Joe's Diner

by Gail Sattler

  After a lengthy silence, Joe resumed speaking. “I was wondering if you might come home for the weekend to help me. I’ll pay for your flight.” Joe’s voice lowered to barely above a whisper. “I hate to ask, but we don’t know who else to turn to.”

  The hum of the fluorescent lights and the far-off clicking of computer keys from the main office roared through Mark’s head. The stacks of files on his desk suddenly seemed larger, hovering, threatening to envelop him with the problems and crises hidden within.

  Surely, he could take a weekend off. He was at least entitled to weekends off. Technically.

  He was now into the third year that he hadn’t taken a vacation. They also owed him equivalent time off for the statutory holidays he’d worked, plus all the sick time he’d never taken or been paid for. For at least the past six months, he’d been working almost every weekend, plus he often stayed until midnight Monday to Friday during the week. He was entitled to a lot of time off, not just weekends. Probably months. Yet, whenever he wanted to stay home a day or two, he was, instead, reminded of another crushing deadline for another critical customer, obligating him to work yet more unpaid overtime. Sean, one of the company owners and his boss, always promised future benefits if he would work through another weekend. As of yet, not a single promise had been fulfilled.

  Suddenly, more than anything he’d ever wanted before, Mark wanted to go home.

  However, the responsibility for countless hours of uncompleted work lay heavily on his shoulders. To leave for the weekend only meant the backlogs would get worse instead of better. If he left for the weekend, he would suffer later, completely negating any good that one weekend away could accomplish.

  But he really wanted to go home.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  Mark bent over and reached into the wastepaper basket to pull out a crumpled faxed memo he’d received from the local career college. The administrator had requested businesses in the downtown area take a couple of students to work for free for a short period of time. In exchange, the businesses would provide the minimal training required to complete the practicum portion of the student’s courses.

  Keeping the phone cradled on his shoulder, Mark quickly smoothed out the wrinkles and skimmed over the memo, rereading the terms. At worst, surely two students could do in two weeks what he could accomplish in a weekend. At best, they could help the company catch up on at least some of the backlog.

  If he worded himself carefully, he should be able to convince Sean that taking on two students for a practicum was not hiring them, because they weren’t being paid in money. The only cost would be a little time from the current employees to guide the students. More work could ultimately be accomplished than the time lost in training them.

  Such an arrangement would benefit all parties. The students would get the experience they needed to find a real job. S&B Accounting would have the extra help needed to get current in their customer files. Perhaps, seeing the difference a couple of bodies could make, with a little careful convincing, Mark could persuade Sean and Bob to hire one or even both of the students to keep it that way, despite the hiring ban.

  The weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. The sun shone brighter. The birds on the ledge outside his window sang more sweetly.

  Mark couldn’t hold back his smile. “Sure, I’ll help you. I could use a change of scenery. But I can certainly pay for my own flight. I’ll even leave tonight.”

  “Great! I can hardly wait to see you! I’ll tell your parents you’re coming, although you’re more than welcome to stay at our house. I’ve already checked with the airline. I might still get you booked on a cancellation that arrives tonight at seven-thirty. They’ll e-mail you the flight confirmation. Just print it and present it at the ticket counter. And don’t even think about paying for it. I’m booking, so I’m paying. No arguments. Being Friday and without your uncle here, I won’t be able to get away from the diner and your parents have tickets for a play tonight. I’ll send Chantelle to pick you up at the airport.”

  “Who? I don’t know anyone named Chantelle. Why don’t I just—”

  Mark’s words were interrupted by the sound of a resounding crash echoing over the phone line.

  “I have to go. See you tonight. Chantelle, are you okay? Did the—”

  A click sounded in Mark’s ear, followed by a short silence, then the even buzz of the dial tone.

