An Order of Coffee and Tears

18





Thirty days and thirty nights had passed since Suzette’s husband held her by her neck and laid a knife on her skin. Thirty. A full month. Yet, the images and sounds, and even the smell of it all seemed to linger. A lot of talk went back and forth after that night. Speculation that James Wilkerson wasn’t going to murder his wife, that, instead, it was just another in a string of his abusive acts toward his wife. When the police were satisfied with their notes on the case, the folder closed, and Suzette’s husband was still dead. What was never investigated or questioned were the two bullets that ended up in James Wilkerson. We all told the police the same thing. James Wilkerson went after Detective Ramiz. He had a knife in his hand, and charged the detective. And that is how we saw it. How we all saw it.

Suzette didn’t come back to the diner… not right away. It was slow at first – a day or two, and then three, and then finally she was with us all the time. The places where her husband’s knife did touch her skin were still healing. Large stretches of baby pink skin replaced the black threads in the stitched wounds. She’d have the scars as a reminder forever. But the scars we could see were probably just the superficial ones – the deeper wounds would likely never heal.

Once Suzette was back to a full-time schedule, she continued to work with us. She wanted to work. We always did need a third waitress on our shift, and it was fun. Having a third waitress made things easier, especially with the fast-food joint nearly empty every night, no thanks to Bertha the rat.

Suzette poured me a cup of coffee and lifted her chin, and I told her thank you. These days, there was a peaceful look in her eyes, but there was sadness, too. I suppose the fear I’d come to expect seeing was gone. Suzette was free of feeling scared. The anxiety that sat deep inside her like a cancer had died on the floor of the diner thirty days earlier. She no longer worried when it was going to happen again, when she’d feel the angry side of her husband’s hand. She wasn’t looking over her shoulder, or quietly stepping through her house like a mouse going unnoticed. She didn’t flinch to loud sounds, or shrink back when the front door opened. She was free of him.

“I cried, you know,” she said in an even tone. A long scar ran under her eye from where the bloody tears had come from. Another scar ran down her neck from behind her ear. “I cried at James’ funeral.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, and leaned on her elbows so that we were closer, our faces just inches apart.

“But why? I mean, why would you cry after what he did to you? After all the things he did to you?” Suzette’s eyes were watering, and she turned her head away from me, but I think I could understand it. A quiet moment passed. And when Suzette was ready, she found my eyes, and said in a broken breath, “’Cause I loved him. And I know, in my heart, he loved me. There was a side to him that I got to see – that I got to love. I just wish I got to see more of it.” Suzette clinked her coffee cup against mine, and raised it in a mock cheer.

“You getting ready for a date, or something?” Ms. Potts yelled as she brought a plate of fries and milkshakes to the teenagers. Blonde, Red, and the other girls were in their usual booth, in their assigned seats. They gave me a wave, and a thumbs up. The girls spotted me at the counter, and, if not for the fact that I was talking to Suzette, they very well may have looked right past me. I was out of uniform, so to speak. I wasn’t wearing anything waitress-like. Not a thread. I was a customer. That’s right, a customer. Actually, I was waiting for Jarod. We had plans for a dinner and a movie. Finally.

Sitting at the counter, a warm giddy feeling stirred in my belly. Some butterflies, too, left my hands a little sweaty and my cheeks a little warmer. A quick glance at the clock, and it was fifteen minutes before Jarod would be here. By now, the two of us were sitting and sharing a meal during his Thursday visits, and sometimes Friday, too. We’d even split our own plate of fries, and laughed, dipping them in a milkshake we shared.

Tonight was an official date. Nothing fancy: a small dinner, and a movie. He said to dress casual, so I did. I found a cute white blouse, a bit puffy in the sleeves, though, and some jeans. The jeans were a newer style I saw the kids wearing, where the torn rips and the holes were normal: you paid for them. It still made no sense, but I bought the jeans, anyway. They made me look good. Really good. I even picked up a slick new pair of Chuck Taylor sneakers. Black. I loved them.

