Part Four: Silence

Dolores had worked at Cup and Sup for a long time; she’d seen waitresses come and go, short order cooks give up, owners toss the baton and served every type of customer imaginable. She was old school; she knew how to do her job and do it well, and she left all of her personal issues at the door. Anything outside of the diner didn’t matter when she was enclosed in those walls, and nothing inside traveled home with her. She was always on time, always personable, always, always, always whoever someone needed her to be. You needed an ear to listen to your pregnancy concerns? Dolores was a doula. Having car trouble? Dolores was a mechanic who knew a guy who knew guy that could tow you in under five minutes. Nervous about the future? Dolores was a psychic, and honey, everything was going to be just fine. Wearing all these hats, changing characters with every glance over her shoulder, would’ve exhausted most people; for her, it made the adrenaline flow through her veins. The moment she crossed the threshold, she was seventeen again; the aches and pains of her sixty year old body remained outside with yesterday’s French fries.

Of course, no job is perfect, and Cup and Sup could be no different. There was always one dark cloud, hovering in a corner three times a day, forty five minutes (exactly) at a time: Dave. When he first started coming in, Dolores tried to be sweet, read what the man needed but she was met with a wall. A silent wall that made everyone in the room disappear, and her afraid for her life. It wasn’t what he did that made her uncomfortable, it’s what he didn’t do. He didn’t smile. He avoided eye contact. Worst of all, he didn’t move. She wasn’t exaggerating or hallucinating: from the time Dave sat down to the time he stood up, he did not move his body. He ate with his right hand, drank from his mug with his right hand, all while holding a death grip on the counter with his left. He was wound like a trap, waiting to spring on the next unsuspecting soul to enter his orbit. Well, Dolores hadn’t made it this far working in a small town in a dusty diner by turning off her street smarts. She took his order, sure to keep her eyes on her notepad. She put his food in front of him, never breaking eye contact with the plate. For once in her life, Dolores realized the only way to protect both of them was to hold herself apart. She couldn’t be his mother, his friend, his confidant, no; she could and would only be his waitress.

So on Maggie’s first day, Dave wasn’t the only one who was dismayed. Dolores saw the moment Dave’s trap sprung, as Maggie showed off white teeth and brilliant brown eyes. The poor girl didn’t stand a chance; before she could finish taking his order, Maggie was caught in a series of carefully laid ropes, springs and duct tape. And she didn’t even know it.