  Mark hung up, still smiling. Not even the strange ending to the phone conversation could dampen Mark’s spirit. He’d never done anything so impulsive in his life, but he didn’t regret it. His weekends were his own, and he was well entitled to take them off, just like everyone else. And now, he could do it without guilt because he had plans to make everything better.

  He had barely finished speaking to the college administrator when the E-mail arrived with his flight information.

  Joanne returned with the McHenry file, handed it to him, and left without a word. Before opening the file, Mark phoned his parents and left a message on their answering machine that he was coming home for the weekend and he’d hook up with them at Joe’s Diner after the theater performance.

  He found himself humming as he completed the missing portion of Darren’s calculations. After the weekend, he could face the rest of the files refreshed and ready, Darren would be back, and two students, eager to learn, would be waiting to perform.

  Instead of picking up the next folder, and despite it not quite being the official end of the workday, Mark packed up his desk and shut down his computer.

  He pushed his chair in with a flourish and left the building with a smile on his face.

  He was going home.

  If only he could remember someone named Chantelle.

  Two

  Chantelle ran into the passenger pickup area just as the information board changed the status of Flight 736 from “in flight” to “arrived.”

  Before this afternoon, she’d never heard of Mark Daniels. She certainly didn’t know what he looked like.

  She didn’t know what he was wearing, but Uncle Joe had given her a quick list of things to look for. Mark Daniels would be thin, fairly tall, with average brown hair. Uncle Joe couldn’t remember Mark’s eye color, but he thought they were brown. Mark was “a few” years older than Chantelle, but he didn’t know how many. Mark also wore glasses as a child, but Uncle Joe couldn’t remember Mark wearing them the last time they saw each other, so Uncle Joe concluded that Mark now wore contacts.

  The only thing Uncle Joe was really positive about, which he had said with a wink and a nudge, was that Mark was fairly handsome. That one she didn’t even want to consider. The last thing she needed was her uncle’s matchmaking.

  After all was said and done, the only thing she really knew about Mark was that he was traveling alone and had brown hair.

  In desperation, despite her fears of appearing foolish, Chantelle frantically dug through her purse and pulled out the first piece of paper she could find. As the passengers began to approach the crowd of waiting people, she scribbled the name Mark on the back of the envelope for her phone bill and held it up for every lone man with any shade of brown hair, glasses or not.

  Many of them smiled at her until they saw her sign with another man’s name on it.

  One particularly handsome man wasn’t swayed by the name on the envelope but winked as he passed. Chantelle was ready to throw the sign in the air and run away screaming. Just then, one “fairly handsome” brown-haired man without glasses and carrying a laptop computer case slowed so suddenly that the people behind him nearly bumped into him. He shuffled off to the side and stopped beside her.

  He scanned her from head to toe, then one brown eyebrow rose. “Chantelle?”

  “Mark Daniels?”

  He smiled tightly and let out a nervous sigh. “Yes. I had no idea how I was going to recognize you. The sign was a good idea, although it’s a little small.” He paused while he eyed her up and down. “Now I kno
w for sure that we really haven’t met before.”

  Chantelle looked up at Mark as they moved away from the passing crowd. He was indeed tall, about six feet in height. His slightly shaggy hair was very average brown, as were his eyes, contrasting in every way with her own blond hair and blue eyes and her height of five-foot-three, in shoes. She pegged him to be in his early thirties, just as her uncle had said he would be. “You’re not too skinny,” Chantelle muttered.

  “Pardon me?”

  She could feel the heat of her blush in her cheeks. “Nothing. Uncle Joe told me approximately what you looked like. I was just comparing the list.”

  “At least you had a list. The only thing I knew about you was your first name.” He looked pointedly down at her. She wondered if the top of her head could touch the bottom of his chin. Again, one eyebrow rose. “Should I know you?”

  Chantelle shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Uncle Joe said you moved away not long after high school graduation, but we could have gone to school at the same time. We’re supposedly only a few years apart in age. I’m twenty-nine, and I went to Central. How old are you?”

