Chương 2
Helen carried the untouched slice of pie from the counter and set it beside Amelia.
“I can’t,” Amelia said.
“It’s apple.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then we’re making progress.”
The corner of Amelia’s mouth moved, though the cut prevented a smile.
Frank emerged from the office carrying Helen’s time card.
He placed it on the counter.
“You can finish today,” he said. “After that, don’t come back until I call.”
“You just said I was done after lunch.”
“I changed my mind.”
Helen understood the distinction. Being fired could create paperwork. Being taken off the schedule required only silence.
“How long?”
Frank looked at Amelia. “Until I stop losing money because you feel sorry for everyone who walks through the door.”
“I bought one dinner.”
“You’ve been buying one dinner at a time for years.”
“I pay for what I ring in.”
“You ring in what you remember.”
The cruelty in his voice came from familiarity rather than volume. He knew exactly where to press. Helen sometimes forgot orders when the diner grew loud. She wrote everything on narrow pads, but she misplaced them, found them in apron pockets, and occasionally discovered that she had charged table six for table three’s coffee. Frank had covered those errors without telling her how often.
Helen folded the time card once.
Amelia stood too quickly.
The room tilted beneath her. Her hand struck the table, rattling the silverware.
Helen reached for her, but Amelia pulled away on instinct.
“I’ll leave,” Amelia said. “You don’t have to lose your job.”
Frank gave a humorless laugh. “That decision’s a little late.”
Amelia’s face changed. Shame emptied it faster than anger could fill it.
Helen stepped between her and Frank.
“You’re not leaving until you can stand without the floor moving.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re upright. That isn’t the same thing.”
Amelia lowered herself into the booth again. She hated obeying, and the hatred showed in the stiffness of her hands.
Frank returned to the office, closing the door hard enough to shake the framed photograph of the diner from opening day.
Helen cleared the empty plates around Amelia without asking questions. She brought water. She found a clean towel, wrapped ice inside it, and placed it near Amelia’s bruised cheek.
Amelia did not pick it up.
Helen sat across from her.
Up close, Amelia looked younger than twenty-four and older than anyone should. There was dried blood inside the cuff of her sweater. One shoelace had been replaced with white kitchen string. Her fingernails were broken, not from neglect but from force.
“You need a hospital,” Helen said.
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Then my answer doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. I just don’t like it.”
Amelia looked toward the front windows. Outside, afternoon traffic moved along the highway beneath a low winter sky. A delivery truck rolled past without slowing.
“I don’t have insurance.”
“They still have to look at you.”
“And then they send a bill.”
“A bill is better than—”
“No.” Amelia’s voice sharpened. “No police. No hospital. No names written down anywhere.”
Helen let the silence sit between them.
She had known frightened women before. Some spoke too quickly. Some explained everything before anyone asked. Amelia guarded facts the way cold people guarded matches.
“All right,” Helen said. “Not yet.”
Amelia looked suspiciously at her.
“I didn’t say never.”
Frank’s office door opened.
He held the receipt envelope and his car keys.
“I’m taking the ring downtown,” he said.
Helen rose. “You don’t need to do that.”
“You said sell it.”
“I said if you needed money.”
“I need money.”
“You could hold it against my pay.”
“You don’t have any pay coming if you’re off the schedule.”
He crossed the diner.
Helen followed him as far as the register. “Frank.”
He paused with his hand on the door.
For a moment, something moved behind his cold expression. Not kindness. Not quite regret. It looked more like exhaustion discovering that anger had stopped protecting it.
“The propane company wants eight hundred by Friday,” he said quietly. “The supplier cut our credit last month. The bank called twice this morning. You think I like taking that ring?”
“Yes,” Helen said. “Right now, I think you do.”
His jaw shifted.
He pushed through the door. The bell above it gave one bright, foolish chime.
Amelia watched his car pull away.
“You should have lied,” she said.
“To him?”
“To me. You should’ve said it was cheap.”
“It wasn’t.”
Amelia stared at the table where the ring had been.
“I’ll pay you back.”
Helen gathered the salt and pepper shakers and aligned them without looking at her. “That would make it a loan.”
“It is a loan.”
“No. It was dinner.”
“I don’t take things from people.”
“You took the pie.”
“I didn’t eat it.”
“That explains why it’s still there.”
Amelia looked down, and despite herself, she gave a small, painful breath that almost became a laugh.
Helen stood. “Finish the pie. Then we’ll figure out where you’re sleeping.”
“I’m not staying with you.”
“I didn’t invite you.”
Amelia’s expression hardened.
Helen lifted both hands. “My apartment has one bedroom, a leaking bathroom sink, and a neighbor who watches game shows loud enough to answer the questions through the wall. I’m not pretending it’s a rescue mission.”
“Then why are you helping?”
Helen rubbed the pale band around her finger.
“Because nobody helped me soon enough once.”
She did not explain.
That answer, incomplete as it was, persuaded Amelia more than a speech would have.
Frank returned forty minutes later without the envelope.
He avoided Helen’s eyes. At the register, he counted out bills and put them beneath the till. His hands moved with unnecessary precision.
“How much?” Helen asked.
May you like
“One hundred sixty.”
Her wedding ring had cost less when her husband bought it. They had chosen it at a jewelry counter inside a department store, and he had been embarrassed that the band was so small. She had told him narrow suited her hand. For years she had polished it with toothpaste because they could not afford anything made for gold.
