“We’ll grab Number Fifteen,” I tell Jessica, the sixteen-year-old Lou just hired as a hostess, and she leads my family to a corner booth where the sun beats through the window. After such a long, cold winter, all of us could stand some warmth.
Brenna runs toward Lou instead, wrapping her arms around my boss’s thighs in a hug. For better or worse, Diamonds is her second home. She has spent plenty of time watching me wait tables when a babysitter fell through or when Lou was short staffed and begging me to cover a busy dinner hour at the last minute. In many ways, Lou filled the role of grandmother in the early years, plying my daughter with enough hugs and ice cream sundaes to win her eternal love.
By the tight brow and small sniff of discontent coming from my mother, I can tell that the special bond between the two of them hasn’t gone unnoticed.
“What are you doing in here today, Miss Busybody?” Lou sets her tray of ketchup bottles on the counter so she can reach down to ruffle Brenna’s hair.
“Mommy was in a car accident so we had to go to the hospital but now we’re here with Grandma and Grandpa and I want chicken fingers and french fries because I’m starving.”
“Car accident?” Lou’s eyes flash with a mixture of worry and -suspicion as she looks first to me, then to my bandaged wrist, and I can almost see the wheels working inside her head, replaying the voice message where I said that I fell.
Clearly, I was wrong and should have specified exactly what Brenna wasn’t supposed to repeat. I fight the urge to groan. “I’m so sorry about leaving you in the lurch like this. It’s just a bad sprain, at least. I should be back to normal soon.”
“Doctor said at least two weeks, likely three,” my mother throws in, her eyes on the dessert tent card menu tucked into the condiments stand.
Lou sighs. “Well, at least you’re all right. I guess this happened on your way home from your date with Gord?”
Ugh. I’d completely forgotten about him until now.
My father perks up. “Date?”
“Yes, with my nephew.” Wiping her hands on her apron, Lou only now takes in my parents, her polite mask usually reserved for customers who she doesn’t know sliding on smoothly. “Hello. I hope you’re both well.” They haven’t seen each other in years, since the last night my parents came in here, demanding to meet Brenna. Lou told my mother what she thought of her for how she handled the entire Scott Philips incident—it wasn’t complimentary—and my mother told Lou that since her only son is in prison for armed robbery—of Diamonds—she had no business pretending she knew how to raise a child.
That dagger was well placed on my mother’s part.
Lou threw a dagger of her own, telling my mother she was no longer welcome at the diner.
“We’re fine. Thank you for asking.” Hildy Wright has a mask of her own, and it’s firmly in place now.
There’s a sudden clatter in the kitchen, and Lou uses that as her excuse to escape the awkward situation. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu.” Reaching down to ruffle Brenna’s hair again, she adds, “And Leroy will start on those fingers right away. Extra crispy, just how you like them.”
“So? Who’s this nephew you went on a date with?” Mom casually asks while she rearranges the sugar packets so they’re grouped by variety and tidy in their holder.
“We can talk about that later.” My parents catch my pointed glance at Brenna, who will no doubt repeat every unflattering comment word for word to Lou if asked.
“Are the wings still good here? I remember them being good.” Dad slips on his reading glasses and draws his finger down the length of the menu.
“Same recipe.” Leroy learned his lesson once, tinkering with the ingredients in the Diamonds burger patties. He’ll never try that again.
“Well, then, that was easy.” He pushes the menu away, folding his glasses and tucking them in his shirt pocket, before letting his gaze wander over the place.
Mine follows. There are plenty of regulars, but a lot of new faces, too. And I can spot the news crews right away. Three tables of them, the cameramen in casual attire—jeans or cargo pants, brown suede jackets—sitting across from their counterparts, the more polished reporters, dressed in button-down shirts and pressed trousers, ready to hop in front of a camera with sixty seconds’ notice should the need arise. Each one grasps a white porcelain coffee mug as if its contents are the only thing keeping them alive.
I doubt they’ve slept since hearing about the accident.
Their very presence makes me anxious.
“Relax, kid. Everything will be fine.” Dad reaches over and pats my forearm. “And no matter what happens, you just hold your head up high. You have every reason to.” He ends that on a husky note.
“Thanks, Dad.” I could have used that same sentiment seven years ago, but I’ll gladly accept it now, with a smile.
“What are you doing here!”
I’m so on edge, I jump at Misty’s sudden outburst beside me. Her giant round eyes—too large for the rest of her features, really—take my family in with curious interest as she slides a plate of fries in front of Brenna. “To tide you over,” she whispers with a wink before turning back to me. “I thought you weren’t coming in today.”
“I’m just here to grab my check. And eat.”
“Right. Lou asked me to take your orders.” She scrunches her button nose as she sees my wrist. “Ow! How’d you do that, again?”
“Oh, I fell. Clumsy . . .” I try to cast it off as no big deal.
“But I thought you were in a—”
Dad shoves a french fry into Brenna’s mouth, cutting her off before she outs me again. Thank God, too, because every last regular in here will hear about it before I leave if Misty catches wind. She has a hard time keeping secrets. That she’s never said a word about Brenna’s father to anyone—as far as I know—is no small miracle.
“So, how has it been today?” I ask, steering the bubbly blonde off the topic of my wrist.
“Busy. Especially with all these newspeople coming in and out of here. Did you hear about that accident last night with those two hockey players? Oh, my God!” She presses her notepad to her ample chest, the top button popped to earn herself a few extra bucks in tips from the single truckers who come through here. While I’d never describe Misty as beautiful, with her apple cheeks and her expressive blue eyes, she has a certain cuteness factor that seems to attract a lot of guys. She’s never searching too long for the next date, that’s for sure. “It’s absolutely horrible! Someone said that the driver burned to death! Ugh! Imagine seeing that. How awful!”
“I’ll have a pound of wings,” my dad announces, his eyes flickering to me before turning to my mom. “Hildy?”
“A chicken Greek salad, please.”
Misty gives her head a little shake, as if just remembering that she’s here to take an order. “Of course. The usual, Cath?”
“Sure,” I mumble, though I can’t possibly stomach a club sandwich, my appetite still missing.
“’Kay! I’ll ring these up straightaway!” she chirps, ever oblivious.