Not So Peachy Day Read online

  Timmy looked into Momma Peach's eyes. “Really? You really want to adopt me as your own?” he asked as little tears began to fall out of his worried, disbelieving eyes.

  “Now don't you go to crying, or you'll make me start bawling like a baby,” Momma Peach begged. She wiped Timmy's tears away and kissed his nose. “I am going to make you a promise here and now.”

  “Really?”

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “I promise that I am going to take my Timmy home with me and raise you as my own.” Momma Peach pointed at Sam. “Mr. Sam here,” she said and then pointed at Rosa, “and Rosa are going to help raise you, too. Plus,” she smiled, “there's Millie, Mandy and...well, Old Joe.” Momma Peach made a pained face. “Oh, please don't let that old back-alley cat try and teach this baby how to play cards and shoot pool. Just trust me and don’t listen to everything Old Joe says, okay? You’ll understand one day.”

  Timmy stared at Momma Peach and found truth in her eyes. “I trust you, Momma.”

  Sam picked up a brown coffee cup and sipped his coffee. “Timmy,” he said, carefully changing the subject now that Timmy had accepted that Mrs. Fowler had to be called, “you said that you saw the man I got into a fight with. When did you see him and where?”

  “First,” Momma Peach said and set Timmy back down in his chair, “before you answer Mr. Sam, can you tell me when you went into the attic where we found you last night? You said you wandered into Mr. John's inn, but you never said when.”

  Timmy looked down at his little hands and then back up at Momma Peach. “Well...I ran away yesterday morning.” Timmy glanced around and then looked back down at his hands. “Mrs. Fowler took me to this truck stop to eat once...I ran here because I was gonna ask a trucker to drive me to Florida. I saw it in a movie once, I thought the ocean looked real pretty there. But then I saw a cop car and got real scared, so I ran into the hotel instead.”

  “Is that where you saw the man I got into a fight with?” Sam asked.

  Timmy nodded his head. “When I went into the hotel I didn't see anyone around…but I did see donuts next to a coffee pot and ran over to get me one. But then I heard the front door start to open and got real scared. I thought a cop was coming to get me, so I opened up the cabinet under the coffee pot and climbed inside. Please don’t be mad—I didn’t steal the donut, honest. The sign said they were free.”

  “It's okay,” Momma Peach said, noticing Timmy becoming tense, “You’re not in trouble for anything at all, I don’t care if you stole a dozen donuts. Momma Peach is right here. You just keep on talking. No one is going to fuss at you.”

  Timmy fiddled with his hands. “I heard loud voices and watched through the crack between the two cabinet doors. I saw the man that kicked Sam yelling at another man...another man who looked a lot like him. You know—fancy clothes?”

  Sam nodded. “What were the two men arguing about, son?” Sam asked.

  “The man who kicked you was telling the other man to go and shoot someone, but the other man wouldn't do it...he kinda seemed confused because he kept saying he thought they had come back to offer a man named John more money…and then...” Timmy closed his eyes. “Then...the man who kicked Sam pulled out a gun and shot the other man in his back...” Timmy grabbed Momma Peach's hand and she curled an arm protectively around his narrow shoulders. “I was so scared I didn’t know what to do. I heard cars in the parking lot, so I couldn’t run out the door…instead I ran upstairs, all the way up the highest floor. I...went up into the attic and hid.”

  “You were mighty scared when we found you last night,” Momma Peach told Timmy, “don't be too hard on yourself. You did the right thing to tell us, even if it’s confusing.”

  Rosa stared at Timmy. She couldn't imagine the horror the little boy had seen with his own eyes. Seeing a man shot dead at such a tender young age had to be terrifying. “You poor thing,” she said. “You have no family—”

  “Had no family,” Momma Peach corrected Rosa.

  “Had no family,” Rosa agreed. “You get thrown into one horrible foster home after another and then you see a man shot dead.” Rosa stood up, walked over to Timmy, and hugged him. “Well, from here on out your big sister is going to take good care of you.”

  “Big sister?” Timmy asked.

  Rosa nodded her head. “You better believe it,” she smiled and hugged Timmy even tighter. “You're my brother, kiddo. And you just wait, we're gonna do all kinds of fun stuff together. We're gonna go on picnics, go swimming, take hikes, go roller skating, all kinds of fun stuff.”

