Kindle Edition Amazon allewells.com Category:  Mainstream Publisher: Alle Wells Type: Fiction Pages: 118 Copyright: Apr 01, 2012 Addiction is a bitter word for the sweet pleasures that take over our lives.  Meet Emily, a wife, a mother, a pastry chef, a woman with a silent addiction that eats away at her life. Emily's heartwarming and heartbreaking story addresses the rising obesity epidemic in the rural American South. Excerpt Chapter One S. O. Café Jim presses a red button on the dashboard that releases the chair rack. I wait. We both struggle as I ease out of the van. I glide my power chair to the corner of the empty lot. He calls after me, “Call me on your cell when you’re ready to go.” “Okay, thanks.” I throw up my hand. He flashes that perfect smile that swept me away the day I met him. I am lucky to have a husband like Jim. Lord knows, living with me hasn’t been easy. We are on our way to the beach to do some fishing. I asked him to stop here to give me a little time, maybe clear the demons in my head. I look around me. A plastic grocery bag twists and turns in the breeze of a silent, forlorn southern town. I sit in my prison making excuses, reflecting on the past. A sniff of salt air reminds me that I am still alive as I conjure up the dead. Images flash through my mind. The green neon sign on the corner of South and Main announces S.O. Café in red letters going off then on, night and day. In the 1960’s, S.O. or Short Order meant any food thrown on a flat grill or dipped in hot grease. Large picture windows in a white square building command a full view of a thriving town. A menu board attached to the front of the building advertises twenty-five cent hamburgers and fifteen cent hotdogs. Inside, thirteen stools serve as place settings at a wide service counter. I see Daddy, standing youthful and trim, behind the counter dressed in starched white from head to toe topped with a white paper hat and grinning from ear to ear. Mama’s tall frame hovers over a big brown NCR adding machine going clickety-clack, clickety-clack. Miss Rae stretches her tiny body over the counter, giving it a quick swipe with a white cloth. The café was open from 8 a.m. until 11 p.m. seven days a week. My parents and I slept in a house four blocks away, but we lived at the café. On busy weekend nights, I sat on the steps at the side entrance and watched the half-acre gravel lot fill up. The residue of fried food that fed the crowd rose in the air. In a small town like Grainger, Daddy knew the cars everyone drove. When the regulars pulled in, he threw orders on the grill faster than the carhops could take them. The screen door slammed rhythmically as the young boys delivered sturdy wire trays loaded with hotdogs, burgers, and fries to the cars. Later, the jukebox played beach music as date night began. Teenage boys revved their powerful engines and impressed the girls. The carhops never stopped running, making frequent trips to the drink house out back. They threw winks and candy at me as they ran by, making me feel like one of those grown-up girls in the cars. I feel the same light sea breeze that sifted through the screen door on summer mornings long ago. The bread man, milkman, and drink man unloaded their wares and left tickets on the counter. The policeman, the mailman, and the mechanic from next door popped in and picked up their orders to go. Our morning regulars lingered and drank two pots of free coffee. Old Mr. Crowder from across the street clambered in lazily for a slice of Today’s Pie and coffee. I sat at the counter minding my own Double-Decker Chocolate Moon Pie and sucked on the lip of a frosty drink bottle for breakfast. He greeted me with a pat on the head. “And how’s Miss Emily Ann today?” I nodded, too busy to respond. Mama answered the phone and jotted down the lunch orders. Miss Rae cut onions for lunch hour rush holding a piece of white bread in her mouth so she wouldn’t get teary-eyed. Mama and Miss Rae joked and laughed all day long. I stayed out of the way, drank another pick-me-up, and watched the cars stop and go at the light. Lunchtime customers were in and out real fast, everyone except Dr. Pike. He sat for two hours drinking coffee and drawing on his unfiltered Lucky Strikes after eating a hotdog all-the-way. Dr. Pike waited for the rush to die down so that Daddy could stop and talk. When Daddy and Dr. Pike started talking, I knew I would have to wait until he left before I ate lunch. Before Daddy allowed me behind the counter, Miss Rae made my lunch. Miss Rae spoke in broken accented English, slow and easy, when she called me Sweetie and asked about my day. I nursed my drink bottle and straightened the chip bags on the clip rack arranging them in a different order everyday while I waited for a Mr. Albert’s pimento cheese sandwich. Mr. Albert’s pimento cheese was made locally and chocked full of thick chunks of cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, and hot pimentos. Sprinkled with crushed potato chips inside and grilled in butter, it was worth the wait! I loved the café and the café loved me. At school, I daydreamed in class and never cared much for recess activities. My mind was on the smell of the sizzling grill and the laughter of customers chatting with Daddy and Miss Rae. Unlike school, the café just ran along without demanding anything from me. I felt safe there, and it provided everything I needed. I ate the school lunches, inching forward in the cafeteria line to get what you didn’t even choose. Mama said that I had to be nice and eat the cafeteria food because her friend, Miss Millie, was the manager. Some lucky kids brought boloney sandwiches, chips, and cupcakes or cookies from home. Miss Millie narrow-eyed them, but she always smiled and waved at me. Miss Millie made her rounds wiping down the long lunch tables. Her eyes always fixed on me, making sure I ate the fish sticks or vegetable soup and that I didn’t trade my pear half for someone’s homemade cookie. I did this for eight years, thinking of the café where Moon Pies, cheeseburgers, dogs, fries and all the pick-me-ups I could drink waited especially for me! The summer I turned thirteen, Daddy said I could work after school behind the counter. Daddy was an impatient teacher, but I was a willing and eager apprentice. He taught me how to make change and open the cash drawer. He coached me, “Always count the change back to the customer.” Each afternoon I filled the drink box, turning the bottles this way and that to pack it tight. I kept the cigarette case and candy bar rack filled. I also dipped ice cream and made sundaes. I made bodacious sundaes. Daddy said I put too much. “Dip light and hollow,” he’d say. So I dipped light and hollow for everybody else but gave myself a good heavy helping. I loved working behind the counter instead of just hanging out in the backroom. It made me feel grownup. But when the evening rush hour began, Daddy sent me to the backroom, a little girl again. That year, the Grainger Garden Club sponsored an eighth grade dance. I stood on a milk crate facing a full-length mirror in Mama’s room. Mama rummaged through her sewing basket, looking for pins to turn up the hem of a borrowed bridesmaid dress. Mama was full-blooded Chickasaw Indian. She was tall with sturdy wide shoulders. I compared my soft body to her firm frame, stretched taller, and tucked in my tummy. “Mama?” “Hmm,” she answered through the straight pins in her mouth. “Do you think I’m fat?” Mama put her pins down. She wrapped her arms around my waist and took her time, turning me this way and that. She observed my body in the mirror as if she had never noticed it before that moment. She said, “Lord, no, Baby! You’ve got a nice full figure. I wish I had a little something to play with.” She squeezed me, smiled slyly, and whispered in my ear, “Men like that.” Mama moved in closer and placed her chin on my shoulder. Our eyes met in the mirror. Lining my face with her finger, she said, “Look at those smoky green eyes, high cheekbones, and smooth olive skin. You know you remind me of Ava Gardner in Night of the Iguana.” I dramatically pulled my dark, heavy mane atop my head, laughed heartily, and agreed with her completely. That year, Daddy had started taking afternoon naps at home. Mama sat at the counter going over the school schedule for my freshman year. I pondered over an upside down banana split topped with an inch of whipped cream and six big cherries when Dr. Pike walked in. The clinic was closed on Wednesday afternoons so he and his Lucky Strikes spent the afternoon with us. Dr. Pike was a very small man. At fourteen, I was already a head taller than him. He had a bald head and a kind face and wore small wire-rimmed glasses. He wore brown suits in the fall, gray suits in winter, blue suits in spring, and white suits in summer. That day he wore a white suit with a pink shirt and wide striped tie. Mama and Daddy had the greatest respect for Dr. Pike because he came from a long line of highly educated people. Dr. Pike always looked old and wise. He pulled up a stool next to me. “What grade are you in now, Emily?” “Ninth,” I answered, swirling the plastic spoon through the melting ice cream. Dr. Pike peered through his small glasses and shook his head. “That’s amazing. I remember the day you were born.” Mama nodded with a raised brow. “Yep, my little girl is growing up. She starts high school next week.” Dr. Pike smiled. “That’s exciting.” I moaned, “I have to take P. E. I hate P. E.!” “Well if you don’t enjoy it, then what’s the point?” Dr. Pike mused, scratching his chin. He took a couple of draws from his cigarette and mulled over my predicament. He popped his hand on the counter and found a solution to my problem. “By Golly, I don’t think you should have to do it! It isn’t relevant to your overall education.” Dr. Pike bent in closer and said, “And confidentially, if you both feel that way too, I’ll write a note for you, Emily.” He brushed his hand through the air like a magician and explained, “You know, so you can just skip it.” Dr. Pike’s idea saved me from exercise class. Of course, Mama and Daddy valued Dr. Pike’s opinion, and the letter was sent. The school took his word for it that I was physically unable to perform the requirements of a physical education class. And I never picked up those required extra large gym shorts. A couple of years later, Daddy didn’t come back to the café after his afternoon nap. Mama found him on the den sofa. He died just like that. The air was thick and stale in the closed café. Mama and Dr. Pike sorted through Daddy’s papers in the backroom. I looked at the empty stools that should have been full of people, lit the grill and watched my tears sizzle alongside the frozen burgers. I listened to the silence I’d never heard during daylight hours. The café felt dead like my father. The S.O. Café door remained closed even after the wreath was taken away. I sat in the empty lot in my 1977 red Pacer waiting for the closed door to open. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. I felt lost and hungry. After that, every day after school I drove to the next town, hopping from one fast food chain restaurant to the next trying to find the café and my father.

