Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
Each mug made a dry, hollow ring as he set it onto the rubber mat behind the counter.
Morning, Carter, Henry said, not stopping his work.
Morning, Henry, Carter said, leaning against the prep table. How is the back feeling today?
Henry lifted a tray of heavy glasses and set them on the middle shelf.
It doesn’t hurt nearly as much when you aren’t sleeping with your knees bent up against a glove box, Henry said.
He smiled, his blue eyes clear behind his thin-rimmed glasses.
Clara was at the front register, counting the fifty-dollar starting till into the plastic slots.
She was a quiet woman in her fifties, wearing a clean grey cardigan and moving her fingers with slow, deliberate care.
The register drawer slid shut with a soft, clean click, not the hard slam of the old metal latch.
I found two more of the old menu holders behind the bread box, Henry said, pointing a finger toward the dry storage shelf.
They were covered in dust, but I scrubbed them with some hot water and vinegar, he said.
Good, Carter said. We need them for the daily specials.
