An Order of Coffee and Tears Read online

  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.

  “May I please leave this flyer with you, and ask that you contact me if you see my wife?” The giddy feeling I had earlier went cold, and, in its place was a growing fear that had already taken my legs. A nervous sweat on my neck caused a chill to run through me, and I told myself to calm down – to take a breath. He held the flyer in front of me, and pushed it in my direction. His hands were enormous. They were huge and thick and dangerous. In my mind, I could imagine seeing him push Suzette down and hitting her. I could almost hear it. Reaching my hand forward, I was afraid to take the paper. The sound of the bell above the door interrupted, and Jarod walked in, his bag of tools in one hand as he waved a hello with the other. The smile he greeted me with turned to concern, and I realized my expression was off. I needed to get Suzette’s husband out of the diner. I needed to get him out of this part of town, and send word to her to not come here. I took the flyer from his hands.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for her, Mr. Wilkerson. In fact, I think we can put this in the window, if that is okay with you.” He nodded a thank you, and began to pay for the coffee. He was leaving, and my insides yawned a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Oh, it’s Gabby. I’m Gabby. See, right here on my name tag – Gabby.” I answered in a tumble of nervous words. Any measure of concern for his missing wife was gone. He huffed a short breath and narrowed his eyes in a stare.

  “No! I mean I didn’t get your last name. Gabby. And I don’t think I gave you my last name. Did I?” I shook my head no.

  “You know my wife, Suzette, and I’m going to ask that you tell me where she is.” My heart sank, and I felt sick. How stupid was I? How very stupid – but I never got to answer. Suzette’s husband lurched over the counter, and grabbed hold of my arm just below my hand. The flyer in my fingers closed tighter on the paper as he pressed his fingers into my skin. I reeled back and watched his fingertips grow white as he squeezed some more. Sharp pain bolted through my arm, and I winced when he pulled me toward him.

  “Where is Suzette? She is my wife, and belongs at home. Nobody in her family knows anything. None of them have heard from her – not for weeks. I’ve been searching for weeks! She belongs with me, at home!” His eyes were full of anger. And the blue in them seemed more like ice. His stare took all of my strength as he pulled me closer to him. My feet began to slip beneath me as he pulled and squeezed some more.

  “I, I don’t know where she is!” I screamed, and tried to take my arm back. But he was too strong. Too big. He had all the leverage he needed, and pulled my arm down onto the counter, bending it until I let out another scream. Ms. Potts was up from he
r crossword, and Jarod was racing over to the counter.

  “Hey, what are you doing? Let her go!” Jarod hollered, and grabbed hold of the enormous hand squeezing my arm. He pulled just once, and then was sent flying when Suzette’s husband let go of me with a fast swing. He swung his arm, and I heard the meaty sound of the back of his hand connecting with Jarod’s face. Jarod’s shoes skipped and chirped across the floor, yelping as his feet scuttled in a tip-toe dance before he landed on his back. A solid thud was followed by wheezing breaths as the air rushed out of Jarod. Ms. Potts was at the side of Suzette’s husband, pushing and pulling on his suit coat. He moved to face her, and began to laugh a baleful and fiendish sound, while raising his arms to block her swings.

  “Whoa – whoa. Okay, just a small disagreement. I’m leaving,” he laughed, and stood up from the counter. Standing across from me, I didn’t feel afraid of him. Not anymore. I felt disgusted and angry, and wanted to throw a pot of coffee into his face. I wanted to see the glass break into long shards, and then use them to scoop out his luring blue eyes, leaving him blind to bump into things the rest of his life.

  Adrenaline was flooding my insides, and my legs began to shake uncontrollably. I grabbed the counter to steady myself, and jumped when Suzette’s husband pounded his closed hand on top of the blue flyer. His fist landed on Suzette’s creased face, enticing the anger in me. For a moment, I really did think I was going to pull a pot of coffee and hurl it at his head. I thought, if he left his fist on her face for a few seconds more, I would do it.