“You sure when he told you casual, this is what he meant by it?” Ms. Potts frowned, but with a smirk slipping through. Suzette walked around the counter, and punched her hips with her hands. She poked a foot out in a stance that was identical to one Ms. Potts liked to hold.

“I think she fine. Girl look fine,” Suzette said in a playful mimic. When Ms. Potts pushed her eyes up and down in a study of Suzette, she blew up in a hearty laugh, clapping her hands together.

“Suzette got style – ya’ll see her, she got style!” Ms. Potts laughed. Clark walked to the front, clapped a hand, turned to me, and added,

“M-Miss Gabby, you look beautiful. You surely do,” he finished, and cautiously hugged me, on account of the white blouse. I appreciated that. The bell above the door echoed, and the four of us found Mr. Thurman coming in, carrying a set of what looked like legal documents.

“Well, look at you,” he said. His eyes were bright and cheerful. I nodded and watched as he approached. When he joined our family at the counter, he looked to each one of us without saying a word. When I saw a tear dance in his eye and then fall, I reached out and put my hand on his arm.

“Mr. Thurmon, what is it?” He gave us all another look. A long look. He wasn’t sad at all. He was happy.

“I’m going to miss you guys. Next to my own family, I come to think of you all as much a part of who I am. Especially you, Ms. Potts –”

“You stop that, now,” Ms. Potts interrupted, “Junior, I want you to tell me what’s going on,” she demanded. Immediately, my heart sank, and I thought of the Asian men, the ones with the suits, who were buying Angela’s and tearing our diner down. Clark and Ms. Potts were thinking it, too, as I watched their expressions turn to concern. I glimpsed the door, half expecting to see Detective Ramiz walk through with a pair of handcuffs in hand, and sounding a bloody cough amidst a bellow of laughter.

But nothing happened. There were no police cars out front, or sounds of sirens, or blue lights shining through our windows and dancing across our ceiling. It was eerily quiet, and Mr. Thurmon stared a long time at Ms. Potts and Clark. He mouthed a thank you to them both, and then swiped the tear from his cheek.

A curious thing happened then. Suzette was smiling. In fact, she was beaming, and blurted a giggle. Before I could speak a word, she was bouncing up and down on her toes. Curious smiles were shared between Clark and Ms. Potts, while I started to laugh. I had no reason to. None at all. But the excitement caught me as Suzette hooped and hollered and bounced. Mr. Thurmon produced a set of keys, and dangled them in the middle of our little circle. He jostled and jiggled them so they rang out. He then explained that the keys were for the new owner.

“And now, meet the new owner of Angela’s Diner: Miss Suzette!” He trumpeted, and handed her the keys. Our jaws dropped, and our eyes grew wide. Ms. Potts pulled her arms around Clark, and I could tell she was crying a relief that was twenty years in the waiting.

“But, how? How?” I asked, still shaking my head and laughing. Suzette continued bouncing, like one of those game show girls we’d seen from time and time on Clark’s little TV.

“I had the money. I’ve always had the money: my own money. Just wasn’t allowed to use it. Until now!” she answered, her voice pitched in excitement. And I realized there was so much more to her and her husband’s story that I didn’t know. I wondered if I would ever know, but then considered that it might be a story to be told over some coffee and tears. My arms fell over Suzette, and I pulled her close to me, and kissed her.

“You’re the best,” I whispered. “You saved them – you saved my family,” I added, and then held her face in my hands, forehead to forehead.

“Gabby, don’t you get it? You guys have been the only family I’ve had. Angela’s is my home,” she began to tear up, and then shook her hands, jingling the keys, and began to hop up and down again.

“Th-thank you, ma’am,” Clark added, and kissed Suzette. Ms. Potts was speechless. She stood across from Suzette, her eyes fixed in a stare as she shook her head back and forth. Finally, she took Suzette’s hands in hers, and kissed them. The ringing of the bell broke our quiet, and Mr. Thurmon moved to reveal Jarod. He stood with a same look of confusion that I guessed we’d had moments earlier.

