“ORDER UP,” A husky male voice barked out the small serving window from his place behind the grill.
Zoe pushed herself away from the long counter where she’d been perched and turned to grab the warm plate that sat on the metal shelf. “You leave off the tomatoes?” she asked as she glanced at the burger and fries that occupied the plate.
“Did you tell me to?” the cook asked.
“Yes, Pete, I told you to,” she replied.
“If you told me, then I did it. I listen.” Pete shot her a playful wink and turned back to the greasy grill that sizzled with raw meat and frying bacon. Zoe lifted the edge of the top bun with a clean knife and saw a large slice of tomato tucked below the layer of iceberg lettuce. She huffed.
She looked up at Pete, who glanced back at her and gave a shrug. “Must not have told me.”
Zoe rolled her eyes, carefully pulled the tomato free, and tossed it in the trash can behind her. “You do stellar work as always,” she mocked. Pete replied with a chuckle, not bothering to give her another glance.
She walked around the edge of the long counter that divided the single-level diner and toward the last booth on the right. It was occupied by a single gentleman, Lawrence Peters, fondly referred to as Lou, who was a regular patron of Eat at Joe’s, the less-than-average dining establishment where Zoe had been employed for the last eight months.
She approached the table with a smile and slid the plate in front of the graying man. His face and hands were permanently stained with grime from twenty-five years of working in coal mines on the outskirts of Sherman, Texas.
“Here you go, Lou,” Zoe said. “I made sure there weren’t any tomatoes.”
Lou glanced up at her, his brown eyes filled with genuine kindness, a quality few people had. He had a way of making a person feel like family with a simple smile. “Thanks, doll,” he said. “You tell Joe I said he should give you a raise.”
Zoe laughed at the thought and shook her head. Joe Brunski, the owner, would rather chop off an arm than pay a penny over what the law required. Zoe was pretty sure the man was constantly scouring paperwork in the back office for a loophole to pay them less, or better yet, not at all.
“If you need anything, you let me know, Lou,” she said and headed back to her usual spot behind the counter. The place was small, eight booths in all, four on either side of the front door. A loud bell clanged with the comings and goings of bodies. A long, thin counter with ten barstools stood opposite the booths, and a small walkway cut the diner in half. When Zoe and Jessie Mack, the only other waitress, were both working, they had to turn sideways to maneuver around one another.
The kitchen was barely big enough for two people, which suited Pete just fine. He preferred to work alone. There were two single bathrooms for paying customers only. Even though Eat at Joe’s sat along US Highway 75 and saw passing travelers, Joe would have none of it. He could sniff out a freeloader like a bloodhound.
“You have to pay to play,” he’d always say. Which didn’t make complete sense, but very little of Joe and the way he ran the diner made complete sense.
The bell over the door dinged, and Jessie walked through, an unfolded newspaper held over her hair. “Man, it’s really coming down out there.”
“Forecast called for rain,” Zoe said.
“Did it? I don’t remember seeing that, and I checked. I always check,” she said, folding the wet paper and tossing it in the trash. “You know I cleaned out my car this weekend? Piece of crap, not sure why. It’s a piece of junk, so who cares if it looks and smells like junk? Well, I guess I care since I spent my only day off cleaning it out.”
Zoe geared up for a Jessie spill, a phrase Pete had coined to describe the rate at which Jessie could talk once she got started.
“I know I checked because I washed my hair yesterday, and if I had known it was going to rain I would have waited. Rain and Texas hair never mingle well, my mother would say. So, I’m sure I checked.” Jessie tossed her bag and coat under the counter and dipped to use the reflective surface of a napkin box to check her hair. “Anyways, as I was saying, I cleaned out my car this weekend and I had an umbrella in there, and I thought to myself, I haven’t used this in months so it’s just cluttering up my back seat for no good reason. And then two days later it rains like this?”
She straightened and looked Zoe dead in the eye. “You would think I could catch a break. I mean, don’t I deserve a bit of peace for once? After the radiator troubles with my piece-of-crap car and the water leak in my shower—I swear if that fat, idiotic super of mine blows off my bathroom leak one more time—and you know, I’m pretty sure there are rats in the walls as well. I really have to move. I know I say that all the time, but this time I mean it.”
Zoe smirked and tuned out the ramblings of the frantic waitress, as she often did. She glanced out the large square windows into the pouring rain. It had been dark for a couple of hours now. It wouldn’t be long before they got some daylight back, as the winter turned to spring and the sun stayed out to warm the cold earth.
This was her first Texas winter, and the worst part was the way the people complained about the cold, even though it wasn’t that cold to begin with. It had been a relief to escape the horrid heat of summer, and Zoe wasn’t sure she would survive another sweltering heat. But she’d made a commitment to herself that she’d stay put for a while this time. Melting summers and all.
