In An Instant, Chapter Two

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Chapter 2: Rhapsody in Blue

Autumn

Dean Townsend shuffled wearily into the Sit-A-Spell diner and slid into a corner booth. Two hours in a cramped examination room with Mom, trying to keep up with a stream of doctor gobbledygook, had drained him of all emotion. It was like watching something on TV—heartbreaking, but in a distant, detached sort of way. Except that every so often a word or an image would pierce his exhaustion with excruciating clarity.

Early-onset.

Dementia.

His mother clutching his work shirt with both fists, sobbing into his chest while he stroked her soft brown hair. The moment when he realized that life as he knew it was over.

She was too young for this. He was too young for this.

Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The long day was over. He hadn’t left Mom’s side till she fell sleep, worn out by terror of the days to come. Now, at last, he was free to be himself again—to retreat, to escape the house, and…

And what? Exchange the new grief for the old? Yeah, that was a great idea.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes, wondering when someone was going to get around to serving him. They only had one waitress on duty, and she was up at the counter with her back to him, talking to a young guy with a ponytail. Dean wasn’t even sure she knew he was there—it looked like a pretty heavy conversation. Maybe he ought to raise a fuss, but he had no appetite for more drama. He stared absently at the pattern of frost etched onto the front window, which glowed pale yellow and red as cars passed the truck stop. That was all Des Plaines was, really—a blip along I-80, a faint glow teasing the darkness of an Iowa night. But it was home. Always had been, always would be. Which was, of course, why Jen had dumped him.

He should’ve known she was never serious. Girls like Jen—runway-model gorgeous and loaded to boot--did not get serious with the auto mechanic. The only reason she’d come back to Iowa was to take care of her mom when the cancer got so bad Mrs. Mallory couldn’t live alone anymore. Every day, Jen was on the phone with her dad, out in L.A. Dean was just a distraction, a way to help pass the time.

At the very least, he should’ve figured it out when he gave her the ring. There’d been a moment, while they’d been making love that night, when he’d seen a look on her face he didn’t like. But considering the other demands on his attention, he really couldn’t analyze it. He hadn’t thought of it again till that night in June, when the ring fell in his hand, along with the world’s shortest ever Dear John letter.

It’s been fun, sweetie, but it’s time for me to go home. Sorry.

“Hi, sorry about the wait,” said a light, musical voice. “How’re you doing tonight?”

Dean jerked back to reality and faced the waitress at the same moment that she looked up from her notepad. She blanched; he felt the blood rush to his face.

“Oh… hi,” said Beth Rhinehardt.

“Hi,” he said automatically, even as the tide of fury swelled again inside his chest. Was he seriously going to have his dinner served by a waitress who’d witnessed the worst night of his life? Caused it, even—indirectly, at least?

The silence felt endless, impenetrable. He glanced up and saw her rolling her pen between her fingers and swallowing repeatedly. Good. She deserved to be uncomfortable, after pulling that stunt.

Except she really hadn’t known what she was delivering, that night. He’d seen the horror on her face when she saw the ring. And if he’d had any lingering doubts, he knew it now by the way she stood in front of him, her face bright red, tugging at her long black ponytail, twisting it around her finger and looking half a second away from bolting. She was as much a victim of Jen’s scheming as he was.

None of which made his anger any less potent.

“Um…” Her voice trembled; she cleared her throat. “What can I do for you tonight?”

“I think you’ve already done plenty, don’t you?”

She blanched and took a step back, her hand flying to her cheek as if the words had been a physical blow rather than a verbal one. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her eyes bright. “I didn’t know, Dean. I promise, I didn’t know.”

Immediately he felt ashamed of himself. Sucker! A girl started crying, and suddenly he turned into Sir Lancelot. But the cheap shot had drained all his anger. “Hey.” He caught her wrist to keep her from running away. She stuck her pinky fingernail between her teeth, her eyes darting everywhere, refusing to land on him, as he fought the battle to bring the words out. “I’m—I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault. Jen…” He swallowed. “She used you, same as she used me.”

Her cheeks burned dull red. She nodded, but she still kept her gaze averted.

“I’m a jerk,” he said.

