More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“You’re my friend. My best friend. And I love you. ‘A lot’ is never enough.”

Libby graced her with a grateful smile. “Road trip it is, then,” Libby said, her voice wobbly and her eyes shining with tears.

Chapter Three

“Oh my God, this town is gorgeous.” Tina sighed as they drove into yet another of the many picturesque tiny towns on the Garden Route. This one had a huge sign posted at the entrance of town:

WELCOME TO RIVERSEND

POP 5017

“We have to stop here!”

“We’re less than forty minutes away from our destination,” Libby informed her with an indulgent grin.

“Last stop on our road trip, then,” Tina said, her voice cajoling.

Libby laughed. “Fine! Let’s have a late lunch somewhere. I need to change my munchkin anyway. I want her fresh and happy when she meets her ‘uncle’ Chris for the first time.”

Tina scanned their surroundings until she spotted a faded neon sign that was switched on, even in the middle of the day: MJ’s. The M was flickering, and the apostrophe was off. The windows weren’t exactly clean, and there were remnants of Christmas decorations still adorning the corners. Clearly someone had attempted to remove them but couldn’t be bothered to clear away all the tinsel. Who knew how long it had been there. Somehow Tina doubted it was from last Christmas, which had been four months ago.

“I don’t know,” Libby said skeptically as she stared at the less-than-impressive exterior of the place.

“Come on; it’s an MJ, like me. It’s bound to have some hidden charms. Besides, I don’t see any other eateries. And I doubt you’d want to take Clara into the pub.” Tina eyed the pub, just a few doors away, dubiously. The place looked seedy, but a few locals and tourists were milling around outside. Tina knew there was a huge Saturday rugby test match on at the moment, which could explain the thronging crowd currently populating the pub. Ralphie’s—the pub—did have the usual sports-bar paraphernalia on its signage and advertised “big-screen TVs” boldly on its windows.

The huge roar coming from inside the pub affirmed Tina’s belief that it was filled to the brim with sports fans.

“Um . . . I think we’ll stick with MJ’s,” Libby said, wrinkling her nose as she clearly drew the same conclusion.

Tina dropped Libby and Clara off in front of the restaurant before driving off to find parking—difficult, when the main road was jam-packed with cars, and the restaurant didn’t have any dedicated spaces. She had to drive up the road a ways and find a spot off the main road.

She fed the meter and took a leisurely walk back to the restaurant. It was a glorious autumn day—the pretty little town was close enough to the beach that she could smell the brine in the air and hear the crash of waves in the distance. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of the sparkling blue water just behind the buildings across the street. Riversend was built on a slope, and a lot of the homes were downhill and closer to the water. There were a few larger houses farther up the hill that probably had spectacular, uninterrupted views of the ocean and town.

It was clearly a tourist town, probably busy only in spring, summer, and early autumn, but she loved the appeal of the place. People smiled and nodded at her as she passed them, welcoming and generously warm. She wondered why a place like this, which likely earned most of its money during the peak seasons, had no decent restaurants. Tourists probably stayed here and went out to eat at the nearby larger cities, like Knysna or Plettenberg Bay. Possibly even to Libby’s friend Chris’s place.

Still, it seemed like wasted potential. A town like this could benefit from a decent restaurant.

She was still ruminating over that when she entered MJ’s. The name of the place did give her a childish kick. If she were going to open a diner, she’d probably name it MJ’s too. Or possibly TJ’s. She considered that, then shook her head. Nah, MJ’s definitely sounded better.

She was somewhat surprised by how packed the place was when she entered it. It also had a television blaring in the background. Ralphie’s wasn’t the only place blasting the rugby today.

The restaurant had the ubiquitous small-town, shabby-diner decor. Red-and-white checkered tablecloths, little oil lanterns on each table. Condiments in wooden holders, with the laminated menus stuck between bottles of ketchup and mustard.

She spotted Libby in the back, close to the kitchen, the farthest distance away from the TV.

“This place is busier than I expected,” Tina said as she took her seat. She glanced down at Clara in her baby carrier, which had been placed on a sturdy chair, but thankfully the infant seemed oblivious to the noise. Tina rested her elbows on the table and wrinkled her nose when she realized that the tablecloths were actually plastic. And a bit tacky to the touch. Ugh.