From the outside, Nate’s looked as wacky as advertised. Tucked away at the very end of town, its bright lights illuminated the emptiness of the street, rather than welcomed visitors. The cluttered storefront window tried too hard, offering a carnival of salutations (COME ON IN! IT’S DREAMY AND CREAMY INSIDE! GET IT WHILE IT’S COLD! HOME OF THE WORLD’S BEST BANANA SPLIT), as well as a large crudely painted rainbow on top of which sat a squirrel clutching an acorn. A caption beneath the squirrel read: HE’S NUTS FOR NATE’S!
“Interesting,” Mary said. We put our faces up to the window. Other than a life-size stuffed polar bear standing on its hind legs, the place, like Mason, looked deserted.
“I don’t hear any singing,” she said.
“Maybe they hum between customers.”
“You still want to go in?” she asked.
“It’s the home of the world’s best banana split,” I said, opening the door. “We really have no choice.”
When we stepped inside, we were immediately greeted by the sweet smell of ice cream and a steady hum of freezers. Standing behind the counter, ramrod straight, were an older man and woman. Thin, stern-faced, and wearing spectacles, if you substituted a pitchfork for an ice cream scooper, they were a double for the figures in the famous Grant Wood painting. They did not look like singers.
I smiled, nodded. “So, is this the singing ice cream place?”
The man looked past me with a one thousand-yard stare. “We’re under new management,” he said, his voice plain, direct. “Nate is no longer around.”
“Oh, so not even one song?”
The woman glared at me then disappeared into a back room.
This left us alone with the man, and I suspected he was uncomfortable. He cleared this throat and shifted his gaze just off to my right. I took a tiny step over, hoping to get into his line of vision, but his eyes kept sliding over.
“So, the singing stopped with Nate?”
“Nate was a fool,” the man said.
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
“Do you want ice cream?”
I tried one more smile. “We came for the music, but I guess we’ll stay for the ice cream.”
A shadow flickered across his face.
“Let’s see here,” I said.
Mary, who was not easily intimidated, seemed unnerved by the man. She stepped partially behind me. “I think I’ll have one scoop of mint chocolate chip in a cup,” she said.
The man remained rigid, bracing for my choice. I took my time, partly because I couldn’t decide between a banana split and the hot fudge sundae, and partly because I had decided that this man needed to be annoyed.
I tapped my chin. “Let’s see now.”
“We close in ten minutes.”
“Wow, that’s pretty early.”
“That’s when we close.”
“Wow. Okay, well, this is going to be tough. There are so many good choices, so many flavorful options. Wish I could try them all. Yes, I do. Hey, what would you recommend?”
His chest rose, fell. “What she had.”
“Interesting.” I tapped my chin a few more times. “But I think I’ll have the world’s best banana split. I’m going to see if it’s better than the one I had in Singapore back in eighty-five. Up until now, that one has been the best.” I winked.
The man’s chest rose and fell again. “With or without nuts?”
Another chin tap. “Let’s see, let’s see, with nuts.”
More chest. “Nuts are twenty cents extra.”
More chin. “Fine. And I think I would like … extra whipped cream.”
Chest. “That’s another twenty cents.”
Chin. “Really?” At this point, I had to work hard to suppress a smile. This guy was just too much. “Really? Twenty cents?”
“Yes.”
“Seems like a lot.” I feigned deep thought, then snapped my fingers. “Go for it.” I admit, I was putting on a show for Mary, trying to get her to laugh.
The man jerked the glass freezer open and went to work while we sat down at a wobbly plastic table near the dead bear.
I took in the ambiance and concluded that Nate’s was officially the anti-Cracker Barrel; other than the polar bear and the crazy greetings on the windows, relics, I suspected, from the Nate era, it was as cheerful as the Calvinist church.
“Charming place,” I whispered.
“Very,” Mary whispered back.
The man placed our ice cream on the countertop and said, “Ten dollars,” which I thought was expensive.
I was reaching for my wallet when Mary asked, “Why don’t we bring something back for the girls and Ethan?”
“Oh yeah, sure. Yeah, good idea.” With great pleasure I asked, “Can you make three more world-famous splits? To go?”
He sighed, glanced down at a bulging, black watch, the kind that offers the time in Moscow, Honolulu, Heaven, and Hell, and asked between clenched teeth, “Extra nuts, extra whipped cream?”
“Why not? I just got paid today.”
The man yanked the freezer open again, and I retrieved our treats and sat back down. I wished Mindy were there. She would have an absolute field day with this guy.
“Unbelievable,” Mary whispered as I handed her the cup.
I was in the middle of swallowing a large spoonful of the extra whipped cream when I realized I had left my wallet back at the hotel. I patted my pockets to confirm, but I knew it wasn’t there. I now remembered putting it on the desk when I was changing Ethan into his bathing suit.
“Hey,” I whispered to Mary. “I left my wallet at the hotel.”
Mary stopped eating. “What?”