An Order of Coffee and Tears

by Spangler, Brian

  “We have to do something! He’s going to kill her!” I screamed at Clark with words that fell on ears stifled by a same mix of fears. Suzette pulled at her husband’s hand, and swung aimlessly with her arms as blood ran to the nape of her neck and along the front, above her chest. She wore a necklace of red like the pearls he’d once given her. Clark stepped around me to better survey what he might be able to do. James stopped immediately, the hideous smirk and laughter disappearing. He pointed his knife in Clark’s direction. Clark stopped. The detective pulled out his revolver, and pointed it at James.

  “Ms. Potts, Clark – I trust you’ve dialed 9-1-1 by now. I trust you did that, and that the patrol cars are rolling, and will be here in the next minute. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, sir?” Detective Ramiz yelled, and then doubled over as he grabbed his mouth and choked out a fit of coughs. The detective’s gun was down: it wasn’t pointing at James, and James knew it, and began to laugh again. The laugh was animal. It was a jackal sound, and he clapped a foot against the floor in rhythm to his howling.

  “Old man – this is a joke! Say it isn’t a joke,” James began, but then grew grim-faced, and put the knife’s pointed edge to Suzette’s eye. “This is my wife, and I’m going to see to it that nobody ever loves this pretty face again!” And, as he finished his words, he ran the blade under Suzette’s eye just enough to open her skin. Suzette screamed again, and punched aimlessly with her hands. She beat on his arm and hand, but he didn’t move. And, as he continued to cut her skin, a pool of urine formed beneath Suzette. Her bladder let go and dripped from her shoes, and when her eyes found mine and I saw the terror in them, I started to cry and scream, and ran to her.

  All the air in me disappeared in an instant, when her husband’s leg bolted upward, and the bottom of his shoe met me square in my middle. I couldn’t pull in enough air as silvery white streaks of stars raced in front of my eyes. The silver streaks flew around, and then were gone, and there was nothing but the blackest of black.

  “Just breathe,” I heard, and saw Jarod’s face come into view. Ms. Potts’ face was next, and both of them were helping me sit up. The jackal sound of his laughter shook my ears, and Suzette’s scream singed my heart. He was going to kill her. But he was going to torture her first, if we did nothing.

  “We just need to wait, Gabby, please wait. I called the police, and they assured me they are on their way,” Jarod said in a quiet whisper, inches from my ear.

  “One Punch, is that you? Ha! Oh, this is sweet. It is you! Come on over, One Punch. I had some fun telling everyone about you.” When Jarod heard the nickname, I saw his eyes go cold, and his face long, absent of all expression. As he stood, anger rose on his cheeks, and his skin went red. He turned to face Suzette’s husband. I reached to pull him back, I pushed my hand into his hand, but my fingers fell away when he let them go.

  “Put her down,” Jarod began, and then balled his hands into fists. “How about we finish what you started the other day?” he added, and waved an invitation. James’ jackal laugh grew into a roar, and his eyes squirted tears as he watched Jarod dance a boxer’s pose and continue to wave on invitation after invitation with his fists. James’ hold on Suzette wavered. He roared again, and I saw Suzette’s feet begin to take hold of the floor. Her foot slipped in her urine. It slipped again, but, as her husband’s hold of her weakened, she took back some of her footing.

  “Squads are going to be here – I suggest you put her down now!” the detective yelled. He’d regained his stand and his gun was fixed on James. Sweat poured from his face, and his gun shook and threatened to fall to the floor.

  “Come on, you big fucker. Try and take me on when I’m watching. When I can see you. Just try! No more sissy back-handed shit. Come on,” Jarod yelled, as James shot more tears. Suzette’s feet touched a firm hold of the floor, and, in one motion, she swung her other foot and connected with her husband. She knocked the wind out of him just long enough to loosen his grip on her.

