Page 25 of A Future To Remember

“You need to eat,” I insisted, keeping my voice soft but firm. There was no way I was going to let him turn me down a second time.

His eyes moved from me, back to the plate. Finally, and a bit timidly, he took it from my hands, holding it close like I might change my mind and demand it back. I wondered when he’d last eaten. Judging by his pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes, I doubted he’d seen a regular meal in quite some time.

“Thank you, kindly,” he all but whispered. His eyes seemed to mist with the smallest act of kindness given to him, and again, I felt a deep sense of connection to him.

I gently patted his arm, then turned to walk back to the counter, not once glancing up at Wanda or Cash. I simply took my seat and a long pull from my Dr Pepper before starting in on the chili. I moaned loudly, swaying on my seat and pointing to the cup of chili, hamming it up a bit, but I wanted to make sure I hadn’t offended Wanda by giving away part of the free lunch she’d offered me. “I think this is the best cup of chili and grilled cheese I’ve ever eaten!”

She and Cash traded a look that clearly said they thought I was an odd one, but neither spoke a word about my exchange with Levi.

After I’d polished off what remained of my meal, I wiped my hands with my napkin and stood up from the counter, taking a long look around the diner—which seemed a pretty typical setup. It occurred to me that I should look for where the trays were kept. I found them neatly stacked at the end of the back counter. I took note of the wheel where paper orders were clipped for the cook. Then eyed the coffee pot, the soda fountain, and the small fridge where I assumed the creamer and other dairy products were kept.

Over near the register was a glass-enclosed case housing four pies; I could easily see they were banana cream, chocolate pudding, apple, and blueberry.

Next, I took in the booths, which lined the wall of windows. I counted ten, then an additional ten barstools along the counter running parallel to the first five booths, and two large tables against the back wall that could host parties of six or more.

Two booth tables were still dirty from the lunch crowd, and one booth at the end of the long row was occupied by an elderly couple who sat hunched over with age, their hands covered in liver spots, and their wire hair as white as a cotton ball. They spoke not a word to each other while they spooned chicken noodle soup past quivering lips.

I guessed the counter stools were numbered one through ten, and the booths started at table eleven, just in front of the entrance, leaving the last two larger tables set against the back wall to be numbers twenty-one and twenty-two, depending on how Wanda organized her seating chart.

Next to the entrance was a wooden menu holder with a thick stack of menus shoved clumsily into it. On every table and every other barstool setting were a ketchup and mustard caddy, a salt and pepper shaker, and a sugar holder.

Most of the tables were bare of silverware, but a few had rolled paper napkins with the ends of a fork, knife, and spoon sticking out.

There was a jingle of a bell above the door, and two tall, round, grizzled men came in. I walked straight to them, lifted out two menus from the holder, and asked, “Just you two today, fellas?”

They eyed me in surprise, their gazes in sync flittering between me and Wanda. I didn’t even glance over my shoulder at her, I simply waited for them to make up their mind. “Uh, yeah,” one said, pointing to a booth along the window, farther away from the door.

I glanced to where he was pointing. “Table number seventeen. Great choice. Follow me, please.”

I led the way to the table, waited for the men to take a seat, as they continued to look at me with curiosity. I could see the man on my left look at the cast on my wrist a bit curiously, but I ignored their unspoken questions and handed them each a menu. “Coffee today, boys?”

They each nodded.

“Black, right?”

More nods.

“Excellent. Be right back.”

I then twirled on my foot and moved over to the coffee pot, spotting the cups just underneath. Taking out two and grabbing a tray, I settled the cups on them, finding that my casted hand gave the tray some level support. After pouring each customer a mug of coffee, I traipsed back to the table, set down the two steaming cups, and asked, “Pie today?”

They looked at each other in surprise. Then back to me and nodded.

I motioned with the tray to the man on my left. “Banana cream?”

His eyes widened even more. “Uh…yeah.”

“Excellent.” Turning to the other man I asked, “Apple a la mode?”

His eyes practically bugged right out of his head, but he barked out a laugh and nodded too. “That’d be the one.”

“Perfect. Coming right up!”

Moving back to the counter, I continued to ignore both Cash and Wanda as they too stared at me in utter shock while I prepared the afternoon snack for the two men. I didn’t ponder how I knew they’d want pie, or what flavor each one was having; it just came to me as easily as knowing how to count to ten.

Once I’d dropped off the pie to the men, I retrieved the coffee pot one more time, topped off their cups, then headed to the elderly couple who were sitting quietly, their bowls now empty. Picking up the bowls, I asked if they’d like anything else, was told no, then moved back to the area behind the counter, where I set the coffee pot back, placed the two bowls in the busing bin, and finally turned my attention to Wanda. “Table twenty would like their check, and table seventeen needs a ticket for a slice of apple a la mode and coffee, then another ticket for banana cream pie and coffee.”

Wanda’s mouth was hanging open. She swiveled her eyes from me to Cash and said, “She’s hired!”