An hour before closing, the restaurant was already empty. Heather went from table to table, turning over clean coffee cups one by one, then laying down paper place mats. When that was done, she sat at the counter and wrapped silverware in paper napkins, fastening each bundle with a sticker. Her feet hurt, but she’d soon be in the car going home. She could take her shoes off then and drive barefoot through the darkness.
It was Halloween night and the dining room was decorated with ghosts, ghouls, and witches’ hats. Alone with empty tables, Heather wondered if there were real ghosts, and if they watched people. She once found an envelope when cleaning out a cupboard in the supply closet. It was a pack of photographs from New Year’s Eve 1957.
When she saw the people in those pictures, Heather knew their lives had come and gone. Those who had lived out their days in the town would now be in the cemetery with tiny, snapping American flags in the ground over where they were buried. The waitresses in the photographs had matching green dresses. The men wore dark suits or overalls—carried burning cigarettes.
Many years ago, there had been a factory nearby and the town was prosperous. Heather wondered if the people in the pictures sensed their time of abundance would pass. Or did every day seem new and unbreakable? The hardest thing about getting old, a customer once warned her, was always being shocked by the face staring back at you in the mirror.
When Marvin appeared from the kitchen, he was wearing a satin Louisville Cardinals jacket over his baggy kitchen whites. He was a tall, deliberate man with a slow but confident way of speaking. He carried several white containers in a plastic bag, most likely french fries for his children. In his other hand was a box of menthol cigarettes and a plastic lighter held together with a rubber band.
I’m taking off, Heather. I closed the kitchen and left a piece of Salisbury steak in foil for your momma.
You’re a sweetheart, Marvin. I love you.
Ok, don’t forget it now.
I won’t, happy Halloween.
If Clyde sees it, then . . .
I know Marvin, I won’t forget. I promise.
How she doin’, anyway?
Momma? She’s okay. She misses him. We all do.
The cook turned to go. Want me to flip the sign on the door?
No need, I’m right behind you.
But there were still things to do. And the sudden quiet was strange and penetrating, as though in the absence of people, Heather felt them more. She climbed onto a stool and held open the pie cabinet’s plastic door with her elbow, sweeping crumbs from the clear shelves.
Heather felt she had learned a lot from being a waitress. There were regulars she knew by name. Others by face. Some of the old ladies couldn’t eat without shaking and making a mess. The other waitresses made fun, but Heather knew coming to Booth’s Diner was all they had left.
Some of the ladies spent hours getting ready. Pasting on makeup. Choosing what to wear. Heather guessed it was too hard being at home. The rooms once full of people were now just full of voices calling to them from far away.
Some of the old men had crushes on Heather. She knew it. It was awkward at first. They called her “Red” or “Hot Top.” But since it never went beyond harmless comments about her hair, or leaving an extra dollar, she didn’t have the heart to humiliate them.
One of the men who came in every day was named Hale Bennett. When he didn’t show up for his usual grits two mornings in a row, Heather called the senior home and they told her he would be in the hospital from now on.
The next day she visited. Took his favorite breakfast in a cardboard box. Seeing him hooked up to machines with only a few days to go, she felt very emotional and went back the next night, and the one after that. She expected to see other people, but she was the only one.
When he passed, Heather was holding his hand. She didn’t feel like a waitress anymore, but his late wife, a high school sweetheart or long dead mother—some final chance for him to die still holding the thread of his life.
It wasn’t all old folks. Sometimes big, young families piled in through the double doors of Booth’s on their way home from Walmart. The fathers wore camouflage clothes, had crew-cut hairstyles and balloon stomachs. Most of the grandparents smoked and were thin, with drawn in faces and missing teeth. These were folks Heather recognized as her people, and so she tried to give something extra, like pie or biscuits or fruit salad.
Around Thanksgiving, men would stride in with dead bucks in the beds of their trucks. A few of the staff members would go out and look.
