“You’ll get better.”
She hesitated.
“Do you hate me for taking your job?”
I stopped washing the pot in my hands.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t take my job. You needed work, and Chad hired you. None of this is your fault.”
She looked relieved.
Then went to prepare the dining room.
At six o’clock, the bell above the front door rang.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
I glanced through the kitchen window.
Dale and Joanne walked in together.
Then the Miller boys and their father.
Mr. Haugen came with his cane.
Three farmers arrived still wearing their barn boots.
Pastor Jim entered.
Then the sisters from the flower shop.
Then the Petersons.
The librarian.
The town veterinarian.
The high-school coach.
People I’d served for decades.
They kept coming.
By 6:20, every booth was occupied.
Every counter stool was taken.
Customers were standing near the doorway.
Gus’s Diner had seating for forty-eight.
