Chapter Five

Aunt Rose showed me around the Serenity Diner. It was about as retro as you could get with its plain curtains, wide planked whitewashed floors, and sunny yellow walls. Red vinyl-covered swivel stools stood under the long counter where several homemade pies sat on display under glass. Rock and roll music filtered out of a large reproduction Wurlitzer jukebox. It smelled like fresh strawberries and cake.

“This is Russell Foster,” Aunt Rose said, gesturing to a tall, lanky guy around my age with shoulder-length blond hair tied back. I held out my hand, and he just stared at it.

“Shit, Rose, I can’t believe you hired another outsider. You know how the last one turned out. Bob and I can handle it on our own.”

I leaned across the counter that separated us, dropping my voice. “Look, man, I have no idea who you are, and I’m willing to play nice, but don’t swear in front of my aunt again.”

He backed up, turning to Rose with a skeptical expression. “He’s your nephew?”

“Yes, this is Jason Flynn. Now since you’re so worried about how he’ll work out, I can’t think of anyone better to show him the ropes.”

Russell sighed. “The one from New York?”

“The very one.”

“Can’t Bob train him? He’s got way more patience than me.”

“All the more reason for you to do it. You need practice.”

“Fine.” He wrung the terry cloth towel in his hand. “C’mon, new guy. Try to keep up.”

Nice to meet you, too.

“You ever done a day of hard work in your life?” he asked, finally acknowledging me as we walked out of the back door and toward a large shed.

“I’ll pull my weight.”

“What was the last job you had?”

“Do you count bashing a guy’s face in as work?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to me. “You fight?”

“Yeah.”

“Professionally?”

“Strictly amateur, which is why I usually break something I’m not supposed to.”

He nodded. Was it possible I’d earned his respect? I didn’t know why that was even important to me, but on some level, it was.

“Rose does the cooking. Me and Bob serve the tables.” He turned on a light. The room was stacked floor to ceiling with window frames, old doors, boxes of bolts, and roofing material.

“I don’t need you getting in my way today. The tourists are going to be as hungry as a school of piranhas. I’ll train you when things settle down, but not during the breakfast rush. In the meantime, you can put those muscles to work and clear out this junk.”

“Is my aunt a hoarder?”

“Figures, you don’t know since you’ve never made an effort to visit her before.” The challenge in his voice made it clear the respect was not earned. “This is stuff from our remodel. There are two dumpsters in the back. You need to separate the stuff that can go to the salvage yard and what we need to toss. Got it?”

“You want me to do this all day?”

He faked a sympathetic expression. “Aww, is it too much hard work? Just figured since the island doesn’t have a real gym, you could still get your training in.”

Point and match.

“You don’t like me very much.”

“Look at Shitty Lock Holmes slumming it island style.” He brought his face close to mine. I respected the stance. A fighter’s stance. “Rose is the best person I know. Last year, she was in the hospital with pneumonia. She could have used some family. Where the hell were you people?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Did Anna know that? I doubted it, but the idea didn’t sit well with me. “I’m here now. And if my aunt gets sick, I’ll take care of her.”

“I hope so, New Guy. See you in a few hours.”

It took three hours to clear the space. It would have been shorter, but I sanded every door, checking for any evidence of red or black paint underneath the top coat. I came up with nothing.

The floor was grimy, so I set to work polishing it. The shelves bowed from carrying too much weight, so I found some tools and reinforced them. Then I scrubbed the three windows in the shed until you could at least see out of them.

Russell came to check on my progress, expelling a low whistle. “Check you out, New Guy, done already?”

“Yeah, can you put these back?” I said, throwing him the roll of garbage bags I’d used.

They swiveled in the air before he caught them right in his midsection. “Nice throw. You ever play football?”

“Nope.”

“You’ve got a good arm.”

“Thanks.”

“Toss me that ball on the second shelf.”

I took the old-style football, pretty sure it was made of real pigskin, and threw it at him. My accuracy surprised me. He returned it to me. I went further back, and so did he.

“How’d you learn to throw like that?”

I shrugged. “Muscle memory.” He gave me a quizzical stare but didn’t ask any more.

Russell called me New Guy all day, but he was less condescending. I met Bob, a large man with a toothy smile. Not the kind of guy you’d expect to be waiting tables. He called everyone “buddy” and “champ,” even Aunt Rose.

“Always have the coffee ready. If you see it getting low, start a new pot right away. Treat the natives like friends. Pretend they’re folks visiting your house for Sunday supper. Treat the tourists like money because that’s what they are. Be respectful but keep your distance, “ Russell instructed, talking a mile a minute.

“How will I tell the difference?”

“Tourists bring big beach bags, maps, and wear ridiculous hats. Probably the kind of lame-ass stuff you’d do if you were here on vacation.”

“I don’t travel with a beach bag or wear ridiculous hats, but thanks.”

He ignored the comment. “Keep things clean. Wipe off your tables right away. Never enter or exit the kitchen with empty hands.”

We worked like that the rest of the day. I shadowed him. He joked with his customers, depositing a colorful array of crayons at any tables with kids, drawing a tic-tac-toe board for them and finishing each game. He flirted with the girls but nothing inappropriate. He was respectful with the older customers. Aunt Rose stayed in the kitchen, ringing a little bell to let us know when an order was ready.

The diner closed at six. It felt as if I’d been there for ten minutes, not ten hours. When Russell flipped the closed sign over, Rose brought out plates with grilled cheese sandwiches. The four of us sat on the long counter eating them.

“Pick me a song, Jason,” she requested when all our plates only held crumbs.

I walked over to the old jukebox and took out a few quarters. “What do you want to hear?”

“You pick. They’re all my favorites.”

“I don’t recognize anything.”

“None of us did at first,” Russell said. “Pick A7, that’s a good one.”

A7 was Warren Zevron’s “Excitable Boy.” I pressed the buttons. “Didn’t he sing ‘Werewolves in London?’ That’s a song I recognize.”

“That’s right.” She walked over to me. “Do you dance?”

I shifted my feet. “I don’t have any rhythm unless you count my beating heart.”

She smiled. “And what a beautiful song it plays.” She pressed her hand over my heart and closed her eyes. She snapped them open and gestured toward Russell. “You should take Jason out with you tonight.”

“I don’t think he’d be interested.”

“He doesn’t know anyone in town. He wants more excitement than watching reruns of Sex and the City with his aunt.”

Um, yeah, that definitely was not on my to-do list…like, ever.

“He’ll never fit in here. He’s too much Wall Street and not enough cowboy. Plus, he dresses like a catalog model.” I looked down at my black slacks and white button-down Oxford. Compared to Russell’s faded jeans and football jersey, I suppose I did stand out in a weird way.

“Are you guys actually having a conversation about me? I’m standing right here.”

Russell didn’t even turn. “Would you rather we do it behind your back, New Guy?”

He had a point. “Guess not.”

“I think you and Russell will be very good friends,” Aunt Rose added.

For some reason, I believed her.