Jack was taken aback by the question. What did that even mean? He was smart enough to get accepted to Boston University to study archaeology, but he wasn’t smart enough to stay the course, which was why he was being paid two bucks an hour working for this blockhead. Jack shrugged.
Rory sniffed and shifted his weight in his chair. ‘Let me tell you—you’re not. You’re working in a grocery store making washing powder look pretty. Do me a favour, would you? Just turn up on time, do what I ask and go home at the end of your shift.’
Jack nodded.
Rory fumbled below the counter, picked up Jack’s coat and threw it at him.
Jack muttered a goodbye and headed for the door.
Outside, his anger was tempered by the instant bite of the freezing evening. Jack pulled up his collar and strode from the store. The vanilla halos from the streetlamps cast an unnatural glow over the sidewalks, as Jack’s boots crunched down into the untrodden snow. He continued past a run of cars, held captive by the pertinacious weather, the temperature continuing to slide on the underbelly of the night.
A few minutes later, having not laid eyes on a single other soul, Jack pushed open the door to The Port Diner. Usually when he came here on a Saturday after work it would take a moment to find his two friends, but not today. Except for the waitress behind the counter, Laura Chipman was the only one here, sitting alone in their favourite booth overlooking Main Street.
‘Hi,’ Jack called over.
‘Hi!’ she beamed.
Jack slid across the red leather seat opposite her. ‘No Michael?’
Laura shook her head. ‘He’s not coming—he’s at our uncle’s house and his car won’t start and he can’t be bothered to walk.’
‘Oh, that’s a real shame,’ Jack said, crestfallen.
‘Yeah, our last time together for a while,’ Laura bemoaned. ‘I tried to persuade him but he’s got packing to do.’
‘You folks ready to order?’ the waitress called over.
Jack nodded and she scuttled over in her red and white outfit, pen and pad poised and ready.
‘Two hot chocolates, please,’ Jack ordered.
‘Sure. You want whipped cream?’
The pair nodded.
‘Anything else?’
‘Not for me, thanks—I’ve got dinner waiting for me at home,’ Jack replied.
‘Me too,’ Laura added.
‘No problem,’ the waitress said, before heading off to the kitchens.
‘Dinner and a whole bunch of packing,’ Laura grimaced.
Jack smiled. Laura was returning to Boston University tomorrow for the new semester. The same as her twin brother, Michael. The same as Jack’s sister, Alice. The same as other old friends from high school. ‘Looking forward to going back?’
‘To the assignments, the early-morning lectures and the exams? Yeah, sure,’ she laughed.
Jack grinned but knew that she was just being kind. She loved it at college, thrived on it. She had an amazing future in front of her. Unlike him. His future looked barren, stagnant. A slow death in a small-town grocery store.
‘How was work?’ Laura asked.
‘Awesome,’ Jack began enthusiastically. ‘I filled shelves all day. It was just the best. Cans of meat. Cans of fish. Soap powder. I even got to fill up the sale bin. Toilet tissue, sixty-nine cents. Mayonnaise, fifty-nine cents. Trash bags, eighty-nine cents.’
Laura rolled her eyes.
‘I know—I’ve only got myself to blame,’ Jack lamented, intuiting her gentle condemnation. ‘I should have stayed on at school.’
‘Was it really so bad?’ Laura asked.
Jack shrugged. ‘I love archaeology and history but it just wasn’t enough about the people for me—you know? Too much on artefacts rather than who used them.’
‘Maybe you didn’t give it long enough?’ she ventured. ‘You barely made one semester, after all.’
Jack thought about her question. She might have been right and he had quitted too soon. He guessed he would never know; now his passion for history and people and his high grades at school were being used to ensure boxes of detergent were correctly aligned.
‘Here you go,’ the waitress said, setting the tray down on the table between them. ‘Two hot chocolates with extra cream. Enjoy.’
They both thanked her and she returned to her position behind the counter, staring out at the deserted street.
Jack removed his jacket, warm blood finally creeping back to his extremities. He cupped his hot chocolate with both hands and he met Laura’s dark eyes. She was pretty—he’d always thought it and people were always telling her so—but she was too demure, too self-effacing to accept it.
‘What?’ Laura questioned.
‘Nothing,’ Jack answered. ‘Just thinking I’ll miss you when you’re gone—and Michael, of course.’
‘We’ll be back in no time—you’ll see.’
He nodded, but her words curdled with his belief about their future. She and Michael would become ever more fulfilled by their time at Boston University and his time with them—these simple hot chocolates, or milkshakes in the summer—would come to mean ever less until they had nothing left in common but the drinks on the table in front of them.
‘Come on, Jack—stop being so miserable—it’s my last night on the Cape,’ Laura chided.
‘Sorry…’ Jack mumbled.
‘What have you got planned for the next couple of days?’ she asked.
Tomorrow was Sunday. He would be helping his dad with household chores. Then it was back to the store on Monday. Repeat. Day after day. ‘Nothing special.’
He raised his mug of hot chocolate, downed it in one go, then stood up and pulled on his coat. Fumbling in his pocket, he placed a dollar bill and a fifteen-cent tip down on the table. ‘I have to go—Mom will be wondering where I am. Take care getting off the Cape tomorrow.’
‘Is that it?’ Laura called after him. ‘Wait—at least give me a hug goodbye.’
Jack paused and turned to face her; the self-directed
