The next morning I checked in on Paul Fallon, Clayton’s attorney, who was recuperating at his 1825 farmhouse in Knox. I dropped by with some fresh fishing magazines and a veal parm sub from Captain Shorty’s. He said he was making progess on Clayton’s defense. Sitting at his big oak desk in a beautiful pine paneled study, he told me he would be calling a surprise witness to the stand, a witness who would be crucial to our case, but he couldn’t tell me who it was yet. I thanked him for his hard work and we promised to meet again in a few days.
I made it to the Sly Fox just as the lunch crowd was arriving in big numbers. Vic hailed me a hearty hello when I walked in. Flames shot up from the Jenn-Aire grill and pots of sauce bubbled around him. It was barely noon and he already looked hot, sweaty, and overwhelmed. I grabbed an apron off the hook and started right in rinsing dishes.
Things never let up until after two. I bussed tables when I could to help out the waitresses and did set-ups and filled water glasses too. We all crashed in the kitchen at two-thirty for a break. Lorraine and Moira poured some cold cokes and Vic made us a platter of sandwiches. I grabbed half a chicken salad. It was good. Vic loaded all white meat chicken, walnuts, and cranberries on a crusty hard roll. After we all got through a few bites we got to talking. Lorraine asked me how the cottage sale was going.
“No showings except for the realtor caravan last week. I’m taking that as a sign that a miracle will happen, I’ll get a great paying job, and be able to keep it.”
Vic chuckled. “A miracle, huh. Don’t hold your breath, my friend. There’s no such thing. Life is a steady stream of disappointments and heartaches and then we die.”
Moira scolded him. “What’s wrong with miracles, or even just a bit of luck. Ken has marketable skills. He’ll get a good paying job, I know he will.”
Vis surprised me with his next comment. “Let me understand this. You’re a middle age guy who has lost his job, you have to sell your cottage, a rare real estate treasure you have poured your heart and soul into, you’re living away from your wife and family, and the best job you can find is washing dishes at a mediocre Italian restaurant. You are circling the drain, Ken! Can’t you hear the flushing sound? Everything you have worked so hard for your whole life is going down the toilet! You’re done! It’s over, stick a fork in him, pull the covers over your head, the fat lady has sung!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Moira and Lorraine tore into Vic. I quickly made an attempt to switch topics. “So you think we’ll have a good crowd tonight? I mean because of the Beefalo celebration?”
Vic answered enthusiastically with a mouth full of crabmeat. “Hell yes! Folks are so relieved that nasty beast has finally been captured. They want to celebrate.”
Lorraine was not as convinced. “It’s so stupid. It’s just a cow, for crying out loud. What’s the big deal.”
“It’s half steer and half bison. And bisons are mean! He’s been terrorizing the town for three months, chewing through cars, houses, clothes on the line, scaring children, I heard he even ate a poodle.”
Lorraine was growing impatient. “Vic! He did not eat a poodle. He’s a grazing animal. They eat grass.”
The front door opened and a big noisy party came in. “Hello! Is this the place where we’re celebrating the Beefalo capture?”
I jumped up first. “I’ll seat them. Finish your sandwiches. It’s gonna be an interesting night.” I seated the happy folks and tried not to think about what Vic had said. Things weren’t so bad. I was having a wonderful summer on the coast of Maine. What could be better than that. I thought about something my sweet grandmother used to say. “Kenny, don’t be good or the devil will be after you.”
I’m not sure how that applied here but it made me feel better. Nana was a hoot.