  “You bitch –” he started to say. Suzette fell to the floor, where she grabbed the whiskey bottle. James turned, his hand reaching for the prize he’d lost. Suzette screamed, and threw her arms in a full swing. An explosion of glass opened the side of her husband’s face. The glass rained down inside the diner, splintered shards landed on the tables and the counter and floor. Glass and blood went in every direction. James heaved a sickening moan and fell forward in a stutter of steps. His right cheek hung open from below his eye down to the line of his jaw. He fell toward Detective Ramiz in an effort to regain his balance. We heard the detective scream for James to stop, and then a flash of lightning filled the diner twice. Thunder and the smell of gunpowder came next, as James’ body tumbled to the ground. Past the ringing in my ears, I could hear faint sounds of glass continuing to tumble around us, and saw Suzette’s husband gasping for air. Blood spread on the floor around his face, and he gasped again, sucking in air and spitting blood. He pulled one final draw of breath, and then stopped.

  “He was coming at me!” Detective Ramiz screamed, “You all saw it! He had his knife in his hand and was coming at me!” Clark stepped over to James and knelt at his side, taking care not to step in the pooling blood. He pressed two fingers to his neck. Clark looked back to us, shaking his head. Suzette’s husband was dead.

  “He was coming at me!” the detective screamed again. Clark stood again to face Detective Ramiz. The detective kept his gun drawn. The barrel was pointing at Clark, waving back and forth as the detective continued yelling.

  “Clark!” Ms. Potts pleaded, and, at that moment, I knew what might happen. I knew what could happen. We all did, even Clark.

  “He was going to kill her. And he was coming at me,” the detective wheezed, as blood dripped from his mouth. He belched a cough, and more blood dripped, while he continued to hold his gun. Clark took a step toward the detective. He stepped again until the gun was just inches from his chest.

  “He was going to kill her,” the detective whispered.

  “I know. You d-did the right thing. You did good. Nobody’s going to know any different. Not ever,” he told the detective, and reached his hand over the gun and put it on the table. The detective’s eyes fell to James’ body on the floor. He stared, his face empty. Blue lights reflected off the smoke and glass as the sound of the approaching police squads filled the diner. I ran to Suzette, where Jarod was already helping her to a stool. Like the detective, her face remained empty, and her eyes stayed fixed on the body of her husband.

  “It’s over,” she said plainly. I brought her chin around to face me. Bloody tears ran down one side of her face, while the other remained dry. Her cheek and jaw might’ve been broken, and some teeth were missing from where he punched her.

  “It’s over,” I told her, and then held her. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. Suzette stared at her dead husband’s body with eyes that were far away. I held her and told her again that it would be okay.

  “It’s over,” she repeated, and I nodded and continued to hold her until the paramedics took her away.

  18

  Thirty days and thirty nights had passed since Suzette’s husband held her by her neck and laid a knife on her skin. Thirty. A full month. Yet, the images and sounds, and even the smell of it all seemed to linger. A lot of talk went back and forth after that night. Speculation that James Wilkerson wasn’t going to murder his wife, that, instead, it was just another in a string of his abusive acts toward his wife. When the police were satisfied with their notes on the case, the folder closed, and Suzette’s husband was still dead. What was never investigated or questioned were the two bullets that ended up in James Wilkerson. We all told the police the same thing. James Wilkerson went after Detective Ramiz. He had a knife in his hand, and charged the detective. And that is how we saw it. How we all saw it.

  Suzette didn’t come back to the diner… not right away. It was slow at first – a day or two, and then three, and then finally she was with us all the time. The
places where her husband’s knife did touch her skin were still healing. Large stretches of baby pink skin replaced the black threads in the stitched wounds. She’d have the scars as a reminder forever. But the scars we could see were probably just the superficial ones – the deeper wounds would likely never heal.

  Once Suzette was back to a full-time schedule, she continued to work with us. She wanted to work. We always did need a third waitress on our shift, and it was fun. Having a third waitress made things easier, especially with the fast-food joint nearly empty every night, no thanks to Bertha the rat.

  Suzette poured me a cup of coffee and lifted her chin, and I told her thank you. These days, there was a peaceful look in her eyes, but there was sadness, too. I suppose the fear I’d come to expect seeing was gone. Suzette was free of feeling scared. The anxiety that sat deep inside her like a cancer had died on the floor of the diner thirty days earlier. She no longer worried when it was going to happen again, when she’d feel the angry side of her husband’s hand. She wasn’t looking over her shoulder, or quietly stepping through her house like a mouse going unnoticed. She didn’t flinch to loud sounds, or shrink back when the front door opened. She was free of him.

