An Order of Coffee and Tears (15 page)

“Then we just can’t let that happen. Can we?” Suzette declared. Ms. Potts fixed her glasses.

“I appreciate the thought, but the detective is set in his ways to see this through. He is after us like we’s just rodent prey.”

The reality of what was being faced was daunting, if not impossible. I liked having answers, but had none. Ms. Potts’ husband was buried in the floor of the diner, and the detective was eager to dig it up. And, if he got his way, then my friends would be going to prison. If I were living in a trailer or a tent, I’d be looking at the clock about now, and waiting for the sun to wake the day. An hour before the first rays of sunlight peeled away the night sky, I’d be on the road walking. But this was family. My family. I didn’t look at the clock. I didn’t look at the road outside. I stayed where I sat, and, as Clark’s lips moved to a new prayer, I joined him.

12

For the next week, life at the diner felt somewhat normal. Of course, the idea that a dead body was in the floor beneath Clark’s nook was strange – I’m guessing that is where they put Mr. Potts. Strange or not, the diner continued to function. And whether I did or didn’t know about the body didn’t mean a thing to the person waiting for their coffee. But, now and then, the thought of it did give me the willies, and reason to pause. Would I have done the same as Clark, given the circumstance? Yes. In fact, I think I would have done more. Certainly there was no judgment from me. Fear, however, there was plenty of – especially with the prospects of Angela’s Diner being sold, and what Detective Ramiz was after.

Life stayed the norm at Angela’s Diner. My regulars came in. They ordered their meals and their coffee, just as they had the days, weeks, and months prior to my learning anything about a dead body. And, for regulars like
Keep on Truckin´
, polishing off his third cup of coffee, how was he to know? He winked at me as he let out a hearty burp. Dropping a few dollars on the table, he wished me well, and told me he would be back in a couple of days: had to drive a load of plumbing supplies down in Virginia, or something like that.

People came and went. They gave appreciative smiles almost as often as they complained. They tipped good and bad. The hours and days moved along no differently than before. I suppose that is how Clark and Ms. Potts managed it – how they moved into every day. For them, it was a matter of life or death. And, even then, people were still going to come in and order the same meal they ordered the day before.

Sometimes, when I was alone, and Angela’s was empty and quiet, I’d close my eyes and think about the body in the floor. I’d sit and lay my hands down on the cool surface of the table, and try to feel something, anything. I wondered, if I concentrated enough, would I be able to sense that there was a dead person with us? Would I feel a dead heart beat thumping beneath my feet and echoing in my head?

A part of me was glad I never felt anything. But I’ll admit to being a bit disappointed, too. It was a silly thought, and I blamed it on my high-school days and reading Edgar Allen Poe’s
Tell-Tale Heart
. Standing from the table, I was relieved the only things I sensed were the comings and goings of cars, and people outside the diner’s window. A few times, I caught myself looking down at my feet. No Chuck Taylors, just my waitress shoes pushing on the light green tiles, and I’d imagine a body lying there. Instinctively, I’d step over what wasn’t really there.

It would have been Ms. Potts who was killed that awful night, if not for Clark having saved her. I never let myself forget that. I considered this, and wondered where I would be today if Ms. Potts hadn’t taken the help wanted sign from my hands. Where would I have ended up? Would I still be living on the streets? And who might have been standing in her place? Would they have blue hair, too, and thick glasses that needed to be pushed up every five minutes? Would they have offered me a meal sprinkled with magic? Would I be alive?

Today was Thursday, and I wasn’t racing to see my reflection in a toaster, or to the bathroom mirror to check my teeth and hair. My one minute of infatuation for Jarod Patreu had slipped. Sadly, it may have been squashed. He never showed up last week, which was fine, given the revelation about Ms. Potts’ husband. But still, when the bell rang, my eyes popped up to see who was coming in. I felt a smile on my face; what’s wrong with that? Suzette met my eyes with a returned smile, and then frowned at my disappointment; I waved it off as nothing. She told me she stopped in to pick something up. And, as quickly as she was here, she was leaving. But not before crossing her fingers while waving a hand in the air and saying that she’d be back to join us later, when it was a little busier.

