5. Diners and Other Disasters

5

Diners and Other Disasters

" F uck!" I yell as I trip over my overflowing duffle bag on my floor. I've spent the last two hours going through everything I brought with me in an attempt to find something suitable to wear tonight. We're going to our small-town's country diner, for Christ's sake. Most people don't even change out of their sweatpants, but for some reason, I feel an unexplainable urge to impress Jack, which calls for a more appealing outfit. Of course, the urge isn't that unexplainable. He's my childhood best friend and crush, and to make matters worse, he's grown even more insatiably hot over the past five years. I'm thinking with my vagina that, if we're being honest, hasn't had much action in the last year. It's hard to date when your job is all-consuming, and I've never felt the need for a long-term relationship.

And then there was last night's dream. I didn't think it was possible to be hornier than I was once I left Jack's shop, but after waking from my unusually terrifying and arousing nightmare, I found it hard to fall back asleep. Being in my childhood home with the foreboding news of recent death and carnage must be taking a toll on my subconscious. Mix that in with my dire need to get laid—a recipe for fucked up nightmares.

Last night, the thought of caring for the pounding between my thighs in my childhood bed with my little old Granny down the hall was enough to keep my wandering fingers at bay. But now here I am, frazzled and horny, about to go on a date with the last person I ever wanted to see again when I left five years ago. Well, I shouldn't say date. It's not a date. This is for business only. That's it.

I'm a terrible liar, though, even to myself. I saw the way Jack looked at me, the way he almost seemed to be bribing me to go to dinner with him. He behaved in a way that my teenage self could only dream of. For some reason, this makes it hurt even worse. It's a little too late for that. He has always had the worst timing.

As if fate hears my thoughts, Granny calls up the stairs. "Red, Jack is here!"

"Fuck," I mutter again as I stare at my reflection in my floor-length mirror. My red hair is still in curlers, and all I'm wearing is my lacey black bra and denim high-waisted jeans.

"I'll be down in five minutes!" I yell toward my door before scrambling to yank out the curlers in my hair and search my bedroom floor for a halfway decent shirt.

After more like fifteen minutes, I settle on a plain white tank top and descend the stairs.

Granny's full-belly laugh greets me before I'm even close enough to see her in the kitchen. She and Jack sit knee to knee at the dining room table. Jack hunches over, divulging a tale that has Granny wiping away tears and at the edge of her seat.

When I reach the last step, the old floorboards creak beneath me, and Jack's focus whips to me. The smile slowly melts off his face, replaced by a longing gaze. His stare makes my stomach flip-flop, and I'm brought back to my old self, who never knew what to say.

"Don't you look nice!" Granny exclaims like an angel from heaven, breaking Jack and me out of whatever trance we found ourselves in. I can't help but notice a shift in Granny. Her eyes seemed glazed over and blood-shot, even if an all-teeth smile takes up most of her face.

Jack jumps up from his seat. "Yeah, you look wonderful."

"Thanks," I reply noncommittally. I'm wearing a tank top and jeans. It's not like I came down the stairs to greet them in my prom dress. No, Jack never let me have that moment.

Granny wobbles over to me and kisses my cheek, lingering to whisper in my ear. "See, what did I tell ya? He's a smoke show!"

"Granny!" I whisper in embarrassment. Surely, Jack can hear us.

He grins and turns his gaze to the floor, confirming my suspicion. He rubs at his muscular forearm, further accentuated by his tight-fitting black t-shirt.

I shake my head, catching myself staring. "Well, we should get going." I walk toward the front door, not looking behind me to see if he's following. This already feels too much like a date, and it hasn't even officially started.

"You two have fun!" Granny calls after us as I walk out the front door, Jack at my heels.

***

After a short and uncomfortably awkward car ride, we make it to Joanne's Diner. Jack was right. The old diner is exactly the same as it was five years ago, down to the duct-taped women's restroom sign. It's nice to see something that reminds me of mostly fond childhood memories, but being put back in the headspace of my sixteen-year-old self is a bit unnerving.

"Seat yourself!" a waitress yells from behind the counter.

"To our usual seat?" Jack turns to me and motions to the booth closest to the door. Unsurprisingly, it's empty. That's why it was our booth growing up. No one wants to sit next to the door that's always opening and closing, and growing up, we were too thrilled to have our own personal seat to care. Now I'm an adult, though—a New Yorker—many things bother me. One is the constant wind hitting the back of my neck as I eat.

