Page 8 of Red's Peril: Part 1

Crazy idea.

I sit in my room, venturing out only for a soda, trying to distract myself with a suspense novel I’d picked up at one of my stops for gas, trying to tell myself winding down for a few hours is all I need.Tomorrow, I’ll ride on.

Bored with the words on the page that don’t seem to make sense and restless, I go outside to my bike. In preparation for the morning, I check the tyres, oil and eye the chain critically. In the last few days, I’ve put more miles on her than I have since I’ve had her. Don’t want to break down where there’s no help for miles.

Almost without realising what I’m doing, I grab my helmet, zip my jacket up and pull on my gloves. Almost in surprise, I find myself riding that mile in reverse, back to the diner.

Just for dinner,I tell myself.A man’s gotta eat.I know I haven’t explored further, but why should I? Here I can expect dinner to be just as good as lunch. And it’s inexpensive and I don’t even know if Cheryl’s working, and—

“You’re back!” Cheryl’s eyes come alive as I walk in the entrance. “I thought you’d be miles away by now.” She glances around, trying to spot a spare table.

The restaurant this time is indeed busier, and I realise I won’t be able to monopolise her time as I had before. Even though she’s not the only waitress serving, she looks rushed off her feet.

Worried about losing my chance to speak to her, I find the words coming out of my mouth, “What time do you get off?”

Her eyes widen, but she replies, a little breathily and without hesitation, “Nine.”

“Come ride with me?” I jerk my head to my motorcycle parked just outside, the same as earlier.

Her eyes look larger than ever. For a moment she looks shocked, then her lips start curving until a huge grin splits her face. As if her expression wasn’t enough, she adds the words, “You bet.”

Is she so fast to say yes to every stranger?As she leads me to a table that’s just been cleared, I worry for a moment, wondering whether I know what I’m doing. She could be the town slut for all I know about her.And if she is…Nah, I won’t be one of a long line to use her. I’m just not programmed like that.

Unobtrusively, I spy on her as she goes from table to table. For the kids, with whom she’s clearly familiar, she has an easy smile as she ruffles their hair or bends down to admire their colourings with much oohing and ahhing. She does what she can to calm an obnoxious toddler, quickly finding him something to keep him amused and isn’t fazed when faced with a screaming baby. With a nod from the kid’s tired-looking mom, she lifts it out of the highchair and cuddles it to her. Within a moment, the tiny girl’s all smiles.She’s got a way about her.

Her interactions with the customers make me smile, an expression I hide behind a menu.

Until she approaches another table, then my lips firm and form a scowl. This one is full of farmhands, obviously in after a hard day’s work. Now they are more of a problem for her. I growl softly as I see a hand fondle her ass, and half rise, for some reason feeling possessive. But before I can estimate my chances against the four brawny men, she evades his touch with an expert twist of her hips and puts him in his place with a few well-chosen words, spoken loudly enough to draw attention.

“Brad, what have I told you?” Her tone’s one that would be used with a naughty child. “I’m a good girl and I don’t appreciate you getting familiar.”

There’s a growl from a couple of the dads whose kids’ drawings she’d admired, and the baby’s mom is frowning with disgust.

When she leaves the group and heads back to the kitchen, I listen brazenly to the farmhands’ conversation. “What’s gotten into you, Brad?” the largest of them hisses. “This place has the best fuckin’ food for miles. You know Joe would ban us if you upset his best waitress.”

Brad looks uncontrite. “Girl’s got to give it up sometime.”

Not to you, fucker,I just about stop myself saying out loud.

“Keep your hands to yourself while you’re in here,” one of the other men warns him, then looks around him with an uneasy smile, lifting his chin toward the men still frowning.

Relieved that his friends have him under control, and the object of my obsession has removed herself from my sight, I start perusing the menu in earnest, trying to make up my mind between the ribs and meatloaf. In the end, I order the latter. The only problem is, the waitress I give my order to, isn’t her, and my service, unlike earlier, isn’t fast.

As I eat, I continue to watch Cheryl. She’s rushed off her feet, a total contradiction to the other waitress who seems to take her time about everything, leaving Cheryl to do twice the work. But she makes no complaint, even though I can see her shifting from foot to foot as though her feet are aching. Despite her tiredness, she continues to have a pleasant word to say to everyone.

Though I linger as long as I can, I finish far too early with still an hour to go before her knocking off time. Cheryl’s busy and customers are still coming in, obviously wanting my table. So I stand, leave my money and a generous tip, but pause before moving until I catch her eye. Mouthing,later, I wink.

She blushes beautifully, grins and nods. With that, I leave.

On my bike, I take a ride through the shut-up-for-the-night town, noticing most businesses have something to do with farm machinery.This place isn’t for me.It’s too small, too insular, and, as I saw from the diner, everyone knows everybody.I couldn’t be happy here.

What the fuck am I doing?I ask myself again, parking my bike, this time at a discreet distance from the diner where Cheryl works. Settling in for a wait, I flick my lighter and apply it to the end of a cigarette. As I draw in smoke, I question whether the better thing to do is take off and leave her. I’m already itching to get moving. There’s a restlessness inside me that says I’ve already tarried too long. But vying with that equally powerfully is the thought that I’ll lose something if I don’t stick around. There’s just something about her, a notion that it could have been fate that made me stop at that exact place in time. A fear of losing an opportunity if I don’t take this further.

One night,I remind myself. It’s all I can offer. As long as she knows the score, what’s the harm?

So I stay. Slowly the number of patrons entering are exceeded by those coming out. Through the lighted windows I can see more tables empty than occupied, and then, I see no customers at all. I get a glimpse of Cheryl wiping down tables, then, at last, the lights in the front flick off. Getting off my bike, I walk closer.

As I suspected, a back door opens, and she emerges, calling behind her, “Night, Joe. I’ll see you on Friday.”

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