face?”
“Yup. She hates his guts ever since he told on her.”
“Told on her for what?”
“For leaving me and Swimmer alone when he was just a baby. I hotted up the milk in the microwave and when hepooped in his diaper, I chucked it out the window so it didn’t stink him up.”
I lean to put my arm around her, but she straightens up and slaps my hand. I put it back on the wheel and she relaxes again.
J ODY’S G ARAGE IS A BUSINESS ATTACHED TO SOMEONE’S house. It’s empty except for some old cars in various stages of dismantle and a sea of fast-food wrappers. I whisper to Janis that the place smells like a used fart. She nods sagely. When we walk out, some woman sticks her head out the front door of the house and yells, “They’re all down at the diner!” so we get back in the car.
Dot’s Daughter’s Diner is long and narrow, half full of customers who stare outright at whoever walks in. Janis holds up her nails and tells the woman at the cash register, “They glow in the dark. If the power goes out, you’ll know where I’m at, so I can’t steal nothing.”
We grab a booth.
“Have you been in here before?” I ask Janis.
She nods. “Grandma brings us here when my mother forgets to cook dinner.”
I look around. One whole wall is plastered in photographs of customers posing with their meals. At the centre is a framed eight-by-ten of a bemused-looking Rita MacNeil holding up a bowl and spoon. The inscription says
Cape Breton’s First Lady of Song Getting Her Mac ‘N’ Cheese On.
“Is your mother in any of these pictures?”
Janis shakes her head. “They tried to get us in their camera, but Mama wouldn’t let them. She said she’d bring them in one of her mug shots.”
I laugh.
“What?”
“Do you know what a mug shot is?”
“Yup. It’s a picture of a lady sitting in a lawn chair drinking coffee.”
The laminated menu posted above the table informs us that customers come to Jubilant from far and wide to taste Dot’s legendary recipes handed down to her daughter. I glance around, but no one in here looks like they’re from farther down the road than the old fish meal factory I saw yesterday. The rest of the menu is barely legible from all the revisions made with a ballpoint pen. Most of the fixes are to prices, but I notice someone crossed out the words “home-cooked” in
Home-cooked lasagna – just like Dot used to make!
It’s a thinker. I keep running my finger down the list. A scary set of quotation marks were added to
Try Our World Famous Fresh-From-The-Boat Lobster Roll.
Not to “world famous,” or even “fresh-from-the-boat,” but to “lobster.”
The waitress comes over with her pencil.
“You must be Dot’s daughter,” I say.
She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t suppose you’re hiring?”
“I don’t suppose I am.”
“We’ll have a double order of Tater Dots and a smile.”
“And a milkshake.” Janis swings her legs.
“Strawberry okay?” The waitress lowers her pad. “We’re all out of chocolate.”
Janis mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “Bullshit.”
“Has Janis’s mother been in here today, by any chance?” I ask quickly.
“No.”
“How about yesterday?”
“Haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Is one of those men over there Lyle Kenzie?”
She follows my gaze. “Black baseball cap.” She walks off, comes back a few minutes later with the milkshake and a look that tells me I better not ask any more questions that aren’t about the food.
“I hope Dot has more than one daughter,” I whisper to Janis. “This one’s kind of crusty.”
Janis ignores the straw and takes a big sip from the rim of her shake, coating half her face in it. “She forgot the smile. You should order another one. Ask for one that looks like this.” She sets down her heavy glass and stretches her mouth into an exaggerated grimace.
“How’s the milkshake?” I ask, feeling my stomach gnaw on itself. “Better than the service?”
She
“Yup. She hates his guts ever since he told on her.”
“Told on her for what?”
“For leaving me and Swimmer alone when he was just a baby. I hotted up the milk in the microwave and when hepooped in his diaper, I chucked it out the window so it didn’t stink him up.”
I lean to put my arm around her, but she straightens up and slaps my hand. I put it back on the wheel and she relaxes again.
J ODY’S G ARAGE IS A BUSINESS ATTACHED TO SOMEONE’S house. It’s empty except for some old cars in various stages of dismantle and a sea of fast-food wrappers. I whisper to Janis that the place smells like a used fart. She nods sagely. When we walk out, some woman sticks her head out the front door of the house and yells, “They’re all down at the diner!” so we get back in the car.
Dot’s Daughter’s Diner is long and narrow, half full of customers who stare outright at whoever walks in. Janis holds up her nails and tells the woman at the cash register, “They glow in the dark. If the power goes out, you’ll know where I’m at, so I can’t steal nothing.”
We grab a booth.
“Have you been in here before?” I ask Janis.
She nods. “Grandma brings us here when my mother forgets to cook dinner.”
I look around. One whole wall is plastered in photographs of customers posing with their meals. At the centre is a framed eight-by-ten of a bemused-looking Rita MacNeil holding up a bowl and spoon. The inscription says
Cape Breton’s First Lady of Song Getting Her Mac ‘N’ Cheese On.
“Is your mother in any of these pictures?”
Janis shakes her head. “They tried to get us in their camera, but Mama wouldn’t let them. She said she’d bring them in one of her mug shots.”
I laugh.
“What?”
“Do you know what a mug shot is?”
“Yup. It’s a picture of a lady sitting in a lawn chair drinking coffee.”
The laminated menu posted above the table informs us that customers come to Jubilant from far and wide to taste Dot’s legendary recipes handed down to her daughter. I glance around, but no one in here looks like they’re from farther down the road than the old fish meal factory I saw yesterday. The rest of the menu is barely legible from all the revisions made with a ballpoint pen. Most of the fixes are to prices, but I notice someone crossed out the words “home-cooked” in
Home-cooked lasagna – just like Dot used to make!
It’s a thinker. I keep running my finger down the list. A scary set of quotation marks were added to
Try Our World Famous Fresh-From-The-Boat Lobster Roll.
Not to “world famous,” or even “fresh-from-the-boat,” but to “lobster.”
The waitress comes over with her pencil.
“You must be Dot’s daughter,” I say.
She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t suppose you’re hiring?”
“I don’t suppose I am.”
“We’ll have a double order of Tater Dots and a smile.”
“And a milkshake.” Janis swings her legs.
“Strawberry okay?” The waitress lowers her pad. “We’re all out of chocolate.”
Janis mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “Bullshit.”
“Has Janis’s mother been in here today, by any chance?” I ask quickly.
“No.”
“How about yesterday?”
“Haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Is one of those men over there Lyle Kenzie?”
She follows my gaze. “Black baseball cap.” She walks off, comes back a few minutes later with the milkshake and a look that tells me I better not ask any more questions that aren’t about the food.
“I hope Dot has more than one daughter,” I whisper to Janis. “This one’s kind of crusty.”
Janis ignores the straw and takes a big sip from the rim of her shake, coating half her face in it. “She forgot the smile. You should order another one. Ask for one that looks like this.” She sets down her heavy glass and stretches her mouth into an exaggerated grimace.
“How’s the milkshake?” I ask, feeling my stomach gnaw on itself. “Better than the service?”
She
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