Free Mollywood by L.G. Pace III Page B

me laugh. The practical joke wars between Mason, Mac, and Joe were still the stuff of legend, and I often found myself tangled up in the fray.
    Since I’d come back to town and we’d rediscovered each other, I found Joe to be a much darker version of his former self. One thing hadn’t changed, though; he still didn’t have much of a filter. He called it like it was. If he said something, there was usually no doubt it was what he meant. So I’d taken his reaction to fatherhood at face value. I chalked it up to him being a few years older than me, and-something I would never admit to him-more mature. Plus there was the fact that he’d been through a pregnancy before…or at least most of one. His wife had been almost full term when she’d had her accident.
    I came to a stoplight and glanced around. When I realized I was at the light in front of what used to be my father’s restaurant, I nearly choked on the water I was drinking. A large ‘for sale’ sign was tacked to the building where our Hildebrandt’s sign used to stand. Seeing it vacant and neglected, I felt a painful squeeze in my chest. The cement was cracked and weeds sprouted from the small fissures. The turquoise paint was chipping on the outdoor patio my father had once been so proud of. I glanced in the rearview mirror and seeing that no one was behind me, I quickly pulled off and parked on the side of the street.
    I wandered over to the front porch of the restaurant and climbing the solid stairs, I peeked into the window. From what I could see, whoever had bought the place from my mom hadn’t done much to change the interior. I’d heard that it had been another barbecue joint, but they hadn’t even made a go of it for a year. The new owners hadn’t been able to get mom to sell them dad’s recipes, and I’d always admired her decision to hold onto them. They were dad’s legacy and didn’t belong in the hands of strangers.
    Mom and I were the only ones who knew his entire process and all the ingredients to his sauces and rubs. The twins hadn’t learned about the back of the house affairs. They’d never been interested in working in the kitchen, but they’d both taken their turns as servers, mostly in order to meet girls. I, on the other hand, had worked in the kitchen with dad every summer from the time I was old enough until I went off to culinary school. I begged to do it year ‘round, but mom had been afraid my grades would suffer and she was probably right about that.
    Descending the stairs, I walked around to the outdoor dining patio and gasped in shock at its state of disrepair. I remembered with startling clarity how my brothers and Joe had helped dad’s contractor build it the summer after they all graduated from high school. I dutifully brought trays of lemonade and sweet tea out for them. I might have been a bit overenthusiastic, since it was an excuse to drool over Joe, who spent most of the job shirtless. Trust me; even at age eighteen, Joe had been something to see.
    Finally, my constant presence had become obnoxious enough that Mason barked at me to get lost and called me ‘a pain in the ass’. Mac had laughed about it, which at age fourteen was way more humiliating to me than Mason’s rebuke. I remembered rushing back inside the empty restaurant just before I burst into angry and embarrassed tears. My dad found me with my head down in the back booth and pulled me into a hug.
    “Shhhh. Don’t cry, Mollybelle. Ignore Mason and Mac.” He’d whispered pulling out that infectious smile of his. “They’re just trying to look cool for the guys. Come on. Help me check the briskets. Mom will be here soon and you can help her slice the pecan pies.”
    The vivid memory of Daddy choked me up and suddenly many images of him assaulted me. His outrageous laugh that people always compared mine to. His dimpled grin. His wavy hair and silly comb over that I was sure Mason would be imitating soon. The memories sliced me like sharp