Joe's Diner

by Gail Sattler

  Something in her stomach fluttered. Words failed her.

  Instead of releasing her hand, he lowered both their hands and linked his fingers into hers. “Let’s go.”

  They walked to the car hand in hand, in complete silence. Mark didn’t say a word until they reached Uncle Joe and Aunt Ellen’s home, and that was only a reminder for her to lock the car door.

  Uncle Joe looked better than he had in the hospital, but he still didn’t look great. His cheeks were drawn, and he looked very tired. A few times, she could see that when Uncle Joe moved the wrong way, it irritated his broken rib. Every time it happened, his pain echoed in Mark’s face.

  After dinner, Chantelle offered to help with the dishes, but Aunt Ellen wouldn’t hear of it. She hustled everyone out of the kitchen and told all three of them to stay in the living room.

  Of course, Uncle Joe sat in his favorite recliner. Chantelle sat in her usual spot at the end of the couch next to the fireplace. Instead of sitting at the other end of the couch, Mark sat down next to her. He immediately told Uncle Joe about his new system for keeping track of the stock through each order at the cash register. Mark beamed when Uncle Joe admitted that computers might be good for something, after all.

  But then, Uncle Joe began to ask more direct questions about the day-to-day operations, where the troubles really were. Unlike the last time, Chantelle could no longer distract him with stories of the funny things that happened. This time, he was asking specific questions about specific things, and she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want Uncle Joe to worry that things weren’t going as well as they should have been, but she couldn’t lie.

  When Uncle Joe pointedly asked about what shift she had chosen, she knew she was caught. She had just opened her mouth, about to admit that both she and Mark had been working from opening until closing all week when Mark’s hand covered hers.

  Words failed her.

  Mark gave her hand a little squeeze. “We still haven’t figured out permanent shifts. Until now, things have been a little hectic, with only one car between us. But tomorrow, Chantelle’s going to help me get a leased car. We might even go shopping. Right, Chantelle?” He lifted her hand to his face and nudged his lips across her knuckles. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest at his touch. She’d never known him to be so bold, but she found herself enjoying this unexpected interchange.

  “Yes,” she choked out, hoping she sounded at least half-normal.

  Uncle Joe’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Chantelle wondered if the shock of what Mark had done might have been too much for him. Her own heart was racing in double time.

  “You’re looking a little tired, and we don’t want to bore you with all the little things that go on at the diner. I think we should go. Don’t you think so, Chantelle?”

  Mark stood, not letting go of her hand, forcing her to either stand as well or cause a scene in front of Uncle Joe.

  Chantelle stood. “Yes. Of course,” she muttered, still bewildered as to what had come over Mark.

  Uncle Joe called Aunt Ellen, and they both saw Mark and Chantelle to the door. Mark didn’t release her hand until they were beside the car, and she had to let go to get her keys out of her purse.

  Her hands shook as she handed Mark her keys. “I think you’d better drive.”

  She didn’t realize her mistake until it was too late. Instead of simply accepting the keys, he encompassed both the keys and her hand within his. “They’re both watching through the blinds. Kiss me.”

  “What? Why?”

  Instead of answering, he bent his head and brushed a soft kiss to her lips at the same time as he pulled the keys out of her limp fingers.

  He stepped back and opened the door for her. “I think maybe you should quit standing there and get in the car.”

  She got in the car only because she didn’t want her aunt and uncle to keep staring.

  As soon as they were away from the house, Chantelle turned to Mark. “W–why did you do that?”

  He grinned. “It stopped him from asking more questions than we were prepared to answer, didn’t it?”

  “Not that. I meant outside.”

  “Because with both of them watching, I knew I was safe. And now that I’m driving your car, I’m still safe.”

  Chantelle felt her mouth drop open as she stared at him.

  “Chantelle, this will give him something else to think about besides worrying about the diner.”

  “Couldn’t you think of something else?”

  “Nope. And I didn’t see you coming up with any bright ideas.”

  Not another word was spoken until they arrived at Mark’s parents’ house. She had expected him to say something about the path of destruction she’d carved at the diner on Saturday night or any of the other times she’d broken something during the week, but he didn’t. Earlier Brittany had told her it was generally accepted in the restaurant business that every day someone would break something. Still, the bottom line was that Chantelle had the highest percentage of breakage of all the staff.

  They both exited the car at the same time. Chantelle walked around to get into the driver’s door, but Mark didn’t walk to the house. He stood beside the car, waiting for her. Since they hadn’t just had an exhausting day at the diner, she doubted that they would separate with what seemed to have become a routine of a daily hug. She cringed inwardly, waiting for him to say what she knew he had to.

  She purposely stayed a few feet away. “Was there something you wanted to say to me?”

  His brows knotted. “You don’t really have to help me lease a car, but if you want to go shopping with me, that might be fun, although I don’t know about leaving the diner short staffed.”

  “Not that. All day long I’ve had the feeling that you wanted to say something to me.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “You did?”

