paper rings (l.h.)

53

The next morning, I  didn't see a good morning text from Luke.

As I sent him the first message of the day, standing at the front door to the diner in my uniform and apron, I felt my eyebrows raise as I watched the message read 'sent' instead of 'delivered'. Was his phone dead?

The trees began to dance with light yellows and browns, some trees began to litter their leaves around their trunk. The air was cooler than it had been all summer, and I wasn't already soaked in sweat when I locked my bike up to the rack behind the place. I was grateful for that at least, and the fact that her early morning visit to the farmers market and Mr. Wright's booth yielded enough sweets to feed her for two lifetimes. All of which, I'd lock away in my locker to keep from my coworkers whom I didn't quite trust just yet.

But the sky was gray, nearly black. And the scent of nearby rain on the thick grass danced in the air. I nearly jumped off of my bike when the first boom of thunder met my ears on my ride here, and nearly fell to the ground when a lightning bolt flashed across the sky. But I made it back in one piece, in just enough time to feel the air grow thick and dense and the warm winds nearly blow me a step or two backwards.

"You're going to sucked up in the hurricane," Amy yelled out at me as I clicked my lock secure, grabbing my tote bag full of precious cargo over my shoulder. "Why didn't your boyfriend drive you to work today?"

A layered question. Perhaps I am an outsider, with no trace of the thick accents that folks around here seemed to possess. I hadn't mentioned a boyfriend to anyone besides Tommy - and I wonder if he had shared the scoop with our peers.

"He is away," I shrug as I find myself in front of my locker, keying in the second combination so far today and lifting the lock before the door swings with a high-pitched squeak. Before anyone could peek into my bag, I threw it inside, unfolding my apron and tying it around my waist.

Maybe the incoming storm had knocked the power lines down. That could explain Luke's lack of a message this morning. I hadn't noticed my service being interrupted, but as the next clap of thunder hit the sky I felt it under my feet, in the very foundation of this restaurant.

Grandma and told me that she wasn't afraid of any storm, that the house had survived Hurricane Camille back in '69 and was barely damaged when the Farrows 'down yonder' lost half their livestock, half their crop, and half of their roof. I had forced Grandma to promise that she'd call Mr. Holiday if she needed help. To which, I was waved off.

But as I witnessed the rain begin to fall, harder and harder until I could see nothing but the thick blanket of water that fell off of the roof, onto the awning and draping its stream in front of the the entrance. I couldn't help but wonder if I had made a mistake in allowing her to convince me.

"Here," Amy snapped me out of my thoughts, shoving a washcloth and spray bottle in both of my hands. "If you're going to be here, you're going to be productive. You can clean each of the syrup dispensers. They could use it."

I nod as I take the damp rag from her, glancing behind my shoulder to see that the normal crowd of hungry usuals decided to eat at home today, all besides Mr. Monty at the bar - at 9 am, his normal breakfast of biscuits and gravy, eggs, extra crispy bacon and a slice of Patsy's Big Guy Strawberry Pie. He didn't hold back his amazement as the old box TV in the corner of the dining room showed the weatherman's forecast, at the big red-and-purple blob across the screen. Between cutouts from the wind and rain, I was able to make out the words 'extremely damaging' and 'seek shelter'.

I huff a breath out of my mouth, a strand of hair flying above my eyes as I do so. I had made a mistake by not deciding to stay home.

Another strike of thunder and the windows rattled. Amy breathed out a curse or two, then retreated to her office in the back hallway - keys rattling with each step she took.