"Hey, Mom!" The diner's back door slammed shut with an icy
gust of wind. Heavy boots tromped across the clean kitchen
floor. "I took the garbage out. The bathrooms are
spotless. I even cleaned the milkshake machine."
Paige McKaslin turned from the prep table to take one look
at her seventeen-year-old son who was giving her "The
Eye," as she called it, the one meant to charm her. He'd
been using it effectively since he was fifteen months old.
Alex was tall, blond and athletic and rangy. One day he
would fill out those wide shoulders of his, but in the
meantime he was eating as though he had two hollow
legs. "You just had supper. Do you need two chocolate
doughnuts?"
"You don't wanna stunt my growth, Ma!" He pretended to be
shocked but those baby blues of his were twinkling. "Can I
go? The movie starts at eight and Beth doesn't like to
miss the previews."
One thing a mother didn't want her teenage boy to have —
aside from the keys to her car — was a girlfriend.
Especially a girl who did not belong to their church or
any church in the county. "You behave, and remember what I
told you."
"Yeah, I know, I'll be a gentleman. As if!" He rolled his
eyes, his grin widening because he'd achieved
victory. "I'm outta here."
"Drive safely. It's icy out there."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I passed my driver's test, remember?"
As if she could forget. Letting go was hard but necessary.
She bit her lip. Alex was a good driver even if he was
young and inexperienced. "Don't forget to call me at the
diner the second you get home — before your curfew."
"Mom, I know the drill. See ya!" He pounded out of sight,
whistling. The back door slammed shut and he was gone.
Off to any kind of danger.
Paige bussed the eight plates from the Corey family's
party.
She'd thought nothing could be more worrying than having a
toddler. Alex had been such an active little tyke, and
fast. She'd been a wreck trying to stay one step ahead of
him, worrying what he would try to choke on next. Or
electrocute himself with next. Or fall off of and break
open his skull next. How she'd worried!
Little had she imagined all those years ago that her sweet
little boy was going to turn into a teenager and do
something even more dangerous than try to stick pennies in
electrical sockets. He would drive. She dealt with that
the way she always dealt with anxiety — she just tried
hard not to think about it.
"I had that same look of sheer panic," Evan Thornton
commented as she shot down the aisle. "It was right after
each of my boys got their licenses. I don't think I've
calmed down yet, and they're both in college now."
"No, of course you're not calm because they are probably
out there driving around somewhere."
Evan chuckled, and the fine laugh lines at the corners of
his eyes crinkled handsomely. "Exactly. It's hard not to
be overprotective. You get sort of fond of 'em."
She heard what he didn't say. There was no stronger love
than a parent's love. "Lord knows why." She balanced the
plate-filled dishpan on her hip. "Would you like a refill
on your fries?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
"Are you kidding? I'll be right back. Looks like you need
more cola, too." She flashed him a smile on her way by.
Evan had been frequenting the diner most evenings. Bless
her regular customers who gave this tough job its saving
grace. She did like making a difference, even if it was
only cooking or serving a meal that they weren't in the
mood to fix for themselves.
On the way down the aisle, she stopped to leave the bill
with a couple who looked as if they had wandered in off
the interstate. They still had that road-weary look to
them. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"Oh, no thanks." The woman, who was about Paige's age,
tried to manage a weak smile, but failed. Sadness lingered
in her dark eyes. "I suppose we ought to be heading on."
"Will you be traveling far? I have a friend who owns a
nice little bed and breakfast in Bozeman. It's the most
restful place and reasonably priced. If you're staying in
the area, I could give her a call for you. No pressure, I
just thought I'd try to help." Paige slipped their bill on
the edge of the table.
"Sounds like just what I need, but we have a funeral we're
expected at in Fargo in the morning. The airlines were
full, and so we're driving straight through." Tears rushed
to the surface.
Paige whipped a pack of tissues from her apron pocket and
slipped it onto the table. "I'm so sorry."
"Th-thank you." The woman covered her face, her grief
overtaking her.
Her husband shrugged his shoulders. "We're going through a
tough time."
"I know how that is. Let me know if you need anything."
