Mary Wilson - Discovering Duncan

And while he walked, he found himself looking at every passing car, in search of Lauren’s old car. He didn’t see it anywhere, and he wondered if she’d just driven on through and kept going. She didn’t seem as if she could afford to stay at the inn, and she hadn’t said whether she skied, but without any snow, that didn’t matter.

He crossed the street and stepped into the diner, generally noticed it wasn’t very busy before he went down the side hallway to the office. The door was ajar. He went in and found Rusty at the desk going over cash register tapes. The older man looked up, the glasses he had to use for reading perched on the end of his nose. “Well, damn, where’ve you been, boy? You said five and it’s going on seven. You had me worried.”

“Sorry, I had a flat tire, and no spare. Rollie took care of it for me,” he said.

“Another flat?” Rusty asked.

“Yeah, another flat.”

Rusty sat back in the chair in the small, cluttered office. The only window was covered with a red-checked curtain, and filing cabinets crowded most of the wall space. Rusty clasped his hands on his stomach. “Any snow out there?”

He shook his head. “No. What’s the forecast?”

“Possible snow tonight. If not, by tomorrow sometime. Can’t be soon enough for me.”

Duncan handed the envelope out to him. “I saw Webb and he cut us a great deal.” While Rusty opened it and scanned the figures, Duncan said, “That’ll cut twenty-five percent off per quarter.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Rusty said and laid the papers on top of the tapes. “The day you walked in here was my lucky day.”

“For both of us,” he said.

“Thanks.” He exhaled. “I needed good news today.”

“What’s going on?” Duncan asked as he shrugged out of his heavy jacket and hung it on a hook by the door.

“The grill’s acting up again, Shannon, the morning waitress, her kid’s misbehaving, so she’ll be off for at least a week.” He exhaled. “I knew there was a reason I never had any of those little humans.”

Duncan tugged off his watch cap and stuffed it in the pocket of his hanging jacket. “What about Arlene?”

“She can’t pull too many double shifts. Damn, she’s near my age.” He stood. “Don’t you go worrying, though. I had one stroke of good luck today, besides your deal. A girl walked in right off the streets asking for a job.”

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