“Who’re you callin’ old, you old coot.” Floyd Patterson leaned back in the booth, sipping his coffee. He hadn’t touched it in the last hour, until now. Sipping his lukewarm coffee, he looked outside the diner’s filmy window, wondering what had happened to the bacon, eggs, and pancakes he ordered. “Kath, this coffee is lukewarm.” He swallowed the last drop. “Whatever happened to serve the customer? How ‘bout some more?”

Kathy, now agitated, spit back, “Youns soundin’ more like that Oliver Twist fellow than a customer, eh Floyd? You know you ain’t paid a single tab of yours since 1983! Ya still wantin’ them pancakes, eggs, and bacon?” Kathy knew Floyd’s tab was paid each month like clockwork.

“Now, Kath. Why would I wanna eat pancakes for lunch? You really is lackin’ on youns service as of late.” He waved the empty coffee cup.

“But ya still wanna drink that there coffee, do ya? It’s past noon.” Kathy walked over to Floyd’s booth, a carafe of hot coffee in her right hand. Kathy took over the day-to-day operations for Janice, having agreed to take full ownership of the diner. Kathy took four days to decide to sign Janice’s lawyer’s documents. Doc’s death and Kathy’s grief made it especially hard to sign. She loved Doc like you love a well-worn blanket through the coldest winter months. You love it during its season, but there comes a time when you have to put it away. She couldn’t handle Doc and Jim every day, but she enjoyed it when they came in. Now, that same back-and-forth banter the two men had would cease. And coming into the diner would remind her of what was gone.

“If I didn’t want coffee, I wouldn’tav asked forin’ it, would I, Kathy?”

Kathy mimicked the words coming from Floyd’s mouth. “You sure know how to treat a woman, doncha?” She filled the mug to the top, leaving zero room for error and plenty of opportunities to spill it everywhere.

“A lot of people been wonderin’ what happened to ya, Floyd. Youns up and disappeared, then come back here as if nothin’ happened.”

Floyd shrugged. “Nothin’ happened.”

“Yeah,” Kathy said. “Nothin’ happened here neither.” She reached into her apron and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Floyd didn’t remember seeing her smoke before. Janice, sure. But not Kathy. Watching her pull out a smoke and a Bic lighter from a half-empty box of Camel lights. Trying to pick up the coffee without spilling it proved impossible, and Floyd sloshed some on the table. Kathy leaned up against Floyd’s booth and lit the cigarette. Clenching it between her teeth after inhaling, she snatched a rag from under the cash register, wiping up the coffee before Flyod could pull out a handful of napkins. “Doncha be wastin’ my napkins like that now.” The coffee disappeared under the few swipes of the towel, the table clean and dry. Looking up toward Kathy, Floyd saw her red lipstick, the same color as Janice’s. Spending almost seven weeks in Portland locked up in what the detectives called a ‘safe house.’ He wasn’t sure about all that. After a few weeks of living with men who caught the slightest little thing being ‘off’ or outside the usual routine, those things also caught his attention. He wasn’t all that attentive
before, but now? His heightened awareness made him hyperfocus on the tiniest details, like her lipstick.

“Mhmm. Nothin’ happened.” Floyd sipped his coffee, pointing at the cigarette hanging from her lips. “Except that. When did ya start wearin’ lipstick?”

“Since always,” Kathy lied because the truth? It was harder. She started wearing it after Janice stopped coming to the diner. She knew he would ask her where she was and why she wasn’t coming in, and Kathy wasn’t ready to deal with that, especially not with Doc passing away so suddenly a few weeks ago. Jim came in a few times after Doc’s passing, but not as regularly as he used to. Kathy had to admit that she was sorry not to see him as much, even if Jim was a bit of a jerk. At least he used to be. With Doc gone, his edginess softened, like something inside him died. Kathy assumed he was grieving, like her. She didn’t want Floyd to know all that, so she lied to protect him. At least, that’s what she told herself. “When did you start gettin’ all nosy there, Floyd?” Kathy stormed back into the kitchen, tears welling up in her eyes. Her cook, an older gentleman who referred to himself as ‘Cook-ee,’ started working for Janice off and on for more than fifteen years. Kathy knew of him, but didn’t know much about him. Cookie told everyone his real name was Sue. His story was that he was named after the Johnny Cash song, ‘A Boy Named Sue.’ Janice hired him without any references or documentation, paying him cash each week, which Kathy continued when she took over ownership.