Ol’ Man Eustace and the Huddle House Gospel

Now, I ain’t one to eavesdrop, least be not on purpose.
But when you’re sittin’ in your regular booth at the Huddle House, mindin’ your grits, and the Sheriff hisself strolls in lookin’ like he’s seen the devil pullin’ weeds, well, a man’s ears just naturally perk up.

I been watchin’ this town long enough to know when something’s startin’ to simmer.
And Piedmont? She’s bubblin’ again.

See, it all started when Tommy Wayne run off fifteen years ago. That boy was pure mischief with legs. Smart enough to do better but too curious to behave. His Aunt Lily Pearl raised him after his mama died, and she did right by him best she could, but that boy’s tongue was quicker than his sense.

Then came that summer. The letter. The shouting. Lily Pearl Pearl’s face white as funeral linen and Tommy Wayne gone by morning. Folks whispered he’d uncovered something. Something meant to stay buried. Some said it was about who his daddy really was. Others said it was about money Lily Pearl kept tucked away, money that didn’t rightly belong to her.

Now, you give a town like Piedmont a mystery, and it’ll keep gnawin’ at it like a dog on a bone till the Second Comin’.

So, when word hit that Tommy Wayne was back, you could feel it. The air turned thick as sorghum. Sheriff Cole came in this mornin’ lookin’ like he’d spent the night at the crossroads. Ordered coffee black as guilt and didn’t even touch his food. That tells you plenty right there. The Sheriff does love his groceries.

I told Clara Mae, “You mark my words, ghosts don’t walk ‘less they’ve got somethin’ to say, and secrets don’t stay dead ‘less somebody keeps ‘em buried.”

She shushed me, said I was stirrin’ up nonsense, but I seen her face. She remembers too.

And here’s what folks forget. I used to cut grass at the funeral home before Oliver took over. I know where Merlene’s buried, and I know there’s room for one more in that plot. Been empty all these years, just a patch of crabgrass and shadow.

Now, if you ask me, nobody does, but they ought to, I’d say Tommy Wayne’s come home to fill that space, one way or another.

But I’ll tell you this much for nothin’. Last night, right around when the fog rolled in, I was sittin’ on my porch, listenin’ to the frogs down by Terrapin Creek. And I heard it.

A whistle.
Soft, far off, just one long note. And I ain’t been able to sleep none since.

*****

New Yesterdays is available through the following links: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.