Sanford Crow

CHAPTER 29

They sat silently, bundled up from the chill of the outside which was still alive in their bodies. Sanford sipped his hot coffee as Sadie sipped her hot cocoa. She watched her father as he watched the waitress from a distance. She could see the struggle in his eyes; the overwhelming urge to quit behind them.

"She doesn't look the way I expected her to," Sadie said, trying to distract her father from his inner voice, who (she imagined) was telling him to hightail it out of there and jet back to New York.

Ava was working the other side of the diner. Sanford stared from over the rim of his coffee mug, hiding his face. The diner itself was typical. Red chairs and white tables, red and white booths. A long bar ran across the front of the kitchen. The floor underneath was gray and covered in mud and melting snow.

At twelve she was tiny, skinny, and frail. But this waitress with her name on her tag, Ava, was—to put it nicely—husky. Her hair was still fire red, and her skin was still peppered with brown freckles that Sanford still had the urge to connect with a pen. When he looked at her face he could still see that little girl inside of her, with the same green eyes, the same red hair, and that same radiant smile.

"Dad?" Sadie called out.

He jolted as his mind returned to his body. Hot coffee splashed down his neck and chest.

"Shit!" he screamed a little too loudly.

People looked over, Sadie couldn't help but laugh. The waitress across the diner looked as well and Sanford caught her eyes, holding them longer than he should have. Her mouth dropped, and she came close to dropping the coffee pot in her hand. He began raising his hand to wave in an awkward gesture of not knowing what else to do, but she turned her head before he could and walked to the back kitchen, hastily.

"Sadie, will you be okay by yourself for a minute?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'll be fine."

"Okay. You can order whatever you want when the waitress comes back."

Sadie rubbed her hands together in anticipation and opened the menu.

He inched his way towards the back of the diner. He pushed through the off-white double doors of the kitchen and saw Ava scurrying out the back with a cigarette in her mouth.

"Hey, you can't be back here," yelled someone with an apron, but Sanford paid no attention and followed the path toward Ava. "I'm gonna call the cops."

The snow turned to sleet, hampering Ava's attempt at lighting the cigarette shaking in her mouth. She brought her jacket over her head and created a canopy. This time the flame stood strong, and the first drag she took was deep, filling her lungs.

The fear of him was unjustified. After twenty-five years and the urban myths that never ended, it was like his legend grew to include the reason why it all happened. An innocent boy became the scapegoat for the lives his father had stolen.

The door behind her opened. She didn't turn around, only stared at his silhouette on the ground in front of her, black and twisted from the light.

"Please Ava, don't be afraid," the voice said from behind her, soft and sweet, just like the boy she used to know. "Don't be like the rest of them."

She turned and looked, instantly feeling the same guilt that her mother had felt earlier. But she stayed on guard; she learned the hard way to keep on her toes.

"What are you doing here Sanford?" she asked with a false bravado that stunned even herself.

"I'm surprised you recognized me."