Page 11 of Truck

Half-an-hour later we have the diner cleared and ready for the morning. I sweep the floor, and whoever is on for the first shift will mop the floor before placing the chairs down again.

“Where is your truck, Rory?” Shelby asks as we head out the back door, along with Brian who is the cook today.

I quickly answer because I don’t want them thinking I can’t afford a vehicle. “It was a rental, and I took it back. I’ve made the payment for a Honda Civic Hatchback. It had to be serviced and valeted before I could physically have it, so they are going to deliver to me tomorrow I hope.”

Brian frowns, “So how are you planning to get home tonight?”

“I’ll walk or see if an Uber is available,” I respond, taking my phone out of my purse.

Shelby shakes her head, “Get in my car. You are not walking or paying for an Uber. I’ll take you home, and if you don’t have your car by the time you come to work tomorrow, text me and I’ll pick you up. No arguments.”

“Okay, thank you.” I’m not sure I dare argue with her because she’s fairly stern in her warning of no arguments.

Brian, I notice is chuckling as he heads to his truck, and shouts, “Good night,” before slamming the door closed.

Three days later, I have my car. It’s great, and I love it. It’s easy to drive and I reckon it’s economical on gas too. It is sitting in the driveway, and every time I look at it, I feel proud of myself for taking the step and buying it, asking no one for help.

This morning I am sweeping the path to the front door of the house. I’d been weeding the slim border, and it had left some dirt on the path. Rather than allow it to be trampled into the house, I sweep it back onto the border.

“Good morning, neighbor!”

Turning, I see my neighbor next door looking at me with a smile.

“Good morning.” I step closer so I don’t have to shout. “I’m Aurora, but everyone calls me Rory.” I hold my hand out to shake when I get close enough.

“I’m Martin, and my wife indoors is Cora. It’s nice to have you as a neighbor. If you ever need anything, just give us a shout.” Martin is a 5’11” well-built, blond-haired man, more than likely in his early seventies. He has laughter lines around his eyes, cheeks and mouth, and he has the sort of personality that has you smiling at him without knowing you are.

“Same here, Martin. I’m on the late shift at the diner for now. So, you’ll not see me in the evening. I’ll try to drive in quietly, so I don’t disturb you when I come home.”

“Hey, don’t you go worrying about that. As long as you get home safely, that is the main thing.”

“Martin!” We both hear being shouted, to which Martin gives me a wink. “The wife calls,” he laughs as he turns and heads back into his house.

The next three weeks follow the same pattern. Morning run, house chores, the few there are because when you live on your own it’s easy to see you are not picking up after anyone else. Speak to Cora and Martin if they are outside doing garden chores. Work, then go home again.

Walking into work this evening, I get ready for my shift and come to a stop in front of my locker. My eyes water, and I swallow hard. I just realized I’ve not thought about Terrence for a few days. I rub my sternum where a sharp ache has appeared. I breathe deeply, getting myself together before I have to face Shelby. Now let me tell you, Shelby doesn’t miss a trick, and she’d quickly ask what is wrong. The last thing I want is to have to explain, because that could be what would break the dam of tears I’m holding back.

I shake my head, grab my apron, and quickly wrap it around my waist and tie it on. The best thing for me right now is work. I can’t afford to dwell on something I cannot change, and I know this is what Terrence wanted for me.

Serving and chatting with customers passes the time fairly rapidly. When the door chimes as it opens, I take no particular notice, since it’s just a sign a customer is entering the diner. But when I look up I see a group of men in leather jackets with a logo on the back and patches on the front, it makes me realize these are biker club men, or some of them.

I grab four cups and the coffee jug and walk over to where they are taking a seat. “Good evening. Coffee?”

“Yeah, darlin’, that would be great,” one responds with a smile and a wink.

I place the cups and top them off before checking everything else was on the table that they might need. “I’ll be back in a moment for your order.”

“Oh, no need. Four of the day's specials are fine, thanks, babe,” another one says, and I nod quickly as I walk away.

“Darlin’,” “Babe,” gee whizz I’ve not had sweet names thrown my way in quite a long time. In fact, thinking about it Terrence only ever called me Aurora, and nothing as a pet name.

Shelby is smirking at me as I take the plates from her, balancing one in each hand. I’m not proficient with more than that at this time and always feel amazed when I see Shelby carrying four or six plates at once.

“You new here, babe?” I’m asked by the one who called me Babe last time.

“Yes, I’ve been working here for three weeks. I’m new to town too, and before you ask, I love it. I have great neighbors and enjoy my job here at the diner,” I reply quickly and then head back for the next two plates before they can ask any more nosy questions.

“Can you give me a hand in the kitchen, Rory, please?” Tracy, our cook of the day, asks.