The bell over the door pealed when Atkinson entered the diner in Newark, Delaware. He had hailed a rideshare to go to Becky’s Diner for the famous pecan pie and a cup of coffee. He waited to be seated. Then a young brown skinned hostess sat him down. A calmness and a coolness always projected from his lanky frame. Here was no different.
“Welcome to Becky’s Diner I’m Jerminica. Can I get you some water and lemons?”
“No,” Atkinson said curtly. “I already know what I want. The pecan pie and coffee. Black.” He remained surly, almost insolent. Jerminica breathed in sharply and then took away the menu before him and added, “A man who knows what he wants.” Atkinson didn’t say a word.
Jerminica visited other tables and came back to Atkinson with napkins.
“Are y’all baking the pie and finding the beans in Columbia?”
“Pardon me, sir. I can bring that right out to you.”
She brought him his slice of pie and black coffee. Her professionalism seemed like sterling silver, bright and sometimes sharp. She never, though, broke from this disposition.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” Jerminica asked. Atkinson just sipped his coffee for a long time. Jerminica looked up as a smile disappeared from her face. She moved onto another table.
Some whispers sprang up even though he was incognito, wearing all black, including a trilby.
Jerminica walked back to the kitchen, a sense of dread attempting to choke her soul. She never let it bother her. She brushed away a tear and continued. As she looked out of the corner of her eye. A small group had surrounded Atkinson but she had three other tables to handle.
Atkinson got up and left a hundred dollar tip and exited the diner. He smiled.
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Skyler Saunders
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