The Rialta makes a stop
at the Grand Union Cafe
in Hedley, BC

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“What the…!”

A semi thundering by on the highway above jolted Colin awake. It took a few panicked seconds for him to realize where he was—to orient his scrambling brain to the bizarre circumstances he found himself in.

He patted around on the rumpled sheets of the Rialta’s fold-out bed. “Hermes,” he whispered. Where are you?

No answer.

He’d backed the Rialta into the campsite the night before so its door faced the picnic table and fire pit. None of the riverside sites were available. Instead, they had to content themselves with one that butted up to the embankment of Highway #3 and the thrum of passing traffic. Beggars can’t be choosers, he’d thought. Hermes had complained how ridiculous it was to be bumbling around backwards in the dark, maneuvering the lumbering RV onto the site’s gravel pad.

Perhaps he’d been right. There wouldn’t be much wake-up time for lounging. It was eight o’clock; they had an hour’s drive to his sister Loretta’s place in Penticton; and he wanted to stop at the Grand Union Cafe in Hedley; then at Yellow Lake, where he and Cynthia often unloaded ‘the tubbies’ and went for a paddle. That would put their Penticton ETA close to noon. And Colin wanted to be on the road early next day, making for Revelstoke.

Loretta would not be happy.

“Gotta go!” he bolted upright, swinging his legs into the Rialta’s aisle and slipping his feet into their Crocs.

Only then did he remember his fellow passenger. Where is she? he fretted, sneaking a peek over the headrests into the front seats. Where’s Hermes?

Then he noticed that the Rialta’s outer door was opened, with just the inner screen door shut. He peered through its mesh, and there they were, sitting on the picnic table’s bench, their backs to him, side-by-side, Hermes leaning into the stranger like her bestest of best friends.

An upwelling of happiness overrode Colin’s twinge of jealousy. He unlatched the screen door stealthily, stepping out of the coach, a sneak-thief hoping to steal a peek at their contentedness.

“Hello,” the stranger said without turning to face him.

Hermes twisted round, giving Colin what he and Cynthia referred to as ‘the side-eye’, looking askance and somewhat guilty, as if he wasn’t sure he was pleased to see you.

“Name’s Colin,” he introduced himself, stepping round to the other side of the table, straddling its bench, and extending his hand.

She hesitated a moment, taking him in at a glance with her startlingly clear, green eyes. “Jayclyn,” she said. “Thanks for last night.”

“My pleasure.” Colin had always uttered that greeting in a perfunctory way, exaggerating the words to make it sound sincere. They came out as a humbled whisper for Jayclyn—intoned with a sort of radiance, if you can think of words that way, beaming through sudden chinks in his introductory armour.

“And who’s this little fellow?” She stroked Hermes’ head and neck, and he didn’t growl.

“That’s Hermes.” Colin decided not to tag the ‘choweenie’ modifier onto the intro.

Don’t you dare! Hermes bridled at the very thought.

Colin swung his right leg over the bench, facing them directly. “I was going to offer you a coffee, but I see you’ve beat me to it.” He glanced at the mug—Cynthia’s mug—which was sitting on the table between them.

Jayclyn allowed the faintest hint of a smile, conveyed by a pursing of lips and raising of eyebrows; Colin yearned for more. “Sorry,” she said. “Some might think me pushy, but I believe in serving yourself and letting your host sleep in after a late night.”

He nodded. “It’s the technique I’m wondering about; not the intent.”

“Huh?”

Colin smiled, wanting her to know he was joking, not accusing in any way, when he said, “How does a guest, who’s never been in your galley, get the kettle on the stove, find the coffee mugs in the cupboard, and take one down without a rattle, then brew a cuppa, and get out the camper door without waking a light sleeper, who’s just a couple of feet away?” He widened his eyes in exaggerated amazement, and stretched his smile even more.

She shrugged.

“Well, how’s about we pick up and head out? There’s a little café a couple of kilometres up the road, in Hedley, I like to stop at. After that I’m headed for Penticton—with a stop at Yellow Lake in between.

“You’re welcome to come along for the ride.”

~~~

‘A YAWN IS JUST A SILENT SCREAM FOR COFFEE’

Jayclyn smiled, reading the sandwich board placed by the curb outside the Grand Union Cafe. Colin smiled, seeing Jayclyn’s smile. She glanced up and saw him smiling, and her smile intensified, animating her entire being.., or so he thought.

“My sister told us about this place,” he said when she asked. He gestured for her to take the lead up the cobbled walkway onto the grounds. Broad shoulders, muscular, dare I say manly stride, he thought, following her up to the café’s entrance.

Hermes made for one of the outdoor tables, grumbling about the discriminatory regulations banning dogs from eateries.

I’ll bring you a treat, Colin promised.

Don’t expect me to do any tricks, or to be gracious about it, Hermes grumped, settling onto a sunlit patch of lawn.

“Charming!” Jayclyn remarked happily, stepping inside the restaurant. “How did your sister-in-law find it? I mean, it’s not exactly on the beaten path.”

“Loretta lives in Penticton, just an hour up the road. I guess she heard about it from her gourmet friends through the grapevine, you could say. She’s passionate about good food and fine dining.”

The Grand Union is one of those places where a jostling assortment of knick-knacks has been assembled in a way you can’t help marvelling at, each item having its place in the haphazard collection, so that “…everything stands out at the same time,” Colin observed, taking on the role of tour guide. “And the food’s really good,” he boasted.

Jayclyn browsed the eclectic collection thoughtfully. “This is real, man,” she enthused. “Each piece has meaning and memory.”

She paused at a display of two acoustic guitars, placed next to a music stand and mic. “May I?” she asked.

The barista behind the counter nodded. “Be my guest,” she said.

Perched on a chair, Jayclyn plucked the strings, tweaking them to get the guitar tuned. Satisfied, she strummed once, then played. Her voice reminded Colin of Joni Mitchell from a time when both he and she were young…

 Gathering Intelligence

I hate to say it,
but I know that it’s true
there’s a monster coming
and it’s coming for you
.
It ain’t got no legs,
don’t have any hair,
but its tentacles are growing
and you’d best beware.

It’ll track your every action
with its never-blinking eyes;
it’ll know just what you’re thinking
before you realize.

It’ll measure every movement,
tune in on all your talks,
know exactly where you’re going
and guess your every thought.

I hate to say it,
but I know that it’s true
there’s a monster coming
and it’s coming for you.

It’s wholly artificial
and intelligent, too,
but it hasn’t got a heart
so there’s nothing it won’t do.

The time its a coming
it’ll count your every breath
and catalogue your notions
from birth, right unto death.

You’ll be crammed in data centres
that’s where you will reside,
and there won’t ever be a place
where your soul can run and hide.

I hate to say it,
but I know that it’s true
there’s a monster coming
and it’s coming for you.

“On the house,” the barista said when Colin went to pay for the lattes and pastries they’d ordered. “It’s a song that needs singing loud-and-clear.”

Hermes lay in wait for them outside, in his patch of sunlight. Head nestled in the grass, he tracked their movements with his eyes, not deigning to get up and greet them.

“Come on,” Colin cajoled. No sense pouting about it. You know we would have brought you in with us if we could.”

Where’s my treat?

Oh crap! I forgot! Colin apologized. You can have a chunk of my muffin.

Never mind, Hermes sulked.

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