Little Red's Café

SEVEN

At one in the afternoon Aunt Ruth and I are standing outside the Café as she is locking the door. "Tom is headed to your house to help with those closet doors."
"Oh crap." Completely forgetting I had asked him to help me with those today. Uncle Tom has a key to the house so he would just let himself in, but I wanted to catch him before he left.
"Thanks Aunt Ruth!" I kiss her cheek, give her a quick hug and jet to the bug with Trixx close behind.

"Be careful tonight! I love you!" She yells after me.
"Love you too," I yell over my shoulder.

Once at the house I observed how right I was about Uncle Tom being there. He was digging around in the bed of his white Dodge Dually that's  parked in the driveway. I pull the yellow bug into the spot next to him.

"Ahhh there's my little helper!" He exclaims when I get out of the car. I roll my eyes in exaggeration and he bellows with laughter. He use to call me that when I was a child. Since I insisted on helping him with any task mom would give him. I would always hand him any tools he needed, usually getting them wrong the first time.

"Why are you out here in the heat?" I say grabbing my bag and letting Trix hop out of the car.
"I was waiting on you to get here." He says grabbing his tattered brown leather tool bag.
"Why? You have a key." My brows are pinched in confusion.
He smiles and tussles my hair, "I do but this is your house now Anny."
I swallow the lump in my throat. I love that he respects my privacy. When mom was alive she would call him in to fix stuff in my bedroom, but he wouldn't enter unless I granted him access. He told me I was the gate keeper to my own privacy and no one should ever take that from me.

"Come on it's hot, I'll fix you some sweet tea while you get started." He nods and follows me inside. Once inside the foyer I toss my bag and the rest of the stuff I'm holding on the entryway table. It's a half circle table pushed against the right wall by the base of the stairs. Above it is a gold antique mirror I instinctively look at our reflections and I see his attention is turned to mom's reading chair that's positioned behind me in the living room. I'm sure he's imagining her there curled up with a book in her hands. He swallows hard. Turning around I squeeze his forearm reassuringly. His eyes linger for a moment but then he looks down at me and smiles a sad smile. The corner of his lips pointing down and the crows feet around his eyes deepening with sorrow. Without saying a word he heads to my room as I fix him something to drink and feed Trix. I listen to his foot steps creaking on the old wood above. It pauses at the landing, in front of where mom's bedroom would be just above the kitchen. The house stills, as if creating a moment of silence for mom. Even Trix is sitting on the floor by the sink where I am standing, looking up at the ceiling, completely motionless. Time stops for a minute and then as if it's unfrozen we all move at the same time. The floor boards creaking under uncle Toms weight, the grand father clock in the living room continues with its slow meticulous clicks and Trix looks at me with her tongue hanging out her mouth panting as she waits to be fed. I continue with my task at hand, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and putting ice in it from the dispenser on the stainless steel fridge, Trix bounces from side to side on her front paws and I chuckle, "You wanna water cookie?" She bounces up and down in response. I dispense a cube into my hand and toss it at her. She jumps up and catches it in her mouth flawlessly. That should keep her busy while I get her food ready. I think to myself as I grab her food bowl and mix the hard food with the soft just like she likes it. When I put it on the floor she runs over and starts eating. "Slow down!" I giggle washing my hands before I finish fixing Uncle Toms drink, adding a sliced lemon on the rim of the glass. When we head up stairs he's just getting done moving the stuff out of my closet and putting it in neat piles in my already messy room.
"I'm sorry, I haven't had time to clean.." I hand him the glass and he waves his hand at me.
"Don't worry about that, you've had a lot on your plate. Thanks," He says softly then takes the glass and swigs it almost drinking it completely. I wipe the condensation on my hand off on my leggings. He finishes chugging it and then hands the glass back to me.

"I always said your mommas sweet tea was the best in town, but I think you've managed to change that." He grins at me. The compliment makes me smile. Momma, aside from her pastries, was well known for her sweet tea. People would buy it by the pitcher.

Sitting on my bed I watch him fix the tracking system and put the doors back on track. It's quiet while he works. This closet has begun to resemble my life. The mess being me and the doors themselves being my life in general. Derailed and seemingly impossible to fix without help.

"Uncle Tom?" I begin. I'm looking down at the glass running my fingers over the drops of condensation still forming on its surface.
"Hm," he answers focused on the task at hand. When I don't answer he turns to look at me. Scratching his beard in the process.
I'm contemplating on telling him about the gun. My heart beating heavy in my chest with anxiety. Instead I say, "You are welcome to come over whenever you want. Even if it's just to sit here to remember mom." He finishes with the last door and looks at me again tossing a screwdriver into the opening of his bag.
"I might just take you up on that." His smile warms my heart and makes me genuinely smile in return.  Mom made this home my safe place and I want him to feel that too. At that moment I'm reminded that he too is my safe place. Aside from mom and Aunt Ruth he's all I've had. So I decide to confide in him.

"I'm going to make a few rounds and check light bulbs, the ac filter and just a few other things for you kiddo, before I head out, okay?" He says as he stands and grabs his tool bag. He is zipping it up and heading towards the bedroom door.

"Before you go, can I ask you something?" I spin the glass in my hands watching the slowly melting ice spin and clank against the glass. He stops and turns to look at me.
"Of course, anything," he says.
"Well actually, I need to show you something," I push myself off the bed and go to my dresser. Setting the glass on the cluttered top I pull the top drawer open and rummage until my hand touches the cold metal. I can feel his eyes on me from where he's standing by the bedroom door. When I pull out the gun it catches the light of the sun coming through the window. Uncle Tom drops his tool bag, the clanking startling me. I turn to face him with a jolt.

"Anny where the hell did you get that?" He rushes towards me.
Pinching the butt of the gun between my fingers I hand it off to him. "I found it under mom's bed the other day. I was wondering if you could tell me why she had it?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose with the fingers of the hand not holding the gun. "Shit." He says softly.

I'm looking at him waiting for a response. He drops his hand after a minute and searches my face as if the answers are there. I can tell he's fighting with himself and the truth. Finally he decides on the truth.
"I gave it to her." He says defeated when my face is flooded with shock.
"WHAT!" I shriek. "WHY?!"
"Your mom wanted something for safety for when I wasn't around. She wanted to be able to protect you two. So one day I went out and bought her this little Rugar. She was suppose to keep it on her and you know your momma, she would never hurt a fly; guns scared her." He says looking down at the gun in his hands.
"What could she have been so scared of?" I ask Uncle Tom. He considers my question for a second and then shrugs.
"I don't know baby girl." I study his features for a moment and he seemed very sincere with his answer. Satisfied I move onto my next question.
"Can you teach me how to use it?"
This causes his eyes to snap up. "Absolutely no-," he begins but I cut him off.
"Please! Mom's killer is still out there and I'm here all alone!" I plead, tears burning my eyes and throat. Trix yaps in her own defense and I lean down and pat her head. "Okay WE are all alone."
He rubs his hand over his face, this conversation clearly exhausting him.
"Let me think about it." He says finally.
Feeling like a little kid asking her father for a toy in the grocery store I glance at my feet and nod. In one swift motion he tucks the gun into the back of his pants and pulls me into him. His left hand caressing the back of my head and the other wrapped around my shoulders.  We stay like that for a moment before he withdraws and kisses the top of my head. Then he leaves me there to clean up my mess. The mess that was both created by me and by the loss of someone very dear to both of us.