That got her attention. Her eyes widened. “No, you’re not! I’m an idiot. I should have seen through her. I can’t believe I let her pull that crap on me again. I’ve been worrying about you for weeks, every night—” She halted abruptly, her cheeks flaming again. “I mean—I’ve been worrying about you for weeks.”

Huh. What did that mean, again? Dean studied her. She was pretty enough, in her own way, with that long black hair drawn back in a ponytail, a couple of wisps framing the pale face. Round, dark eyes and high cheekbones. Small chest. She was no Jen, that’s for sure. But there was something frank and uncomplicated about the empathy on her face. She actually cared that he’d been hurt. The realization tore through his veins, a shot of endorphins where for so long, there’d only been room for the battle between numbness and anger.

He still had his hand on her wrist. Hastily, he released her. He looked away, down at the table, but there, too, he could see her—long, slim fingers resting on the Formica surface.

As if sensing his gaze, she jerked her hands up and tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “S-so,” she said, and he was happy to hear that she sounded back in control of herself, “are you hungry?”

He grabbed the menu, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah. Ham and cheese, I think. And coffee.” He managed a grin. “Unleaded.”

She smiled and nodded. “Sure thing. Be right back.”

Dean returned to his contemplation of the window, but it felt different now, the relentless negativity of the last four months receding to a dull buzz. Beth Rhinehardt had been worrying about him. Why did that make him feel better? He hardly knew her. Did he even remember her in high school? Only that she’d been part of Jen’s orbit. Which raised its own questions. How did something like that happen, anyway? Jen Mallory was a walking, talking teenage boy’s fantasy. Drop-dead gorgeous, the life of the party, the only girl in the class who never got a zit. The girl who, thanks to her father, oozed L.A. glamor from every pore. Next to Jen, Beth Rhinehardt was just about invisible.

So why couldn’t he quit watching her now?

She rounded the counter, carrying a steaming pot of coffee toward him. There was something about her. Like…like walking into the house and smelling baking bread.

She poured the hot liquid into his cup. “So,” she said in a determinedly casual tone, “how’s your mom? I heard she was having some health problems.”

He managed a crooked smile. “No secrets in a small town.”

Her laugh was soft, almost apologetic. “Isn’t that the truth. Is that why you moved back home?”

He scowled, and Beth took a step backward, stuttering, “Uh, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to pry…”

He took a deep breath. “No, no,” he said. “I know. It’s just…Jen used to twit me about living with my mom.” Jen again. He frowned into his mug. “She should’ve known…she did know what it was like. She came home to take care of her mom…” He trailed off as the reality of today’s doctor visit socked him in the stomach again.

Beth hesitated. “It’s okay, you know,” she said. “I know what it’s like to have everything change in a single instant.”

He looked up, startled. She couldn’t know about Mom’s diagnosis, could she? No. She was still talking about Jen. “Yeah,” he said, and then more softly, “Yeah.”

“So…” she ventured, “your mom. Is she…?”

“She’s got rheumatoid arthritis.” Easier to share stale bad news than fresh grief. “Some days she’s fine, other days she can barely move.”

“Looks like she’s keeping up with the dahlias and the roses, though.”

“Yeah, she’ll take care of her flowers till hell freezes over. But she had to give up the vegetable garden.”

“Those dahlias are amazing. I’ve never seen colors like that.”

“She bred them herself.”

“Really?” The pink on her cheeks now looked like a glow. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Everybody in town uses your house as a landmark because of those flowers.”

“Yeah. One day we trampled them, playing baseball in the front yard. I thought she was gonna whup us within an inch of our lives.”

Beth laughed. “Order up,” yelled the cook.

“Hang on.” She flitted off, returning with his sandwich and fries. She set the plate in front of him and laid the bill face down at the edge of the table. “Anything else I can get you?”

“No, I’m good.” But as she nodded and turned away, he realized he didn’t want to be alone. “It’s pretty dead tonight,” he said, to forestall her departure. She paused, and he waved a hand around the empty restaurant.

“Tonight’s Homecoming. We’ll get busy afterwards.”

“Oh, I forgot. I haven’t gone the last couple of years.”

“Me, either. But I’m not a football fan.” She shrugged. “Enjoy your meal. I’ll check in in a few minutes, but if you need anything, just give a yell.”

