“You know how to carry three plates?” he barked across the counter.
“No.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
That was my interview.
Harvey looked intimidating enough to scare most people on sight. Huge guy. Permanent scowl. Voice like gravel scraping concrete.
But underneath all of that, he was one of the kindest men I’d ever met.
If he noticed I skipped meals to save money, he’d shove a burger toward me after closing and growl, “Eat before you pass out and become paperwork.”
Mrs. Holloway came into the diner every Wednesday and Saturday morning at exactly 7:30.
First booth by the window.
Black coffee.
Toast burned slightly darker than normal.
And complaints about almost everything.
The first time I waited on her, she squinted at my nametag.
“Daniel,” she said. “You look exhausted.”
“Long week.”
She snorted. “Try being eighty-four.”
That was basically our friendship beginning.
After that, she always asked for me.
“You ever smile?” she asked one morning.
“Sometimes.”
“I doubt it.”
Another day, she pointed at my hair and said, “You look like you lost a fight with a lawnmower.”
“Nice to see you too.”
“Hm,” she muttered. “At least you sound awake today.”
She was difficult in a strangely entertaining way once you got used to her.
Then one afternoon, everything changed.
I was carrying groceries home after work when she called to me from behind her front gate.
“You live nearby, boy?”
“Few houses over.”
She studied me for a second before saying, “You want to earn some decent money?”
I stopped immediately.
“Doing what?”
She opened the front door and motioned for me to follow her.
Inside, she poured tea strong enough to melt metal and got straight to the point.
“I’m dying,” she announced casually.
I nearly choked.
“Oh, stop reacting like that,” she snapped. “I’m old, not immortal.”
Then she explained.
Her health was failing.
She needed help.
Groceries.
Medication.
Rides.
Repairs.
Company.
“And in return?” I asked carefully.
She watched me closely.
“When I’m gone, everything I own goes to you.”
Honestly, it sounded insane.
But I needed the money.
And maybe deeper down, I wanted someone to choose me for once.
