Page 66 of Between Brothers

Chapter 27

Hayley

My father and I were thoroughly confused. We’d worked the night shift at the diner for a couple of weeks, now, and we hadn’t seen or had anything happen. I was leaning against one of the stainless appliances talking about it with him while he flipped a couple of burgers for the tired travelers out in the dining room.

“I’d really hate to think it’s one of the employees,” he was telling me.

I felt my mouth set into a grim line, “I don’t think it’s Julio, Dad. I think whatever it is, it has Julio just as scared.”

“I reckon you’re right, Pumpkin. I tried to ask him about it and he wouldn’t make eye contact. I tried to get the last couple of waitresses to talk but they wouldn’t return my calls. I have no idea what’s going on and it’s driving me nuts.” I shrugged and let out a gusty sigh as the bell chimed over the door.

“You’re not the only one, Daddy.”

“Can’t go back to days until something happens.”

“I know.”

I backed out of the kitchen and turned to greet the people that’d come in with a smile. My face didn’t falter one whit, but my heart sank when I saw who it was. There were four of them, all of them male and all of them in designer jeans and expensive brand name shoes. All of them had polo shirts or rugby shirts except the one who was just in a tee. They didn’t wait for me to seat them either. They just took what booth they wanted, which was fine, but didn’t exactly bode well for the rest of the coming interactions when the sign read ‘please wait to be seated.’

I brought over menus and handed them out with a friendly, “Hi, guys.”

They all laughed, faces flushed and eyes sparkling with too much to drink. It wasn’t quite quitting time for the bars, but when I reached across to lay out silverware, the smell of alcohol radiated off of the lot of them as if they’d showered in it rather than drank it.

I knew the type. Rich kids that wanted to come down here and slum it around us poor folk. It happened, and it rarely ended well for us poor folk.

“I’ll be right back to get your drink orders,” I said and the one on the end of the bench, closest to me to the right side of the booth looked up at me with a cocky grin that would have done something to me once upon a time, but now? Next to Duracell? It was a pale comparison.

“I think we know what we want, don’t we, boys?”

They let up a rowdy “Yeah!” and hooped and hollered some, and I pasted on a smile, whipping my pad and pen out of my apron pocket.

“Okay, what’ll it be?”

“Jack Daniels on the rocks would be nice.” The one on the left at the back of the booth against the wall said. He had longish hair, chin length, and a broad set to his shoulders beneath his wide striped white and royal blue rugby shirt.

I smiled and said apologetically, “Sorry, boys. We don’t serve alcohol. Closest thing I could get you is a Shirley Temple. We have the cherry juice and 7-Up.”

Three of them laughed, the one closest to me on the right, the one with the short blond hair, bright blue eyes, and red polo with the collar popped… his expression went as cold as winter ice.

“You making fun of us?” he asked.

“No,” I said frowning, “I was just joking.”

“Coke, lots of ice,” he said. I nodded and wrote it down.

“Coke,” another said.

“I’ll take a water.”

“Got orange soda?”

“We surely do,” I answered the boy in the green polo, as green as the Crayola crayon. “I’ll get those out here, and give you some time with the menus.”

I went behind the counter and drew the sodas and water from the fountain, put them on a round tray and brought them out. I set them out in front of everyone and pulled straws from my apron pocket, handing them out.

“What’s your name?” Red polo asked.

“Hayley,” I answered, thinking surely a name couldn’t be that big a deal and to be honest, being reticent would likely aggravate him. I just had a bad feeling about him. The kind of feeling all women and girls are taught to listen to. His shirt one giant physical red flag to match all of the ones raised in my head.

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