The Anything Tree (part 2)

The thought of having a good piece of pie had Thomas’ stomach rumbling. He had  bowl of cereal for breakfast but that suddenly seemed so long ago. Hot coffee and pie, Thomas was happy he had pulled into the parking lot of The Every Thing Shoppe.

“Do you have pumpkin pie?” Thomas asked the old cook.

“I got one cooling on the rack this very minute, just pulled it out of the oven as you were pulling that big truck into the lot.”

Suddenly the fragrance of fresh coffee was blending with the sweeter aroma of pumpkin pie. The bouquet of the combined aromas was irresistible; Thomas thought this is what Heaven must smell like.

Gabriel had set a cup and saucer in front of Thomas and was filling it with steaming hot coffee.

“I will be right back with two pieces, one for you and one for me.” With that he turned on his heels and disappeared into the back of the house. Thomas took a quick sip from the cup, holding the small handle carefully between thumb and finger. He had half expected the coffee to be too hot, the steam rolled off in steady swirls, but the temperature was just right, in fact it was perfect.

The shop’s owner, slash cook, slash waitress, came back through the double doors carrying two plates, each a temporary home for a very large piece of pumpkin pie. Gabriel set the larger piece in front of Thomas and produced a fork from somewhere beneath the counter.

“Dig in Thomas; you will never taste a better pumpkin pie.”

The fork cut through the golden silk of the pie with no resistance. Thomas closed his mouth around the fork and let the flavors of the pie rest upon his tongue.  

“Oh my!” is all he could manage to say around the mouthful of the best pumpkin pie he had ever tasted, and Thomas Gallo had tasted a whole lot of pie in his thirty years of life. His mother had died last year, but if she was alive Thomas would have told her that her pumpkin pie was now the second best, for he knew that to be the truth.

Gabriel watched as his only customer enjoyed the pie. “It’s the dash of nutmeg and splash of cinnamon that makes it so dang good. My wife made the pies here for many years, but she went Home to Jesus almost seven years ago now, leaving the baking to me along with everything else around here. But that pie you’re eating now ain’t her recipe.”

“Is it yours?”  Thomas asked around another mouthful of pie.

“Nope. An old fella from Eden came in here one evening; I believe the weather was bad that day too.  We got to talking about cooking and such and he gave me his recipe for pumpkin pie. I’ve been using it ever since.”

“Hey, I’m from Eden!” Thomas managed to say after swallowing a too large bite of the pumpkin delight. “What was the fella’s name?”

 The cook rubbed his whiskered chin again, “It will come to me in a minute. He was one of the nicest men I ever met though. Sharing pie recipes, talking baseball and religion, you would have thought we had been friends for years. I know his name was biblical...Samuel, that’s it, Edward Samuel. Do you know him?

Thomas wasn’t sure if old Mr. Samuel’s first name was Edward or not, and not too many people would have described him as a nice man.

Gabriel corrected himself, “I guess I should have asked did you know him.  I heard he died just a couple of weeks ago.”

“Well I believe I did. I knew a Mr. Samuel from Eden and he died just a couple of weeks ago. But I don’t think I ever heard anyone call him Edward or nice.”

“Could be most people didn’t bother to get know him, or share a piece of pumpkin pie with him.”

Thomas thought about it for a minute. “It’s due to Mr. Samuel that I am on the road today.”

“Why’s that?” the old man asked.

Between bites of pie and sips of coffee Thomas Gallo told him about the town square and the tree selection meeting. 

“So what kind of tree are you driving all the way to the big city to buy? What did they finally vote on?”

Thomas reached his fingers, now a little sticky from the pie, into the breast pocket of his worn chambray shirt. He fumbled around for a minute before coming up empty.

“Oh dang it, I lost the list!”  Thomas’ voice trembled.

Gabriel thought that his lone customer was about to start crying.

“Well check your other pocket son.”

Thomas was already digging into the right side pocket, knowing the results would be the same. He pushed the plate with two bites of pie left on it across the counter.

 “I messed up again!” Thomas slapped himself in the forehead with the palm of his big hand and looked down at the stained counter top. 

Messing up was something Thomas Gallo was accustomed to doing. As a toddler he had suffered a head injury that had slowed his thinking motor. He was a capable adult, he held a job better than most, had his own small place and even a little money tucked away in the Eden Savings & Loan. But his memory or rather lack of memory kept him “messing up” on a pretty regular basis.

Gabriel placed his small left hand, wrinkled with age on top of Thomas’ big meaty hand, gently like a mother touching the cheek of a new born babe. With his right hand the cook tipped the coffee pot refilling Thomas’ mug with freshly brewed coffee. Thomas looked up from the counter and almost yanked his hand away from the touch of Gabriel. When he saw the smile on the cook’s face and the steam from the black coffee he stopped short and left his hand resting on the counter under the comfort of this little old man.

“Now Tommy, just stop and think for a minute. Let that coffee clear your mind, I’m sure that whatever was written on that list will come back to memory if you just let it in. But getting upset puts up road blocks in your head. You don’t need no road blocks between your ears.” He smiled.

The only person that called him “Tommy” had been his mother. Yet coming from this little cook standing behind the counter it was unexpectedly soothing. Thomas pushed back the John Deere cap that always rested on his head and scratched above his brow. He sat like that for a minute or two, and then took another sip of hot coffee.

“I can’t remember. Remembering ain’t what I do real well. I guess I’ll drive back empty handed. Maybe I can talk them into giving me another chance. I know that list is got to be there somewhere.”

“You don’t have to drive back empty handed Tommy. Did you forget where you’re sitting? You’re in the Every Thing Shoppe!”

Thomas looked around the shop; shelves overflowing with eccentricity.

“I don’t think you got any trees in here Mr. Gabriel. But I appreciate you trying.”

“Well of course they ain’t in here, wouldn’t get no sunshine. You sit right there, finish your pie. I’ll be right back.”

Through the double doors the little man disappeared again. Thomas looked at the pie plate and decided not to let the two last bites go to waste. Wouldn’t it be something if Gabriel did have a tree back there somewhere, Thomas thought. It didn’t occur to Thomas that Gabriel had no more an idea what was on the list than he did. Eating pie was on the front of his mind right now, that didn’t leave much room for reasoning.