Waking up early was never a problem for Floyd. He’d been waking up before 4 A.M. since he was twenty. He greeted the morning with a cup of black coffee, stopping chores just long enough to appreciate the simplicity of his life. Work. Eat. Sleep. Nothing complicated about it. Doc asked him at Janice’s Diner what he’d do if he ever decided to retire.

“Retire? Why in the everloving good Lord would I ever do such a thing?” He sipped his black coffee.

“I dunno, Floyd. Seems like you are slowin’ down a bit there. Maybe it’s time to think about how to get out before the dairy takes you under.” Doc played with the last bite of pancake on his plate, swirling it around in the leftover maple syrup. “Ms. Janice, these are more tasty than normal. Whatcha doin’ different with ‘em?”

“Not a thing, Doc. Could be that the new guy,” she thumbed toward the kitchen, “is finally gettin’ the hang of the heat of the griddle.”

Doc poked his fork toward the kitchen, “Didn’t you say that it was goin’ out on you? Thought yous gonna replace it?” Doc pushed away the empty plate and leaned back on the stool, sighing. “So good, Ms. Janice. Thank you. You do good work.”

Floyd sat back, leaning against the window, fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in between his lips, dampening the end of it with his tongue. Throwing the pack down, he opened a book of matches, the one sitting next to the glass ashtray, and lit it. He watched Jim’s truck pull up in the parking lot, dust washing over the cars like a visible rainshower. All the cars in the parking lot had a thin film of dust, but now? Now, Jim’s dust made it impossible to see through the windows.

Janice lit her cigarette and leaned over the counter, taking the weight of her body off her feet. She’d been standing most of the morning, tending to the early risers; farmers, fishermen, and a few truck drivers trying to get ahead of their busy schedules. She pointed at the plate. “So, the next time you come in, you’d best be tipping that young man in the kitchen. Hard worker, he is. Good kid,” she winked at Doc. “He’s new in town. Not sure where he came from. Clean cut. Strong, too.” She took another drag. As deep as she inhaled, she exhaled over her head. “Real strong. He hefted over ten bags of 40-pound flour from Earl’s flatbed. It would’ve taken me purt near half-hour to do all that by myself. And you’d think he’d a lifted a finger to help a woman, wouldn’t you? But no!” Janice smashed her cigarette into the ashtray after taking four drags, pouring her frustration with Earl on the now extinguished smoke. “Just stood right there, thumbs tucked in his pockets, watching me do it!”

“My kinda guy,” Floyd said exhaling smoke.

“Didn’t you say the kid helped you? You were watching him work, too, right?” Doc let Janice refill his coffee.

“You need to watch yourself there, Doc. You too, Floyd. I heard you over there. And you?” Janice waved the coffee pot at Doc. “I gots a full pot here,” she looked at it again, “an almost full pot here, and I’d hate for you to have to go home,” she eyed his overalls, “and change outta them.”

Doc held up his hands. “Just tryin’ to get the story straight, that’s all.”

“What story?” Jim came in and sat down on the stool to Doc’s right. “Must not be all that good, ifn’s it comin’ from Doc’s mouth,” he pointed at Doc. Fishing in his pocket for the pack of Lucky’s, Jim tapped one out into his hand. He looked over at Janice. “Hey there. You got a match?”  

Janice rolled her eyes, tossing him a small book of matches.

“So, what’s this story,” Jim asked, lighting his smoke.

Floyd snickered from his booth. Smoke got in his eyes so he crushed the smoke under his thumb, exterting so much force that you’d think the ashtray would’ve broke. It didn’t, and his thumb was unscathed from the cherry ember of the cigarette. Floyd tried rubbing his eyes, thinking that would make them feel better.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Janice snapped. “You don’t get to come here like you own the place. You don’t! Just to remind you.” She snatched the ashtray from the counter, the one with her snuffed-out, broken cigarette, and Doc’s empty pancake plate, kicking open the kitchen door with her foot. “I’m gonna snap that man’s neck!” she yelled.

Jim leaned back, taking another drag. “What’s got inta her today?”

“Probably that kid in the kitchen,” Floyd growled. “Never know with kids these days.”

