Chris Grabenstein - Whack A Mole

“I never could have afforded to send him up to my sister's … not on my own … I mean not with everything else … you know, back-to-school clothes and school supplies and….”

“Rita, I'm very glad to hear that T. J.'s having fun,” Ceepak says softly. “He's a good kid.”

Rita leans down because she can't resist giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

Ceepak's grin grows so wide his wiggling dimples look like parentheses quivering on either side of his nose.

Rita giggles when she finds a tear in her eye.

“Look at me. I'm a mess.” She dabs it away with her thumb. “Thanks again, honey.”

“You are very welcome.”

Romance fills the air. Almost enough to cover up the smell of overcooked broccoli and lobster brine. Who knows, maybe I'll get lucky. If not tonight, sometime soon. If not Aubrey, someone else.

“He'll be home on Friday,” says Rita, composing herself, brushing invisible wrinkles out of her crisp white blouse. “They need him on the boardwalk. Apparently, they're expecting big crowds on account of the Sand Castle Competition.”

T. J. works part-time at this game booth on the boardwalk, helping people lose their money by flinging rubber rings at two-liter Coke bottles in a frantic attempt to win their girlfriend some kind of cuddly stuffed monkey.

“Miss?”

A man three tables away, a huge man with a napkin tucked under his three chins and a glob of sour cream dotting the tip of his nose, is waving his arm like a little boy who needs permission to use the bathroom.

“We need more butter, miss.”

“Right away!” Rita says.

She scoots into the kitchen. Ceepak watches her fly through the swinging double doors. I look down and check out T. J.'s postcard. Naturally it reminds me of the one Mary Guarneri sent her mother all those years back. The one she signed “Ruth,” for whatever reason. When I look up, I can tell Ceepak is thinking the exact same thing. He pushes his chowder bowl aside and reaches into a cargo pants pocket to pull out a stack of Polaroids.

“Let's recap. What do we have thus far?” he asks rhetorically as he flips his evidence photographs down on the table like Uno cards. “The two jars left at the museum. The name Ruth written on the one label-the same name Mary Guarneri used on her postcard home to her mother. The Lisa earring.” He flips down another Polaroid. “We also have the museum guest book.”

“We should check all those names-the people who came in before the Pepper family.”

“Roger that.” He flips down two more pictures. “We have Cap'n Pete's treasure: the milk carton and Mary's charm bracelet.”

“Yeah. Guess she lost it before she changed her name.”

Ceepak agrees. Taps the “Mary” charm.

“What's that?”

Rita has come out of the kitchen with a big bowl of melted butter for the heart-attack-waiting-to-happen over at table fifteen. She's staring at the charm bracelet picture.

Ceepak deftly flips over the more gruesome photos.

“A charm bracelet Captain Pete found buried in the sand.”

Rita looks surprised. “He actually found something?”

Ceepak nods. “On Oak Beach. Close to where I found the high-school ring.”

Rita leans down for a closer look.

“Cool,” she says. She focuses on the tiny doodads strung along the chain. “I had a kitten charm like that….”

“Miss?” Tubby at table fifteen must smell his butter.

Rita taps the picture.

“I had that one, too,” she says.

“Which one?” asks Ceepak.

“The church,” she says. “Reverend Billy gave it to me.”

We wait while Rita serves the big man his butter.

“Anything else?”

The guy's mouth is a mush pit of half-chewed broccoli and bread. “I need more sour cream.” He says this while stuffing the crusty heel of a dinner roll into his face.

“No problem.” Rita dashes back toward the kitchen.

Now Ceepak's the one holding up his hand, trying to catch the waitress's attention by waggling his fingers.

Rita sees him. Stops before she hits the doors.

“You guys need more chowder? More crackers, Danny?”

“Negative,” says Ceepak. He taps the charm bracelet photograph. “However, I would like to discuss….”

“Sure. I'll be right back.”

Boom. She hustles into the kitchen.

“Actually, I could use a couple more crackers,” I say. Waverly Wafers. You can never have enough.

Boom. Rita cannonballs out the double doors with a quart-sized mountain of sour cream scooped into a salad bowl.

“Here you go, sir,” she says to Tubby, who has too much bread and meat in his mouth to even mumble anymore.

“Miss?”

A woman with a helmet of hard hair is tapping her lipstick-rimmed coffee cup with an index finger-the universal symbol for fill-'er-up.

“Regular, right?” Rita's still smiling.

“Right.”

While she's on her way to the coffee pots, a woman at another table-with what looks like all her sisters and their husbands-holds up a half-full breadbasket.

“Excuse me? Miss? We need more of the rolls with the salty tops … not the brown ones … no one likes the brown ones….”

Rita, that smile permanently planted in place, grabs the basket.

“No problem.”

When she gets to the Bunn coffee warmer, this old guy nearby tugs on her skirt with one hand, slurps his coffee with the other.

“I could use a little more decaf.”

“Of course.”

The guy holds out his cup like a beggar under the boardwalk.

Suddenly, Ceepak slides out of our booth and marches toward the center of the dining room. As he walks, he unpins the badge on his shirt, holds the shiny shield in the palm of his right hand, raises it high above his head.

This is so cool: Ceepak's going to tin the entire dining room.

“Ladies? Gentlemen? May I have your attention please? I am Officer John Ceepak of the Sea Haven Police Department.”

People turn. Forks lower. Chewing ceases. Even Tubby shuts his trap.

“Because of an ongoing police investigation, your waitress will be temporarily unavailable to serve you. If you require anything, kindly wait until Ms. Lapczynski returns to the floor in approximately five minutes. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your dinners. Ms. Lapczynski?”

Ceepak tilts his head, indicating that Rita should follow us outside. Immediately. She is trying very hard not to laugh. With a big grin on her face, she accompanies us out the front door and into the parking lot.

• • •

“He gave one to all the girls who came to the Life Under the Son Ministry. The church roof tilts back. And inside are these teeny little pews. I think I still have it somewhere….”

Ceepak watches her closely.

“When exactly did you go there first?”

Rita drops her head. “1991. Sixteen years ago.” She waits a second. Then looks up. “When I was pregnant with T. J.”

Ceepak nods. I see no judgment in his eyes. Neither does Rita, so she continues.

“I was just a kid. I made a mistake.”

“We all make mistakes.” Ceepak's voice is steady but soft. “That's …”

“You're not going to tell me ‘that's why your pencil has an eraser’ again, are you?”

In fact, Ceepak probably was going to tell her exactly that, because that's what he always says whenever somebody else goofs up.

“No, ma'am.”

“Good. Because T. J. isn't a mistake.”

“Of course not.”

“His father was long gone. I'd only known him for a few weeks. We were kids, John. Teenagers hanging out on the beach. He was just this cute boy, a summertime fling. He lived outside Philly, I think.”

She pauses. Ceepak nods again, encouragingly.