“First, come sit and have a soda. Then I’ll fill you in on Samson. No one comes into Norman’s and leaves with an empty stomach,” she explained as she ushered Sloane to the swivel stools by the counter. “Drink’s on me.”
“Who’s me?” Sloane asked.
The woman wiped down the place in front of Sloane. “Oh, forgive my manners. I’m just not used to many strangers coming through. I’m Izzy. My husband, Norman, owns this place. He makes the best burgers. Just ask those Chandler boys. They live on them.”
Sloane laughed at the woman’s rambling. She had a hunch this was just the beginning of the gossip and friendliness she’d find were she to stay in this small town. Recognizing that she might have to cozy up to Izzy before getting information, Sloane decided to accept her offer. “I’ll have a diet Coke. Please.”
Izzy placed her hands on her generous hips and tsked with her tongue. “A little thing like you could use some calories. Hey, Norman,” she yelled to a graying man who stood in the kitchen, visible from a pass-through. “Get this lady a Coke.”
So much for the customer always being right, Sloane thought wryly.
Only after she was seated with a Coke in front of her and Izzy beside her, did the woman get back to the reason for Sloane’s visit. “So what do you want with Samson?”
It didn’t escape Sloane’s notice that she still hadn’t told her where the older man lived.
“We have personal business.” She twirled the straw in her soda without meeting Izzy’s gaze directly, glancing out of the corner of her eye.
The other woman propped her chin on her hand. “No one’s ever had personal business with Samson that I can remember. How about you, Norman?”
“I think you should let the girl get to wherever she wants to go.” He strode from the kitchen and came up to the counter. “Too bad you weren’t here earlier. He was here mooching a chicken sandwich.”
So far, Sloane didn’t have a positive impression of Samson and no one had given her an actual description yet. “Does he live close by?”
“Everything’s close by,” Izzy explained. “Samson lives on the edge of town. When you get to the end of First, take Old Route Ten and keep going until you see the run-down place set back from the street.”
“You can’t miss it,” Norman added. “And if you can’t find him there, check out a place called Crazy Eights in Harrington.”
“Crazy Eights?” she asked, making certain she heard correctly.
“It’s a pool hall where Samson hangs out on nights he’s got cash on hand,” Norman said.
Izzy frowned. “Why’d you go and do that?” she chided her husband before turning to Sloane. “Don’t you dare go to that sleazy pool hall alone. It’s no place for a lady.”
Sloane nodded, fear resurfacing at the thought of meeting this man who was related to her in the most fundamental way. For all the thinking she’d done over the last day, she hadn’t dealt with the fact that this man was really her father. She wasn’t ready to do it now.
And she didn’t need any more caffeine hopping through her veins and making her more jittery. She took another sip to satisfy Izzy and reached into her purse, pulling out her wallet.
Izzy smacked her hand. “Didn’t I say this was on me?”
Sloane laughed at her outrageous, frank demeanor. “Thank you.”
“Consider it your welcome-to-town present. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you back here.”
Sloane wasn’t as certain, since once she found Samson, she planned to return to D.C.
During her long drive here and last night’s stay at a small motel an hour outside of Yorkshire Falls, she’d had a lot of time to think. She didn’t know what kind of threat Samson posed beyond his mere existence. But after twenty-eight years, he’d obviously decided he wanted something. Sloane had to find out what and diffuse that threat. She hoped that if he was just looking to meet his daughter, that by giving him that, he wouldn’t go public and ruin Michael Carlisle’s campaign.
Before Sloane could reply, Izzy continued. “Wait till the single men get a look at you.”
She whistled loud, so some of the patrons’ heads whipped around. “Isn’t that right Norman? A new face and one as pretty as this one will make heads turn.”
But Norman had already disappeared back into the kitchen, thank goodness, sparing Sloane additional embarrassment.
As it was, heat rushed to her cheeks. “Thanks.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell the woman she might not be around a second time. “It was nice meeting you,” she said to Izzy instead.
“Same here.”
Good-byes exchanged, Sloane finally made it back to the street. She glanced around at the beautiful gardens across the way and the fountain drizzling water in the center. There was also a gazebo tailor-made for romance rising above the surrounding bushes. She experienced a brief twinge of regret that she wasn’t here to visit and get to know the place where her mother had grown up.
She wondered if Jacqueline had liked it here. If she’d had many friends. Would Samson know? Have stories to share about the years her mother spent before leaving him?
She rested a hand over her jumping stomach. “Nothing to do but get into the car and head out of town,” she said to herself.
Minutes later, Sloane turned onto Old Route 10, as Norman had instructed. Soon, clusters of homes gave way to a long stretch of trees lining either side of the road. Heavy fall foliage covered the perimeter in varying degrees of red, yellow, and brown, a sight that under other circumstances she’d love to take in and admire.
But a sense of urgency beckoned. One she hadn’t felt earlier. When she’d walked into Norman’s to ask about Samson, anxiety had filled her, but now fear accompanied the nervous energy that had propelled her so far. And it wasn’t fear for herself or fear of the man who was her father. Rather, she was experiencing a more amorphous dread that bordered on panic, one she couldn’t define but encompassed her anyway.
Without warning, the trees dissipated and an open field stretched in front of her. Sitting dead center, all alone on the empty land, was a pathetic-looking, dilapidated house. The closer she got, the more evident the disrepair. The roof was old and missing shingles, while the paint on the outside had cracked and peeled.
She’d never considered where or how Samson lived. And as she pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, an overwhelming sense of sadness filled her for what looked like a lonely, pathetic existence.