Puzzling Ink

by Becky Clark

Quinn took it as a dismissal and backed away. Jerk. She knew that crossword enthusiasts prided themselves on their ability to do puzzles in ink without making mistakes that needed to be erased. But most of them weren’t so snippy about it.

  The après-parade crowd picked up and Quinn bustled around taking orders, delivering some Adam and Eves on rafts (two poached eggs on toast), Murphys in the alley (hash browns on the side), and several stacks of Vermonts (pancakes). The only phrase Jake threw at her that she didn’t know was a “shingle with a shimmy and a shake”—buttered toast with jam. He didn’t use the lingo on a regular basis, but thought all employees should know some diner history if they were going to work in one. Even though it didn’t go well with previous employees, he continued the practice with Quinn.

  “I get the shingle part, but where did the other part come from?” she asked.

  “No idea,” Jake said. “You’re catching on fast, though.”

  It was silly, but Quinn felt the thrill of accomplishment, like she was becoming bilingual. Arcane diner lingo wasn’t a Romance language, but it was something. She was certainly more fluent in it than the Spanish she took for two years in high school.

  After the rush ended, Jake made them two dots and a dash (two fried eggs with a strip of bacon) along with a board (toast) slathered in cow paste (butter), which they ate at the huge booth in the corner. They both stretched out their legs on the vinyl benches.

  “Cow paste sounds like something my mom would make.” Quinn told Jake about the cupcakes this morning.

  “That sounds awful. She’s such a sweet lady. I hope she never invites me to dinner.”

  “She is very sweet. Luckily, she told me when I was a kid that it didn’t hurt her feelings when I didn’t like what she made. She told me not to complain, though, when I didn’t get any of her beef Stroganoff or candied eggs.”

  “What’s wrong with beef Stroganoff?”

  “It almost always has marinara in it.” Quinn wrinkled her nose.

  “Ha! I take it you can cook better?”

  “Not to brag, but I’ve never put marshmallow fluff in a main dish.”

  “Good to know, because I’m going to need you to do some cooking around here every so often. Starting today.”

  Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why can’t Chris do it?”

  “Because Chris only works weekends.” Jake gave a vague wave of his hand. “Don’t worry. It’ll just be a limited menu: burgers, fries, BLTs, breakfast stuff. Nothing you can’t handle. Nobody will be in anyway, off having their own barbecues. The only reason they’d come in here for dinner is if they burned their burgers and they were starving.”

  “So if I only half-burn them, they’ll be happy?”

  Jake grinned. “Unless you think I should hire your mom.”

  “That would be hilariously bad for business.” Quinn began gathering their dishes. “Can you imagine what the Retireds would do?”

  “She’d charm them so much they’d never complain again.”

  “Probably.”

  Jake went to his office while Quinn loaded all the breakfast plates, silverware, and mugs into the dishwasher racks, where she rinsed them with the power hose. The power hose earned her respect the time she used it on a cutting board after Jake had chopped habaneros. When that hot spray hit it, she’d created a toxic cloud that made her choke for twenty minutes. She shoved the trays through the dishwasher, checking it was filled with plenty of soap, disinfectant, and rinse aid. She waited a couple of minutes for it to finish, then stood back from the steam when she opened the door.

  Quinn heard the door chime and went to the front to see Rico, who had come in for his daily lunch. He usually tried to come at the end of the lunch rush so Quinn could sit with him for a bit. She brought him a glass of ice water. “Need a menu?”

  “Nope. Got my taste buds set for a burger with mushrooms and Swiss cheese.”

  “Well, unset those buds,” Jake said from across the diner. “Mushrooms are gross. They’ll be in my kitchen over my dead body. And I’m out of Swiss.”

  “Bacon burger with cheddar?” Quinn asked.

  “I don’t know.” Rico raised his voice toward Jake. “Got any philosophical problems with bacon or cheddar, Jake?”

  “Nah, you’re good.” Jake returned to the kitchen.

  “You heard the man,” Rico said to Quinn.

  “Coming right up.”