Suzette’s days were much like mine. She even started helping out at the diner. Nothing permanent, just a few hours a day here and there to earn some dollars. When she left her husband, she didn’t leave a forwarding address. She’d told him she was visiting family or something like that, but decided, instead, to disappear. To vanish completely. I could help her with that. Disappearing was easy; remaining so could be hard work, and took some care. With a few dollars, anyone can live anywhere they want and never be found. Disappearing is easy: I know.

When Suzette ran from their home, she took with her some clothes, a handful of cash, and the pearls her husband had given to her. That was all she had to work with. It wasn’t much, but it was something to get started with. She’d told her husband the pearl necklace had been lost on the streets around Pennypack Park, lost when he dragged her body with the pull of his car, throwing her to the ground, and nearly ending her life. And, she told us, her husband never said a word to her about losing their baby.

An eager gentleman from the pawn store a few miles away offered to buy the pearls. With a toothy grin and a whistle in his words, he said they were a fine string of natural whites, and that he would pay almost top dollar. When Suzette hesitated, Toothy voiced a disappointment, and then whistled a sweeter offer, by throwing in some store credit, too. She took him up on the sale and used the cash to pay for a room next to Ms. Potts. The pearls were gone, and in their place, she had cash in hand, and a kitty-cat clock whose tail and eyes moved in a count of the seconds. As she put it, the clock made her new room homier. I didn’t think so, though. I thought the clock was just creepy.

As Suzette left the diner, I heard a distant rumbling sound from outside as sunlight bounced off a passing car. Sun and thunder – an exciting mix. Spring storms toyed with us most afternoons, and they gave me a perfect opportunity to take a break and watch from the diner’s stoop: storm junkie, through and through.

I followed Suzette through the door, where I saw a deep purple curtain approaching from the west. Razor-thin lightning pierced the center; some accompanied by thunder, and some without. More rumbles held promise for a good storm, and I could see sheets of rain spilling. In a few minutes, the rains would be overhead, soaking the diner. We were in the throes of spring weather, and I could taste the warm dampness of the air. Electric.

The bell above the door rang as I entered, and I was quickly joined by Brown, who was holding the arm of a tall boy. They gave me a smile, and made their way to a booth. He was a boy a few grades older than Brown, and was sporting the same color hair, and a cute pair of dimples when he smiled at her. It had been a while since I’d seen any of the teenage girls. Walking past the fast-food joint, I did see them through the windows now and again, and, once, got a nod and a small wave from Brown and Black. The kids said a quick hello to me; the boy’s voice was low, but hitching, as if stuck in an adolescent change. The two collapsed back into each other as they went on chatting a teenage language I once knew.

A giddy feeling lifted me. Brown and her beau had a secret, and it was all over their faces. A sunburn on her nose and cheeks had all but hidden some of her freckles. The same sun painted a faint red burn across his nose and the back of his neck. My guess was that the two had cut class for the day, and had spent the morning and afternoon together. Could this be the infamous Jimmy Taylor? The subject of the near-pregnancy experience shared by Brown and Blonde and her other friends? I suspected it was, and would have to let Ms. Potts in on it and share the table with me.

The two ordered a plate of fries and a milkshake, a favorite of the teens. The milkshake, of course, was for dipping the fries into. The kids thought they came up with the idea, but I knew better. I gave Brown a wink and raised a brow in her friend’s direction. She gleamed, smiling wide, and pulled his arm closer to her. The bell rang out, and pulled my attention from the young love.

A man entered the diner and stood for a moment to look to the four corners of the diner. Sizing up our small place, he glanced around the front, and stretched his neck to see the back, and then looked to the counter. He was tall and fit, and wore a suit and shoes that were expensive and probably tailor-fitted. Certainly not something off the rack, or a suit that came with a buy one, get two free weekend sale.

Handsome, the man wore an air of confidence as he made his way to the counter. I could tell he’d never been to Angela’s Diner before. It wasn’t just that I’d never seen him; he was looking around and taking in all that we had. When he reached the counter, he leaned up on his feet to get a better view of the back, stretching to see everything. He was searching, and I wondered if he might be one of the possible buyers of Angela’s Diner. If that was true, that meant Mr. Thurmon might be stopping in. I pushed a small reminder in my head to clean up a bit.

