Because the fire had temporarily robbed her of a voice, Abigail would often talk to herself. Doing it when other people could hear her, however, was probably not a smart approach, especially for a newcomer. She’d have to curb that.
“Coffee?”
“That would be terrific.”
A pair of bifocals dangled from a chain around the waitress’s neck, and her polyester apron was festooned with buttons and brooches. She appeared to be in her sixties, yet Abigail could tell the woman had been a true beauty in her youth.
“Here you go. It’s a fresh pot.”
She gave Abigail a menu, simultaneously pouring her a brimming cup of coffee. As soon as Abigail took a sip, she almost spit it out. The coffee was scalding hot.
“Burned yourself, huh?” the waitress asked.
“I’ll get you some ice water.”
The waitress delivered her drink. The water came in a jelly jar. It was another country touch that reminded Abigail she wasn’t in the big city anymore.
“Decided what you want?”
“Scrambled eggs and wheat toast,” she lisped.
“You got it, hon.”
Whisking away the menu, the waitress disappeared into the kitchen. Abigail chugged water to cool her taste buds, as the men in the corner continued to watch her closely. Uncomfortable under such deliberate gaze, she turned to face in the opposite direction, toward the register. A smattering of photos was taped to its side. Most of the snapshots featured a local baseball league, the guys dressed in matching uniforms and sporting matching toothy grins. Abigail was glad to see this side to Chapel Isle, a side where people actually did smile.
“That’s our team,” the man in the canvas jacket told her proudly. “Took the pennant last year in the playoffs.”
“Good for them,” Abigail replied, thrilled that at least someone was willing to converse with her.
The man removed a picture from his wallet and slid closer to show her. “These are my sons. They played right and left field. This was years ago, mind you. They’re grown. Now their kids are playing Little League ball like they did.”
The old photo was a family group shot from a backyard barbecue. The man had his arm around his wife, who was wearing a floral shift, and the two teen boys on either side of the couple were in bell-bottoms.
“Handsome kids,” Abigail said.
He stared at the picture for a moment. The gratitude on his face told Abigail he hadn’t received a compliment in a while.
“That’s because they favor their mom,” the man answered, with a self-deprecating shrug. “We had some fun times, we did.”
That’s when Abigail smelled the alcohol on his breath and noticed how he’d missed a button on his flannel shirt, causing it to hang crookedly from the collar to the tails. She had a guess who he might be.
“Breakfast is served.”
The waitress set down a plate of food, intentionally intruding. The man tucked the photo into his wallet, tossed two dollars on the counter, and retreated to the door, with a parting nod to Abigail as well as to the waitress.
“Take it easy, Hank,” she said. The bell on the door tolled his exit. “Thought you might want to eat in peace.”
“Was that Hank Scokes?”
“You heard of him?”
“Sort of. Wasn’t he the person who ran into the ferry dock with his boat?”
“Indeed he was.”
If there was more to the story, the waitress wasn’t willing to say.
“Boy, your cook works fast,” Abigail remarked, ham-handedly changing the subject.
“Food’s done quick if you come at the right time. You would’ve had to wait if you’d been here earlier.”
“Earlier?” Abigail thought she was early.
“Lord, yes. Before the men head to sea for the day, they eat standin’ if they have to. Ain’t an empty seat in the house.”
It hadn’t occurred to Abigail that the island was so quiet was because most of its citizens were on fishing boats, making their livings. This revelation was a load off her mind. Chapel Isle wasn’t as desolate as it initially appeared.
“First visit, I take it.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“We don’t see too many new faces after Labor Day.”