  “Yes. Yet, after we finished lunch, all we did was lie in the grass for an hour and look up at the sky. What were you thinking about?”

  He grinned. “I was thinking of a way that I could kiss you. Maybe God does answer prayers.”

  Before Chantelle could think of an appropriate response, Mark turned and disappeared inside the house.

  ❧

  “Thanks, and come again,” Chantelle said as yet another family of satisfied customers left Joe’s Diner.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Chantelle allowed herself the yawn she’d been fighting.

  This week, as promised, Mark had spent more time in the kitchen than the office. He’d said the new system would shorten their hours, and it had. Instead of working from opening until closing, she had put in “only” twelve hours every day. Except, because everything wasn’t so new and exciting, what was now becoming routine was wearing her down faster.

  She couldn’t remember ever being so tired in her life. The only good thing was that she didn’t have to wait until closing. She could now go home after the supper rush was over, leaving Mark to watch things during the evenings, do the cleanup, and lock up, since he now had his leased car.

  The only cheerful note was that tomorrow was Sunday. Even though she still had to get up for church, since she didn’t have to get up with the birds to open the diner, she considered it sleeping in.

  When the number of patrons dropped to the agreed number, Chantelle walked to the back to tell Mark she was leaving.

  Instead of the kitchen, she found him in the office, working hard at the computer.

  Chantelle stood in the doorway, leaned her shoulder into the doorframe, crossed one ankle over the other, and crossed her arms. “I thought this week we were going to be able to work eight-hour shifts, but that hasn’t happened. Uncle Joe said no overtime.”

  He nodded as he clicked the mouse and waited for his transaction to complete. “Technically, we’re not doing overtime. I put us both on salary rather than hourly, so no matter how many hours we work, we’ll get the same wage. In other words, we never get overtime, at least not paid overti
me. Ideally, that’s also supposed to work the same if we put in less than eight hours a day or even take a day off, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”

  “No kidding. We really need another person.”

  Mark nodded as he entered more data. “I know. But reality dictates that since we have to pay ourselves, Joe’s Diner can’t afford it. The bottom line is to turn a profit, and it’s on the edge now. That’s another reason I put us on salary, to make our incomes fixed. I don’t know how they did it, but I suspect Uncle Jack and Joe have been putting in an awful lot of extra hours over the years. They’re also making a significant amount more than we are. But they’re investors, too.”

  “I would never have thought this is what it takes to own and operate a business. I’ve always thought that people who owned their own business took lots of time off and went on exotic vacations.”

  Mark exited his program and pushed the mouse into the center of the mouse pad. “I know a boss who does just that. Sean. He made me do all his work; like a sap, I fell for it, suckered in by promises of future promotion and partnerships. I’ve worked hard with long hours like this for years. Only now, it’s personal. It’s easier to take because this time it’s my own decision.”

  “I know what you mean. This is hard, but I don’t mind doing it because it’s for Uncle Joe. So, now that you’ve got your own car, and your clothes and stuff arrived yesterday, do you want me to pick you up for church tomorrow, or do you want to meet me there?”

  “There’s really no point in me going to church. What’s going to change?”

  “Change? I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve been going to church faithfully all my life. I know I’m not destitute and out on the streets, but really, where am I in life? For the last few years it seems like all I’ve done is work, and I’m no further ahead than when I started, no matter what I do or how hard I try. On the way here, I prayed for a break, and now I’m working harder and longer than ever.”

  Chantelle couldn’t hold back her gasp. “God doesn’t promise us riches or success. He promises something better. Something lasting. Because you’re a believer, He’s given you the gift of salvation, which lasts for all eternity. Aren’t you thankful for that?”

  Mark mumbled something under his breath, but she didn’t ask him to repeat himself. She walked into the office to stand beside him, behind the desk.

  “Last weekend you mentioned something else you’ve been talking to God about.”

  His brows knotted, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I did?”

  Chantelle stepped closer, bent over, and rested her fingertips on his shoulder. “You said God answered your prayer because you wanted to kiss me.” Before she thought about the ramifications of what she was doing, Chantelle brushed a quick kiss to Mark’s cheek, then dashed around the desk and back to the safety of the office doorway. “Now not only did you get to kiss me last weekend, I just kissed you back. God really does answer prayers.”

  She spun around and looked at him over her shoulder, barely able to keep from laughing at his stupefied expression. “This time you can pick me up. I’ll see you same time as last Sunday. Have a great evening. I’m going home.”

  Twelve

  Chantelle wasn’t at the front when Mark arrived at the diner, allowing him to slip into the office without having to talk to her.

  Once Chantelle got her mind stuck on something, not only was she like a dog with an old bone, she had taken persistence to new levels. First, he couldn’t believe what she did in order to get him to church. Then, once they were there, she not only stayed awake through the pastor’s boring sermon, but every few minutes she passed him a note commenting on the pastor’s message. Periodically, she questioned him to clarify what the pastor had said.

