Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
Henry nodded slowly, his shoulders dropping with a visible sign of relief. He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a rusty key attached to a small plastic tab, the key to his 2004 Buick sedan parked in the gravel lot.
Carter followed Henry out toward the back door a minute later, keeping his distance as the older man stepped out into the bright autumn afternoon. Henry did not go to the staff bench by the dumpster. Instead, he walked straight to the old Buick, unlocked the driver’s side door, and sat down on the faded blue blanket that covered the worn vinyl seat.
Carter stood near the grease trap, leaning against the brick wall of the building. He watched Henry lean his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes as his chest rose and fell in a slow, tired rhythm.
“He looks like he’s about spent,” Carter said, stepping closer to the car window.
Henry opened his eyes and rolled the window down a few inches, the glass squeaking in its rubber track. He gave Carter a small, embarrassed smile.
