26 years ago
David Waters slid into his usual corner booth, promising himself once again that today would be the last time. He knew it was a lie. He’d be back again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Why should he feel guilty about that? It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. He was simply eating lunch in a diner. No crime in that.
“Hey, handsome, whatcha having today?” She wore her usual white V-neck, with just enough cleavage spilling out to be provocative, but not so much that she looked, as his wife would call it, trashy. David felt something like happiness for the first time all day.
“I don’t know. What do you suggest?” He smiled up at her—not because he was trying to flirt but because just being around her made him smile.
“Ha. I’ve got several suggestions I could make, but why don’t we stick to the issue at hand? I’m thinking . . . how about today’s special, which is the buttermilk fried-chicken sandwich. Crispy breaded chicken, buffalo ranch sauce, bleu cheese crumbles, lettuce, and tomato, on a toasted French roll.”
This sandwich would not be approved by his cholesterol-watching doctor, and most certainly not by his food-gestapo wife. “Sounds delicious.”
“Oh, it is, believe me.” She wrote on her order pad, shaking her head as she did so. “Men are so lucky. I eat one of those things and for the next two weeks I’ve got to do double time in the gym.” A quick glance at her lean and toned legs made David think she spent double time in the gym every day, anyway. “I will say, though, I’m glad to see you eat this way. It’s just so manly, you know? Never could stand to be around a man who eats salads and tofu.”
David was more than a little sure he’d ordered neither during the past few weeks. “Well then, I guess I pass the test.”
“Handsome, you pass the test in all sorts of ways.” She winked at him. “I’ll be right back with your iced tea.”
He watched her walk away, the short denim skirt revealing unseasonably tanned legs. One deep sigh later, he had forced his attention to the booth where he was sitting. The red vinyl seats were worn and dull, the Formica tabletop beginning to crack and peel around the edges. Just like my life, he thought. David put his elbow on the table and leaned his forehead into the space between his thumb and middle finger. Everything felt so hopeless. Overwhelming to the point of crushing. What was he going to do when his mother’s insurance ran out at the end of next year? There was no way he could afford to keep her in Brighton Manor on his own, and the slightly more affordable options offered a greatly decreased level of care. Maybe she had lost enough mental capacity that she wouldn’t know it, but he would know it.
“Things that bad?” Her voice cut through his self-pity, and he looked up to see the iced tea sitting on the table before him. “I’m a good listener, if you need someone to talk to.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired.”
“I’ll keep the iced tea coming then, until we get you tanked up enough to make it through the day.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m just here to help.” She tilted her head to the side and winked.
Everything about her was so inviting. So approachable. So . . . alluring.
And it wasn’t like his wife had even looked at him in the past week. The kids kept her running in circles, as did the committees she was on at church and school—all of it zapped her time and energy. There was nothing left for him. Not that he blamed her, exactly, but truth was, he felt neglected at home, so he came here to get his daily fix.
There was nothing wrong with him being here like this, nothing wrong at all. All he was doing was eating.
“Here’s your lunch. Anything else I can do for you?”
A surge of something completely enjoyable raced through him as she leaned forward to set down the plate. Okay, he should probably stop coming here so often. Maybe just tomorrow, and then he would stop.