyes take on a dreamy glaze, and her mouth turns up a little. “Don’t you worry. You’ll find your man.”
I’ve never heard a woman speak of men the way Donna does—so freely and with such detachment. Where I’m from, everything’s about station and family lineage and finding a fit along those lines before anything else.
I tried to avoid all those unspoken expectations until Buck asked me out. Neither of us cared much about status despite the fact that our families saw us as a suitable match. Even though his mom never liked me much, she knew I came from a proper family.
“My ex-fiancé is a good man,” I say.
“Well, you musta had your reasons.”
“We just weren’t a fit.”
“Well then,” Donna says.
She doesn’t say anything else. Her warm smile fills her face. A customer from another table flags her down.
“Enjoy your pot pie, now. I’ll be back around in a jiffy. You might even save a little room to treat yourself to our double chocolate fudge Coca-Colacake. It’s your honeymoon after all.” She winks.
I eat the rest of my meal alone, wondering what I was thinking going on this trip without anyone. It’s not like I’m averse to solitude, but three weeks touring the Midwest never made it onto my bucket list, and now I’ve got a whole lot of downtime with me, myself, and I.
Still, I committed to the trip, so I’m going to make the most of it.
I finish my lunch, turn down the offer for dessert, pay Donna and get back on the road. I’m on a smaller highway somewhere between Columbus and Dayton with a little over an hour and a half left on my drive. I yawn. Maybe I ought to get coffee and fill the tank while I’m at it.
My hand aimlessly fishes through my purse for my wallet. It’s not there. After dumping the contents on the passenger seat, I’m sure I must have left it at the Cracker Barrel when I paid Donna.