  Timmy beamed. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Rosa promised and pointed at Sam. “We'll even ride an elephant.”

  “An elephant?” Timmy asked, confused.

  Rosa giggled. “Mr. Sam owns a lot of land back in Georgia where we all live,” she explained. “He has a beautiful elephant on his land, too.”

  “Wow, an elephant,” Timmy said, amazed. “Sam, can we ride your elephant as soon as we get there? Can we, please?”

  “Well, we'll wait and see what Millie says,” Sam smiled and patted Timmy's hand. “But I'm sure in time we'll figure out something.”

  Timmy beamed with excitement. “An elephant...wow,” he said. “Momma, can I ride the elephant?”

  “In time,” Momma Peach promised. “But first we have to handle the situation we're in.”

  “You have to call Mrs. Fowler,” Timmy said in a miserable voice.

  “Yes, but not today,” Momma Peach explained. “I’m not calling anyone until the man Mr. Sam punched in the nose is put on ice.”

  Sam heard Martha open the kitchen door and hurry up to the table carrying a large bag of food. “There's eight to-go plates,” Martha explained. “This should get you through lunch and supper and save you a couple of trips over here in these conditions. I worry about y’all crossing that street in this horrible storm.”

  Sam reached into his back pocket and began to pull out his wallet. “How much do we—”

  “Not a penny,” Martha told Sam and set the large bag down on the table. “Beth has cooked up more food than we can handle, and we need to get that food served. Mr. Brown is sure gonna put up a fuss, but that's life and he'll just have to get over it.”

  Sam smiled, whipped out five twenties, and placed them down on the table. “Your tip,” he told Martha.

  Momma Peach reached into her pocketbook and pulled out as many twenty-dollar bills as she could find and handed them to Martha. “An extra tip from some mighty grateful people.”

  “I...oh my,” Martha said, “thank you so much.” Martha looked at Timmy. “Since you're being so kind, allow me to return the favor.”

  Momma Peach patted the large bag. “Surely you've been kind enough.”

  “Well, let me help you out at least a little,” Martha said. She looked at Timmy. “Greg Corks was in this truck stop yesterday looking for a missing boy that matches Timmy's description,” Martha explained. “But the shooting that took place across the street put a damper on his search...and that storm outside sure didn't help matters none, either.”

  “Don't let the cops take me, Momma,” Timmy begged.

  Momma Peach took Timmy's right hand. “Oh, Ms. Martha is just telling us that some worried folks are looking for you, that's all. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

  “And don't you worry one little bit,” Martha promised Timmy, “because Old Martha isn't going to call anyone. Momma Peach will take care of you, okay?”

  Timmy nodded his head. “Okay.”

  “Well,” Sam said and drained his coffee, “if we can bug you for two hot coffees and two hot cocoas to go, we'll be on our way.”

  “Four hot drinks for the road, coming right up,” Martha promised and hurried back into the kitchen.

  Sam stood up and rubbed his chest. “I feel better already,” he said in a relieved voice.

  Rosa walked over to her chair and grabbed her coat. “Well, we better prepare ourselves for another stroll in the snow,” she sai
d in a miserable voice and listened to the winds howl and scream outside.

  Momma Peach stood up and looked down at Timmy. Before she could tell the boy to stay cuddled up against her one of the truckers who had helped them earlier yanked open the front door, hurried inside, stomped snow off his boots, and walked up to Momma Peach carrying a sizeable plastic bag. “My nephew is about that little boy's age,” he said and pointed at Timmy. “It's his birthday next week. I told him we’d go snow tubing in Colorado.” The trucker reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a warm blue and red ski suit along with a pair of black snow boots. “I got him this ski suit as a present, but truthfully, he already has a good set to wear and it looks like this little fella could use it more. Consider it my thanks.”

  Timmy looked up at the large trucker who resembled a grizzly bear. Beyond the rough beard, fat belly and mean face he saw a kind and gentle man who drove trucks for a living. The trucker smiled and handed the little boy the bag with the ski suit and snow boots. “Wow, thanks,” Timmy said, stunned.

