God In The Kitchen (19 page)

            “Sure thing boss,” said the afternoon guy known as Ricky Radio in his notoriously radio-like voice. “Whatever you say.” And then to the crowd he shouted, “Who’s first?”

            I shook my head in wonder. I couldn’t believe that there would be that many thirsty people willing to stand in the hot sun for an hour just to have a glass of lemonade. Course, deep down, I knew the real reason they were there. The same reason I was. To help a little boy named Ian who had captured their heart. Though none of them had even ever seen him.

            I then turned to the news crew that was setting up their tripod off to the side of the table. “Do you guys need anything?” I asked and the reporter told me they were going to do a few establishing shots and then they would interview me about the stand. After that, they would go to the line and ask some of the people in the crowd why they had come out that day. With any luck, it would air on the noon news and bring even more people to the stand.

            As I let them go about their work, I couldn’t have been more thrilled. We weren’t charging a specific amount for the lemonade, it was all based on free will donations. But I watched as dollar bills, fives, and even an occasional ten or twenty passed over the table into the hands of the people who had made the lemonade. Little by little, the money was coming together.

            We made a color chart on which we had hoped to keep track of how much money we had raised and how much we had left to go. I had even contacted the hospital to get an exact figure so we would have the goal right in front of us. I could already see that the chart would have to be ignored until later in the day, when we had more help on hand. It was going to take every pair of hands I had asked to come. And then some.

            As the news crew got their establishing shots and I heard the reporter talk about how hot it was and how good a tall glass of lemonade would taste, I took a moment to think of my dad. Had he been around, his boisterous laugh would have been lighting up the air as he squeezed as many lemons as he could behind that table. He would have done anything to help anyone, even a little boy he didn’t know. If he hadn’t been behind the table, you better believe he would have at least been in the line, buying his own expensive glass of lemonade. He probably would have even gone back for seconds.

            As I pictured his smiling face and his big, wiry beard, I felt as if he was next to me for the first time in a long time. It had been a while since I’d had time to think about him at all and he always felt slightly out of reach since I could no longer pick up the phone and talk to him. But in that moment, it was as if he was right there next to me, urging me on. I knew without a doubt that what I was doing for Ian was making him proud.

            “We’re ready for you over here,” the producer from the local news show called and I jogged over to the camera, ready for my close up, as they say. I still wasn’t comfortable with cameras, but I was very comfortable with what we were doing that day and I was positive my passion played out well on camera. When they were done with me, the cameraman headed over to the line behind the table, which had only grown longer.

            I overheard a variety of things as he asked various people why they had come out that day.

            “We were at the farmer’s market and we saw the signs,” one of them said.

            “We listen to Jared Jones every morning and he said this was the place to be,” another said.

            “It’s for a little boy,” a motherly voice stated. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my own son and I wanted to help this mother’s son if I could. It’s the least I can do.”

            I hoped her comments made it on the air in front of the others. Whatever the reason they came, however, they had come. And by the looks of the line, which had now curled down the parking lot, they were still coming.

            By noon we had emptied one of the tubs of lemonade and the extra pairs of hands I had asked for had arrived. Lemons were being squeezed furiously to keep up with the demand and I was starting to wonder if I had made a mistake by not simply buying some mixes to add to water. It was too late now and so far, we were keeping our heads above the water.

            I heard a slight rumbling go through the big line and I glanced up from my own station at the ice bin where I was trying to chip some of the ice away and into cups. Chloe and Ian were making their way to the table and some of the people in the line had obviously recognized them, though they had never appeared on TV themselves.

            I remembered the descriptions I had given on the radio and there was no mistaking the wispy blonde hair on Ian’s head and the bright blue eyes that blinked from beneath his lashes. His mother was also carrying him and his skin looked extra pale. And they weren’t getting in line for their own glass. All of those things quickly added up and people began to talk.

            Chloe made it to the booth and I quickly placed my arm around her shoulders and drew her behind the table.

            “Jared, your hands are freezing!” she said pulling away a little with surprise.

            “Sorry,” I said, gesturing to the ice bin at my feet. “I’ve been working with the ice.”

            “I can tell,” she replied and then she looked back at the line. “This is amazing! Are all these people here for us?”

            “They’re here for him,” I said, ruffling Ian’s hair as he gave me a shy smile from his mother’s shoulder.

            “Music Man,” he said, pointing a thin finger at my shoulder.

            “Hey buddy. You thirsty?” Surely we could spare a glass of lemonade for our star…the reason we were here.

            Ian nodded and I reached around a worker and grabbed a fresh glass from the table, handing it to Ian.

            “Mmm,” he said as he took his first gulp. “Num!”

            Chloe smiled. “I hope we’re not late. I thought we were supposed to get here at noon?” the question in her eyes told me that she was worried she had gotten the time wrong.

