She headed to the diner, noting the HELP WANTED sign in the window as she walked in, her body stiff from sitting in one position on the bus for so long. In the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. She attempted to fix her hair, then looked away from her tired reflection. She would decide who she was later on. She checked on the lottery ticket, which was now in an envelope in the front pocket of her jeans.
She ordered the breakfast special, and nursed her coffee long after she was finished eating. The owners of the diner were an elderly couple named Benson and Arlene; Lucky knew this because everyone who walked in the restaurant called them by their names. Lucky seemed to be the only stranger in there that day. Even the truckers who passed through were on a first-name basis with the friendly proprietors.
The breakfast rush ended. Benson and Arlene stopped refilling her coffee and were shooting her anxious glances. She stared down at the table until a story came to her. She approached the counter with her head lowered. It wasn’t hard for her to pretend to be nervous, out of place, a little scared. She was all these things. “I’m Ruby,” she said. “Ruby Cullen. I saw the sign. In the window?”
“That sign’s been up for years,” Benson replied. “We’re getting too old to do all the work ourselves. But no one has ever applied. Not enough people in this town.”
“I’m backpacking across the country, and I’ve run out of money. I’ve got lots of restaurant experience.” It spilled out easily; not all of it was a lie. “I have references… although they’re all in California.”
“Wouldn’t waste money calling anyone long distance,” the old man said, looking deep into her eyes while Lucky worried he might suddenly realize he’d seen that green before, the exact green of a spearmint-leaf candy, an unusual eye color. But his expression didn’t change. If anything, it grew warmer. “Well, now, why don’t you just have a go at it and we’ll see how you do during lunch?” He smiled reassuringly and she smiled back. She donned the yellowed apron he handed her, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work.
* * *
The lunch rush turned out to consist of only twenty customers over the course of two hours. Still, Lucky had to work hard to keep up. It had been a while since she’d worked in a restaurant, and she’d never waited tables before. But she quickly got into a rhythm and started to have fun. She would stand at a table and size up her customers, make a game of guessing what they were going to order. She was right almost every time. “Ain’t you gonna write that down?” one trucker asked her after reciting a particularly complicated order.
“I have a good memory,” Lucky said. She took two more orders before crossing the room and calling them out to Benson, each one word perfect.
“You really are a pro,” he said. “Why don’t you try the dinner hour next?”
During the frequent lulls, the elderly couple asked her questions about herself. “So, what made you decide to go—how did ya put it—backpacking around the country?”
“I was married. But he turned out to be a real asshole. Oops, pardon my language, Arlene. He wasn’t a good man. I needed to get away.” Lucky paused here and let those words hang in the air, but had to look away from their trusting faces, how aghast they were at the idea of her facing the abuse she was hinting at, at the idea of her running away because she was scared, maybe. If she was trying to be a better person, she was off to a questionable start. “I had the idea I’d go for a long hike, I guess. Try to clear my head.”
“A young woman like you should not be going off hiking or hitchhiking alone. It isn’t safe,” said Benson.
Arlene was frowning, too. “You’d best not be doing that anymore, hitchhiking, at least. You’ll stay here for a while, all right? Stay here, work a bit, and have a think about deciding on a proper destination, rather than wandering around. There must be a family member or a friend you could go visit. Someone who would notice if you didn’t show up.”
“I do have a few friends,” Lucky lied, her heart aching at this one. “But… I’d need a computer to look them up.”
“We don’t have our own, but you’ll find one or two at the library,” Arlene said. “You can use my library card or Benson’s to get the internet access. Go tomorrow morning, between breakfast and lunch.”
At that point it was eight o’clock, and the stream of suppertime customers had trickled to almost nothing. Lucky’s feet were sore as she stood at the counter, counting her tips. The townspeople didn’t exactly tip generously, but at least they tipped a little. She had twenty-six dollars to her name now, plus whatever hourly wage the elderly couple was going to give her.
“You did a good job, young lady,” said Benson. He put down the newspaper he was reading. She caught a headline: MULTI MILLIONS LOTTERY TICKET—BIGGEST PAYOUT IN U.S. HISTORY—BOUGHT IN IDAHO STILL UNCLAIMED. Then he handed her a room key. “You’ll stay in room one-oh-six,” he said. “Has the nicest view—of the trees, not the parking lot. And we won’t hear of accepting any payment. You can stay as long as you need to.”
Lucky decided then and there that she wasn’t going to take anything from these strangers, nothing more than their kindness. It would be easy—and it would be wrong. And nothing from their customers, either, even though memorizing and recording the credit card numbers of truckers who passed through had crossed her mind many times that day.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the key. It was cool in her hand. It was the very thing she had wanted: a room to herself, somewhere safe to sleep. And she hadn’t had to do anything she hated herself for to get it.
“Happy to do it, Ruby. See you in the morning.”
* * *