Page 4 of Crash and Burn

I was caught off guard when I heard a little voice on the other end. “Uncle Hud, why am I the worst?”

I’m gonna kill him.“Oh Cam, I thought you were someone else. You arenotthe worst. You arethe absolutebest. What are you doing?”

Cammy is the oldest of Carter and Lex’s two girls and we call her Cam for short. Then there’s her sassy sister, Lilly, nicknamed Lill. Shortening every kid’s name is a thing in the Midwest.

“Are you coming over on Saturday, Uncle Hud.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.Great, now he has the kids begging me. “Hey Cam…I’m not sure, yet. I’m sure going to try.”

She giggled, “Mama said if you come over, we will get to eat dessert before dinner…sa-mores.”

I laughed, “You mean s’mores.”

Another tiny giggle, pulling at my heart strings, then, “That’s what I said, Uncle Hud. So, are you coming so we can have samores before dinner?”

Carter and Lex are savage.

I sigh, “Yeah, Cam. I’m coming.”

She yells so loud, “HE SAID YES, Daddy!”

Son of a bitch, now I’m committed.“Cam…Cam are you there?”

Carter picked up the phone, shouting, “See you Saturday!”

“Wait….”Click...“I hate him.”

I put the phone in my pocket.Geezus, what now?I thought. It’s almost 11:00 am and for most people that still means coffee. I don’t really know if that’s true, but I have at least 5-6 cups of coffee a day and it’s been three hours since my last cup.

I glanced at my front door.I can do this. It’s just a cup of coffee. Sharon’s is a quiet place. Besides, I can take my iPad and do some reading while I’m there. I’ll find a booth in the corner where its dark, quiet, and away from everyone else.

I can do this…

Chapter 2

Amelia / Hudson

The lunch rush was in full force at Sharon’s Diner that day. “Order up, Amelia!,”Donnie yelled over the counter, before slapping the bell with aDing!I love working at Sharon’s, especially the smell of coffee and toast that fills the air against the backdrop of the diners’ chatter. It might sound crazy, but even growing up, I had always wanted to wait on customers in a diner. I finally got my chance about a year ago. The regulars that come in, make my day. I love hearing their stories because it never fails, they always have a story to update me on.

My family has been eating at diners since I was a young girl. The servers were always so friendly and made sure I always had extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate. Now, I get to make sure all the kiddos who order hot chocolate get extra whipped cream, too. It makes my day to see their faces light up when I bring them their big mug.

When you walk in the front door, you’re greeted by the counter, bustling with orders and diners sitting in the stools. There, the senior guys, mostly farmers or mechanics, sit to read their daily paper and there is always one who says out loud, “Amelia, can you believe the stories in today’s paper?” To which I respond, “Good or bad?” The conversation will carry on from there. To the left and right, four booths line the wall, usually packed with families. The very back booth, near the restroom, is extra-large and packed with rowdy teenagers every Saturday evening, laughing the night away, planning their next misadventure.

Harvey, one of my senior regulars, who insists on calling me “Mela”, brushed a piece of lint from his hundredth flannel shirt for the year, then looked over the brim of his glasses, and said, “Mela, you make sure you take a break today. I know you like to push through the lunch rush.” It’s so endearing the way he calls me Mela.

I winked at him. “Harvey, what would I do if I didn’t have you to keep me in line?” He laughed, took a sip of his coffee, and snapped the paper to straighten it out, then went back to reading.

I heard the front door open, so I looked up to see a tall, handsome guy with chestnut brown hair and a trimmed stubbly beard walk in. He looked a bit older than me, maybe in his mid-thirties. He seemed lost and I hadn’t seen him in the diner before. I set down the tray I had been holding and headed over to the front door.

“Hey stranger, welcome to Sharon’s. You can have a seat anywhere you’d like.”

He looked at me before eyeing the long line of booths going all the way to the back of the right side of the diner, and quietly asked, “Um…Can…Can I sit near the back, over there…away from people?”

I gave him an awkward, half smile. “Of course. C’mon, I’ll walk you back.”

The back of the diner is much dimmer than the front. The owners always did that intentionally for mood lighting, and I thought it might put him at ease.

“How’s this?” I asked him as I gestured to the booth. He didn’t look at me but nodded his head as he rubbed his hands on his pants. He seemed nervous. I wondered,are his hands sweating?

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