But most of her customers were old people who drove American sedans, dressed up on Sunday, and still liked to be waited on by girls who would sit with them and ask questions about their lives.
There was supposed to be another waitress to help Heather close up that night, but it was Halloween, and both Angie and Gail had children eager to put on their costumes and be taken around.
With just fifteen minutes to go, Heather wiped down the counter and sang along to the radio. Then she heard the main door open.
What you forget? she shouted. When there was no answer, she took an elastic off her wrist to make a ponytail. Marvin?
With still no reply, Heather stepped carefully toward the entrance holding a wet dishcloth, scorning herself for not locking the door. Standing there by the soft-toy claw machine was a tall, serious looking man in gray overalls, clean-shaven but dirty, like he’d been working.
I’m so sorry, sir, but we’re closed.
The man looked at his watch. Oh, I apologize. I thought I had fifteen minutes.
Well, normally you would . . . but it’s Halloween night, Heather said, spinning the wet rag in her hand. I guess you don’t have kids, huh?
Not yet. One day maybe.
Well, I’m sorry, mister, but the cook’s done left already, so . . .
Anywhere else close by? I haven’t eaten since lunch.
There’s McDonald’s or Long John Silver’s if you like fish fry. You’re not from here, huh?
No ma’am. Just passing through on my way home from work.
I knew I hadn’t seen you before.
He placed his hand on the door to leave. I usually drive home from Louisville with my dad, but we’re on different shifts now.
Instead of turning around and letting him go, Heather stood there and said. Don’t you think I’m a little young to be called ma’am?
Sorry.
Oh, I’m just teasin’, she said, wrapping the cloth around her hand. There’s a burger place on Shelbyville Avenue . . . wait, that’s closed too. How about Mexican? You like Taco Bell?
The man grimaced. Heather opened her mouth to laugh. I don’t like fast food neither, but that’s all there is, unless you drive to Junction City, which has a couple of bars on account of it being wet an ’all. You could get a burger there and a few beers to go with it.
I don’t really drink no more, the man admitted, and I definitely don’t go to the bars in Junction City.
My granddaddy never touched a drop. He always said he was the better for it. Heather noticed that one of the man’s eyes was off-center. She wondered if it was made of glass and he could take it out and look at it. She felt sorry for him then and wanted to give him something.
Would you like some coffee for the road, mister? It’s bin there awhile but still pretty hot.
Well, if it’s not too much trouble.
I’d end up throwing it away, so you’re welcome to it. Why don’t you sit at the counter. Cream and sugar?
That’d be nice.
When he was comfortable on one of the orange, vinyl seats, Heather poured the thick liquid into a ceramic cup with a saucer that had Booth’s written in yellow script.
I hope I’m not keeping you, miss.
Oh, it’s been dead all night.
He grinned. That makes sense.
Heather stared at him earnestly. It does? Why?
Halloween.
Oh, I get it, she giggled, dead all night. Well, I’m too old for trick or treatin’, in case you hadn’t guessed.
But too young to be called ma’am?
You’re funny. You work in Louisville?
That’s right. But I live an hour south. Grayson County.
I know where that is.
I’m Samuel. What’s your name?
Heather.
That name suits you.
My granddaddy said so too because of my red hair.
He the one who never drank?
Heather nodded and wanted to say more but found she couldn’t. The old man had only been gone three months. Left his bed one night and went outside without anyone knowing. In the morning they found him in the deep grass of the horse meadow.
At the funeral, Heather’s mother told everyone that decades ago—before he and his brothers went to fight in the war—he had played in that meadow as a boy. Then as a young man, had laid out summer picnics when courting the girl who would become his bride.
We’re a sentimental family, Heather’s mother had said, and that’s why we’re gonna suffer without him.
Later, when the funeral was almost over, her mother went pale and tried to climb inside the casket with her daddy.
As Samuel drank his coffee, Heather tidied up, humming along to a song on the radio.
You have a nice voice, Samuel said. I bet you could be on one of them talent shows on TV.
