Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
You’re sure you have everything you need there? Carter asked.
I do, Henry said. I bought a small frying pan and a carton of eggs yesterday.
I don’t need much, he added. Just a quiet place to sit when the shift is over.
He looked at the gold wedding band on Carter’s finger, which Carter was no longer adjusting.
You stopped fidgeting with your ring, Henry said.
Carter looked down at his hand, then smiled.
I guess I did, Carter said. The worries are different today.
They are, Henry said. They’re the kind of worries we can handle.
He turned back toward the counter as Clara called out an order for two scrambled eggs and a side of sausage.
At half past eight, the sun was bright enough to melt the thin layer of frost on the hoods of the cars.
Carter walked out the back door and saw Henry standing near the 2004 Buick sedan.
The old car was parked in the far corner of the lot, near the gravel edge where the wild chicory grew.
Henry had the rear door open, and he was sweeping a small hand broom across the blue fabric of the back seat.