  “You tell her she needs to be home. She is my wife, and belongs at home!” He yelled, and then walked to stand over Jarod. Still lying on the ground, Jarod blinked his blank eyes with sudden activity as his legs twitched a few times. When his legs twitched again, Suzette’s husband started to laugh. Jarod had been knocked out. His face was bloodied, and his nose was flattened and pushed to one side. My heart broke for him, and I wanted to cry. Not now, I told myself, and I struggled to push it back down. But my eyes began to sting with tears. Jarod looked small and hurt, lying there on the floor. He blinked his eyes again and tried to get up, but fell back. Suzette’s husband laughed some more, and tapped at Jarod’s leg with his foot.

  “Dude – one punch? People are going to start calling you One Punch,” he roared until he saw Clark standing next to him. He motioned with his hands that he was done. No more trouble, not today.

  “I’m leaving,” he told Clark, and threw a couple of twenty dollar bills on top of Jarod’s chest. “For your troubles,” he said evenly in a cold voice, and then he left the diner.

  Ms. Potts and I were at Jarod’s side, trying to help him sit up. My heart felt warm when the teenagers knelt down next to us and offered their hands to help us.

  “Ewww, your arm,” Brown cringed, and pointed to my arm. A set of flower petals swelled where Suzette’s husband grabbed my arm. Four red marks were puffy and already showing dark purple bruising around the edges. I turned over my arm to find the fifth flower petal. I was mad. Mad for what happened, for what he’d done to us, but mostly for knowing what he’d done to Suzette. I pushed the anger down; Jarod was hurting and needed help. He gasped and choked a mouthful of blood. His nose was grossly misshapen and surely broken.

  “I’ve got my car, I can drive him to the hospital,” Jimmy offered. Brown’s face lit up with a ‘my hero’ expression in her eyes, as she gave Jimmy a long look.

  “Need to get him up,” I told the kids. Jimmy nodded, and reached around Jarod’s back.

  “Dude needs a hospital,” Jimmy muttered, while pushing up.

  “No. Got my own car. Will find my own way. I’m fine. Please, just help me back to my feet,” Jarod shouted in a blood-soaked voice, and then shrugged his shoulders away from our hands. I was confused. I didn’t understand his reaction. He was mad, too. But he was mad at all of us. Ms. Potts reached over and held my hand, passing me a look, and then helped pull me up as Jarod got to his feet and grabbed his things. He looked around the diner, spilling blood down his shirt and onto the floor. For a moment, we all thought he’d fall over and pass out. When he was steady again, and solid on his feet, he gave a small wave to nobody in particular, and exited the diner in a near run.

  “What the hell is wrong? Should we follow him?” I asked Ms. Potts.

  “Did you see that? Dude went down in one punch!” I heard Jimmy proclaim excitedly as he and Brown walked back to their booth. And then I understood. Before Ms. Potts said anything, I understood, and my heart hurt for Jarod some more.

  “Gabby, it’s his pride. Face will heal fine, I hope, but his pride got beat down in front of you. He come over to help, and that man put him down.” Ms. Potts’ voice faded as she picked up the flyer from the counter. She pushed her glasses up, and said, “We gotta get to Suzette. We gotta get to her soon.”

  13

  Sleep. It is like our own personal time travel, but a forward direction only – never backward. When I got home that evening, I only closed my eyes for a minute. I told myself, just a minute, and then a shower and some food, and then to bed. A blink was all I remember. I saw my ceiling one second, and then it was the next day. Time travel.

  Ms. Potts and I stopped at Suzette’s room after leaving the diner. It was near four in the morning, but I knew she wouldn’t care. Having become an honorary employee of Angela’s Diner, most of the time she was on our schedule, anyway. While Suzette didn’t care much about the time, Mrs. Quigly a door away did care. Rushing her apartment door open, she entered the narrow hall, where a glowing dome in the ceiling cast down a yellow light. Just enough light showed us the figure of an old woman, her robe half open, wearing slippers with little dog ears and a pair of eyes looking up at us. She coughed out a midnight holler for us to keep it down, and we slunk a step back from her with apologies. Suzette apologized, too, and the three of us stood there in a stand-off, as we waited for Mrs. Quigly to go back into her room.

