“New?”
“New?” she repeated, not certain what he meant.
“Are you new here?” he asked, his tone infused with annoyance as though his meaning should have been obvious.
“No, well, new to mornings. I usually work in the evenings.”
He nodded in understanding and turned back to his menu.
“Club sandwich. Toasted. Potato wedges. No pickle spear. Large black coffee.”
She repeated the order, then took his menu. When she walked away, she turned to see several people still staring in his direction. She disappeared into the back area with the cooks and her boss, the shift manager, who was now standing there with a clipboard, flipping through some papers and scratching out things with a blue pen.
“Bob…” she called out.
“Hmmm?”
“Do you know who that man is out there? The one that just walked in? Is he famous or something?”
“Why do you ask?”
She found it strange that he didn’t even ask who she was referring to. Obviously, he already knew.
“Because everyone keeps looking at him, and it’s a little strange.”
“Well, that happens when you turn an entire town upside down and single handedly take on the police.” He sucked his teeth, rolled his eyes, then tittered, as if he’d said something clever. “His name is Jack Currant, and he is a loose cannon. He called a private investigator, went to the news, made us all look bad.” Bob slapped the clipboard on the counter, then picked up a different one right beside it to keenly study the papers attached to it. “He’s a quiet storm and he caused an avalanche. I suppose to some extent, it’s understandable seeing as what happened to his kid, but he went too far.”
Just then, the bell chimed, and a couple walked in, arm in arm. She had no idea what Bob was talking about. He kept his head down, looking at the paper the entire time, and he spoke softly, even though he appeared angry about the recollection, almost as if he were afraid that this Jack person would overhear him.
What the hell is going on here? Is everyone scared of him? They seem frightened of this man. I mean, he is intimidating, I guess… I find him more interesting to look at than anything else, though. Yeah, he looks like he could smash this whole restaurant with his bare fists, but that doesn’t mean he’d do it. In New York, we have all kinds of people who look all kinds of ways. I wonder what Bob meant when he said, ‘After what happened to his kid’? I’m curious what that was all about? I need to stop… I’m treating this like a soap opera. Why should I care? I’ve got my own issues to deal with.
She shoved the situation out of her mind, went out to the couple, and took their orders. When she returned, she was met with whispering which immediately ceased once she stepped foot back into the kitchen. Placing her hand on her hip, she sucked her teeth, poured this Jack person a cup of coffee, and brought it out to him.
“Here you go, sir. Black. Just how you ordered it.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Your food should be out soon.”
He sniffed, ran his hand over his reddened nose, and took a sip. Cradling the cup in his hands, he looked up at her. She swallowed when she realized the beaker looked like a doll teacup in his massive hands.
“Do you feel uncomfortable?” He took another sip before placing the hot cup down.
“Huh? Uh, why … why would I feel uncomfortable?” She shrugged, genuinely confused by his inquiry.
“Because everyone is staring at us, and you keep looking around to see who is looking, whispering, and doing what people do…” Before she could reply, he jumped in, talking over her thoughts. “I’m sure Bob filled ya in.” He smirked. Her lips curled, though she tried to relax her mouth, to make her newly acquired knowledge of his situation less obvious. “He’s a spineless wimp.” He shrugged. “The coffee is good. Did you make it?”
“Yes. Are, uh, are you okay?”
She wasn’t even certain why she asked that. It just felt natural, but if his answer was ‘no,’ she wouldn’t know how to respond to that, either.
“I’m as fine as I’m gonna be. I knew you must’ve made the coffee.”
“Why’s that?”
“When Stacey makes it, it’s bitter. Nice girl, but she can’t make a decent pot of coffee to save her life. I was desperate so I ordered it anyway. What a nice surprise.” She looked at his knuckles. The skin was red and raw, as if he’d been digging in the snow with his bare hands for hours.
“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” She smiled.
“New York. You’re from New York.” He gave a light laugh and shook his head as if to say, ‘Oh, God, not one of them Northerners.’ He spread out a newspaper along the table.