  “I’m thirty-two. I went to Central, too. If you were a freshman when I was a senior, we probably wouldn’t have noticed each other in such a big school. But I did get the school’s math award and a scholarship. My picture is in the front hallway, along with all the other students who ever won anything in all the years of the school’s existence. Although, at the time, I had a pair of real geeky glasses. After high school, I went to college and worked in the kitchen at the diner for four years while I got my CPA, so you could have seen me then, although I don’t remember you. I moved away to complete my full MBA and ended up getting a good job, so I never moved back to Aidleyville.”

  Chantelle narrowed her eyes to study him. She’d never been good at school and had graduated only by the mercy of her teachers. Mathematics was the only subject in which she hadn’t required a tutor. Still, even having gone to the same high school, she didn’t recognize him. She hadn’t exactly hung out with the brainy kids, and she never looked at the school’s award winners.

  He jerked his head to the right. “Let’s go get my suitcase and get out of here. I don’t know if a two-hour time difference and a two-and-a-half-hour flight is enough to bring about jet lag, but I’m definitely feeling something.”

  Chantelle blinked at his abrupt change of subject. “I was told to bring you back to the restaurant right away. Since it’s Friday night and the weather is so warm, there are still lots of people having a late dinner. They’re shorthanded without me.”

  He nodded and walked toward the baggage claim area so fast that Chantelle had to struggle to keep up with him. They squeezed into the crowd surrounding the luggage carousel, forcing them to stand so close they rubbed arms. Together they watched the first piece of luggage poke through the opening and slide down the chute.

  “My suitcase is black with a strip of duct tape on the side.”

  Chantelle turned toward him, even though all his concentration was on the opening for the chute. “I can carry your laptop if that would make it easier to grab your suitcase when it comes by.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  He turned to surrender the black canvas case. As he did, Chantelle once again searched his face to see if she might recognize something familiar about him or imagine what he might have looked like in high school.

  The second they made eye contact, Chantelle’s breath caught. Glasses or not, if she’d ever met him before, she would have recognized him instantly. Not that he was movie-star handsome, but he wasn’t bad, despite the dark circles under his eyes.

  High cheekbones and a very straight nose matched a decisive jawline and a strong mouth. Without knowing him, one look would tell anyone in the vicinity that he meant what he said, and no one in their right mind would question him. Of course, his height helped that persona.

  His commanding appearance aside, the thing that struck her the most was his eyes. Mark’s brown eyes were the exact same shade as his hair, something she found strangely fascinating. He had a no-nonsense attitude and disposition; yet once she looked closely, the start of crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes changed his whole demeanor to one of kindness and a good heart, for anyone who dared to make direct eye contact—which she did. The contrast between his eyes and the rest of him intrigued her, making her want to know more about him.

  The laptop no longer in his hands, Mark once again turned to the baggage chute. “Have you heard anything about my uncle? Last I heard he was doing well after surgery, but no one told me what kind of surgery.”

  “He had to have pins put in one leg, and he’s got some internal injuries. But I heard he’s doing okay. Considering.”

  Mark nodded, still not once letting his attention to the baggage chute lapse. “You said you’re working for the diner. Years ago when I worked there, everyone was either a relative of mine or Joe’s or went to their church.”

  Chantelle nodded. “Nothing has changed. When he’s shorthanded at the restaurant, Uncle Joe always manages to find someone from one family or the other. This time, that person was me.”

  “So you haven’t been working for your uncle very long, then?”

  Chantelle shook her head. While Mark continued to watch the suitcases come through the opening, she continued to watch him. “Counting today, two days.”

  “There’s my suitcase.” They waited in silence until the bag dropped down and made its way round to them. Mark reached over and pulled it from the carousel in one fluid motion, then stepped back. “This is all I have. We can go now.”

  Chantelle hurried him as fast as she could through the building. To her relief, her car was exactly as she had left it, in the ten-minute parking section—slightly crooked, but still where it was supposed to be, even though she’d been longer than ten minutes.