And Sherman wasn’t so bad. It was quiet, friendly, and relatively private. People didn’t mind leaving you to yourself, which was arguably the only requirement for Zoe when picking a place to stay awhile. That and a Taco Bell. One of the only reliable things in Zoe’s life was the soft taco. It never really changed.
“I priced out the new complex going in over off Peach Street,” Jessie continued, “but there is no way I can afford that working here. Not unless I got a roommate, and I’d rather sleep outside in this rain.”
“You could live across the street at the motel,” Pete piped up from the kitchen, “like little Zoe here. Then you could stop complainin’ about your car and your terrible apartment, because you’d be free of both.”
“I’d rather be homeless,” Jessie said, then shot an apologetic glance at Zoe. “No offense, honey, but that place is just depressing.”
“No offense taken. It works for me,” Zoe said.
Jessie nodded, a familiar look flashing behind her eyes. A look Zoe dreaded. Curiosity.
“Why are you still there? I mean, there’s plenty of places in town. Seems strange to still be squatting at that dingy motel,” Jessie said.
“Like I said, it works for me,” Zoe replied, “and it doesn’t have rats in the walls.”
Pete chuckled and Jessie cut her eyes at Zoe’s snark. “Whatever you say, but it isn’t normal for a young, single cutie like yourself to be stowed up alone in a travelers’ motel. Oh, the trouble I got into when I was twenty-four and ten pounds lighter. I mean, how are you going to meet people?”
“Who says she wants to meet people?” Pete questioned.
“Everybody wants somebody,” Jessie shot back, then to Zoe: “I mean, right?”
Zoe didn’t really want to have this conversation anymore. She didn’t like the places this kind of inquiry could take them.
The bell over the door rang again and two men, both unfamiliar, walked in. Probably semitruck drivers. They saw a handful of those, as the large gas station next door often serviced semis.
Zoe glanced at Jessie. “Your turn.”
“And another mindless shift begins,” Jessie scoffed in a whisper. Then to the two drivers she cooed, “Hey there, fellas, sit wherever you’d like, and I’ll be right with you.”
Zoe rolled her eyes and grinned. The bell rang again. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a girl, couldn’t be older than seventeen, standing in the open doorway, drenched from the rain. She was breathing heavily, her eyes wide with surprise as she took in her surroundings.
“That one’s all you,” Jessie said under her breath as she approached Zoe from behind.
Great, Zoe thought. She walked around the end of the bar toward the strange girl. “Booth or barstool?” she asked.
The girl snapped her eyes toward Zoe and dropped her hand from the diner door. The pneumatic hinge slowly pulled the glass door shut. The expression on the girl’s face was like a startled deer, innocent and terrified.
As Zoe took a step toward her, the girl’s body tensed. Zoe took a step back herself, suddenly uncertain what the girl might do.
“You alright?” she asked.
The girl looked in all directions, then brushed beads of water away from her face. Zoe yanked a handful of napkins out of a holder and extended them to her. The teen glanced down at the offering and slowly accepted. She wiped her face clean and dried her hands.
“Better?” Zoe asked.
The girl nodded. “Yes.”
“You wanna table?”
She looked at the row of booths to her right and then pointed to the first one. “This one?”
“Sure,” Zoe replied.
The girl moved quickly, sliding into the left side of the booth. Her movements were rigid, fast, like all her nerve endings were wired, and she barely sat fully in her seat. Zoe grabbed a menu from the bar and placed it on the table in front of her.
“What’s this?” the girl asked.
Zoe just looked at her for a second, waiting for her to say she was kidding. But she didn’t. She just sat there staring up at Zoe, waiting for an answer.
“The menu,” Zoe said.
“What do I do with it?”
Again, Zoe paused for the punch line. Nothing.
“You order food from it,” she said. “Have you never used a menu before?” She still expected the girl to look up, laugh, and say, “Of course I have. Who hasn’t used a menu?”
But instead the girl took hold of the single plastic sheet and studied it with fascination. “I can have anything?” she asked with wonder.
She looked up at Zoe, a childlike sparkle overcoming the fear that had been there earlier. It made Zoe uncomfortable and unsure of how to respond. The girl returned her gaze to the menu. Zoe wasn’t sure what the girl had taken, but it was pretty clear she was on something.
“Maybe you should just start with some water,” she suggested.
“Yes,” the girl replied. “That would be good.” She smiled up at her, and Zoe nodded. She turned and walked back behind the counter to get a glass of water.
Pete leaned his head through the pickup window and shot Zoe a sly grin. “Ask her to share whatever it is she’s taking,” he said.
Zoe ignored him and returned to the table. She set the glass down. The girl had moved to the dessert menu that advertised the latest options, and she held it out so Zoe could see.
