ONE
SUMMER, 1964
The first time she saw him, she was terrified. He was impossibly tall, having to bend down to fit through the doorway, and his sleeves strained against his muscular arms. His dark curls partially obscured his face, but when he raised his chin, she caught sight of the dirty leather mask that covered his nose and mouth. Marcy shrunk back under his bright blue gaze. He could have been handsome if he weren’t so frightening.
He took her in for the briefest of moments before looking away and finding a spot in a booth in the back corner of the diner. Kim shuddered at Marcy’s side and shoved a menu into her hands.
“You do it,” Kim said. Marcy glanced between her coworker and the solitary behemoth staring out the window.
“Who is he?” she asked, despite her better judgment. As the only black waitress working at the diner, she didn’t want to look stupid, yet after only a few weeks living in Fuller, she thought she should have met him by now—or at least heard of him. It was a small enough place for that.
“Thomas Hewitt.” Kim nearly spat the name out. “Cut up his face, don’t speak none. He ain’t normal.” The red-haired waitress shuddered again. Marcy only frowned.
“Okay, then. I’ll do it,” Marcy finally said.
“Good. Now, take his order and come right back, y’hear?”
Marcy nodded and set off toward Thomas’s booth, Kim’s words ringing in her head. These were the most words the two women had ever exchanged since Marcy had started working at Merle’s Diner. Could someone really mutilate themselves like Kim had said? That would explain the mask. And yet, it seemed like the kind of thing that would’ve gotten someone put away. No, Marcy decided, it had to be a nasty rumor.
It was little wonder he sat alone.
As she approached his table, Marcy put on her best smile. For a moment she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone ever smiled at this man. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead fixing his gaze out at the sun-drenched main street while his fingers toyed with a salt shaker.
“Hi, I’m Marcy. What can I getcha started with?” she greeted, setting the menu down.
He glanced up at her, almost warily, and Marcy worked to keep her smile from slipping. She felt naked under his gaze, exposed, every sense heightened. She was trapped, wanting to flee but unable to do so. Finally he looked away and grabbed a small spiral-bound notebook and pencil from his pants pocket. The pencil, Marcy noted, had been chewed on.
Thomas wrote something on the pad, tore off the paper, and handed it to her. His handwriting was a messy scrawl, but readable enough.
Sweet tea chili
“Excellent choice,” Marcy said with a smile. “The chili here’s to die for.”
Thomas’s lips quirked up in what Marcy could have sworn was the ghost of a smile. She copied down the order. She’d seen Kim wink at customers, but Marcy knew better than to do so herself.
“I’ll be right back out,” she said. When she turned around, several pairs of eyes were on her, while other people—staff and customers alike—pretended like they hadn’t stared at all. Back at Kim’s side, she said, “It wasn’t so bad.”
Kim pursed her lips. “You lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas. Y’want fleas?”
“I—no,” Marcy said, at a loss for words.
“Good answer.” Kim sauntered over to where the sheriff sat, looking sharp as ever in his uniform. “More coffee, Hoyt?”
Marcy snuck a look back at the corner booth, gritting her teeth. Thomas had gone back to staring out the window. She quickly glanced away before anyone could catch her staring.
Thomas was still trying to figure her out. He’d noticed the smile she gave him, her comment on his choice, as if making conversation. He wasn’t desperate enough to think she was flirting with him—she was just doing her job, of course—but she’d said more to him in that one interaction than anyone else had ever said to him at all.
He had to admit—he liked it.
A shadow fell across the table and flowery perfume tickled his nose. Thomas looked up to see her shooting a smile his way, tray in hand. He watched silently as she set his chili and tea before him. Thomas scribbled her a note, using the same paper he’d used earlier.
Thanks
“Any time,” Marcy said. Thomas chanced a look into her eyes, big and brown and warm. “Lemme know if you need anything. I’ll be over in a jif.”
He nodded. With another smile, she turned and headed back to the counter. Thomas tapped his lips, watching her, then turned to his food. Even as he ate, he still couldn’t get her off his mind.
Don’t fool yourself, Tommy. She’s just doing her job.
He never lingered. After a lifetime of name-calling, schoolyard beatings his teachers never seemed to notice, and worse, he preferred to keep his distance from the rest of the town. So, while everyone around him chatted leisurely with each other, he practically inhaled his chili. Not for the first time in his life, Thomas cursed his inability to speak. All he could do was sit there tearing at his napkin while he waited for the waitress to notice him.
At long last, she did, and again he found himself absorbed in the warmth of her gaze. As he paid, he found himself fumbling with his money, something he almost never did. But she waited patiently, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
The inevitable comments started up as he made his way to the door.
“Can’t believe that big dumb animal would show his face in public,” said one of the men at the counter.
“Gotta face not even his momma would love,” his friend laughed.
Thomas froze, shoulders heaving in his mounting rage. He’d been called plenty of names before, but monster, beast, animal—those always hit the hardest.
“I don’t see any animals ’round here,” the waitress said as she topped off the man’s coffee.
“Maybe you should get your eyes checked,” the man retorted.
She pressed her lips together. “Well bless your heart,” she replied with an edge to her friendly tone, “perhaps I should.”
Thomas’s heart leaped. The waitress’s eyes met his own.
Oh.