  “I was really surprised when Joe called me. Things must be pretty bad.”

  “They are. Uncle Joe doesn’t like the computer much. He especially didn’t have anything nice to say when he took it to the shop and they told him it was hopeless. I know he could learn, but he’s afraid to do anything but the basic daily deposit and a little bit of E-mail. He asked me if I could do anything with the paperwork. I could probably enter most of it once I figured out what I was doing, but I wouldn’t be able to do anything more than basic data entry. That’s why he called you.”

  “Well, he’s got me, at least for most of the weekend. Do you know if Uncle Jack is allowed visitors beyond immediate family yet? I’d sure like to see him.”

  “I don’t know. They allowed Uncle Joe to see him, but only once and for only five minutes. I think they didn’t want to worry you. He’s still listed as serious.”

  Mark’s face turned to stone. He said nothing on the short trip back to the restaurant, and Chantelle didn’t push it. As much as she wanted to tell him everything would be all right, she didn’t know for sure, so she left him alone with his thoughts.

  ❧

  Chantelle led Mark through the front door of Joe’s Diner, where Uncle Joe was busy as usual, seating customers and working the cash register. As soon as he saw Mark, laptop in hand, Uncle Joe stepped out from behind the counter. He grasped Mark’s free hand in a firm handshake and rested his other hand on Mark’s opposite shoulder.

  “Thanks for coming. You have no idea how much this means to me. It’s great to see you after all these years. You’re looking good. A little thin, but good.”

  For the first time since she’d met him, Mark really smiled. It was a beautiful smile, and the little crow’s feet crinkled at the corners of his eyes.

  Mark pointedly looked down to her uncle’s waistline, or lack thereof. “And you still have a little too much around the middle.”

  To see if she could make him smile again, Chantelle started to extend her arm to pat her uncle’s rounded tummy. As she did so, Kevin called out from the kitchen. “Chantelle, you’re back! Three-oh and thre
e-one!”

  She drew her hand back. “Excuse me. He’s calling that my orders are up for a couple of my tables. I’ll leave you two alone.”

  As she walked away, she heard Mark speak to her uncle with a lowered voice. “I don’t remember it being so busy in here at this hour on a Friday night.”

  “I’ve never seen it like this before. Five minutes after Chantelle left, an entire softball team came in, and every one of them ordered a meal. Ten minutes before you came in, another group of about twenty people came in.” His voice lowered even more. “I think they all know Chantelle. She’s been really great for business, and it’s only been two days.”

  Chantelle collected a tray of dinners and proceeded to deliver them to the first large group, which was a mixed softball team she belonged to a couple of years ago. When she wanted to quit, they’d all tried to convince her to stay. How-ever, after a few incidents with the bat, combined with her total inability to aim the ball properly, she decided to quit before she hurt someone other than herself. Her short membership cured her desire to participate in organized sports, but she often went to the games to cheer her friends on from the safety of the bleachers.

  Her path to deliver their orders took her close enough to the reception area to hear Mark and her uncle’s continuing conversation.

  Mark didn’t see her as he spoke. “If she’s serving, how come she’s not wearing a uniform?”

  Uncle Joe lowered his head to respond, but Chantelle heard him anyway. “Both uniforms that fit her are in the laundry. At lunch time she spilled coffee down the front of herself, and then she had a slight accident with a couple of children who shouldn’t have been running down the aisle.”

  Chantelle gritted her teeth. Her first day in the kitchen, those things had been her fault. After her little accident with the sugar, it was no surprise when Uncle Joe moved her out of the kitchen and into serving so quickly. She’d been totally devoid of experience. Timing the orders so that every item on the plate was ready at the same time was nearly impossible. Organizing all the orders for the same group to be delivered together was even worse. Knowing now what she didn’t know then, she couldn’t imagine keeping it up all day long, day after day.