Pompano Beach
By midafternoon Jessica has been called back to Phantom Diner for an interview with the boss. One eyed, crop haired, and ramrod straight, Wilton Sheeler admits to having piloted Phantom jets in Vietnam, hence the name of his restaurant. Then he asks Jessica what it’s like to drive a bird remotely—irrelevant though it was, she had included her drone flight experience on the job application.
“Sometimes you feel like you’re right up there,” Jessica answers. “But not usually. Mostly you’re sitting in a chilly trailer watching nothing happen on the monitors.”
“Even so,” Sheeler says, his good eye squinted, “don’t you think waiting tables is going to be too much of a come down for you, Sergeant?”
“More likely it’ll be a comeback,” Jessica says.
Sheeler seems sympathetic. “I’m not even going to ask you what you’ve been doing the past year. We’re short handed. How about can you start tomorrow night?”
“I can, sir,” Jessica says, just managing to restrain a salute.
On the bus ride home, she finally reaches Miss Shelly.
“Seems like the reaper works both ways,” Shelly says. “When your time is up he’s going to take you out no matter what. But try to hurry him along before then and you’ll just grow old waiting. What the hell. I’m even going to put myself back on the kidney wait list. Might as well try to live all I can.”
“Me, too,” Jessica says.
“You have a home here if you ever come back.”
“Thanks. Thanks for everything you gave me.”
“You kidding me? More like thank you for all you gave us. Newt, he really loved you.”
“Oh, Shelly . . . ,” Jessica says, wondering if Newt might have tried harder to live if he knew that Shelly would end up alone. That Jessica wouldn’t be there for her.
“I’m still here,” Shelly says into Jessica’s long pause.
“I’m glad you are.”