"Sure." I lead the way to the red booth. I need something from Jack. The more I can get on his good side, the better.

"Hiya, friend!" I turn to Carmen. Her short hair is pulled behind her ears, and she's wearing a blue apron. She slides sticky plastic menus in front of us.

"Hi!" I smile. "This is Jack."

"Ms. Badson." He doesn't meet her eyes, and his tone holds a sharp edge.

"Lumberton," she replies with the same edge.

"You two know each other?" I ask.

"Barely," Jack mutters.

She scoffs .

It is a small town. Maybe they fucked. I, for one, do not want to dig up those details. An awkward silence passes between us.

"Drinks?" She pulls out her notepad without looking up at us.

"Yes. I'll have a Coke and Red over here, will have a strawberry milkshake."

"Wait, no." I give him a confused look. "I'll just have a water."

Jack looks at me as if I just told him I hate puppies and sunshine.

Carmen rolls her eyes and wanders off without another word.

"But you always got the strawberry milkshake. I thought you would want one for old time's sake." Confusion and hurt flood his eyes.

I pull the menu to my line of vision and pretend to examine my options. "Well, I told you, a lot about me has changed." I don't want to mention that I've written off milkshakes ever since I moved away from here and vowed to shed my unwanted weight. It's too depressing to mention.

An uncomfortable silence rolls between us, but thankfully, it doesn't take long for Carmen to come back over with our drinks. She pulls out her notepad again. "What can I get ya? "

I speak up first this time. "I'll have the chef's salad." I slide my menu to her. "Thank you." I smile, hoping she doesn't hate me for associating with Jack.

Jack shakes his head without looking up from his menu. "I'll have the bacon burger with fries."

"Just give me a few minutes, and I'll be right out with that." She smiles and winks at me, then disappears, leaving us with nothing to distract ourselves with.

"The chef's salad, really?" He shakes his head at me. "No one gets the chef's salad."

I'm about to snap. Sure, he would think getting the chef's salad is ridiculous. He doesn't have an ounce of fat on him, and he never has. I, on the other hand, seem to gain weight just thinking about food. It hasn't been a concern since moving to New York and walking everywhere, but I'm not in New York right now. I'm in the middle of nowhere, completely surrounded by fast-food restaurants. I breathe out, deciding to ignore his idiotic comment and focus on the matter at hand.

I fold my hands in front of me. "So, Jack. What can you tell me about what you saw at the scene of the attacks?"

He takes a long sip of his drink but still gazes at me. "You know, you're really beautiful."

My heart stops. "What? "

"I just realized I haven't told you that in a while. You've always been beautiful, and it's just so good to see you again."

I can't help how my body melts into my seat, and I'm finding breathing impossible. This isn't the first time he's told me something like this, but as always, it's at the worst possible time. The tingly feeling in my limbs is quickly replaced by rage. He's trying to distract me. He's always known the effect he has on me.

I shake my head. "Jack, let's not do this."

"Do what?"

Before I can say more, Carmen comes back over with our food. Damn, the food comes out fast here. This diner has never been known for its fine dining. They probably just zap it in the microwave.

"Enjoy," she says after plopping down our entrees and sauntering away.

I look at my wilted salad and see why people rarely order salads here. I try to find the words to respond to Jack. "Jack, I'm here for work. I need to learn more about these attacks, and I know you know more than you're letting on. I'm really not in the mood to flirt or entertain the past. It's too painful and in the way of what I'm trying to accomplish. "

He sighs and gives a wounded nod before biting his burger. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you have changed." He says once he's finished chewing.

I nod and pick at my salad, waiting for him to say more. When he doesn't, I speak up again. "Well?"

"I don't know what you want me to say. I can't…" He stops himself, looking like he's trying to find the right words.

"Jack, you told me if I came here with you, you'd tell me more. Don't tell me that you were just fucking with my head."

"Red, I missed you. I wanted a chance to talk more—to go over everything that happened before you left. I think about it all the time."

I bolt up from my seat. "No. I'm not doing this. I'm here for work. If you won't help me get more answers about this story, I'll do it myself." I turn to walk away.

"Wait, Red. It's dangerous."

I stop in my tracks, wanting to ask him to explain himself, but before I do, I shake my head and walk out the door. I knew there was more to this story than he was letting on. If it's dangerous, that means there's an interesting story to tell–and I will be the one to tell it.