Page 8 of Barron

“Heck, no. I had to come back.” Smiling, Yoanni managed to extricate herself from the affectionate hug. “This is home for me. Miami is too hot.”

“And your Papi? How is the poor dear?”

“They caught the cancer early, and so far, he’s responding to the treatments. Looks like he’s going to beat it.” She nodded. “We’re hopeful and happy with the diagnosis.” Grabbing Betty’s hand, Yoanni pulled her shy new friend forward. “Margie, this is Betty. She started working at the station a few weeks ago. I can’t believe no one told her about your place and your amazing cooking.”

“Well, we gotta fix that, don’t we?” Margie grinned, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “Nice to meet you, Betty. How do you like working at the station?”

“It’s fine, I guess,” Betty replied, glancing at the floor.

“She’s kinda shy,” Yoanni explained under her breath.

Margie nodded. “I see that. Sit wherever you like. I’ll bring menus.”

“Not for me,” Yoanni said. “You know exactly what I want.”

“Gotcha, girl. And you, Betty? Want to look at the menu?”

“Um… I’ll have whatever Yoanni’s having.”

“Smart choice. Two fried chicken lunches with all the fixins coming up.”

As Margie returned to the kitchen, Yoanni slid into the first available booth, which wasn’t far from the door. The main lunchrush had ended by now, and the place was about half full. Before Yoanni and Betty could get involved in conversation, Margie showed up with two large sweet iced teas and walked away again.

“Wow, she’s on top of everything.” Betty peeled her straw and took a sip of her tea.

“You’ve no idea. Margie knows everything that’s going on out here. Some of us suspect she monitors her customers with hidden cameras throughout the room.” Yoanni pointed to the four corners around the room. “If they’re there, you can’t see them.”

“The tea is just right. Not too sweet.” Betty wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like it when it’s overloaded with sugar.”

“Me neither.” Yoanni followed suit with her drink.

“I thought you said the diner is always full,” Betty said, glancing around the room.

“We came in late. The lunch hour begins at eleven thirty and ends about one-ish. It’s packed during that time. You’re lucky to find a spot at the counter.”

“That’s early. Why?”

“Because the morning shift begins before the sun comes up. The first group arrives at five a.m. to assist the graveyard cops with reports and such. The start of every shift overlaps the next. Don’t you know that?”

Betty lowered her gaze. Her cheeks tinted pink, and she lifted a shoulder. “I clock in at nine, and I haven’t shown much interest in schedules other than mine. Doesn’t say much about me, huh?”

“Well… I’ll give you a break. You haven’t been working at the station that long.” Yoanni took another sip. “I gather you’re not from Garden City or Pooler, right? Tell me about you. Where did you come from? What made you apply to the station?”

As Betty opened her mouth to answer, Margie arrived with two huge fried chicken platters. She set them on the table and stood back. “Would you like anything else? How about a side of okra?”

Yoanni eyed the steaming aromatic fried chicken pieces, collard greens, and a side of potato salad and shook her head. “That’s too much. This is perfect. I wouldn’t be able to finish the okra. As it is, I think I’m going to need a doggie bag.”

“Eat what you can. I’ll check on you later.”

Margie walked back to the kitchen, and Yoanni clasped her hands under her chin, gazing at the items tempting her taste buds. “Living in Miami, I’ve missed this so much.”

“How come?”

“The supermarket where my parents live offers Southern-style fried chicken. I tried it. Pfft,” she scoffed. “¡Qué va! Margie has set a very high bar. My mom is an awesome cook, but her talent is limited to Cuban and several Spanish dishes.”

Betty frowned. “I’ve never had Cuban food, but I hear it’s delicious.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s the best. In Miami, I had my fill to last me for a while. But I still missed this. Go ahead, take a bite and tell me what you think. Careful, it’s probably super hot.”

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