“Thanks.” He watched as she glided off, looking slightly fuzzy around the edges, like a woman in an old black and white movies. Dean turned his attention to his dinner. Lately he’d almost forgotten how it felt to be hungry.

The sound of Brooks and Dunn wafted through the diner. Dean ate silently, grateful for the respite from being responsible for, well, everything. Really, life was pretty good. His business was booming; soon, he’d have to hire a third mechanic. He had a place to live, no monthly payment. It was just the knowledge of what was coming for his mother, and thus for him, that made him the air feel so heavy. That, and the gaping hole in the shape of Jen.

A swath of light swept across the diner as a car pulled up. A few moments later, the glass door opened with a soft whoosh. Then a two-foot bundle of energy pelted through it, followed at a more sedate pace by an older woman, her dark hair shot through with gray. “Mama? Mama! Ayayaeeeee!” The tow-headed toddler streaked across the foyer toward the bar, where Beth was scrubbing the counter, and collided with her legs, knocking her off-balance. Dean chuckled into his coffee.

“There’s my boy!” Beth scooped up the child and gave him an exuberant hug and kiss, then turned to the older woman and exchanged a more restrained embrace. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. We just came over to see you before bed.”

“I’m so glad you did.” Beth nuzzled noses with her son and wrapped her arms tightly around him. “Oh, my sweet boy!” she said, rocking him back and forth. “I wish I could put you to bed, little man, but Mommy’s got to work.” The toddler dropped his head on her shoulder, and she rested her cheek on his curls. “He doing okay tonight?”

“Well, your father thinks he’s pulled a muscle in his back, giving Toby piggy back rides, but other than that… Oh, yes, and Martha Alcott called a bit ago.”

“Oh, yeah?” Beth’s tone—and her face—grew suddenly guarded. “That’s odd, she usually calls on Tuesdays.”

“She wanted you to know there’s an opening at a school twenty minutes from them.”

Beth sighed and rubbed her neck. “She never gives up, does she?”

Glancing around, she caught sight of Dean watching. Her face turned red again; she turned hastily away. Their voices dropped below the level of his hearing.

Dean had forgotten she had a kid. All that static about everybody knowing each other in small towns only went so far. Since Beth had moved back to Des Plaines a couple years ago, he’d only seen her occasionally—from a distance, or at Jen’s parties. Never with the kid. Jen wasn’t real big on kids. Actually, he’d never cared much for kids, either. Probably because the only kids he knew were those three holy terrors of his brother’s. This kid was definitely cuter than any of Jayce and Wanda’s.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t stop looking at the two of them. He knew it was rude, but there wasn’t much else to look at in the empty diner, especially once he finished eating. Besides, it was a nice picture—her swaying with the toddler while she talked to her mother, her face serious and intense.

After a while, the kid wiggled out of Beth’s grasp and started scoping out the diner, going from booth to booth and peering under the tables. When he reached the one adjacent to Dean, he dropped to his knees and grabbed something off the floor. “Whoa, kid!” Dean lurched from his seat as he saw the hand headed for the mouth. “I don’t think you better be eating off the floor.”

“Toby!” exclaimed Beth. She threw an embarrassed glance at him. “I’m so sorry.”

He grinned and retreated. “No problem.”

“I guess that’s our cue to leave,” said Beth’s mother. “We can talk about it more some other time, honey. You don’t need to make a decision tonight.”

“Yeah.” Beth scooped up her son and hugged him. “You be good for Grandma. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he said clearly.

“I love you, punkin. Sleep tight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Say bye-bye,” said Mrs. Rhinehardt, and the boy, grinning proudly, waved at his mother. Beth stood waving back until the door had closed behind them. Then she turned to retrieve the cloth from the bar. There commenced a loud banging on the window. Laughing, Beth knelt in one of the booths and blew kisses.

At last they were gone. A faint glow of contentment hovered around her as she pushed herself up off the bench and returned to the counter, wiping halfheartedly for a minute before seeming to recollect herself. Then she grabbed the coffee pot and headed for Dean’s corner.

“He’s cute,” he said.

The glow blossomed into a smile then, a blast of radiant heat that hit him smack across the face and knocked the wind right out of him. “Thanks,” she said. “I think so, but then I’m prejudiced. More coffee?”

