Chapter 4: The Shift She Needed To Keep
I didn't walk around the counter.
That was the choice. Ethan was standing in the open doorway, his duffel bag at his boots, and the bell above the door hadn't even rung because he'd stopped just short of the threshold. My hands were still on the towel. I pressed it flat against the metal edge of the counter and made another pass, like the health inspector was watching. The cloth left a damp arc on the steel and I followed it with my eyes so I wouldn't have to meet his.
He didn't step inside. He didn't call my name. He just stood there and let the cold air from outside cut across the warm kitchen air, and I kept wiping.
"Maya?"
I looked up. Ethan's voice was low, careful. He nodded once at the stools, at the empty cafe. "You good?"
I swallowed. My throat was dry. "You're supposed to be—" I stopped and corrected myself. "I didn't know you were coming today."
"I know," he said.
Behind me the kitchen door swung and Diane stuck her head out. She was fifty-something, hair in a tight bun, her manager apron tied over a sweater. She'd been counting the register in the back office with the little space heater going.
"Maya, honey, I'm gonna step out to pick up my grandson at ten thirty," she called. She didn't look at Ethan at first. "You said you wanted the full lunch alone, right? Extra hours till three? I got you covered solo. You still want that?"
Her words landed too loud in the quiet. I felt my face get hot.
I had begged her for that shift. Last Tuesday I'd stayed after close and asked if I could take every extra hour she had, that I needed the paycheck before the end of the month. I hadn't told her why.
Ethan heard it. I saw his eyes flick from Diane to me.
Diane finally noticed the soldier in the doorway and her expression shifted. "Oh. Oh, honey. Is this—"
"This is Ethan," I said quickly. "My husband."
Diane's hand went to her chest. "Well, look at that. Welcome home."
Ethan gave her a polite nod, but his attention was already drifting. From where he stood at the door he could see straight down the side of the counter toward the back hallway. The office door was cracked open. Taped inside the glass, facing out, were two pieces of paper I'd tried not to look at all morning.
One was our help-wanted sign in Diane's handwriting. Part-time help needed, ask inside. The other was a white envelope taped below it, and the pink paper sticking out of it. I knew what it said even from ten feet away. Second notice. Rent past due. Please remit by the 30th.
We were in the apartment over on Maple, the one with the thin walls and the radiator that clanged. Ethan's housing allowance had covered it while he was deployed, but the allotment had been short last month and I'd used what was left to keep the lights on at the cafe? No. To keep my car insurance from lapsing. I'd told Diane I was fine.
Ethan read both signs without moving. His jaw tightened just a little. He didn't say anything about them.
"Maya, you want five minutes?" Diane asked softly. "I can watch the front."
I shook my head too fast. "No. I can't clock out. The lunch crowd's coming and we're short. I need the hours, Diane. I'm staying."
I said it to her, but I was really saying it to Ethan. I couldn't leave this counter. Not now. This job was the only thing that had stayed steady for nine months, the only paycheck that came every two weeks without a question. Tips in cash, hours I could count. If I walked away from this shift, I would lose more than a few dollars. I'd lose the one place where I knew what I was supposed to do.
Diane looked between us and nodded. "Okay, sweetheart. I'll be in the back for a minute." She slipped back into the kitchen and pulled the door partway closed, giving us a thin privacy that wasn't really private at all.
Ethan set his duffel down outside the door, on the sidewalk, like he didn't want to bring the dirt in. He kept his hands at his sides.
"You're on the clock," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. Till three."
He glanced through the window at the bench across the sidewalk, the one under the bare tree where people waited for takeout. "I'll wait out there," he said. "I don't want to mess up your shift. You do what you need to do. I'll be right there when you get a break."
I nodded, but my grip on the towel hadn't loosened. He wasn't leaving. He wasn't coming in either. He was planting himself exactly where I could see him and where he wouldn't cost me the only thing keeping me upright that month.
He stepped back one step, just enough that the door could ease shut if the wind caught it, and rested his hand on the black frame.
May you like
"You want coffee?" I asked, because it was the only thing behind this counter I knew how to offer.
He gave a small, tired smile. "When you're free," he said. "No rush."
