Adena heads for a booth by the window.I follow, sliding in across from her.
The table has a laminated menu stuck between the napkin dispenser and the sugar caddy.Someone's written the daily specials on a chalkboard behind the counter:Catfish & Hushpuppies.Meatloaf Plate.Chicken & Dumplings.
Outside, lightning flashes.The whole diner brightens for a second before settling back into the warm glow of fluorescent fixtures and a few scattered table lamps.
Lurleen appears with two thick ceramic mugs and a pot of coffee."Coffee, hon?"
"Please," we both say.
She pours, sets down two menus."Special today is the catfish—comes with coleslaw, hushpuppies, and fries.Soup's chicken and dumplings."
“I’ll need a minute,” Adena says.
Lurleen nods, smiling.“Take as long as you need.”
When she shuffles away, I shrug out of my jacket, wincing slightly when the movement pulls at my shoulder.
Adena notices."So who knifed you?Last partner?"
That gets a smile out of me even though it shouldn't."Guy thought I was hitting on his woman."
She picks up her coffee."And were you?"
I lower my voice."You didn’t think I flew solo this whole time, did you?"
I catch enough of her subtle disdain to know she’s disappointed in me.Don’t know what she expected.I never said I was a saint.
“Some things you can’t fake for three years,” I remind her.
Her gaze drifts out the window, then back to me.“Maybe not.But that doesn’t mean we get to use what we do as an excuse for sin.”
I sit back a little.This is not a conversation I want to be having.“You want to talk aboutsin?”
She glances around the diner.“Not here.”
I open my hands.“You started this.You want to talk, we talk.How about we discuss all the sins you’ve committed since you got here?”
Her eyes narrow a fraction, and I get the feeling that she’s got plenty she wants to say.None of which is appropriate for two delivery drivers sitting in a diner.
She doesn’t get a chance to answer.Lurleen arrives, pad in hand, ready to take our order.
"What can I get y'all?"Lurleen asks, pen poised over her order pad.
Adena doesn't break eye contact with me for a beat longer than necessary, then turns to Lurleen with a smile that's too perfect, too practiced.Probably one her mother drilled into her before she could probably even spell the word "talent."
"I'll have the catfish plate, please."
"Good choice, hon."Lurleen scribbles it down, then looks at me expectantly.
"Meatloaf," I say.
"Mashed potatoes or fries with that?"
"Mashed."
"You got it."She tucks the menus under her arm."Be out in about fifteen minutes."
When she's gone, the silence stretches between us like a tripwire.The smile's already gone.Whatever mask she just wore for Lurleen disappeared the second we were alone again.
