Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
“Thank you, sir,” Henry said. “The hands don’t cooperate like they used to in the cold.”
Carter twisted the cap off with a single turn and handed the bottle back.
Henry shook out two round white pills and swallowed them without water, his throat working hard.
“Back giving you trouble today?” Carter asked, leaning against the brick wall.
“Every day is a bit of a climb,” Henry said, looking down at the gravel.
“You should see a doctor about that,” Carter said, knowing the diner’s corporate structure offered no medical benefits to part-time workers.
Henry let out a dry, quiet laugh that ended in a cough.
“The doctors are the reason I am in this position,” Henry said, his voice dropping.
“What do you mean?” Carter asked.
“My late wife, Martha, spent her last three weeks at St. Jude’s Hospital,” Henry said, his fingers tightening around the orange bottle.
Carter felt a cold knot form in his stomach as he watched the old man’s face.
“The bills don’t stop just because the person does,” Henry said.
Carter looked toward the gravel parking lot, his gaze fixing on the rusted rear bumper of the Buick.