  “Oh, and Quinn? Care to go on a date with me?”

  Without missing a beat, she said, “I wish you’d come up with some new material.”

  “I wish you’d say yes.”

  Quinn pivoted. “Rico, it’s a terrible idea, us dating. We’ve been friends forever and you know darn well it’ll ruin our friendship. It always does.”

  “How can it, if we haven’t gone out yet?”

  “You know what I mean. Besides, neither one of us has a very good track record with relationships.”

  “What about Bella?”

  “Your dog? That doesn’t count. And, as I recall, you had to keep the gate locked so she wouldn’t escape.”

  “Quinn, you’re right. We’ve been friends our whole lives, but isn’t that what they say—marry your best friend?”

  “So now we’re getting married? And you never even gave me a ring?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Quinn said. “Jake says all the time that he and his ex-wife had been best friends.”

  “He told me they only had lust in common. You and I are nothing like them. Jake and Loma were from opposite sides of the tracks, different races, different upbringings. You and I could be the two crusts on a loaf of Wonder Bread.”

  “Your slice is a bit more toasted than mine, Mr. Federico Lopez.” Quinn held her pale arm against his darker one.

  “True. I am a delightful shade of whole wheat.”

  “Delightful.”

  “Seriously, Quinn. We’re nothing like Jake and Loma. We’re…us. Give us a chance.”

  Quinn had to admit—but only to herself—that she was the teensiest bit curious about what it would be like to kiss Rico, now that she was back in Chestnut Station. Neither of them had shown the least bit of romantic interest in the other until Rico brought it up after she moved back to town. But there was nothing to gain from dating Rico and everything to lose. He was right that their relationship was completely unlike Jake and Loma’s. But still, if it was true that Jake and his ex-wife had been best friends and now everything she’d heard Jake say made it sound like they were mortal enemies, then she didn’t want anything to do with it.

  “No, Rico. I’m not going on a date with you.” Quinn turned back to the kitchen.

  “I’ll keep asking.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “It’s part of my charm.”

  “Less sure of that.”

  Quinn put in Rico’s order. Jake asked, “How come you never go out with him?”

  “Oh, please. Rico and I have been friends for a million years. It would not end well.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do say so.” Not that it’s any of your beeswax, she added silently. Quinn returned to the dining room, wondering why Jake cared. Jeez, I hope he doesn’t hit on me. I need this job. It was quite literally the only one in town.

  After a bit, Jake brought out Rico’s lunch. Quinn jumped up, expecting to be reprimanded for not hearing the order bell. Jake waved her back into her seat. “It’s not busy. Take a load off.” Jake set Rico’s burger and fries in front of him. As he pulled out a chair and sat with them, he said to Rico, “Hey, guess who I saw the other day?”

  “Who?”

  “Your favorite waitress—”

  “Rita?”

  “I thought I was your favorite waitress.” Quinn pulled her lips into a fake pout.

  “One o
f my favorite waitresses got a better job at an insurance company in Denver, and Jake replaced her with another one—not my favorite—who married a rich guy and moved to Aspen. I was happy to see the backside of her.”

  “Kinky.” Jake smirked.

  “You know what I mean.” Blushing, Rico popped a fry in his mouth.

  “Well, Rita says hi.”

  Rico took a bite of his burger. As he chewed, his eyes drew together. He removed the top bun and stared at his burger. “You weren’t kidding. I really wanted mushrooms and Swiss.”

  A look of disgust crossed Jake’s face. “Mushrooms will never darken my doorway, my friend.”

  “Not a fan of the ’shroom, eh? Makes me wonder what other dark secrets you’re hiding.” Rico replaced the bun on his burger. Halfway to his mouth he stopped. “Jake, remember that cook of yours who joined the Navy?”

  “Years of therapy couldn’t pry him out of my mind. Why?”

  “You reminded me of him. He refused to make me a chili dog once.” Rico changed his voice to sound like Jack Nicholson in Five Easy Pieces. “You can have chili. You can have dog. But you can’t have a chili dog while I’m cooking.” He returned to his normal voice. “You’ve had a lot of disgruntled employees come through here.” Rico took a big bite of his sandwich.

