The Gardens of Digby Green: Switcheroo
Ray swallowed the last smooth spoonful of banana and softened ice cream. The slow male waiter had finally left Digby Green’s order at his table. A hamburger, and from Ray’s perspective, what looked like a double order of fries. Green poured a lake of ketchup onto the plate and swiped four fries through it. He’d be occupied for a while.
The waitress had dropped his bill on the table as she passed. Ray took it to the register and paid. He left the building, shifting the Chrysler to a spot where he couldn’t miss seeing Green’s truck when the man chose to move on. It took another seventeen minutes, but Green emerged, walking down the lot to the corner where he’d parked. The man pulled out, and drove behind the restaurant. Ray followed.
#
The Motel 6 was a long two-story building oriented east-to-west in the conjoined paved lot. Digby parked his truck in an open slot between two large trees. It’d be better to arrive in Woodbine rested and cleaned up. He pulled his sports bag from behind the seat and headed for the hotel entrance.
At the front desk, he got keys to a room on the second floor, near the west end of the corridor. He flipped on the light switch. Dropping his bag on the end of the double bed, Digby went to turn down the fan, and close the drapes.
He pulled off his boots before he flopped onto the striped bedspread. Reaching for the remote, he chose that night’s White Sox game. Half way through the third inning, he switched off the television. It wasn’t helping him forget the details in the police chase article he’d read while eating.
#
Ray drove along the parking area until he spotted Digby’s pickup. The man was pausing here. Ray parked on the opposite side of the aisle. When he entered the lobby, his quarry wasn’t there. It was too awkward to ask the desk clerk about Green, but Ray’s doubts built.
Odds were good that he would get a room where he wouldn’t see his own vehicle, or Digby’s. He’d have driven over a state and a half, and he might never get the answer his heart needed.
The clerk slid a key across the desk. Ray’s accommodation, number 11, was only a few doors down the corridor. In room 9, someone had the volume on a sitcom turned up. Every joking word came through the wall as clearly as if the barrier wasn’t there.
#
Digby leaned against the headboard. Tomorrow, he’d arrive at Woodbine, Iowa, take time to find FloRa’s house, and set to work. He might make his garden in her garden. The idea to discover whether the encounter would be better with an audience, returned. Digby scratched his ear.
It was probably wiser to go with the flow. He tossed the newspaper over the other side of the bed, and stood. He pulled a flashlight from his sports bag, and stepped out into the hall. Quietly, he descended the stairwell. Out in the parking lot, he stalked along the lines of cars until he found a white pickup with Iowa plates. In ten minutes, he’d completed his favorite switcheroo.
The Gardens of Digby Green: Switcheroo is an installment of a short story which posts on Fridays. You can find the first part and read from the beginning, here.
Find a link to purchase the Heartland Treasures anthology here.
Ruth DeMaat
Heidi Kortman