“Suzette owns the diner now,” Mr. Thurmon told him, giving him a slap on the back. Jarod raised a brow, and then turned to face Suzette. He stretched a hand with congratulations, and asked,

“Need a handyman?” Suzette lifted a finger to her chin, and formed a question in her eyes. She tapped her foot a few times, as if considering her options. When Jarod frowned, she answered in a laugh,

“Guys, nothing changes. I’m hoping you will all stay with me for as long as the diner is standing.”

“But there is a change. We discussed it. In fact, it was your idea,” Mr. Thurmon chided. Suzette lifted her face.

“You’re right. I did make one change – the name is no longer Angela’s, it’s Suzette’s.”

“Suzette’s is a lovely name,” Ms. Potts exclaimed, and we all agreed, as a few of our regulars came up to congratulate her. My insides felt like Jell-O. A wash of nerves and giddiness played in a tug-o-war. I was happy.

“Don’t you two have to be going?” Ms. Potts asked as she emerged from the group. Jarod repeated the question with his eyes. The diner was home, and, like most homes, there was change, good change. It was time for me to change again, too. I took Jarod’s hand in mine, and stepped closer to him until we were inches apart.

“I know this is traditionally something you do at the end of a date, but I don’t want to wait,” I told him, and then pressed my mouth onto his, and gave him a long, hard kiss. He wrapped his arms around my middle, and kissed me back. When we were done I said,

“Now we can go.” His face beamed with a grin. He then nodded to me, while lifting his hair from his eyes. I loved that he did that.

“Hey, boss,” I yelled across the diner, “Can I take the night off?” Suzette turned and laughed.

“You bet, just come back for some desert later. And, if I pick up an order of coffee and tears, I’ll be sure to share them with you.”





Later the next day, we were hard at work for the three-to-three shift. The sound of metal on glass was a constant, as men out front busily scraped the name Angela’s from the window. I felt a bittersweet tug in my heart as each of the letters disappeared forever.

The lettering of Angela’s Diner was the first thing I noticed when I came upon what would become my home – well, that, and the smell of food. A memory bubble surfaced, and it was a good one. I saw my reflection in the glass of Angela’s Diner. Staring back at me, I saw a young girl, a cold breath leaving her mouth in a whisper. She wore just the thinnest of clothing, a backpack hanging on her shoulder. She pegged the sidewalk with the tip of her Chuck Taylors, her heel wavering with pensive curiosity, as she looked over the diner for the first time. She was skinny, and hungry, and scared. And then her eyes opened wide. She’d found the help wanted sign in the window, and made a decision. It was a decision that changed her life forever.

“Well, you just going to stand there all day, or help out?” I heard Suzette’s voice in my ear. Smiling, I turned to find her bright eyes, grinning and ready to take on the world – provided they were ordering up some food, that is.

When the bell above the door rang, I turned, and my breath was gone. It was my father. He’d come back to visit, but he wasn’t alone. An older woman stood in front of him. She was small and round, and held familiar eyes on me. My legs turned wobbly, but I didn’t want to run. My hands started to shake, and I felt both Suzette and Ms. Potts take a hold of my arms. My momma was here. She was here, at the diner, with my father. She was so much older. Older than ten years should have given her. A small pang of guilt pinched my heart, as I heard, “Be civil to your parents,” echo in my head. It was my momma, and I fought the tears pressing in my eyes.

“Gonna be fine, Gabby,” Ms. Potts said. “Go on now – go on to see your Momma.”

In that moment, the pain and hurt of ten years went someplace, and I had no idea where that was. I missed my momma, and now she was standing just a few feet in front of me. Her eyes were wet, and she took a cautious step closer, raising a hand, as though she couldn’t decide if this was real.

“Momma?” I cried, and clutched my hands together in front of me.

“Gabriella?” She yelled, and then pulled me into her arms. And I remembered everything about her. I remembered her voice, and her touch, and her smell. But more than anything, I remembered how I loved my momma. She pulled away just enough to look at my face, and then I heard her say,

“Mi Gabby, amo thee tan.” I hadn’t heard those words since I was a child. It was the only time she ever called me Gabby – she said, “My Gabby, I love thee so.”

“I love you, too, Momma.”