  “Not all of them were disgruntled. Some were perfectly gruntled when I fired them.” The phone in Jake’s office rang and he went to answer it.

  The other table of diners stood to pay their bill. Quinn met them at the register. The credit card reader flashed irritated yellow numbers across the display and wouldn’t accept their card. They pooled their money and scraped enough together to cover the bill and a bare-bones tip. After Quinn’s short tussle with the cash drawer, they left in a huff, muttering about small towns.

  “Tourists,” Rico said. “Pfft.”

  She filled glasses of lemonade for herself and Rico, then sat back down.

  Rico finished his lunch and pushed his plate away. They sipped their lemonade alone in the dining room.

  Quinn’s eyes drifted to the Help Wanted sign that still hung in the front window. She’d hoped Jake would have taken it down by now. “Why does Jake have so many employees come through here?”

  “I don’t think you need to be concerned about your job, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’d serve me a chili dog, right?” When she didn’t smile he said, “That Help Wanted sign is a permanent fixture around here. It’s true Jake has had a revolving door of bad employees, but you’re not one of them.” Rico reconsidered. “Not bad employees. Just ones who couldn’t deal with Jake’s … way of doing things. Like learning what he wants and how to do stuff, even when he doesn’t quite know himself.”

  Quinn pursed her lips. That was certainly challenging. He had told her two contradictory ways to deal with the dishwasher and then got mad when she tried to clarify. She’d figured it out the next day while he was at the bank.

  “And some employees didn’t take to the lingo lessons very well,” Rico added.

  “That’s what I love the best!” Quinn shook her head. “Some people…” She trailed off with a glance at the Help Wanted sign.

  * * * *

  Later that afternoon Jake hauled a huge tray into the front of the restaurant and set it down on the counter by the register where they kept the desserts. “Replace the pies with these beauties.”

  Quinn walked over and peered at the tray. “Wow. Those are stunning.” She inspected the fancy strawberries dipped in white chocolate, swirled delicately and precisely into a facsimile of the bodice of a beaded wedding dress. Each berry was embellished with a different design. Perfect shimmering dots of white chocolate and pearl-colored nonpareils made up a unique necklace for each dress. The only common element was a dark chocolate dagger sticking into the bosom of each. “What is all this? What’s it for?”

  “Today was my last alimony payment to Loma.” He gestured at the strawberry confections. “Give one free to anyone who wants one.”

  “Your ex-wife is getting remarried?” Quinn hadn’t met Loma, but had heard plenty about her.

  “No, this was contractual. We put this date in. She probably only agreed because she thought she’d be married long before this.” When Jake saw Quinn’s eyebrows lift, he shrugged. “Loma and I used to do everything together. Until she lost her mind.”

  “Literally?” Quinn sampled one of the strawberries. A little moan of pleasure escaped her lips and she blushed.

  “No. But she did her level best to make me lose mine. Literally. She was like a human Ebola virus, planting herself in my spleen until I was able to shake her loose.”

  “That’s dark. And not how Ebola works.” Quinn retrieved an empty tray and set about removing the day’s individual slices of pie from the three-tiered glass display. “I thought your trash talk was just a joke. You guys aren’t friends at all?”

  “Define friends. If it’s someone who’s always bringing up every little transgression from your past, then absolutely we’re friends.”

  A customer sauntered up next to Quinn as she arranged the fancy chocolates. He pointed at a slice of rhubarb pie. “Hey! I wanted one of those.”

  “Have one of these instead. They’re on the house.”

  He studied the strawberries and gingerly reached out to touch the tip of the chocolate dagger. “Nah. I’ll stick to rhubarb. Less stabby.”

  A solidly-built black woman with curves galore yanked open the door and cut left, making a beeline for the fancy chocolate-dipped strawberries. She stared at them while she continuously snapped a rubber band encircling her wrist.

  Quinn assumed her to be in her early forties like Jake, but with her tight, stylish clothes and hair, she could pass for a decade younger.

