Tom holds the door open, and we step inside. The restaurant smells like hamburgers, French fries and coffee. Country music plays softly from speakers mounted in the corners. The décor is pure small-town diner—red vinyl booths, checkered floors, pictures of the town's history on the walls.
A man behind the counter waves at us. He's big and broad with no hair on his head and a stained apron tied around his waist.
"Tom! And this must be Claire." He has the kind of voice that carries, warm and booming. "You're early. I like that."
"Murphy, this is Claire Donovan and her son Jackson."
Murphy comes around the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Good to meet you both. Come on, let's sit and talk."
He leads us to a booth in the corner. Jackson slides in next to me, his library books stacked on the table. Tom sits across from us, and Murphy settles in next to him.
"So," Murphy says, looking at me. "Tom says you're looking for work. You got any restaurant experience?"
"Some. I waitressed in college. It's been a few years, but I'm a fast learner."
"Good enough for me. I'm thinking four days a week, lunch and early dinner shifts. Eleven to six, roughly. Pay is twelve an hour plus tips, which can be pretty decent on weekends." He pauses. "You got someone to watch the little guy while you work?"
My heart sinks. I hadn't thought of that. Of course I need childcare. I can't bring Jackson to work with me.
"I... I'll figure something out."
I can feel Tom looking at me, can feel him putting pieces together. Single mother, new in town, no support system. No childcare options. Running from something.
Murphy studies me for a moment, then glances at Tom, some unspoken communication passing between them.
"Tell you what," Murphy finally says. "Why don't you bring him with you for the first week? Just while you get settled. He can sit in the back booth and color or read or whatever. If it works out, we'll figure out something more permanent."
I stare at him. "You'd let me bring my son to work?"
"Just for the first week," he repeats. "After that, we'll see. There are a few folks in town who do childcare. Sarah at the bakery, her daughter runs a little daycare out of her home. Good people, reasonable rates. We'll help you figure it out."
"We," he says. Like it's already decided that these people are going to be involved in my life, helping me, making decisions with me.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it makes my eyes sting with tears I refuse to shed.
"I'll work hard," I promise, my voice rough. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't. Tom here vouches for you, and that's all I need." Murphy glances at Tom. "This man's got the best judgment about people I've ever seen. If he says you're good people, then you're good people."
Tom shifts uncomfortably, like the praise makes him uneasy. "Murphy—"
"It's true and you know it." Murphy turns back to me. "Can you start tomorrow?"
Tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours from now. Back in the workforce, earning money, building independence.
"Yes. Absolutely."
"Good. Show up at ten-thirty tomorrow morning. I'll get you set up with an apron and walk you through everything." He pauses. "You eaten lunch yet?"
"We had breakfast—"
"That was hours ago. Let me make you both something. On the house, first-day welcome."
"You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to. I want to. What sounds good?"
Jackson tugs on my sleeve. "Can I have a cheeseburger?"
