“I’m so sorry,” I told them. “Can I start you off with a cup of hot coffee? On the house.”
“That would be great,” Vincent said.
“Coming right up—and thank you for your service, sir.”
He smiled and nodded.
I headed for the bar to pick up a full pot of coffee and whispered to Scarlett, “The couple at booth number eight are not paying for their breakfast. Take it out of my tip money or else just tear up the ticket.”
“You act more like Matilda every day you are here,” Scarlett said with a smile. “We’ll tear up the ticket, but why that one?”
“He’s a POW from the Vietnam era, and her name is Clara, and they had to sleep in chairs, and they haven’t even had a shower, and ...” I paused to catch my breath.
“Enough said. They are eating on the house today,” Scarlett said. “You can tell me later why you reacted to that name—Clara, was it?”
“Yes, and how did you—”
“You turned a little pale. Was that your mother’s name?”
“No, but we’ll talk about that later.” Change was all I’d ever known. Stability was not ever mine to have. But something made me yearn for the past when I heard that name.
I carried the pot over to Clara and Vincent’s table and poured two cups full, took their order, and hung it on the carousel. Then I made my way back through the rest of the dining room, taking drink orders first. Scarlett finished waiting on the bar and then helped with the booths, running back and forth between her own customers and what was supposed to be mine.
When the bus finally reloaded and pulled away, I could commiserate with Clara when it came to aching bones. Scarlett and I went straight to the kitchen and slumped down into chairs.
Rosie set a plate of hot biscuits in the middle of the table. “Has a couple of days away from work made y’all soft?”
I split a biscuit in half, slathered both sides with butter, and reached for the jar of honey. “Yes, it has, but one or two of these will perk me right up.”
Before I even took a bite, the phone—a landline that hung on the wall across the room—rang, and Rosalie hurried over to answer it. “Tumbleweed,” she said, and listened for a minute, then told whoever was on the other end that Matilda had passed away.
She said yes a couple of times and turned to motion to me. “You are the boss, so you need to talk to Ilene.”
“Who is Ilene?” I asked Scarlett.
“Go talk to her. Someone must be needing help,” she answered.
“He ... llo?” I answered cautiously when Rosie handed the receiver to me. I hadn’t used a phone like that since my grandparents were alive, and started to walk away before I realized the cord only went so far.
“This is Ilene Wilder,” the woman on the other end of the line said, “and I understand you are the new boss at the Tumbleweed.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s right,” I answered.
“I supervise several women’s shelters, and I’m the one that helped Rosalie and Scarlett relocate to your area. I have another young woman in bad need of help, and it is very necessary that she gets far away. Her name is Tressa. She is twenty-two years old, and she has no job skills to speak of, but she is a fast learner. Are you willing to take her?”
“Can you give me an hour to think about it and then call me back?” I asked. “Before I say yes, I’d like to talk to Rosie and get her advice.”
“Rosalie must respect you if she lets you call her Rosie,” Ilene said. “I will call you tomorrow unless you make up your mind earlier and get in touch with me.” She clicked off.
Before I could say a word, Scarlett squealed and got up so quickly that she knocked her chair over backward. She raced across the kitchen toward a tall, thin guy standing with his arms open wide. He picked her up and swung her around a couple of times before bending her over in a true Hollywood kiss.
“What are you doing here?” she panted when he set her down.
“I couldn’t wait until this afternoon to tell you the news. That house that you have admired in Dell City is going up for sale tomorrow. I’ll write a check for the down payment if you’ll move in with me. We can look at it this afternoon when you get off work. I was so happy that I had to drive down here and tell you. I’ve got to go”—he gave her another kiss—“but ...”
“Grady, you already know Rosie, but I want you to meet Carla, our new boss and friend,” she said.
There was no doubt in my mind that she was stalling for two reasons. One was that she didn’t want to answer him about moving in, and the other was that she didn’t want him to leave.