  Mark wasn’t stupid. He knew she heard and understood everything perfectly. She was only making sure he was paying attention. The way she went about it grated on his nerves, but he refused to act like a child and not pay attention simply to get back at her. Her actions forced him to pay attention, in spite of himself. What annoyed him most of all was that her badgering worked. She knew it, too. He saw it in her self-satisfied attitude when they went to the park for lunch.

  At lunch, he had to admit that he was proud of her. Not only had she packed a small cooler with sandwiches for their lunch, she had brought a blanket in anticipation of sitting on the grass again. She may not have been the most organized person in the world, but she was improving. That took away some of his annoyance at being dragged to church when he would rather have stayed in bed.

  The computer just finished booting up when Chantelle appeared in the doorway.

  “We have a problem. You know how I was saying that we really need another person on staff? It appears we do. Apparently, Uncle Joe gave Esther some time off to move. She phoned about an hour ago, asking about her hours for the week. I didn’t know what to say, so I told her to come in her regular time. She said she always starts at four-thirty, for the supper rush, until closing.”

  Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “How many days a week does she usually work?”

  “She’s full-time, Tuesday through Saturday, late shift.”

  He stared at his computer screen without really seeing it. The diner was at the limit of what they could afford in salaries. He could have Esther on staff for a few weeks, but any more than that, all it would take would be a few bad days, and over the course of a month, the diner would be paying out more money than it was taking in. “We really can’t afford another person.”

  “I had a rather long talk with her after I told her what happened to Uncle Joe. She told me a little about herself. Mark, she’s a single mother. She really needs the money. And she really does have a position here.”

  He buried his face in his hands. If Esther really were a regular employee, then the burden wasn’t Esther, but himself and Chantelle. “Then we’ve got to find a way to increase business to offset the additional expense.”

  “You mean some kind of special promo to get more people coming in?”

  “Yes, but effective advertising costs a lot of money, which makes it even harder.”

  “You mean we’ve got to spend money to make money?”

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  They stared at each other in silence, Mark’s mind running a mile a minute. Except for recently, he’d only spent time in the kitchen. He knew nothing about running a restaurant. He knew less about how to promote one. “How come you didn’t know about this extra person and that she was coming back to work this week?”

  Chantelle crossed her arms and scrunched her eyebrows. “When she called, I knew I’d heard the name before, but it didn’t click until she said she was all settled in her new house. Uncle Joe mentioned that he gave her some time off when he phoned me the day of Jack’s accident. That also explains why we’ve been feeling so shorthanded. We are shorthanded.”

  “Great. What a way to find out.”

  “I have to get back to the front. We’re starting the lunch rush, and I’ve left Brittany alone. I’ll come back if I think of something.”

  She walked away without further comment, leaving Mark one more problem to worry about. He called up the database to study their peak periods, hoping to get some ideas before he had to run off and start his scheduled time in the kitchen.

  Just as he finally found the file that showed breakdowns of inventory on a monthly basis for the previous year, Chantelle appeared in the doorway.

  “Could we still make money if we offered ten percent off all our meals? I mean for a limited time period.”

  Mark shrunk the program, called up another one, and punched in a few figures.

  “If we made up for it in volume, yes, I suppose we could.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  She turned and disappeared without elaborating.

  Mark shrugged his shoulders, cleared the data, and called up the past year’s monthly inventory stats again. He then called up t
he current month’s inventory and tried to make a comparison, estimating the last week in the month that made the current month’s data incomplete.

  Chantelle appeared in the doorway again. “What if we had a weekly drawing or something for a free dinner for one family up to four or five people? Could we afford to do that?”

  Mark shrank the two files he had open, recalled the one he had previously opened, and punched in a few numbers.

  “Yes. Again, if the volume increased to warrant the cost.”

  She disappeared again, this time without commenting.

  He killed the file, called up what he had been looking at previously, and tried to remember how far he’d gotten in his estimate for the current month.

  Chantelle appeared in the doorway again.

  “Could we afford to run an ad or two in the local newspaper that comes out twice a week?”

  “I don’t know. It depends what it costs.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of another group of people coming in through the main door. “I’m kind of busy. Can you phone and find out?”

  Mark opened his mouth, but she disappeared before he could say anything.

  “And I’m not busy?” he asked the empty doorway.

  When the doorway didn’t reply, Mark sighed, pulled out the phone book, and made the inquiries.

  When Chantelle appeared again, he had her answers, both as to cost and a cautious estimate that, based on a certain percentage of increased sales, they could run one ad in the weekend paper, then again in the midweek paper.

  “Okay,” she said and disappeared again.

  This time, Mark shrank only the program he used for allocating cost per servings. She’d be back. He knew it.

  He just discovered that they were possibly heading into a seasonal slump when the blond bombshell materialized in the doorway again.

  “How about if we ran an ad for a contest that we could have going for the next month and gave away four free meals, one per week, for a prize? That way we could get the benefit of the paid advertising for the first week and hope for the word-of-mouth advertising for the next three weeks.”