Heather took her hair out of the ponytail and looked at the man’s face in the reflection of a steel shelf.
Where do you work at?
On the line at Ford. I check chassis welds, make sure the robot done ’em right.
Don’t you get bored with that?
Oh, you bet.
So how do you keep going?
Well, I just imagine the car I’m checking is the one my mother’s gonna buy.
She must be a special woman.
Alfredia? Oh yeah.
My momma is a good person too but she’s had a rough life, and her health has gotten bad.
Where’s your father?
West Texas. He left when I was four.
Well, he missed out.
And my momma had a brother who got addicted to Oxy, then killed hisself in a bathroom at the Walmart.
At least you have each other.
I’d be lost without Momma.
Where do you live, Heather?
Marion County.
That’s not too close.
I know it. But I like to see different faces, and some of the people who come in here really need me—the older folks, I mean. I’m their therapist, kinda.
How’s the drive home at night?
It used to be fine, Heather said, giving him more coffee to drink.
Used to be? Something happen?
I came upon a wreck, she said, realizing that if she tried to tell the story, her voice would shake.
Was it bad?
Working here with the old, you get used to people dying, but it wasn’t the same. I was so frightened I could hardly breathe.
You want to talk about it?
Well, I was almost home, it was a two-lane road, and dark, I mean, so, so dark, black, Samuel, pitch black. I saw some light up ahead, like another car . . . but it was in my lane, so I slowed down and when I come to it, I see two cars done smashed into one another.
What you do?
I got out to help, but both the drivers had already passed.
How could you tell?
It was obvious, I didn’t even go near ’em. It’s like some instinct kicks in and you just know. Their eyes were open, as if they were still driving. And there was blood and bits of glass in their faces.
Oh boy. Was anyone else there?
Heather shook her head.
So, what happened then?
I had to get back in my car and drive on until I found someone, or saw a house. She dabbed her eyes with the rag and her makeup smeared. Eventually I come to a gas station. The guy was closing up, and I told him what happened, and he called the police.
What did you do then?
The police told me to stay at the gas station until they came. Then I had to make a statement. They called my momma and she asked if they would drive me home.
Did they?
I left my car there and rode with a trooper called Jerry.
Did they say what had happened?
Only that there were open containers of alcohol in both vehicles.
Samuel leaned back on the counter stool and wrinkled his brow. Are you sure this isn’t a Halloween story you made up to scare customers away?
No! she cried, hitting him on the arm with her rag. It really happened!
I’m just kiddin’. It’s hard to see something like that, I bet.
I’m glad you don’t drink no more . . . a young man like you with a good job in Louisville don’t need to be drinking.
If I drink, I stick to beer.
And stale coffee.
When there was no more left in the carafe and his cup was empty, Samuel looked at his watch.
I’d better get going, Heather, I wouldn’t want your husband getting the wrong idea.
She stood with the empty carafe in her hand and looked at him. I’m not currently in a relationship. Too busy for that.
Well, then, I guess that’s another thing we got in common.
What’s the first?
That we don’t like being called ma’am.
As Samuel stood to go, he asked if he could buy a coffee cup and saucer. Heather asked why, and he said he collected them.
You seriously do? Just from diners or all restaurants?
Samuel grinned.
Heather stood with a hand on her hip bone. I’m so gullible, I’d believe anything.
I just wanted something to remind me what a nice Halloween I had this year.
Really? All I done was give you some old coffee I was gonna throw away.
He shrugged.
I guess if you come back I can ask my manager Clyde if you can just have one.
I’ll pay him fifty dollars for it.
Heather blushed. Fifty dollars! she exclaimed. Then it must have been the best cup of coffee you ever had.
Samuel backed away toward the door. It wasn’t so much the coffee, as something else.
What?
You know what.
Heather threw her rag at him. You’re too much! she said, biting her lip. But you can walk me to my car if you want, seein’ as it’s Halloween.