  “Anytime, champ,” the trucker told Timmy and rubbed his head. “There’s gloves in there, too. Well, if you folks will excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”

  Sam reached out and shook the trucker’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I mean it. Thanks a lot.”

  “Anytime,” the trucker told Sam with a shy smile and began to walk away.

  “Wait just a second,” Momma Peach ordered the trucker. She ran over to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and gave him a big hug. “Don't I love your selfless kindness,” she said. “Just when I feel like hate is winning in this old world, men like you shine bright.”

  The trucker wrapped his large arms around Momma Peach, hugged her back, and then—to everyone's surprise—kissed the top of her head. “Take care of that little one,” he smiled and wandered off to the bathroom.

  Momma Peach smiled from ear to ear and then focused on Timmy. “Let's get you into that ski suit,” she said.

  “Okay,” Timmy said in an excited voice. Momma Peach began helping Timmy into the warm snowsuit and boots. The task was more difficult than she realized. By the time she had helped Timmy into the bulky suit and tied the black ski boots tightly, she was worn out. “Momma?” Timmy asked worriedly.

  “Momma Peach...is fine,” Momma Peach said, breathing hard and wiping sweat off her forehead. “Goodness...just give me...a second.”

  Sam patted Momma Peach on her shoulder. “Get used to it,” he smiled.

  Momma Peach drew in a deep breath. “Mr. Sam, where we live, a ski suit isn't needed, and I know my little Timmy can dress himself...and thank goodness for all of that because I couldn't spend my life putting ski suits on little boys.”

  Rosa grinned. “You did just fine, Momma Peach. Timmy looks...dashing.”

  “Really?” Timmy asked. “I feel really warm.”

  “Good,” Momma Peach said and put on her red coat. “Mr. Sam, will you grab the food?”

  “Sure thing,” Sam said and grabbed the bag full of food and walked over to the front door and stopped. “Momma Peach, what are we going to do about John?” he asked in a desperate voice. “He's sitting over there waiting to shoot it out with a killer.”

  Momma Peach walked up next to Sam and took his hand. “Mr. Sam, leave everything to me because I’m sharpening my mind on a whole bunch of thoughts.” Momma Peach looked over her shoulder and saw Timmy walking up with Rosa and then saw Martha hurrying out of the kitchen with the coffee and hot cocoa. “Right now, we're going to take it one step at a time, Mr. Sam,” she said, “because we have two precious babies to protect.”

  Sam nodded his head and waited for Martha to hand Momma Peach their drinks.

  Timmy didn't mind stepping out into the storm this time. He was wearing an awesome snow suit that kept his body warm and thick black boots that covered his worn-down sneakers. He felt protected and safe, like the warmth was his armor. He was a soldier on a mission, deep behind enemy lines, trapped in a blizzard. The frozen buildings that surrounded him turned into bunkers, all the snow-covered trees swaying back and forth in the wind turned into enemy watchtowers, and the snow itself—thick and unforgiving—became enemy territory.

  Timmy turned around and spotted a few semi-trucks parked beside the truck stop and squinted his eyes: they could be enemy tanks. He then looked across the street at the snow-covered inn: it was home base, and they were under attack by the enemy. Yes, he was deep inside enemy territory. But he wasn't alone. No way. He had three other cold but dependable soldiers at his side: Private Rosa, Sergeant Sam, and Colonel Momma Peach. Together, Timmy told himself, they would defeat the enemy and come out of the war as heroes. “Right, Momma?” he asked and looked up at Momma Peach's frozen face.

  “Huh?” Momma Peach asked. “Momma didn't hear you. I’m too busy keeping the wind off my face, my goodness.”

  “We're going to defeat the enemy, aren't we?” Timmy asked, trudging across the street beside Momma Peach.

  Momma Peach spotted a group of brave people leaving the inn. She watched the group turn their attention to the truck stop, talk among themselves for a second, and then start out across the street in a single line. “Is that restaurant open?” a man in his late twenties yelled over the wind, hoping his voice would reach either Sam or Momma Peach. The poor man was dressed in a flimsy overcoat that was useless against the cold.

  “Yeah,” Sam yelled back and tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “Tell Martha we sent you.”

