Queenie's Cafe (3 page)

As they sat down to eat, a look passed between Dad and Florence. “Tell her, Bruce,” said Florence. “It’s time.”

Laura pinned her father in a stare. “Tell me what?”

Dad sat quietly, staring at his plate.

“Well, somebody better tell me something.”

A thick silence filled the room.

Dad finally spoke. “Laura, Queenie wasn’t your mother.”

Laura gaped at her father in stunned disbelief.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true,” said Florence. “Queenie wasn’t your mama, honey. She didn’t give birth to you.”

That explained Queenie’s behavior, even if it didn’t excuse it, and it explained why Laura grew up with her father. But if Queenie wasn’t her mother, who was? It couldn’t be Florence, could it?

Seconds later, Dad confirmed the unthinkable. “Florence is your mother.”

Laura’s throat closed. She stared at her father as questions sped through her mind like a video on fast forward. Why had he lied to her about Queenie? Why had he let her work her butt off trying to win Queenie’s approval? The only question she could force through her lips was, “Why didn’t you tell me the truth instead of letting me believe Queenie was my mother?”

“I’m telling you now. Florence and I have been in love for a long time.”

“Then why didn’t you divorce Queenie and marry Florence?”

“In the beginning, I was married to another man,” said Florence.

Dad scooped out some mashed potatoes and put them on his plate as if this was ordinary dinner conversation. “Queenie wouldn’t give me a divorce.”

“So what?” Married to other people or not, they still could have left here.

“It’s not somethin’ we can talk about, honey,” said Florence.

Laura shifted her stare to the woman sitting at the table with them.
Her mother.
A woman she barely knew. What could be so bad they couldn’t talk about it?

“We didn’t want you to grow up the way you did,” said Dad. “We didn’t choose to live this way.”

“It nearly killed us to watch that woman workin’ you to death in the café,” said Florence, “but we didn’t have no choice.”

A look of deep sadness touched Dad’s eyes, but instead of looking at her, he covered his roast and potatoes with gravy. “Queenie blackmailed us into living like this.”

Laura knew her father well enough to know that whatever Queenie held over him, he wasn’t about to talk about it now. Any man who could keep a secret like Florence from his own daughter for twenty years could keep his other secrets forever. If Florence hadn’t prodded him to tell her, she never would have known the truth about Queenie and Florence.

She should feel something for Florence, shouldn’t she? This woman was her mother, but she’d never been more than a motel guest who came to stay on occasion. Until Queenie died, they’d never had a conversation about anything. Florence had always avoided her. And now they expected her to accept Florence as her mother?

Why did they have to dump this on her the day of Queenie’s funeral?

Florence seemed to sense her discomfort. “Takes some gettin’ used to, don’t it?”

When Laura didn’t answer, Florence said, “Honey, I know you got questions. It’s all right, Laura. Ask whatever you want.”

“All right.” Laura met Florence’s intense gaze. “Were you always a prostitute?”

“Before I met your father I was off and on.”

“When you were married?”

She nodded. “My husband pushed me into it. He couldn’t hold a job. Didn’t want to. He was good lookin’, but lazy, and I was real young. I didn’t have no education and couldn’t seem to earn a livin’ no other way. We was broke and the rent was due. He got drunk with a friend one night and his friend suggested it. It was that or go hungry and sleep in the car. I know that’s no excuse, but—”

Dad spoke up. “She hasn’t always been a prostitute.”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Florence. “My husband went off to work in Texas for awhile. I lived here in the motel and worked in the café for Queenie until... well, until I got pregnant with you, then—”

“Queenie found out about you and Dad?”

Florence nodded. “I haven’t worked as a prostitute for a lot of years. Oh, I know what folks say about me, but it’s mostly just talk.”

Laura walked to the window. She had to think and she couldn’t do it sitting in front of them, as if she were on display. Her chest felt so heavy she could barely breathe. Queenie wasn’t her mother, but Florence wasn’t either. Not really. She’d never had a mother. She shouldn’t miss what she’d never had, but she did, and now it was too late. Where was Florence when she was a little girl, when she needed a mother?

She stood by the window, trying not to cry, when Florence put her arm around her shoulders. Laura didn’t pull away, but it felt awkward to be touched like this. Queenie never showed her any affection. Dad tried, but it didn’t come naturally to him.

Florence spoke softly. “I always loved you, honey. I wanted to be a mother to you, but Queenie wouldn’t let me.”

“So I grew up without a mother.”

“That’s not her fault,” said Dad.

“I know, but why would Queenie give me this place if she wasn’t my mother? She hated me.”

Florence squeezed her shoulder. “No, she didn’t, honey. She was jealous because she didn’t have a beautiful little girl like you.”

Dad walked up beside her. “Queenie... She gave this place to you to spite me.”

Laura held her arms, her fingers digging into her bare skin. “If you want it, you can have it, Dad.”

“No, honey, we don’t want it,” said Florence. “We got us a place in Ocala. I know it ain’t much, but Queenie wanted you to have the café and motel.”

After Queenie accused Laura of being little more than a prostitute, after she accused her of being lazy, she’d given her two businesses. It wasn’t to spite Dad. It was to spite his daughter by proving she couldn’t handle the work.

Dad rubbed her shoulder. “Laura, you don’t have to stay here. If you don’t want this place, sell it and move on. You can find a job anywhere.”

