Page 35 of A Heartfelt Christmas Promise
The bistro filled up quickly, and excitement about the big game raised the sound level threefold.
“How’re those fries?” Lisa asked.
“Thank you for recommending them. You’re right. They’re amazing.”
“Told you.” Lisa refilled Vanessa’s tea glass. “Can I get you anything else?”
“I think that will be all. Buck said I have to try the chicken stew over at the ball game, so I’m going to walk over there.”
“You know Buck, huh?”
“Well, not really.” Why had she even mentioned the old guy by name?
“He’s in here every day.” With a chuckle, Lisa patted the table. “It’s a Southern thing. If you don’t like the chicken stew, we’re open late on football game nights.”
“Thank you.” Vanessa paid and then walked out to the curb. She hadn’t been to a high school game in years, but tonight the air was bristling with a familiar excitement. People were moving, from all directions, up the hill toward the high school. The band played, and chants echoed, filling the night air.Gimme an A. A!
Even after more years than she cared to count, she remembered most of the cheers too. She fell in step with the rest of the people walking to the game. The band started playing “The Horse.” Her old high school fight song. In her mind she could still bounce, jump, and kick like she was sixteen all over again.I could probably still do that pom-pom routine.
She replayed those moves in her mind as she shuffled along with the crowd. Even though she was in the middle of the crowd, it was as if she were on the outside looking in, because everyone else around her knew one another. A little eavesdropping went a long way. She’d quickly ascertained that the team the Fraser Hills Falcons were playing tonight was not only their biggest rival, but was undefeated.
Inside the gate, there were plenty of seats on the visitor side, but she couldn’t bear to not root for the local team in blue and gold.
An arrow at the bottom of the bleachers pointed to the right. A white tent withCHICKEN STEWin faded red lettershad a line snaking out of it that wrapped around almost to the goalpost.
She stepped into line. It took a while to get close enough to even see inside the tent. Men bantered with one another as they took turns stirring the pot. Buck hadn’t been kidding. What they were using looked just like one of the oars on the johnboat her dad used to take out on the lake when she was a kid.
The black kettle sat above a cinder-block pit. Wood smoldered with cherry-red embers below. It smelled good, and holding a hot cup of soup would sure be nice to warm her up now that the sun had dipped behind the trees.
“Hey there, young lady,” Buck called from next to that big black kettle of stew. “You got good taste.”
Even having met him only once, she recognized that voice; it was unforgettable. “Hey, Buck. How could I miss out after your grand recommendation?”
“You couldn’t.” He held up a finger. “You wait right there.”
It wasn’t like she could go anywhere. She was hemmed up in the long line.
A moment later he was at her side, handing her a large Styrofoam cup of steaming chicken stew.
“You’re not trying to make everyone mad at me, are you?”
Buck’s eyebrows wiggled. He tapped the man in front of her on the shoulder. “You mad about me giving her some chicken stew?”
The man shook his head. “She’s right pretty. Can’t blame you.” The guy laughed and smiled. “Hello. First-timer?”
“I am.”
“Nobody’ll be mad,” the man said. “We’re pretty proud of our chicken stew. Enjoy.”
Buck shrugged. “See? On the house.”
She called out a thank-you as he walked away.
Balancing her chicken-stew cup in one hand, she merged into the crowd climbing the bleachers on the home-team side. Not one for heights, she took a seat in the third row.
She twitched as three kids raced up to the top and then dipped under the railing and climbed down the side to the ground. That looked like an invitation to fall and break a bone if she’d ever seen one.
Her phone rang. She answered quickly to quiet the ring tone.
