Page 52 of Shame

My voice is raspy, my throat tight. The sudden realization that I’ll never sit in a diner across from my husband of twenty years has me unable to breathe.

What is my life?

“Miss?”

I shake out of it. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I just got a sudden headache. Could you repeat that for me one more time?”

“I tell my wife to drink more water. Helps with the headaches,” the man says. “We’d both just like some coffee.”

I nod, then head to the coffee machine to grab the pot.

“Can we talk?” I recognize the voice as Kaison’s, which causes my spine to stiffen.

“I’m busy,” I answer quickly, then rush off to my table.

After pouring them coffee, I do rounds to top off others. When I get back to the machine, I dump the small bit that’s left and start a new pot before grabbing the decaf and going to fill up the two tables that wanted that. I return the carafe, then go to my new table and take their order. It’s non-stop as a waitress, which is something I like about it. The shifts go quickly because of it. I don’t wonder what I’m going to do all day and how to keep busy.

Sure, I walk out of here smelling like grease and coffee, m feet hurt and my back aches, but the money is decent. And I don’t hate what I do.

The breakfast crowd slowly dwindles, and I have a moment to breathe as I put in some orders. Tyler goes around clearingtables, wiping them down as I restock napkins and other stuff behind the counter. Kaison is now sitting at the bar, staring at me with nothing in front of him. He didn’t come here to eat, he just wants to talk. I don’t want to talk to him, but something tells me he won’t leave until I do. Norman is already on my case, and I’m not trying to do anything to get further on his bad side. I have to come up with something that will make him change his mind about taking the time off. Taking a break when it isn’t my time to do so won’t go over well, even if we are slow right now—so it’s not an option.

I take a step to walk away but pause. I turn to Kaison because maybe he is here to eat and Fia assumes I’ll take his order. Or maybe he told her he’d wait for me.

“Do you want something to eat?”

He may not deserve my attention in a personal way, but I am a waitress, and he is in a diner.

“Just want to talk.”

I give him a small smile, nod, then go check on my tables. The entire time, I wonder if I should put food in for him anyway. He must be hungry, right? He’s been here at least two hours already, though I guess he could have eaten before he showed up.

“Cora!” I startle, dropping a fork onto the table when clearing a plate.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, picking up the fork and putting it on the plate. I dump it into the bus bin on my way to the kitchen. What in the world could Norman want now? I’d love to give him a piece of my mind for shouting my name like I’m a five-year-oldin trouble—especially in front of all these customers. Disrespecting your employees only lets patrons think they can do the same thing.

“I would really appreciate it if you stopped shouting for me like that,” I say when I find him just outside his office door. “What must the customers think?”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?” he asks, stepping closer to me. I step back.

“No, I’m just saying—”

“You’re working, Cora. You are being paid to be here, meaning you’re onmytime. Tell your boyfriend to get the hell out of here before it’s a problem.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” I say firmly.

He scoffs. “Oh, please. Everyone in town knows you're screwing one of those merciless few assholes.”

My eyes widen at his words. Norman has been a jerk since day one, but I have never,neverheard him say something like that before. Now he’s getting into personal stuff, and that is so not okay. I’m so stunned, I don’t even know what to say.

“Party of ten!” Fia shouts through the window, giving me wide eyes when I face her. I scurry away, still shocked by Norman’s words.

“What is his problem?” Fia asks in a hushed tone.

“I d-don’t know.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Fia says loudly. I look up and see Tyler walking toward the front door.

“Home,” he snaps. “What’s it look like?”

---