Hometown Hero

Chapter Three: Very Berry Morning

My alarm went off bright and early Saturday morning.

Thinking back to last night, I started my shower and undid my ponytail. My hair was, as usual for the morning, a thick black blanket fraying in every which way. Jumping in the shower, I shook myself awake. Becca usually opened at seven, and I had to get there before the breakfast rush came in or I'd miss my chance.

I had to be more careful. If my dads had planned that I get a car, I couldn't be driving around clueless. I needed to learn my way around this town before the meatballs and spaghetti started falling through the clouds.

The heat was enough to wake up my muscles, but my eyes were resistant. Forcing them open, I took a deep breath and headed out.

Walking in to the kitchen, I debated making myself something to eat. I could always throw something together at the restaurant, so I grabbed a baby tangerine from the bowl of fruit on the counter.

Looking over, I noticed a strange container filled with, what looked like, blackberries. But these were different; they looked bigger, and they were still firm. Rinsing one in the sink, I popped it in my mouth.

Sweet, I thought to myself, before a kick of sour at the end dried out the sensation. I wondered what my dads were going to do with these blackberries that tasted like this. I looked up at the clock, and realized that I wouldn't have time to ask them now if I wanted to make it to the diner in time.

“Where are you off to this morning, sweet pea?” Dad asked, not looking up.

I sat at the foot of the stairs, tugging my shoes on “Work.”

“You never open on Saturday.” Papa remarked, folding his articles “Something wrong?”

“Nope.” I said quickly, hopping to my feet “I'm going in to have a look at something. Mind if I take the Jeep?”

When neither of them said anything, I grabbed the keys and ran.

Reaching the diner, I unlocked the door, and flipped on the lights.

It was simple, the diner. It wasn't particularly recognizable; cardinal-colored booths against the windows, long bar with stainless steel grating, and a case for the daily pies and cakes, usually made by Becca as soon as she walked through the door.

Walking to the back, I grabbed a rag from the top shelf, running it under warm water and a bit of soap. The dishes were dried and stacked neatly beside the sink, the lights of the early risers shone through the window. The world was waking up while I cleaned the counters.

With my eyes on the world outside, I didn't hear the door open.

“Morning, Bennet.” greeted Mitch, placing his bandana over his hair and smiling “What brings you in this early?”

It always surprised me that Mitch actually liked working at the diner. He wasn't much older than me, and it seemed like he could be doing so much more than this. When I asked him about it after we met, he just shrugged and said that killed the time in between his courses at the community college and working at the grocery in town.

I called over my shoulder, “Nothing better to do, I guess.” I could hear him laugh as Becca bumped the door open with her hip. Each of her hands held giant brown paper bags, which I was sure had pies stacked full.

“Good Lord, you two.” She groaned, then looked at me “Wasn't I supposed to open today?”

“I thought you could use a hand.” I shrugged, grabbing one of the bags, feeling the warmth radiate from inside. I slid the bag down to the display, and began to remove them slowly.