Even in my wild imaginings, though, my practical brain wouldn’t let me be. Where would I get coffee in the morning? Would there be a supermarket nearby? Would Jasper get lonely without other dogs or people to play with?
Oh, for God’s sake, Daisy. You may as well get ready for work.
At the Last Stop Diner, I ran in to get coffee for Cyril. It was becoming a habit to stop and see him each morning before I went to the store. People tended to ignore him because of his grubby appearance and off-putting manner, but he had a quirky way of looking at the world that I appreciated.
The diner was housed in an old trolley car that sat askew on the grass at the corner of Main Street and Grist Mill Road, as if it had simply run out of track. It was painted red on the bottom, with a cream-colored top half and a chrome roof. Inside, the black and white checkered floor, fat round stools, and red leather booths were classic diner décor. A small green building constructed behind the trolley car held the kitchen, storage area, and bathrooms, but it was still tight quarters inside.
The waitress on duty was Carla, who, in addition to being Jimmy’s girlfriend, according to Patsy, was a bit of an alley cat, a party girl who often showed up for her shift late or hungover. She wore thick dark blue eyeliner all the way around her eyes, and her overly bleached hair looked as though she’d thrown it up into a ponytail without combing it first.
“Patsy’s not here today?” I asked.
“She went on a field trip with her kid’s school or something.” Carla leaned against the counter next to a cake stand, her skin a strange off-white, making the heavy eye makeup seem even more garish.
“Are you okay?”
She held up a finger. “Be right back,” she mumbled before dashing off, a hand over her mouth.
Five minutes later, when she hadn’t come back, I wondered if I could pour some coffee for myself and leave a couple of dollars on the counter.
Some of the other customers were getting restless, too.
I sighed. I’d better go see if she was all right.
I walked down to the end of the old trolley car and through the swinging door. I grimaced at the sound of someone throwing up in the bathroom. I took a few deep breaths to steady my own undulating stomach. The one thing I couldn’t deal with at school was kids getting sick, and I certainly wasn’t in the best shape to handle it today.
“Carla?”
There was no response so I finally pushed the door open. She was sitting on the floor of the ladies’ room, leaning back against the wall. I wet a paper towel in cold water and pressed it against her forehead.
“Rough night?” I could certainly sympathize. In fact, it was quite possible I was still drunk.
“No. Worse than that.”
I stared at her. “You’re pregnant?”
Oh, God. And this was the waitress Jimmy had been cheating with. I felt nauseous myself as the truth hit me. “With Jimmy’s baby?” I whispered.
She glanced at me in surprise. “Yes. At least I think so . . .”
I sank into a crouched position next to her. “You can’t be sort of pregnant—either you are, or you aren’t. Let’s get you tested.”
“No, wait, I mean I know I’m having a baby, just not exactly sure whose it is.”
“Sweet Jesus,” I murmured.
“It could be my crazy ex who’s the father. I split up with him, though. Couldn’t take his jealousy.” She laughed ruefully. “He had good reason, as it turns out.”
When I couldn’t take the squatting anymore, I straightened up, my knees cracking in protest.
What a mess.
I left Carla in the bathroom freshening her makeup, and drove the short distance to the salvage yard, pondering the situation.
Did Carla’s crazy ex know she was pregnant? Did he kill Jimmy in a jealous rage?
A new pile of hubcaps teetered next to the main gate and there was a Sinclair Dino gasoline pump that I hadn’t seen before. It scared me that I was able to pick out anything new in the mess of tools, bicycles, chairs, sinks, gas and oil signs, and tires.
“You!” Cyril pointed at me as I got out of the car. “Yer late.”
I kicked at a rusty oil drum. “It couldn’t be helped. Oh, and you need to make tea for us this morning. Problem at the diner. Ran out of coffee.”
Cyril rolled his eyes. “I got summat to show you anyways. Come here, you.”
I trudged after him into his office.
“See it?” He nodded toward something in the room.
All I could see was a gray metal desk, a filing cabinet, a Hamm’s Beer motion clock, a sign that said, CASH OR CHECKS ONLY, and a colorful array of battered license plates on the back paneled wall.
Why did one filthy, crusty old man make me feel so stupid?