For a second, he didn’t even understand the words. He wasn’t sure any girl had ever looked at him like that; it sent shock waves through his system.

But she was looking expectantly at him. “Um.” He traced backward. Cute kid, prejudiced… oh. Coffee!

“Sure,” he said, several beats too late to pull off a tone that casual. He gathered his scattered wits. “Where’s his dad?”

“Car accident, last New Year’s,” she said briskly as she poured the steaming liquid.

Dean winced. “Oh, crap, I knew that.” He’d towed the remains of that car to the scrap yard. “Sorry.”

One shoulder twitched. “I made my peace with God. Eventually.”

She really did know what it was like to have your world turn on a single point in time. He frowned as something else struck him. “You’ve still got the same name as you did in high school. You didn’t change it?”

“Geordie wanted me to keep it. It was his way of promising that I’d get to have my performance career even though…” She shook her head. “Well, anyway. Water under the bridge. Can I take your plate?” He nodded, and she scooped up his plate and silverware. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll be back with change in a minute.”

“Take your time.”

She headed for the register. Dean leaned his head back on the vinyl seat and closed his eyes. He felt peaceful, which was odd, considering his frame of mind when he’d come in tonight. The grief, the angst, seemed to have released its stranglehold, leaving a kind of hollow quiet at his center. Nice.

He heard the footsteps returning and lifted his head. To his surprise, she was carrying a slice of banana cream pie along with his change. “Here,” she said, setting it on the table in front of him. “On the house.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

She shrugged. “I know. Think of it as…” She stopped, her face darkening again. Probably thinking about that night in June again. “Well, you just look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

A quiet understanding passed between them. “Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” She bit her lip, then nodded and made as if to retreat.

“Hey,” he said impulsively. “Grab a cup of coffee and sit a while, if you want.”

“Oh.” She looked startled. “Uh…”

“Or not,” he added hastily. “I mean, it doesn’t look like you’ve got that much else to do right now.”

“Well, that’s true.” She hovered indecisively. “Okay, hang on a minute.”

When she returned, she was carrying a tiny cup. Dean raised his eyebrows. “Espresso? That’s not on the menu, is it?”

“I keep a machine in the back.”

“Pretty strong stuff for this late at night.”

She grinned as she slid into the seat across from him. “I’m going over to practice when I get off work. Reverend Forbes lets me use the piano in the church,” she added when she saw his blank stare.

“So your mom stays with the kid?”

“No, she goes home after I get off work. I live right next door to the church, so I can take the monitor with me. I wouldn’t be able to practice much, otherwise.”

“So you are still trying to do the music thing.”

She snorted. “I wish. Maybe? In theory?” She rested her chin on the heel of her hand and focused somewhere over his head. “I just…it settles me. Gives me focus. I don’t know.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I’m trying to put together a demo recording, but it’s slow going. That’s what Prescott was on my case about earlier.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

He frowned, then remembered the guy she’d been talking to when he came in. “Who, ponytail guy?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Prescott is the choir director at St. Luke’s—I play for him. He’s got this young artists’ audition he wants me to do.”

“You don’t give yourself much down time,” he commented.

She shrugged. “I’m a single mom. There’s not much time to give up.”

The doorbell jangled, and a dozen shouting teenagers, faces glowing from the cold, poured into the diner. Crap. She’d just sat down, and now the crowd had to come.

Beth glanced over her shoulder. “Well, that was earlier than I expected.” She downed the miniature cup in a single gulp and got to her feet. “What do you figure—they blew out the Colts, or got blown out?”

Dean laughed. “My money’s on ‘got blown out.’”

She nodded. “Well, at least the rush is early. Maybe I’ll get out of here at a reasonable hour. Thanks for the break, Dean. Sure I can’t get you anything else?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“Okay. Have a good night, then.” She darted away, leaving Dean with the sense that he was being cheated. Cheated, because the woman who had destroyed his life couldn’t hang around and talk to him.

Bizarre.

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In an Instant, Copyright 2026 Kathleen M. Basi. No part of this may be reprinted without written permission. Sharing this post, however? That, the author wholeheartedly approves of.