Not wanting to intrude, Paige backed away, the memory of
her own losses made fresh by the woman's grief. The day
her parents had died had been the day after her sixteenth
birthday, and it was as if the sun had gone out.
Time had healed the wound, but nothing had ever been the
same again. She was thirty-eight, on the edge of turning
thirty-nine — eek! But time had a strange elasticity to
it, snapping her back over two decades to that pivotal
loss.
Maybe there's something I can do to make the woman's
journey easier. In the relative calm of the late evening
diner, Paige bustled into the back, where the evening
shift cook was sitting at the prep table bent over the
day's newspaper.
Dave looked up, his expression guilty. "I thought I got
everything done I needed to. But here you come looking
like I'm in trouble. What'd I forget to do?"
"Nothing that I've found. I can come up with something if
you'd like."
"Are you kidding? I just got set down. It was a heavy
Friday rush. I'm about done. I've been standing in front
of that grill for twenty years and every night just seems
longer."
Sometimes Paige forgot how much time had passed, not only
for Dave but for her, as well. She'd been in this place
for so long that the decades had begun to blur. She still
saw Dave as the restless wanderer just back from Vietnam.
He'd come in for an early-Saturday lunch and stayed on as
one of the best short-order cooks they'd ever had.
In a blink, she saw not the past but the present, and the
man with liberal shocks of gray tinting his long ponytail,
looking the worse for wear. "Go on, get home. And don't
forget to take some of the leftover cinnamon rolls with
you. They'll be a nice treat for breakfast tomorrow."
"I wasn't complainin', you know. I don't mind stayin' in
case you get a late rush."
"I'll handle it. Now go, before I take hold of the back of
your chair and drag you out of here." Paige turned to snag
one of the cardboard to-go boxes. A few quick folds and
she had two of them assembled and ready.
"Well, if you insist." Dave's chair grated against the
tile floor as he stood.
"I do." She split apart a half dozen of the last rack of
cinnamon rolls — why they hadn't moved this morning was
beyond her. Yesterday the whole six dozen she'd been
regularly buying had disappeared before the breakfast rush
was over. She popped the sticky iced treats into the
waiting boxes and added a few of the frosted cookies, too —
those hadn't moved, either — then snapped the lids shut.
"Here. Go. Hurry, before a bunch of teenagers break down
the door and take over the back booth." She slid one box
on the table in his direction.
"Only if you promise to call me if you get slammed."
"Deal. Now beat it." She pounded through the doorway and
into the dining room where the grieving woman and her
husband were just gathering up their things to leave.
It took only a few moments to fill two extra large take-
out cups with steaming coffee, stick them in a cardboard
cup holder, and fill a small paper bag with sweetener,
creamer and napkins.
"That sure hit the spot." The husband slid the meal ticket
and a twenty on the counter by the till.
"That was the best beef stew I've had in some time."
"My Irish grandmother's family recipe. I'm glad you liked
it." She rang in the sale with one hand while she pushed
the baker's box and cup holders in their
direction. "Here's a little something to keep you alert
while you're on the road. It's a long stretch between rest
stops once you're past Bozeman. I'll be praying for a safe
journey."
She counted back change, but the husband held up his hand,
shaking his head. "Keep the change. That's mighty kind of
you."
"Bless you." The woman teared up again and headed for the
door, wrapping her overcoat more tightly around her.
After taking the box and cup holder, the husband joined
his wife in the entryway and held the door for her. They
stepped outside, the door swished closed, and they were
gone.
"That was awful nice of you."
Paige startled, spinning around to see Evan Thornton
watching her along the length of the serving counter. "I
don't know about nice. I had extra cinnamon rolls that I
didn't want to go to waste."
"Still. Not everyone would go to the trouble."
"Lord knows times like that are tough enough. We've all
been there, battling heartbreak."
"Yes, we have." Evan's face hardened, and he turned away,
staring at his plate.
He's known heartache, too, she remembered. She didn't know
the details, but he'd been divorced long ago. She knew
just how much pain that could give a person.
Maybe it was just her mood today, but the shadows seemed
to darken quickly. Maybe a storm was on the way.
Night fell like a curtain until she could see the lighted
reflection of the diner in the long row of front windows
and her own tall, lanky form standing there, nearly as
dark as the world outside.