“Now that you two are here and it’s quiet, I have something to tell you,” Damien announces as he rejoins us in the dining area.
I’m relieved that he’s telling Miranda and Aranya, and I won’t have to keep this from them any longer. It’s such exciting news. It’s hard not to mention it every time I think about it.
“Tom and I are applying to become foster parents, and they already have a little girl picked out for us if they approve our application.”
“That’s amazing!” Miranda squeals. “Wait,” she says when she realizes I already knew about it. “You knew?”
“He told me earlier but then swore me to secrecy.”
“I can’t believe you managed to keep it secret!”
“I assure you, it was painful. Especially news like this.”
“Who else knows?” Aranya asks.
“At this moment, outside of my family, just you three. And I would like to keep this as quiet as possible for the time being,” he says.
”Is it okay if I tell Miles, though? He won’t tell anyone else, and he’ll be so happy for you!”
“Yes,” Damien relents. “You can tell Miles. And yes, of course,” he turns to me as I open my mouth to ask, “you can tell Drew as well.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” I sigh. “It was killing me to keep a secret this big.”
As we all hug Damien and fire questions at him, a customer comes in. “Wow!” he exclaims. “This is quite the party!”
“Welcome to Marcall’s!” I tell him. “Where it’s always a party!” We all laugh because we’re so giddy over Damien’s announcement.
“I’ve heard that your breakfast burritos are the best anywhere,” he says. We have a lot of regulars who I know by sight, and many who I even know by name, but I don’t recognize this older gentleman at all.
“They are,” I tell him. “Thanks to this genius,” I announce, patting Damien on the back.
“Well, young man, then get me a burrito, please!”
“Would you like a Damien Special?” I ask. “It’s Damien’s secret blend of black beans, eggs, cheese, potatoes, grilled jalapenos, and caramelized onions, all layered with a secret sauce.”
“That sounds superb. I’ll take it!” the man says.
“Coming right up!” Damien proclaims as he hurries into the kitchen to prepare his burrito.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here?” I ask as I ring up his purchase.
“You’re right, this is my first time, and I’m hoping to be amazed.”
“I’m sure you will be,” I tell him. “And how about a cup of coffee on the house, since you’re a first-timer?”
“Young lady, I love this place already.”
I pour him a cup of coffee as he selects a seat for himself in the corner. When Damien places his burrito in the service window, I take it and the coffee out to our newest customer. “Enjoy!” I tell him, putting his food, silverware, and a napkin in front of him. “Let me know what you think!”
I return to celebrating with the others, but this time we try to keep it low-key. I promise Damien I’ll write a letter of recommendation for him this afternoon and turn it into the foster agency in person. He doesn’t think I need to go to that extreme, but I want to know they received it for sure; I don’t want to chance it getting lost in the mail or something.
“Excuse me, miss, do you have a newspaper here?” the man calls out to me.
“Yes, we do!” I tell him as I bring him today’s paper. I know most people, including me, get their news on the internet, but we have some customers who enjoy reading an actual paper while they eat, so I keep the subscription.
“Hot diggity!” he shouts, smacking the paper where the article about Morley’s death sits front and center. “That good for nothing scum bag is dead!”
Uhhhh what?
“Please tell me someone killed him. I hate to think he just died from a simple heart attack. He deserved far worse.”
The four of us stare at the man in shock. I don’t quite know what to say at this point. Who could have imagined that the death of the town’s mortician would engage such passion in so many people?
“I take it you knew him?” I ask.
“Sweetheart, you must be new around here.”
“Yes, kind of,” I respond.
“Well, trust me. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I still don’t believe it myself.”
“Oh,” I tell him, hoping he’ll expand on his story. Instead, he goes back to eating his burrito and reading the newspaper, so I quietly shuffle off toward the kitchen because I can’t think of anything more to say.
I’m dying to ask the others what his story is. From the looks on their faces, I can tell they know, but don’t want to say anything in front of him.
“It’s been fun, everyone, but I have to get back to my own shop now,” Miranda tells us. “Damien, congratulations! I can’t wait to hear more when you get approved by the foster agency.” Then she makes call me gestures with her fingers while pointing her head toward the man in the corner.
Shortly after Miranda leaves, the man brings his plate, silverware, and paper to me at the counter. “Young lady, my compliments to your chef. That was delicious!”
“Thank you so much. I’m glad you enjoyed it. What is your name, by the way?”
“I’m Owen Munoz, and you are?” Owen says, holding out his hand.
“I’m Charlotte. Charlotte Duffin, and I own Marcall’s,” I tell him, shaking his hand.
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance Charlotte, and I’m sure I’ll be back to try the other tasty items on your menu.”
“I’m looking forward to it!” I tell him as I watch him walk out the door.
But just as the door starts to close, Drew walks in.