Breakfast with Neruda by Laura Moe Read Free Book Online Page B

After I vacuum up all my food, I have no room for any more. Neither does Shelly. “Maybe we should walk around a bit and digest.”
    We toss our plates and napkins in the trash bin. There is a recycle bin for the plastic ware, and we place our forks and spoons in it.
    “Let’s go toss horseshoes with a group of kids,” Shelly says.
    “Never done that before,” I say.
    “Neither have I.” She grabs my hand and her fingers feel soft against mine. I let her lead me toward the other kids.
    We spend a couple hours tossing horseshoes and playing corn hole. Enough time to develop appetites to try trashcan dinner.
    “It’s sort of like a giant vat of beef stew,” says a blonde woman wearing an Essex badge. “You take meat, like sausage and beef, and add your vegetables and cook it all day over an open fire.”
    I taste a forkful. “This is one of the best things I have ever eaten.”
    “You must be one of Lee’s people,” the blonde says to me. “You look just like him when he was young, may he rest in peace.”
    I feel a stab inside. I notice her badge says she’s an Essex. Could Lee be my dad? I glance at Shelly, and as if she reads my mind, she asks, “Wasn’t he from Rooster?”
    “No, hon. I don’t think he ever went there,” the blonde says. “He pretty much stayed in Cincinnati.”
    Someone in the background calls the woman’s name. “Be right there!” she yells. She turns back to me. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” she says. “Enjoy!”
    “You, too,” I say. When the woman is out of earshot, I ask Shelly, “Wouldn’t that be wild if I really was an Essex?”
    Shelly glances at her phone. “It’s only two o’clock,” she says. “We could head back into town and look up Lee Essex from Cincinnati on one of the library computers.”
    On the drive back toward Rooster she hands me a peach. I drive one-handed, savoring the crisp sweetness of the peach. “There is nothing like summer fruit,” I say. “Too bad it’s not always summer.”
    “It is in Hawaii.”
    “Maybe I’ll move there someday,” I say, knowing the odds of my leaving Rooster are about a million to one.
    As I drive I try not to get too excited, but I can’t help thinking I may have found a new clue to my identity.
    “Can you call your mom and ask her if she knows someone named Lee Essex?”
    “No,” I say. “She gets mad every time I bring up the subject of my father.” I notice a sign for a hiking trail. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a walk. Work off some of this food.”
    “That sounds good.”
    I pull up next to a couple parked cars. “I can’t lock the car, so take your bag with you.”
    She stows the peaches and tomatoes under her seat. “Precious objects.”
    The trail is short, only a mile each way, but any movement will help. We climb out of the car and I look at Shelly's flip-flops. “You can’t hike in those.”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    “I’m a runner,” I say. “You can’t take your feet for granted.”
    She sighs. “How about if we just do a half-mile then turn back?”
    The trail is paved and shady. What I really want to do is take off and run, get lost in these woods. Too many times I have discovered false clues to my identity. Why should today be any different? But you never know. Shelly might be the good luck charm I need.
    “Hey Wanda,” I say, after we finish our mile. “Thanks for being with me today.”
    “No problem, Jim.”
    No one bothered my car while we walked. It’s too nice out to commit crimes. Or maybe the car looks too crappy to bother with.
    • • •
    Shelly logs in to the library computer with her library card and types
Lee Essex AND Cincinnati
. There are multiple listings. “How old would he be?” she asks.
    “Probably around forty or so,” I say.
    She Googles
Lee Essex AND Cincinnati
. We find a Lee Essex who looks to be around seventy, a black guy with the same name, and a blond guy younger than me. She checks Facebook, LinkedIn, and