  Loma spoke loudly. “Hey, Jake! I heard a rumor you made fancy desserts to celebrate our beautiful divorce. You know a big girl can’t resist those. Make yourself useful and bring me a plate. I’ll just sit in the corner and eat them quietly.”

  Quinn wondered how she had heard a rumor if the strawberries only came out of the kitchen a few minutes ago.

  Jake hurried from the kitchen carrying a bowl overflowing with plump blackberries, round blueberries, and the most perfect raspberries Quinn had ever seen. He stepped between the woman and the strawberries. “Loma, you’ve never done anything quietly in your life.”

  “Whose fault is that?” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

  “Don’t be gross. People are trying to eat.”

  “Nothing gross about physical declarations of love between a man and his hotter-than-hot wife.” Loma selected one of the strawberries, sucked slowly and pointedly on the chocolate dagger, then delicately bit it off with her front teeth.

  “Ex-wife.” Jake held the bowl of mixed berries in front of him like a shield. “I’ve never known another soul who liked to hear the sound of their voice as much as you do. You could talk the skin off an entire kielbasa.”

  She curtsied, then bit into the fancy strawberry. Shards of chocolate coating rained down upon the floor. “The Fourth of July seems very appropriate to put the final exclamation point on our marriage, what with the fireworks show scheduled tonight.”

  Jake handed Loma the berries and used the towel over his shoulder to clean the floor. “Why are you here, anyway?”

  “You know you have a magnetic pull on me.” Loma placed the bowl of berries on the nearest table. When Jake rolled his eyes she said, “Plus, I have a consultation for an interior design job.”

  “In Chestnut Station?” It was obvious to Quinn by his voice and narrowed eyes that Jake didn’t believe her.

  “Out at the old Maynard place. Some crazy rich Texans bought it and are redoing it with the help of little ole Loma.” She picked up a napkin and piled four strawberries on it. She waved at Quinn, leaning against the counter. “Hey, doll—can you get me a to-g
o container? That’d be awesome.”

  Quinn brought a small Styrofoam clamshell to Loma, but before she could hand it to her, Jake plucked it out of her hands.

  “You never loved me,” Loma said, snapping her rubber band.

  “You wouldn’t know love if it showed up in your fridge, ready for dinner.”

  “It goes Love is patient, love is kind, not Love is bossy, love is overcritical.” Loma reached for the clamshell, but Jake held it above her head out of reach.

  Loma narrowed her eyes at Jake as she passed him, but then took one step backward and planted a deep kiss on his lips.

  “You’ll be sorry,” she said to him before stalking out the door.

  Chapter 3

  Before Jake left for the afternoon, he’d given Quinn some last-minute instructions about her cooking duties. “There’s a pot roast in the slow cooker. It’ll be ready before dinnertime. Make it the special. Add some lumpy mashed potatoes and undercooked green beans and nobody will know I’m gone. I also left some redeye gravy simmering. All you need to do is slice a biscuit and pour it on.”

  “Biscuits and gravy? Not burgers and fries tonight?”

  “Oh, you might cook up a couple of burgers, but the drunks will be in for biscuits and gravy after the festival. It’s a Chestnut Station tradition.” Jake smiled.

  Quinn didn’t.

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Business as usual and probably a lot less of it. You got this.”

  Quinn took a deep breath. “I hope so.”

  After he left, she took a minute to make sure the salt and pepper shakers were full and the individual packets of jelly evenly filled each container on the tables.

  Late in the afternoon, the crowd picked up. Quinn bustled around, making sure everyone knew she was handling the diner alone. Subconsciously she wanted word to get back to Jake that she did a great job under trying circumstances, but she didn’t want to tell him so herself. It was always better when other people tooted your horn. Maybe then he’d get rid of that Help Wanted sign.

  She lowered a ridiculous number of batches of French fries into the hot oil and when she thought she had enough for the rest of her shift, stuck them in the oven to keep warm. She made a BLT with a side of coleslaw for Mrs. Chavez at table three and delivered it.