Page 2 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

“Will do, thanks again, Donna. Bye, Claire.”

“Bye, Sylvia.” She waved as her coworker darted outside and rolled her eyes internally. It wasn’t that she disliked the nickname ‘Claire,’ she just felt odd when her coworkers used it. In her mind, cute nicknames, not chosen by the person being spoken to, should be reserved for immediate family only, like her aunty.

“Oh, I had a broken arm once,” Donna said.

“I’ve never had a broken limb.”

“No? Oh, the casts are awful, so itchy and cumbersome. I remember it clearly. I was twenty-four and, of course, it was my right arm. I couldn’t do anything properly, writing, driving, couldn’t jerk off my boyfriend. It was a nightmare. Oh well, back to the books.”

Watching Donna’s small frame shuffle into the back room, Clarissa was stunned by the comment, still not used to Donna after all these years. Blinking, she turned to see Jeff and Eugene laughing at the counter.

“She’s a little spitfire, that one,” Jeff said.

“She seems like such a sweet old lady, then she goes and says the most out-of-pocket things and doesn’t even bat an eye at it,” Clarissa said, topping off their coffees. “Has she always been like that?”

“Oh yeah,” Eugene said. “Momma went to school with her back in the day. She’s always been a little off.”

“Sure makes comin’ here fun,” Jeff said.

“Order up!” Adam set two hot plates on the kitchen window.

Clarissa transferred them to the counter. Waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, bacon strips, Canadian bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Jeff and Eugene arranged the plates, cutting everything in half and dividing it up.

“You two need anything else?” she asked.

“No thanks, Claire, we’re as happy as two fat men can be!” Eugene spooned whipped cream into his mouth.

“Speak for yourself. I ain’t fat,” Jeff said.

Eugene put a blotch of cream on the end of Jeff’s nose. “If you’re not fat then I’m the Queen of England.”

“You’re already the Queen of Fairville, you need to subject England to your attitude too?”

Clarissa left them to their bickering and went to the far booth to check on the old ladies’ book club. Three other women had shown up.

“Hello, ladies,” she said, “do you need anything else over here? More coffee, or some water?”

“Oh, no thank you, dear.” Mrs. Ethal smiled at her through thick glasses, her curly white hair peeking out from under her little pink hat.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a bit to see if you change your minds.”

She went behind the counter. The place was almost empty, which wasn’t unexpected for one thirty on a Thursday. Jeff and Eugene ran a bar, The Barrel, in the back of Donna’s lot. They were typically the only ones in here at this time, having a late breakfast before heading over to get things set up for the night. Every other week, or every three weeks, the old ladies’ book club came in, otherwise this time of day was dead.

Pulling out bottles of sanitizer and rags, she used the lull as an opportunity to clean. The scent of bleach stung her nose in a familiar way as she relished the task.

Pinpricks washed over her in cold waves. She froze. An ominous feeling crept up her skin. Panic settled into the back of her mind. Despite the sweat beading on her brow, a chill rushed over her.

A horde of burly, gruff, and rowdy men filed out of a green SUV in the parking lot.

Anxiety crept over her as the front bell jingled. She was used to loud or unhappy customers, especially when she worked night shifts and the drunks from the bar would stumble in for midnight pancakes. They didn’t bother her, she knew how to handle them, but something about this group made her uneasy.

Their movements didn’t seem normal. One second they were standing, the next they seemed to be across the room without having taken a step. And their eyes, they took in everything around them the way a tiger appraised a child behind the glass at a zoo.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as they walked by. Her unconscious mind screamed at her to flee.

She shoved the uneasiness aside; they were just customers. Regular men in regular clothes, no need to get so worked up. Setting aside the cleaners, she grabbed a stack of menus. Frowning, she walked over to where they were pushing tables together for the eight of them. Usually customers asked before doing that.

“Welcome to Donna’s Diner, can I get you started with anything to drink? Coffee, lemonade, tea, water, or a fountain beverage.”