Scarlett and I were behind the bar when the parade of people came into the dining room. Like always, about half of them headed toward the bathrooms, while the rest found places to sit. I tied an apron around my waist, slipped an order pad and pen in the pocket, and was on my way to the first table when a tall blonde straggled in behind everyone else.
“Just have a seat anywhere,” Scarlett called out.
“I’m here to see Carla Wilson,” she said.
“I’m Carla. Are you Tressa?” I asked as I crossed the room.
She nodded.
“We’ve been expecting you, but we didn’t know which bus you’d be arriving on. Grab an apron from behind the counter. Scarlett can show you where they are. And then follow me today. You’ll catch on quickly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said in a deep Southern voice.
My first thought was that we would have to beat the men away from the door when they saw her long blond hair and big brown eyes and heard that sexy accent. My second thought was that we would make a lot of money when word got out that a single woman who looked like her worked at the Tumbleweed.
After half an hour, I handed her an order pad and pen and told her to wait on the two tables of travelers who had parked outside beside the bus. I kept a close eye on her. She kept her distance from the men in the last booth by the window and never looked them in the eye. She took their order, pinned it on the carousel, and refilled their coffee cups. Then she went to the next group of four with two sulky teenage girls.
When everyone had left, she got a broom and dustpan from the storage room and swept while Scarlett bused dirty dishes to the kitchen and I wiped down the tables. Yes, sir! She truly was a fast learner.
“You did good, Tressa,” I told her.
“Thank you.” She smiled for the first time, but it did not reach her eyes. “I’ve never worked in a café, but I tagged along with my oldersister a few times when she did waitress work. How late does this place stay open?”
I was reminded of my first day at the café and how everything seemed surreal. Different time. Different woman. Different circumstances that brought me and Tressa to the same place. Same feelings of bewilderment.
“We just serve breakfast and lunch,” Scarlett answered. “So we usually have everything cleaned up and leave between two and three o’clock. Let’s go meet Rosalie. Rule number one is that you don’t mess around in her kitchen. If you want something, just ask and she will cook it for you. We take home leftovers for supper—today, that is spaghetti—and if we have time, we grab lunch between customers. We get two buses at lunch, so most of the time we either get a bite now and then between waiting on customers, or we eat a late lunch after everyone clears out.”
“Okay.” Tressa’s eyes darted around like mine had done that first day I arrived. “Ilene said I would have room and board. I left my duffel bag over there.” She nodded in the direction of the Special of the Day sign. “Where should I put it?”
“In the storage room,” I answered. “Do you have a purse?”
“It’s in the bag.” She blushed. “Ilene gave me twenty dollars to use for emergencies until I got here. I was too nervous to eat, so I just bought a soda out of a vending machine.”
I slipped my arm around her waist and gave her a sideways hug. “Honey, that’s twenty more than I had when I got here. Come on to the kitchen, and Rosie will fix you up with some breakfast or a burger.”
Scarlett picked up her small duffel bag and led the way through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Tressa followed her into the storage room and asked, “Is that futon my bed?”
I opened the back door and pointed to the trailer. “No, you have a bedroom out in that place. You’ll be living with me and Rosie. Scarlett just moved in with her fiancé. They’ll be getting married the first week in February.”
Rosie left the stove and came into the room with us. “I’m Rosalie Smith, the cook, and my number one rule is that if you are on social media, then you do not put pictures of—”
Tressa held up a hand and shook her head. “No social media of any kind. Ilene warned me about that. I only have a prepaid phone, and don’t even need it since I don’t have anyone to call or text anyway.”
“We understand,” Rosie said. “But now you have us three to call and text. Just be sure not to let pictures get out on social media. Are you hungry? There’s leftover biscuits from breakfast, and I can whip you up an omelet or some gravy. Or if you aren’t a breakfast person, I can make you a burger.”
“Breakfast sounds wonderful,” she said. “I was too nervous to eat anything in the shelter night before last, and I didn’t want to use my money yesterday for food in case of an emergency. All I’ve had is a soda since I boarded the bus.”
“Of course,” Rosie said. “How about a Carla breakfast? That’s biscuits and gravy, and a stack of pancakes and a cup of coffee to go with it?”
“Yes, please,” Tressa said. “No coffee, though, but I would like a glass of milk.”
“You got it.” Rosie hustled back to the kitchen.
“Does she have cancer?” Tressa whispered.
“No, she wears a bonnet to keep any stray hairs out of the food, and you will need to put yours up for the same reason. A messy bun does a good job,” I told her.
She opened her bag and pulled out a brush and a big clip. In seconds, she had pulled her hair up and secured it. That was when I saw the faded bruises around her neck. I didn’t ask questions. She would tell us her story when she was ready. Until then, we would just let the Tumbleweed heal her.