“Is this good?” the girl said, pointing at the new strawberry swirl milkshake. “Can I have it?”
“It’s pretty average for a milkshake, if you like strawberry,” Zoe said.
The girl glanced at the picture again, then beamed at Zoe. “Yes, I would like this.”
Zoe paused, placed a hand on the booth, and leaned forward. “Can you pay for that?”
The girl’s eyes shifted curiously, and she looked at Zoe as if she spoke a foreign language. Zoe tried to control her fading patience and slid into the booth across from the strung-out girl.
“Listen, no judgment—I don’t care what you do with your time—but you probably shouldn’t be here right now,” Zoe started.
The girl’s smile washed cold, and she shrank back into the booth. Terror regained control of her body. “Is it not safe here?” she asked, her voice low.
She locked eyes with Zoe, and Zoe could feel her desperation. Her bright blue eyes begged for help, the kind of help needed by a child seeking refuge. It struck something deep inside Zoe’s stomach that caused her to question the assumptions she had started making.
“Are you in trouble?” she asked.
The girl’s eyes flicked back and forth, then back to Zoe. “I have to be careful who I trust.”
The words resonated with Zoe. She herself lived by them. The girl’s tone was frail and honest. Her eyes weren’t red. Her hands were steady, her skin clear, her voice open. Nothing said “strung out” except for her strange lack of awareness. The kind you would expect from a child. An innocence shone in the corners of her eyes and asked to be sheltered.
“Can I call someone for you? Family, or a friend?” Zoe asked.
Hope sparkled in the girl’s eyes. “Yes. Summer Wallace.”
“Okay, do you know her number?”
The hope died out. “No.”
“Do you know her address? We can look her up—”
“She lives in Corpus Christi.”
“The city?”
Again, a wave of joy fell over the girl’s face. “You know it?”
“I know where it is,” Zoe said.
“Can you take me?” The girl leaned forward excitedly. “I have to get there as soon as possible.”
“You can’t go right now. It’s hundreds of miles from here.”
Like a switch being flipped back and forth, the girl’s expression changed again. From hope to fear. Wonder to despair. “It’s that far?”
“Do you not know where you are?” Zoe asked, suddenly much more worried than she’d been before. Something was clearly wrong with this girl. Maybe she shouldn’t have intervened. Yet something pulled at the strings of her heart, and she couldn’t make herself stand up and walk away.
The girl shook her head, her eyes misty and on the verge of tears, and Zoe longed to comfort her. She gave a warm smile, hoping to make the teen feel more secure. “You never told me your name.”
“Lucy,” the girl answered.
“Just Lucy?” Zoe asked.
“Just Lucy.”
“Cool, like Beyoncé.”
“What’s a Beyoncé?”
Zoe gave an awkward laugh, then realized once again she wasn’t kidding. Who was this girl?
“Hey, are you hungry?” she asked. “Let me get you something to eat. My treat.”
Lucy gave a sheepish shrug and then a tiny corner smile. “Okay.”
“Fries and a strawberry swirl milkshake coming up,” Zoe said.
Lucy’s smile grew, and Zoe felt a warmth that she hadn’t experienced in a long time circle inside her chest. The way Lucy smiled made her think about her little brother, the way he used to glance up at her when she shared her watermelon with him. But that memory was tinged with pain, and the warmth turned cold as she shut the memory back inside the box with the rest of her past.
“After you eat, we can talk more, and maybe I can help you,” Zoe said. “Would that be okay?”
Lucy drilled Zoe with an intense stare, and Zoe felt the penetration of it in her gut.
“Can I trust you?” Lucy asked. Like a child would, wanting to be saved but remembering not to trust strangers.
The question nearly took Zoe’s breath away. Maybe she should have felt warier of the peculiar teenager, should have been more reserved with her own trust, but all she could see was a fragile girl who needed protection from the cruelty of the world. The way Zoe and her little brother had needed protection. Protection they’d never received. How different her path would have been had someone come along and sheltered her from the diabolical nature of humanity. How could she now deny this girl that same protection?
She nodded. “Yes, you can trust me.”
Lucy pondered it a moment, then smiled brightly. “Okay,” was all she said, and Zoe knew Lucy would trust her completely.
Zoe smiled back, suddenly heavy with the burden of the young girl’s trust. She wanted to recant her statement. She wanted to admit she’d been carried away by her own sentiments, and that Lucy was right not to trust anyone. Even those who seemed honorable were capable of betrayal. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to kill the relief that had settled over the girl.
She left Lucy sitting in the booth. She would let her have a moment of peace, then she’d help the girl as best she could before sending her back out into the world, where it would do all it could to kill Lucy’s rare innocence. No one got away unscathed.
But for now, there could be fries and milkshakes.