When Handsome was satisfied in not finding or seeing whatever it was he was looking for, he took to one of the stools and sat down. I made my way back to the counter, and put in the order for the fries and a milkshake. And, of course, I had to pass Handsome on the way. He smelled good – not sure what it was, but it slowed my step as I passed him. Twice. Up close, he was even more attractive. And, when he planted his eyes on me and smiled, an unexpected settling of nerves caught my breath with an
ummm
as I asked if he’d like something to drink. My neck felt hot, and I was sure I must have been blushing.

“Just coffee, Miss,” he answered, and ran his fingers through his hair.

A nervous giggle crept to my lips, and I felt silly: middle school silly. I poured him a cup of coffee, and waited as he fixed it with a packet of sugar and some creamer. He gave me another polite smile, and then took a sip. I watched his lips. My eyes were drawn to them, and how he sucked in the coffee. It was silly, but he was so handsome. Another thump of nerves played inside me, and I pushed my mouth to say something.

“Coffee is fresh,” was all I could stumble out. “Do you like it?”

“Not bad, it’s good,” he thanked me, and I was caught by his blue eyes. They were bright, very bright; the kind you see in newborns and younger kids. Only, his never changed. They were beautiful.

“Can I get you anything else?” I asked, as Handsome sipped at his coffee again and shook his head a brief no.

“Just passing through, and needed to sit for a few minutes.”

“Pick-up,” Clark called as I tried to think of something to say. Clark sounded out another, “Pick-up,” when Handsome pointed toward Clark. I told him I’d be back in a few to check on him.

When the teens were settled in with their fries and milkshake, I went back to see how Handsome was doing.

“Can I get you another cup of coffee?”

“That would be fantastic, yes,” he answered, and grinned as nerves threatened another giggle. I was feeling silly, but then his smile faded, and his eyes strayed far while he held his coffee.

“Are you here on business?”

He hesitated a moment, then pulled out a blue paper from inside his jacket. The paper’s color matched his eyes, and had been folded down the middle where a crease interrupted some of the letters bleeding through. He drummed his hand against the paper, and I could see a heaviness in his eyes. At that moment, the handsome
he came in with was gone like the fast move of the spring rains I’d seen approach earlier. His expression was something more familiar. Something we’re used to seeing at Angela’s Diner.
An Order of coffee and tears,
I heard Ms. Potts yelling in my head. I glanced across the diner to the booth where she was sitting. Ms. Potts was busy working a crossword. She was deep into the newspaper’s little boxes, penciling mad scratches, and not looking anywhere but down. Just a glimpse is what I needed from her – a glimpse to use our secret waitress language, to say
come on over here, might have a story for ya to hear.
But she didn’t look up.

“Lost my wife,” Handsome started to say, swiping at a tear from his cheek.

“I’m sorry, was she sick?”

He shook his head, and drummed the paper with his hand again.

“Sorry, no – not sick. She left, and then disappeared,” he explained, and sipped his coffee.

A mystery! I was intrigued, and sought out Ms. Potts one more time, but she still had her head down with her pencil top waving around in small arches and circles. I’d have to fill her in on this one later.

“How long has she been missing?”

“It’s been a few weeks. I know she was fond of this area, so I thought I’d ask around. This is my wife,” he answered, and then opened the sheet of paper in front of me. The sound of paper crinkling pulled my eyes down, and my heart dropped. I threw a look to Ms. Potts, pleading that she looked up from her damn crossword. I looked back down at the paper, where a photo of Suzette stared back at me. Her face was printed in a mass of shaded blue dots, the large crease running down the middle of her head. Her image held harrowed eyes, and, beneath them, an expressionless smile. The photo looked frightful. Beneath Suzette’s face was the printed text of her first name, her age, and a small description. This was her husband sitting across from me, the man who regularly beat on her. The man who’d killed her unborn child. The man who’d driven her to run and hide. My breath was gone, and my legs felt wobbly as I searched for Ms. Potts again.