            “That’s right, we officially opened at noon,” I told her as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. She was right, my hands were cold and they felt good against my hot skin. “We opened early because there was already a line and we had enough lemonade to help things along.”

            “Wow, I just can’t believe it,” she said, looking out to the people again. The mild line that had started to form at 11 was not a mass of people and it snaked back and forth across the parking lot. Fists were extending over the counter with wads of bills and lemonade was going back over. It was amazing what modern technology and word of mouth had made possible in one short week.

            “Would you mind talking with some of the people out there?” I asked nodding to the crowd. “I think it would really help them endure the wait to hear what you have to say. You know, just thank them for coming, point Ian out, that sort of thing.”

            Chloe looked worriedly down at Ian, who had not yet come up from air from his glass of lemonade.

            “He doesn’t have to go with you,” I said. “I know it would be too hot out there in the sun for him. He can stay back here in the shade. We have a fan over there and he can help me by unwrapping the glasses. We could really use the help and I think he’d have fun.”

            “He DOES love to take things apart,” Chloe said as I felt her guard lowering. “You want to stay here with Ja…I mean, the Music Man and help for a bit while Mommy goes and talks to some of the nice people?”

            Ian nodded, his lemonade almost gone and Chloe lowered him to the ground.

            “Here you go, little man,” I said, leading him over to a cooler. “Just have a seat right on top of here and I’ll get you some glasses. You can unwrap them and set them right next to you, okay?”

            “Okay!” Ian shouted as if it was the most excitement he had seen all week. I wondered if he even realized that this even was all for him.

            Ian did a nice job unwrapping the glasses, though he was painstakingly slow and I began to chip away at the ice again while trying to keep an eye on both him and Chloe. Occasionally, I would make conversation with Ian about trains, his favorite Mickey cartoons, what he liked to do at the park and other things that I thought would interest a little man his age. Mostly, I let him do his work while I did mine and we were both happy. It was a strange, comfortable silence. As if we had known each other so long and so well that we did not have to talk in order to enjoy each other’s company. I wondered if that was what it would feel like to have a son. I would talk to him, of course, but when there was nothing more to say, it was okay to be silent as well.

            I smiled as I glanced up at Ian, his blonde hair shaking over a particularly stubborn package of glasses. Chloe looked like she was doing well with the crowd. She was working her way back through the line, smiling, shaking hands, laughing on some occasions and looking serious on others. She seemed to be a natural and I wondered if she should have gone into politics instead of waitressing at the diner. But then I reminded myself that she would do absolutely anything for her son, whether she was comfortable with it or not.

            After nearly an hour, Chloe returned to the booth and took one look at Ian, who had grown even more slowly at his task.

            “I better get you home, buddy,” she said, bending down in front of him.

            “I’m having fun,” he informed her without a hint of a whine.

            “I’m so glad,” she said, “but you need to rest.”

            Ian nodded and put down a half empty package of cups, opening his arms to his mother who lifted him onto her hip with ease.

            “I’m sorry we have to go,” she said.

            “I completely understand,” I said as I stood beside her. “If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you are always going to do what’s best for your son.”

            Chloe nodded. “It’s all I know how to do.”

            “And it’s one of the things I love about you most,” I said, not even realizing I had used the word love.

            Chloe’s eyes grew tender and I almost thought she was going to say something back, but then a shadow crossed her face and she closed her mouth again before anything came out.

            “Truly, thank you for everything,” she said after a few beats had passed. “We’ll try to come back closer to closing time and see how things ended up.”

            “That’d be great,” I said and I watched them walk away, Ian already asleep on his mom’s shoulder and Chloe nodding and thanking people as she went.

            I was about to bend over the ice bin yet again, my hands half frozen from the hours I had already spent there when I thought I spotted a blonde ponytail near the back of the line. There could be hundreds of people in the city that had a blonde ponytail, but how many of them would wear a flannel shirt on this hot, sunny afternoon?

            I shook my head. All of the ice had frozen my thoughts and I was starting to imagine things. Even if there was someone back there with a ponytail and a flannel shirt, it didn’t really mean anything. Did it? It could be anyone. Or it could be no one. It most certainly wasn’t him.

            The rest of the lemonade stand went just as well as the first few hours. I was amazed at how well the community had come out to support one of its own. I got to hear a lot of similar stories about hardships that people had been through in the past and the fact that now, all they wanted to do was help someone else get through a rough time.

            When Chloe returned at 5 with Ian in tow, we were still serving beverages, though the line was finally starting to dwindle.

            “I’m sure you’re curious about the results,” I said in way of greeting.

            “Sure,” Chloe said as Ian ran his peeling train up her neck and through her braid.