“Right?” He sniffs and I’d swear he was wiping tears from his eyes. “You figure out when you’re coming back?”
“The station gonna offer me my job back?” Not that it paid that much, but that wasn’t the point. It was the opportunity to make a name for myself, to move on to a bigger and better market.
“Not likely. But still, I miss you. I mean, everyone at the station is giving me the cold shoulder since you left, like I had a say in your being let go, ya know?”
Typical Trevor only cares about how the end of my career affects him.
The bell over the door rings and there’s movement to my right as a man takes the stool next to me. His baseball cap is pulled low over his eyes, but he tilts his head and peeks in my direction. He’s young, my age, but I don’t recognize him as a local. I smile politely, then frown when he quickly turns away from me. My gaze slides down his arms to see his knuckles are pale from the grip he has on a thermos.
“Trevor, um . . .” I dip my chin, feeling uncomfortable with the present company and not wanting to be overheard. “I should go.”
“The usual?” Dorothy calls to the man while making her way toward him.
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls the lid off the thermos and places it on the counter.
“You sure you don’t want something to eat?” She grins and pours his coffee.
“No, thank you,” he mumbles.
His voice is deep, making him sound manlier than his baseball hat and shy demeanor imply.
Dorothy sighs and returns her coffeepot to its warmer, then turns with her hands propped on her hips. “Boy, you never eat. What would your momma say about you skipping a healthy breakfast?”
His frame locks. “I . . . I don’t have a momma—” The thermos drops to the floor between us, spilling its heated contents all the way down. We both jump up at the same time and I swoop down to grab the thermos, colliding with the guy’s shoulder.
He jerks away, as if my touch burned like the coffee would. “I’m sorry. I’m—”
“No problem.” I put the rustic metal container back on the tabletop and dry my hand on a napkin.
Dorothy scurries around the counter with a handful of towels. “Don’t worry about this. Sometimes I think if we never spilled anything on the floor it’d never get cleaned.”
The guy grabs the towels and bends to wipe up the mess. “I got it.” He cleans the spilled liquid with a speediness I’ve never seen, as if he can’t finish fast enough.
Dorothy refills his thermos, screws the top on, and wipes it down. She looks at him, her lips turned downward. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know.”
He nods and slides a few dollars onto the counter, but I don’t miss how his eyes dart to mine before he quickly walks away.
He lost his mom too.
It’s then I realize I still have my phone in my hand. I press it to my ear.
“. . . so the redneck said, ‘Why would I do your cousin when I got my own?’”
“Trevor, listen, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I have to go.”
“If you get bored, call me. And really, honey, come on down for a visit. I miss you and—”
“Yeah, sure, sounds good.” I end the call and watch the guy who spilled his coffee move across the parking lot to a faded blue truck, the tires and wheel wells coated in dried mud. There’s an invisible string that connects us, a kinship in the pain of losing a parent, and although I don’t even know the guy’s name, he feels like a friend.
“Can I grab you a refill?”
I turn to find Dorothy smiling with her hot pot of coffee in hand.
“No, I’m good.” I pull my wallet from my fake Versace purse.
She places her hand over mine. “Don’t even think about it. Breakfast is on me.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
She nods and smiles sweetly. “I know, but I want to.”
I hide a few bucks under my bowl when she’s not looking. “Thank you.”
She comes around and pulls me in for another hug. “Don’t be a stranger, okay, Shy?”
I nod into her shoulder, feeling a little awkward. After all, it’s been a long time since I’ve been hugged like this. It feels maternal and makes my chest ache.
Just another reason why I hate this town.
Everyone here makes me miss my mom.
“Well I’ll be dipped in dog shit and crowned prom queen.” Sam stares at me, her arms crossed under her chest, plumping her breasts up to her neck and accentuating her already extreme cleavage. Judging by the scowl twisting her pretty face, I wonder if I should’ve taken a day to think about how I’d approach my old friend rather than coming directly from the diner. It’s pretty obvious she’s not happy to see me.
Her heavily lined and painted eyes roam the length of my body and her thick lips purse with disgust. “What in the hell happened to you?”
Note to self: Dig out some old jeans and flannels from my closet and pray they still fit.