As if she could leave now. Queenie had thrown down a challenge, one Laura couldn’t ignore. She’d stay and turn this place into a profitable business, beginning with Queenie’s Café. No matter what Queenie said, Laura knew she wasn’t lazy. She’d prove she could run the café better than Queenie ever had.

“Not many women as young as you own their own businesses.” Florence gave Laura’s shoulders another little squeeze and released her. “I’ll clean up the dishes.”

“I’ll stay in room three tonight.” Staying in this tiny apartment with both of her parents was out of the question, and Dad had plenty of empty rooms. She needed time alone to digest all they’d told her.

When Laura left the apartment, Florence was in the kitchen crying, and Dad looked lost. If they were waiting for her to say everything was all right, they had a long wait coming, because everything wasn’t all right. All these years, Dad lied to her. He said Queenie was her mother.

Now she knew the truth.

Her mother was a prostitute.

<>

Florence lay in Bruce’s arms that night. Her tears had finally stopped, but she hurt right down to the bone. Her only child didn’t want a mother like her. If there’d been any other way, if Queenie hadn’t been so vindictive, if Bruce had shown some backbone and stood up to her, Florence could have been Laura’s mother from the beginning.

Bruce rubbed her arm. “Don’t blame yourself, Florence.”

“I feel so bad for Laura. What kind of life did we give our little girl?”

“The best we could under the circumstances. It was Queenie’s fault.”

That was what he believed, but she couldn’t lay all the blame on Queenie. They could have taken Laura and moved across the country years ago. The chances of them getting caught were slim, especially if they changed their names and started over. Now it was too late to give Laura a real family.

Laura was a grown woman.

And Queenie was dead.

<>

The next morning, Laura stood on a ladder cleaning air vents in the dining area when the cars and trucks started to arrive. It couldn’t be customers, or could it? Did she forget to put the CLOSED sign in the window?

She climbed off the ladder and unlocked the door. Florence brought a plumber, a roofer, an exterminator and an HVAC repairman. Others, men and women, carried buckets, mops and cleaning supplies. Most of these people were customers, neighbors, and friends. Some she didn’t recognize at all. Florence had at least twenty people with her, more than Laura had ever seen in the café at one time.

“Hi, honey,” said Florence. “All right, y’all, let’s get to work.”

“I don’t believe this,” said an astonished Laura. All these people came to help her.

Florence winked at Laura. “We should have this place spic and span in no time.”

Laura heard someone walking on the roof. The plumber went right to work snaking out the drains and fixing the stopped up toilet. The exterminator checked the pantry and went outside to spray around the building.

One of the women pulled rubber gloves on over her beautiful manicure. “I used to work as a cook, honey. I know how to clean a stove.”

“It’s pretty bad in there.”

“You’re going to have to replace this vent, Laura.” Marv Walker, the HVAC repairman, was a kind man nearing retirement age. “It’s so full of grease it’s a fire hazard.”

“Can you give me an estimate?”

“I can do better than that. I think I have enough material left over from another job to make a new one. All you’ll need to buy is a new fan, and I may have one in the shop.”

“That’s great!”

Laura climbed on a ladder and cleaned the dust and grime off the ceiling vents. She took the covers off and ran the vacuum inside, then washed the covers before she put them back. The ceiling light fixtures were filthy and half the bulbs were burned out. Laura handed the burned out bulbs down to Florence and replaced them with the new ones someone had found in the pantry.

Florence smiled up at her and Laura couldn’t help but smile back. She didn’t quite know what to say to this woman.
Her mother.

Someone called from the kitchen, “Florence, this grease cutter stuff you bought works real good on this old stove.”

Someone else said, “Laura, the mice have been in the flour and sugar.”

“I know,” Laura called back. “Throw everything out. I’ll have to start over.”

“You can do it, honey,” said Florence. “I know you can make a go of this old place. Queenie couldn’t do it, but you can.”

Could she? Laura looked around at all the people working and laughing, enjoying themselves in spite of the hard work. They had faith in her even if Queenie didn’t.

Charley Fenderman, scrubbing the inside of a window, said, “It’ll be nice to have a place to eat in this town again. I’m glad you’re back, Laura.”

Murmurs of agreement spread through the café, warming Laura inside. She climbed down off the ladder and someone else immediately claimed it.

At one, Charley brought a stack of pizzas, and everyone stopped work for lunch. Charley was one of the regulars Queenie had chased away for flirting with Laura. All the men had flirted, and most had left good tips, because they knew Queenie didn’t pay her anything.

By the end of the day, the new exhaust system had been installed, except for the new fan, the plumbing was working, the roof had a new patch, and the roaches, mice and ants were gone. The dining area still looked shabby, with tired furniture, worn carpet, and stained walls, but Laura could see through the windows again.

Thanks to Florence and her friends, the café was clean.

And Laura was one step closer to opening.

<>

On Thursday, while Marv and Charley installed the new exhaust fan in the café kitchen, Laura cleaned out Queenie’s motel room. She started with the closet and bathroom, filling boxes with Queenie’s trash and treasures. As she filled the boxes, she carried them outside and stuffed them in the dumpster behind the diner. Clothes, shoes, hair brush and comb, lipstick, toothbrush, Laura tossed it all out. She propped the motel room door open to air the room out, but it still smelled stale. She stripped the bed and threw the pillows away, then put the sheets aside. They were worth saving. They were about the only things that were. The bed had to go, along with the sagging old recliner, but they wouldn’t fit in the dumpster. She’d have to find someone to take them to the dump. The furniture was in such sorry shape, she couldn’t even give it away.