  The man turned and waved at the people behind him. “Restaurant is open!” he yelled. The group of people let out a loud cheer and hustled through the deep snow drifts with purpose.

  “Poor Martha is going to be jumping, but at least all the food Beth cooked won't go to waste,” Momma Peach said and hurried to the front door of the inn and stepped inside. John was at the coffee station making a fresh pot of coffee. “Hello, Mr. John,” Momma Peach said and began stomping snow off her feet on the sturdy mat. “Mighty snowy outside, yes sir and yes, ma’am.”

  John didn't acknowledge Momma Peach. He was lost in his thoughts. But when he saw Sam walk inside he nodded his head. “Need a favor, Sam.”

  “Whatever I can,” Sam said and waited for Rosa to step inside and then pulled the front door closed. “Glad to see the power is on.”

  “I got the generator going, which don't help me much. My housekeepers can't make it in today. Guests are demanding fresh towels and toilet paper,” John explained. “Maybe you can help me run a few things upstairs? I can use the back elevator to get myself up to the second floor and make the rounds, but I prefer to stay down here in the lobby…” John looked at Momma Peach and realized he failed to say hello to her. “I’m sorry…did you say something when you came in, Momma Peach? I didn't hear you...I was chewing over how to get my guests to stop their bellyaching.”

  Momma Peach walked over to the coffee station and set her paper cup of coffee from the diner down on the counter. “Never mind all that, Mr. John,” Momma Peach said in a serious voice. “Andy Pracks was over at the truck stop when we got there. Mr. Sam tangled with him.”

  John shook his head. “Sam, I told you to mind your own business,” he snapped. “This is my fight, do you hear me?”

  “This is our fight,” Sam snapped back, standing up straighter. “John, whether you accept it or not, Andy Pracks is my enemy now, too. I don’t take kindly to men who think it their place to threaten good, honest businessmen like yourself. I’ll have you know I smashed a chair over his head and punched him in the nose. He's not likely to overlook my actions.” Sam pointed a finger at John and then at himself. “Andy Pracks knows that your fight is my fight, John, and I'm not about to back down, do you hear me?”

  “Your fight is our fight,” Momma Peach repeated to John and nodded her head at Timmy. “See that little child standing over there?”

  John looked at Timmy. “Sam told me about him. I ain't gonna report him being here. A boy has a right to make up his own mind where he
wants to be.”

  “Well,” Momma Peach told John, “it's a good thing you believe that, because that little boy saw Andy Pracks shoot and kill William Krayton.”

  “What?” John asked. The color drained from his face.

  Momma Peach nodded her head and pulled open a cabinet door under the coffee station. She peered inside. It was roomy and deep, perfect for a child to climb in and hide. “Timothy, honey, you were hiding right under here, right?” Momma Peach asked Timmy. “Come on over and tell Mr. John what you told us.”

  Timmy stared at John’s serious expression and then nervously stepped forward. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a scared voice, “I hid right next to that box right there.” Timmy pointed to a box of coffee and then looked at John. “I hid because…I’m sorry, sir, I was so hungry, and I took a donut, and I thought they were coming to get me. But it wasn’t the cops coming. It was two men who walked in...they were quiet at first but then they began yelling at each other, real mean. One of the men started ordering the other man to...to shoot you...but the other man refused.” Timmy looked down at his feet. “I watched through the crack between the doors...and that's when I saw one of them shoot the other one in the back.”

  “I'll be,” John said, completely floored. “You saw Andy Pracks shoot and kill William Krayton.” Timmy nodded his head, sad but brave. “We have a witness.”

  “When the man left I crawled out from under the counter and ran upstairs.” Timmy looked up at Momma Peach. “Momma, I forgot to tell you something...”

  “What is it?” Momma Peach asked.

  Timmy kept his eyes low. “When I ran in here...after I saw the cop at the truck stop...well, I ran past one of them fancy long cars parked out front.”

  “You mean a limousine?” Rosa asked.

  Timmy shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno if that’s what you might call the fancy car I saw.”

  “So Andy Pracks could have spotted you running in here,” Sam said and rubbed the back of his neck. “And then the snake sees you with us…”