Birdsongs Read Online Free

older than you.”
        “No sir,” R.C. responded. “You been real good to me and I tend to show you respect any way I can while I’m here.”
        “All right. Not a problem. Grab one of your cigarettes there R.C. and let’s have a talk out back real quick before the folks show up for lunch.”
        “Did I do something wrong Sly?” R.C. asked with concern.
        “No. No. God no. Just the opposite.” Outside, R.C.’s concern dissipated as he lit his cigarette, curious as to what Sly wanted to talk to him about in private. “R.C.,” Sly began. “I know we don’t know each other too well—and you haven’t let me down—just like Jimmy said you wouldn’t. I can tell that you’re itching something fierce to get the hell out of Dodge. The way I’ve figured it, you probably need three to four more weeks a’ pay to put that bike back together and leave yourself with a few bucks for gas. Am I right?”
        “Yes sir,” R.C. responded, wondering where this was going.
        Sly continued saying, “I haven’t been fishing in Montana since I opened this place. Been eleven years. I believe you know my older brother Ted, Jimmy’s daddy?”
        “Yeah, he was a guard up at the prison until about five or so years ago.”
        “Then I imagine you know he’s retired. He has agreed to come help out at the diner if you will agree to my proposal.”
        “Anything Sly,” R.C. said.
        “Now hold on,” Sly cautioned. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for yet. I’m wanting to go for two weeks. Ted can barely make a ham sandwich, so you would have to work open to close every day except Sundays when we’re closed. That’s a lot of fifteen-hour days.”
        “Them hours will get me down the road a whole lot quicker.”
        “Yeah, it certainly will. I calculated twelve, fifteen-hour days, including overtime pay, which I aim to pay you—comes out at right under nineteen hundred dollars. We’ll call it an even two thousand dollars. What do you say?”
        “Go buy yourself a new fishing pole,” R.C. said with a smile.
        “Oh, I almost forgot,” Sly said. “If you can keep Ted from cooking anything, I’ll buy you that set of tires you were talking about with that fella from Earl’s Tires as a thank you and good luck present.”
        “Why you trust me so much?” R.C. asked.
        “I believe in second chances,” Sly said contemplating something.
        “I didn’t do it,” R.C. said in a low voice.
        “We gotta get back in there,” Sly said as he held his hand and index finger up, signaling he had one more thing to say. “I’ve heard a few whispers out there saying that you make my breakfast sandwich better than I do. You want to know why you are a better cook than I am?” R.C. did not say a word or move. “You spent three times as long as I did in prison.” With that said, Sly gave R.C. a wink and walked back into the diner, leaving R.C. standing there with his mouth open, dumbfounded.
      
 
       Sly took off for Montana a few days later. The days that followed flew by with R.C. working so much, and after waiting nearly thirty years for something, two more weeks was merely a stitch in time. Toward the end of the first week of Sly’s absence, Jimmy came into the diner one late evening shortly before closing.
        “How you holding up, R.C.?” Jimmy asked.
        “I’m a little tired,” R.C. responded. “But it’s a good tired.”
        Jimmy handed R.C. the same napkin he had given him a week before with the name of the person written on it he wished to locate. “My buddy at the police station gave that back to me this morning. He found a record of your friend.” R.C.’s eyes lit up. “He wrote the city and state on there for you. Your friend got a speeding ticket last month. When you see him, tell him to slow down,” Jimmy said joking.
        R.C. held the napkin grasped in the palm of his