  “I cried, you know,” she said in an even tone. A long scar ran under her eye from where the bloody tears had come from. Another scar ran down her neck from behind her ear. “I cried at James’ funeral.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, and leaned on her elbows so that we were closer, our faces just inches apart.

  “But why? I mean, why would you cry after what he did to you? After all the things he did to you?” Suzette’s eyes were watering, and she turned her head away from me, but I think I could understand it. A quiet moment passed. And when Suzette was ready, she found my eyes, and said in a broken breath, “’Cause I loved him. And I know, in my heart, he loved me. There was a side to him that I got to see – that I got to love. I just wish I got to see more of it.” Suzette clinked her coffee cup against mine, and raised it in a mock cheer.

  “You getting ready for a date, or something?” Ms. Potts yelled as she brought a plate of fries and milkshakes to the teenagers. Blonde, Red, and the other girls were in their usual booth, in their assigned seats. They gave me a wave, and a thumbs up. The girls spotted me at the counter, and, if not for the fact that I was talking to Suzette, they very well may have looked right past me. I was out of uniform, so to speak. I wasn’t wearing anything waitress-like. Not a thread. I was a customer. That’s right, a customer. Actually, I was waiting for Jarod. We had plans for a dinner and a movie. Finally.

  Sitting at the counter, a warm giddy feeling stirred in my belly. Some butterflies, too, left my hands a little sweaty and my cheeks a little warmer. A quick glance at the clock, and it was fifteen minutes before Jarod would be here. By now, the two of us were sitting and sharing a meal during his Thursday visits, and sometimes Friday, too. We’d even split our own plate of fries, and laughed, dipping them in a milkshake we shared.

  Tonight was an official date. Nothing fancy: a small dinner, and a movie. He said to dress casual, so I did. I found a cute white blouse, a bit puffy in the sleeves, though, and some jeans. The jeans were a newer style I saw the kids wearing, where the torn rips and the holes were normal: you paid for them. It still made no sense, but I bought the jeans, anyway. They made me look good. Really good. I even picked up a slick new pair of Chuck Taylor sneakers. Black. I loved them.

  “You sure when he told you casual, this is what he meant by it?” Ms. Potts frowned, but with a smirk slipping through. Suzette walked around the counter, and punched her hips with her hands. She poked a foot out in a stance that was identical to one Ms. Potts liked to hold.

  “I think she fine. Girl look fine,” Suzette said in a playful mimic. When Ms. Potts pushed her eyes up and down in a study of Suzette, she blew up in a hearty laugh, clapping her hands together.

  “Suzette got style – ya’ll see her, she got style!” Ms. Potts laughed. Clark walked to the front, clapped a hand, turned to me, and added,

  “M-Miss Gabby, you look beautiful. You surely do,” he finished, and cautiously hugged me, on account of the white blouse. I appreciated that. The bell above the door echoed, and the four of us found Mr. Thurman coming in, carrying a set of what looked like legal documents.

  “Well, look at you,” he said. His eyes were bright and cheerful. I nodded and watched as he approached. When he joined our family at the counter, he looked to each one of us without saying a word. When I saw a tear dance in his eye and then fall, I reached out and put my hand on his arm.

  “Mr. Thurmon, what is it?” He gave us all another look. A long look. He wasn’t sad at all. He was happy.

  “I’m going to miss you guys. Next to my own family, I come to think of you all as much a part of who I am. Especially you, Ms. Potts –”

  “You stop that, now,” Ms. Potts interrupted, “Junior, I want you to tell me what’s going on,” she demanded. Immediately, my heart sank, and I thought of the Asian men, the ones with the suits, who were buying Angela’s and tearing our diner down. Clark and Ms. Potts were thinking it, too, as I watched their expressions turn to concern. I glimpsed the door, half expecting to see Detective Ramiz walk through with a pair of handcuffs in hand, and sounding a bloody cough amidst a bellow of laughter.