“If’n I had to guess, it’d be you.” Doc shook his head. “You really got a way with people, Jimbo, you know it?” He turned around to face Floyd. “And you ain’t helpin’ at all, you know that?” Floyd raised his hands in surrender.

Jim pointed at Doc with his lit cigarette. “I told you NOT to call me that.”

Doc brushed him away. “Yeah. Whatever you say, Jim.”

“You gonna tell me what’s y’alls was talkin’ ‘bout?”

Doc glared at Jim.

“What?” Jim asked.

Doc stood up, pointing to Jim. “You best watch where you step with her today. She’s in one of her moods.”

“I HEARD THAT DOC!” Janice shouted from the kitchen. “YOU BEST WATCH IT TOO!”

“Thanks for the pancakes, Ms. Janice! They were tasty!”

“Go on. Get outta here, Doc! Say hi to Metz when ya see him.”

“Ought to be later today, but sure. I’ll do it. Bye, now.” Doc nodded at Floyd. “And I’ll come by around 3 to check on your cows.”

“Best be before 3. They’s been milkin’ a bit earlier than normal, what with the weather being a bit warmer.”

Doc nodded. “Will do. Thanks again, Janice.” The door squeaked and Doc walked outside, the dust still blowing over all the vehicles.  

Janice walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Now then. You,” she pointed her pinkish finger at Jim, “best keep on your best behavior today. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said, saluting her with two fingers. Janice grabbed the carafe and a cup, filling it to the brim.

“You spill any of that, Jim, and so help me.” She tossed a clean towel on the counter. “Just in case.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jim whispered to himself.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’ Janice. I mean, Ms. Janice.” Picking up the cup, Jim spilled most of the coffee, all without burning himself. Janice rolled her eyes. “Mightin’ I get some of those tasty hotcakes Doc said you made him? Please?”

Janice crossed her arms, a scowl on her face. Reaching into her apron, she pulled out a Chesterfield and lit it, tossing the match into the ashtray. Janice held the smoke between her middle and ring finger, touching the palm of her hand with her lips with each drag. That might be why her right hand was permanently stained red, matching the red lipstick she wore. Staring at Jim, she took three long drags before replying. Squinting, she pointed at him, “Since y’all asked nice-like, I suppose so.” Janice put the cigarette in the ashtray, letting it smolder. “Just pancakes, then? Y’all want ‘em burned, like yous toast?” She leaned back against the counter, stretching her back.

“No, ma’am.”

“No hash browns?”

“No, thank ya.”

“Eggs? Bacon?”

“No. Thank you. Ms. Janice.” He tipped his worn-out baseball cap to her.

Janice’s scowl softened. It was rare for her to stay mad at someone for long. Even Jim. Especially with their history. Growing up together, Jim and Janice were close for a bit. All through high school, Janice and Jim were sweet on each other. Until Ella June Tremble moved into town, that is. Ella June was prettier than Janice and all the other girls. She was from California. Her Daddy was transferred to manage the acreage now owned by Monsanto. Richard Tremble knew the move would be hardest on his only child after the death of his wife, Tina. Growing up in Des Moines, Richard knew Iowa farms and farmers better than the other Monsanto field managers. Ella June and her Daddy transferred again before the end of the school year, but the damage was done. Even though they weren’t technically a couple, Janice never let Jim off the hook for dumping her.

Janice stubbed out her Chesterfield, smoked almost to the butt, walking back into the kitchen.

“All that for some dang burn pancakes, Jim?” Jim whispered to himself, shaking his head. “They best be good; that’s all I’m sayin’.” He put out his smoke and drank some of his coffee.

Floyd picked up his empty coffee cup, walked it to the busser’s tub and left it for whoever was washing dishes today. If he had to guess it was Janice doing them.

“Thanks, Floyd.” Floyd didn’t say a word, didn’t turn around, and didn’t so much as acknowledge Jim sitting at the bar. Outside the wind picked up, blowing dust and dirt in his face, making it stick to his face, where the tears were a minute earlier. He was grateful he had the hat. At least it helped keep the sun off his face and out of his now blurry, still watering eyes.