End of the Road
The small diner, Aunt Rue’s Roadhouse, sits on the same lot as a truck stop. With a sign only partially lit, bulbs dead and never replaced, the place obviously has a history that’s probably as old as Alabama itself.
When the door chimes as I enter, I might as well have walked in with a bullhorn announcing my arrival. The entire place goes quiet like everyone is holding their breath, but the spell doesn’t last long, and everyone goes back to their previous endeavors.
The old woman standing behind the counter nods to me and points to a vacant barstool. My hands tremble, and I almost turn around to walk out. With a gas tank on E and the drive from the University of Georgia leaving me penniless, I don’t have much of a choice.
“What’ll it be, girl?” The accent is thick and Southern. I can see the potential for her to be a Nana, but she’s been at this truck stop for too long. The softness has turned into a sharp edge.
We’re somewhere in the middle of nowhere. If I had a cellphone, I bet it wouldn’t have any signal. That makes this place probably the safest place for me.
“I was hoping you were hiring,” I say nervously, wetting my lips.
Her name tag says Rue, and she sets utensils down next to me without looking up. “Hope ain’t got nothing to do with working here.”
The door chimes again, and the whole room quiets, holding their breath again. The sound of boots on a tile floor sounds like rifle blasts in the stillness. Whoever they belong to commands the room without saying a word.
The murmuring doesn’t start back up until the man moves to the back booth and sits, head bowed, hands buried deep in the pocket of a worn-out hoodie. He keeps his chin down, face obscured by a beanie pulled down low over his brows and shadowed by the hood of his sweater. It’s the middle of August, but he’s dressed like it’s a crisp fall day.
“Tell you what,” Rue starts, her voice a whisper. “You take his order and get him out of here quickly, and you have the job.”
The anxiety spike in me tells me I’m about to walk into the lion’s den. The last time, I ignored the warning signs, and I can’t help but think I’m about to do it again.
Rue hands me a billfold with a pad and pen before she moves to the other end of the small diner. I stare at the items in my hand and then stand a little taller. No one is ever going to make me feel small again. Especially not a stranger in a diner.
My own steps echo around the restaurant as I head to the empty section. The man never looks up; he just sits there like he’s got an iron rod for a spine.
“What can I get you tonight?” I ask, proud of the fact that my voice comes out strong.
“Burger. Rare. Nothing on it.” The voice that rumbles out of him makes goosebumps cascade across my skin like a caress.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Anything to drink?”
I get a small shake of his head but utter silence from him. My heart is still racing as I walk away from the booth. The same shiver of dread running down my spine that had made me run from Athens.
Rue nods to the older black man standing at the grill, and I cautiously step around her.
The man turns and gives me a welcoming smile, and my whole body relaxes as I smile back.
“Hi, I’m Billie,” I say warmly. “May I have a plain burger, rare?”
The man’s eyes cut to the side before he turns back to me. “You got it, Cher,” he says in a thick Cajun accent. “I be Ray, Billie. It’s nice to meet you.”
I dunk my rag in the cleaning solution and scrub the table down, just like I have for the past six weeks. August flowed right into September without me even noticing.
“Order up, ma belle,” Ray’s voice calls from the grill.
I let out a sigh and finished one more sweep of the table. Dinner rush had been brutal and I was working a double shift today, which meant I still had the breakfast rush to contend with in a few hours.
Swinging by Ray, I gather up the plates like Rue taught me, balancing them on my arm.
Smiling warmly at the trucking team, I start setting down their plates. This is their return run, stopping by just to see me.
“Thanks, Billie, this looks great,” Dean says, his voice scratchy from too many years of smoking.
“You’re very welcome. Flag me when you need some more tea, Sarah,” I say just as my watch alarm goes off.
I try not to let my anxiety show. Turning, I quickly move back to the counter. The door chimes, and my hands instantly start to tremble.
The eerie silence that falls over the entire diner still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Each step claps like thunder in the silence but the tempo is slower today. Almost hesitant.
I’ve learned the beat of his steps, especially now that the weather’s been cooling down. He’s uncomfortable because there are still several customers. Hell, we’re all uncomfortable.
I set the water down; he won’t drink it, but I feel awkward not bringing him something.
“Ray has a gumbo tonight,” I say, my voice fluttering from my heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.
He doesn’t speak, and the pang that hits with a flicker of disappointment gets shoved down as I turn and head to Ray.
“Ma belle,” Ray warns, and I give him a soft smile at his worry.
I’m not stupid. The danger radiating from the mysterious man is more than enough for me to keep my distance. Even if my eyes flick to see if he looks up.
I learned my lesson with Naz. You don’t just look the gift horse in the mouth. You check every aspect before you ever think of saddling yourself with it. But there’s still that tightening in my chest when he’s around.
I wish I knew his name. How stupid is that? Wanting to name the dread that prowls through the night for a rare burger. When Ray finishes the short cooking time of the burger, he doesn’t even put a bun with it.
“Stop gabbin’ wit danger, ma belle. You gonna go missin’ one dees days,” Ray says fiercely. “You mind Ray, da one is more trouble dan a Cayman in a kiddie pool.”
I can’t help the smile that breaks, or the way my chest tightens, because I know Ray is right