  But nothing happened. There were no police cars out front, or sounds of sirens, or blue lights shining through our windows and dancing across our ceiling. It was eerily quiet, and Mr. Thurmon stared a long time at Ms. Potts and Clark. He mouthed a thank you to them both, and then swiped the tear from his cheek.

  A curious thing happened then. Suzette was smiling. In fact, she was beaming, and blurted a giggle. Before I could speak a word, she was bouncing up and down on her toes. Curious smiles were shared between Clark and Ms. Potts, while I started to laugh. I had no reason to. None at all. But the excitement caught me as Suzette hooped and hollered and bounced. Mr. Thurmon produced a set of keys, and dangled them in the middle of our little circle. He jostled and jiggled them so they rang out. He then explained that the keys were for the new owner.

  “And now, meet the new owner of Angela’s Diner: Miss Suzette!” He trumpeted, and handed her the keys. Our jaws dropped, and our eyes grew wide. Ms. Potts pulled her arms around Clark, and I could tell she was crying a relief that was twenty years in the waiting.

  “But, how? How?” I asked, still shaking my head and laughing. Suzette continued bouncing, like one of those game show girls we’d seen from time and time on Clark’s little TV.

  “I had the money. I’ve always had the money: my own money. Just wasn’t allowed to use it. Until now!” she answered, her voice pitched in excitement. And I realized there was so much more to her and her husband’s story that I didn’t know. I wondered if I would ever know, but then considered that it might be a story to be told over some coffee and tears. My arms fell over Suzette, and I pulled her close to me, and kissed her.

  “You’re the best,” I whispered. “You saved them – you saved my family,” I added, and then held her face in my hands, forehead to forehead.

  “Gabby, don’t you get it? You guys have been the only family I’ve had. Angela’s is my home,” she began to tear up, and then shook her hands, jingling the keys, and began to hop up and down again.

  “Th-thank you, ma’am,” Clark added, and kissed Suzette. Ms. Potts was speechless. She stood across from Suzette, her eyes fixed in a stare as she shook her head back and forth. Finally, she took Suzette’s hands in hers, and kissed them. The ringing of the bell broke our quiet, and Mr. Thurmon moved to reveal Jarod. He stood with a same look of confusion that I guessed we’d had moments earlier.

  “Suzette owns the diner now,” Mr. Thurmon told him, giving him a slap on the back. Jarod raised a brow, and then turned to face Suzette. He stretched a hand with congratulations, and asked,

  “Need a handyman?” Suzette lifted a finger to her chin, and formed a question in her eyes. She tapped her foot a few times, as if c
onsidering her options. When Jarod frowned, she answered in a laugh,

  “Guys, nothing changes. I’m hoping you will all stay with me for as long as the diner is standing.”

  “But there is a change. We discussed it. In fact, it was your idea,” Mr. Thurmon chided. Suzette lifted her face.

  “You’re right. I did make one change – the name is no longer Angela’s, it’s Suzette’s.”

  “Suzette’s is a lovely name,” Ms. Potts exclaimed, and we all agreed, as a few of our regulars came up to congratulate her. My insides felt like Jell-O. A wash of nerves and giddiness played in a tug-o-war. I was happy.

  “Don’t you two have to be going?” Ms. Potts asked as she emerged from the group. Jarod repeated the question with his eyes. The diner was home, and, like most homes, there was change, good change. It was time for me to change again, too. I took Jarod’s hand in mine, and stepped closer to him until we were inches apart.

  “I know this is traditionally something you do at the end of a date, but I don’t want to wait,” I told him, and then pressed my mouth onto his, and gave him a long, hard kiss. He wrapped his arms around my middle, and kissed me back. When we were done I said,

  “Now we can go.” His face beamed with a grin. He then nodded to me, while lifting his hair from his eyes. I loved that he did that.

  “Hey, boss,” I yelled across the diner, “Can I take the night off?” Suzette turned and laughed.

  “You bet, just come back for some desert later. And, if I pick up an order of coffee and tears, I’ll be sure to share them with you.”