Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

39

     A forkful of scrambled eggs falls off of Travis's three-pronged fork and onto the plate in front of him. His heart seems to drop with it.

     For a moment, it's as if time has stopped. Time, which had been taken from him and his mother, time that he may now have back.

     It's too good to be true. Too convenient. Too lucky. Travis was never meant to be so lucky.

     "Hold up dude," Larry, face full of chocolate cake waves his hand, looking away, "did you just say Andrea?"

    Sal is at attention too now, his blue eyes widened, the clasps of his prosthetic dangling loosely at either side of his head. His hand reaches just slightly to the left and he curls the cuff of Travis's hoodie between his fingers as if he's trying to ground him.

    Dazedly, Travis thinks he might need to be grounded.

    Paisley cocks her head just slightly, her blonde ponytail swaying along, "Mhm," she says, "It's crazy, like a spitting image, the same jaw and everything. Much darker hair though."

   Travis' mouth hangs open a bit. His head is spinning. He doesn't know what to say. He can hear the beating of his heart in his ears, feel the rushing of his blood through into his head, into his chest.

    Luckily, Sal speaks in his place, "Andrea?" he repeats, "Andrea Phelps, by any chance?"

    Her round face scrunches up a little, "No," she says, "no, I believe it's D- uh, Decorah?"

It was only to be expected that she might change her surname. It doesn't do anything to lessen Travis's suspicions that this was indeed the woman who cared for him as a child.

"Did she ever mention having a son around our age?" Larry rasps. There's a faint line of chocolate frosting on the corner of his mouth.

Paisley lifts her head thoughtfully for a moment, staring up at the beige ceiling tiles, "Um," she hums and then glances back down at them, "just one boy, a boy who'd been staying with his father. She said she hadn't seen him in years. What was his name? Tyler?.... No, no, Troy?" She furrows her brows, "Gosh, I'm so forgetful. I've never met him, so-"

"Is there any way you'd be able to take us to her?" Travis asks. His voice is unsteady, somewhat hoarse, "I think," he pauses, "I think she might be the one we're looking for."

The waitresses eyes widen, "The one you-" she begins to repeat his words and suddenly stops herself, staring at him, once again analyzing the shape of his face, the deep downturn of his beetle-black eyes. "It can't be," she says hesitantly, "her son, it's- it's you, isn't it?"

Travis gulps. He's going to collapse. Could this really be happening? Could he really be seeing his mother so soon? He opens his mouth, but he can't manage to say anything.

"Ma'am, If you could help us find her," Sal stresses, "it would really mean the world to us." Their hands are interlaced atop the padded bench now, the pads of his fingers pressed gently against Travis's tawny skin.

     For ten long years, the blonde has been without her, afraid and alone in a house full to the brim with her memory despite his father's attempts to scrub it away. Full of her memory, but lacking her physical presence.

Had she really been talking about him? All these years, has she really been waiting? Travis tries and tries and tries again to calm himself down, but no matter what he does, he cannot seem to stop the bouncing of his leg, the racing of his heart.

"Tell you what," Paisley begins, glancing at the silly kitty-cat clock on the wall, "my shift ends in twenty minutes. If you boys wanna tail my Volkswagen, I'll drive on over to her house."