Nice story from start to finish!
This was a really enjoyable read! Following Emily through her journey was both enjoyable, amusing at times and really full of heart. The author did an excellent job of really pulling you into the storytelling of Emily's life, which allowed me to completely connect with the character and made me feel like I was there watching it all unfold. It was captivating and held my attention, and the characters were well developed and down to earth. While there was some romance involved, it wasn't the typical corny "cheesy" cookie-cutter type romance novels that fail to hold my attention. This one pulled me in right off the bat and I read it in a day. A great story with fabulous characters!

Finally, a good novel!
I am so happy to give this novel 5 stars, as I have started so many and gave up half way through. I won't re-tell; you can read what it is all about from the other reviewers that have done a better job than I ---- but I will tell you what it isn't about ---
No vampires, ghosts, angels, fortune tellers; in short, no paranormal. I stay away from all these. Just my preference.

Also, no sex scenes. Whew!!! Sex is alluded to, but leaves you outside the door; thanks.

This novel reads as if it were a true story. I will definitely watch for any other books written by this author.

Very Enjoyable Read!
I really enjoyed reading this book. The laid back attitude of the southerners brings back memories of my own life growing up in the rural south in the sixties. It was very well written and kept my interest. Matter of fact, I read later into the night because I couldn't put it down. Her descriptions were excellent, from the food itself to the surroundings.

This author has written a book to be proud of, and I will be looking forward to her next book.

Lame Excuses is a book I feel comfortable recommending to others. It definitely deserves the five stars I am giving it!