  Suzette asked us why we were there. Was something wrong, and was everyone okay? She asked with half a smile, and I could tell she was still up and just glad to have the company. Ms. Potts did her best to explain what happened, and I did my best to apologize for screwing up. I told her I wasn’t thinking. I remember holding my arm as I explained the mess I’d brought to her. The flower petals on my arm were swollen and bruised, and ached enough that I could feel my heart beating in them. When Suzette saw the bruises on my arm, she began to cry. She told me how sorry she was that he’d hurt me, and that this was all her fault. Ms. Potts shook her head, and explained as she’d done before.

  “You can’t wrestle that kind of mean away. It’s down deep, and is a part of him. Always will be – no reforming a man like that.”

  We left Suzette’s room twenty minutes later. She had plenty of food, and even picked up a small television using some of the store-credit from the pawn shop. Ms. Potts said the safest thing to do was for her to wait a few days. Wait him out. Reluctant eyes followed us to her door. She shook her head in disagreement more than a few times, but then finally nodded an okay. The eyes from the kitty-cat clock on the wall seemed to follow us to the door. I joked about it as Suzette repeated that it made her room look homey. Ms. Potts snorted a laugh, and said that I was right – the clock was creepy, especially the eyes. We all laughed a little at that, and then heard Ms. Quigly banging against the wall, yelling to keep it down.

  I think Ms. Quigly must have been standing at her wall, waiting to hear a rustle of sound so that she had something to yell about. Suzette rolled her eyes, and we walked a soft step down the hall past Ms. Quigly’s door. Ms. Potts thumped one foot down just loud enough to raise more words from behind the door. When Ms. Potts turned to me, and said that the dogs must be barking, I lost it. In my mind, I saw the doggy slippers, their upturned eyes, barking up a storm, and couldn’t contain myself. Laughing helped, but I was tired and scared for Suzette. I was scared for all of us.

  The diner was quiet the next day, very quiet, and I welcomed it. The im
print of a few quarters in my waist apron had me wanting some more tables. Not a lot, just a couple. When the bell rang out, I looked up to see Suzette. My eyes went wide, and, right away, I thought that when Ms. Potts saw her, Suzette was going to get an earful. She approached the counter and took to her favorite seat. She grinned a bubbly smile, and asked for coffee.

  “What are you doing here? Did you hear nothing we said earlier?” I tried to scold her, but my smile got in the way. I wanted the company.

  “Uh, excuse me – shouldn’t you be home?” Ms. Potts chastised from behind me. The corner of Suzette’s smile fell flat, and she answered,

  “I know this is going to sound odd, but I think I’m safer here. With you guys and Clark. James is a coward. Always was.”

  “D-Dunno about that, Miss Suzette. He l-looked willing yesterday. But, you sit and stay. I g-got you,” Clark expressed from behind his grill, and winked, nodding his head with confidence. I could see Ms. Potts shaking her head, but then stall as she considered what was said. She pushed her glasses up, and fixed a smile on Suzette, before saying,

  “You good company, anyway. We’ll keep you,” she smirked, and then went to wrapping linens and silverware.

  “Time to lean, it’s time to clean,” Mr. Thurmon announced as he exited from the back. His leg dragged a little, but not as bad as I’d seen before. Jarod followed him, a pen and paper in his hand, trying to write down what Mr. Thurmon was saying. Mr. Thurmon stopped and turned around. He put his hands on Jarod’s shoulders.

  “Are you sure you are okay? I mean, all this can wait a week or two – no rush, son… none at all.”

  Jarod held pensive eyes, and kept his attention to writing all the details down. When he stopped writing, I saw embarrassment, maybe some shame and fear, as he glanced around at us. He looked at me for a second, but then pushed his eyes back to Mr. Thurmon. Jarod wore white tape across the bridge of his nose, covering a jutting bump and a split in his skin from where the doctors straightened the bone. The skin around his eyes were blackish-blue and swollen, pooching out in a hang of heavy bags. His one eye was nearly full of broken blood vessels, leaving most of it a red wonder. Knots in my stomach had me reaching to rub the flower petals on my arm. I reached for Suzette’s arm to get her attention, but she was already a step away from Jarod, and tapping on his shoulder. Jarod looked at her, a half-smile forming as the red in his eye grew glassy, causing him to wince.