Meg asks, smiling. Something like that, Josie says. You'll be fine. Most people here are sweet. This town takes care of its own.
Mostly? Mostly? Me glances toward the door out of habit. Lowers her voice. Just watch out for the Whitmore boys if they come in.
Whitmore boys. Grant Whitmore. His dad owns half this town, including the ground under this diner. Grant runs with three or four guys who think that matters. They're not dangerous exactly, just entitled like nobody's ever told them no in their whole lives.
Josie nods slowly, files it away, says nothing more. She carries a table six, balances three plates without looking down once. Me watches her go, a little impressed. Huh? She mutters to no one.
She's steady. The morning moves like most mornings do here. Familiar faces, familiar orders, small talk about the weather. There's Earl who orders the same two eggs every day. Always leaves exactly $2 under his plate.
There's a young mother named Callie. Three kids in tow. One cup of coffee to go every other Tuesday. One quiet moment before the noise of the day catches her. There's a table of retired teachers who meet every Wednesday.
Trading photos complaining fondly about how things have changed. Rosie greets every one of them by name. Asks about a hip surgery here. A new grandbaby there and means every question, even the small ones. Josie learns names quickly.
Learns who likes their eggs a certain way. Who tips well. Who needs a little extra kindness some mornings. There's a woman named Dorothy who comes in every Tuesday. Widowed 3 years now.
Always sits at the same small table. Always orders tea instead of coffee. Never finishes the whole cup. Most of the staff just take her order and move on. Josie notices something different.
Notices Dorothy's hands shake a little. Notices she reads the same page of her book each visit. On her third Tuesday, Josie stops by the table. Not to take an order, just to ask how she's doing. Dorothy looks up surprised.
Nobody's asked her that in a while. My husband used to read to me, Dorothy says quietly. I never learned to love reading alone. Never had to. Josie pulls a chair over, sits for just a minute.
What was he reading you before? Dorothy's eyes soften. She points to the page, starts to explain. For 5 minutes in the middle of a busy shift, Josie listens. Really listens.