Джей Эшер - What Light

Before she turns off the engine, Heather looks past me to the windows of the train cars. “Look, I wasn’t going to say no to this because I know you love coming here.”

“Okay,” I say, unsure what that was all about. “If you want to go somewhere else—”

“But before we go in,” she says, “you should know that Caleb works here.” She waits for that to sink in, and it sinks down like a rock.

“Oh.”

“I don’t know if he’s working today, but he may be,” she says. “So figure out how you’re going to be.”

While approaching the stairs to the diner car, my heart beats faster and faster the closer I get. I follow Heather up the steps, and she pulls open the red metal door.

Vinyl records and photos from old movies and TV shows decorate the walls up to the ceiling. The center aisle is lined on either side with tables that can seat no more than four, and plastic red cushions flecked with silver sparkles. Only three tables are occupied right now.

“Maybe he won’t be here,” I say. “Maybe it’s his day—”

Before I can finish, the door to the kitchen slides open and Caleb walks through. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, khakis, and a paper soda jerk hat. He carries a serving tray with two breakfast plates to a table and then sets one plate in front of each person. He lowers the tray to his side and then makes his way toward us. After a few steps, he blinks with recognition, his gaze moving between Heather and me. His smile appears cautious, but at least it’s there.

I stuff my hands into my coat pockets. “Caleb. I didn’t know you worked here.”

He grabs two menus from a shelf beside Heather, his smile fading. “Would you have come if you did?”

I don’t know how to answer.

“This was her favorite place as a kid,” Heather says.

“It’s true,” I say. “The silver dollar pancakes were my favorite.”

Caleb starts walking down the aisle. “No need to explain.”

Heather and I follow him to a table at the far end of the car. Like every booth we pass, it has its own rectangular window. On this side, the windows look out onto the street where we parked.

“It’s the best booth in the train,” he says.

Heather and I slide into the booth on opposite sides of the table.

“What makes it so great?” I ask.

“It’s closest to the kitchen.” His smile returns. “A fresh pot of coffee will get to you before anyone else. Plus, it makes it easier to chat with people I know.”

At that, Heather picks up a menu and starts reading it over. Without looking away, she slides the other menu closer to me. I can’t tell if that was meant to look dismissive to Caleb, but it did.

“If you get bored,” I tell him, “we’ll be here.”

Caleb looks at Heather as she continues reading her menu. No one speaks for several seconds, and then Caleb concedes and disappears behind the kitchen door.

I push Heather’s menu to the table. “What was that? I’m sure now he thinks you’re the one who told me the rumor. But you don’t even know if it’s true.”

“I don’t know how much of it is true,” she says. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to say. I’m worried for you.”

“Why? Because I think he’s cute? As far as I know that’s all he’s got going for him.”

“But he’s interested in you, Sierra. I see him every day at school and he’s never this talkative. And that’s fine, but you don’t have to be so obviously flirting back when—”

“Whoa!” I hold up a hand. “First of all, I was not obviously anything. Second, I don’t even know him, so there’s no reason for you to worry.”

Heather picks up her menu again, but I can tell she’s not reading it.

“Here’s what I do know about Caleb,” I say. “He works at a diner and buys a lot of trees. So while I probably will continue running into him, that’s where it ends. I don’t need to see him more than that, and I don’t want to know more than that. Okay?”

“I get it,” Heather says. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” I sit back. “Then maybe I can enjoy my silver dollar pancakes without this knot in my stomach.”

Heather gives me a half-smile. “Those things will cause a knot in your stomach.”

I pick up my menu and look it over even though I know what I’m getting. This gives me somewhere to look while I push the subject further. “Besides, whatever did happen, he still tortures himself over it.”

Heather slaps her menu on the table. “You talked to him about it?”

“We didn’t have a chance,” I say, “but his whole body showed it.”

She looks over at the closed door to the kitchen. When she turns back to me, she presses her palms against her temples. “Why are people so complicated?”

I laugh. “Right? It would be so much easier if they were just like us.”

“Okay, before he comes back,” Heather says, “here’s what I know about him. And it’s only what I know for sure—no rumors.”

“Perfect.”

“Caleb and I have never been friends, but he’s never been anything but nice to me. There must be—or must have been —another side, but I’ve never seen it.”

I motion toward her menu. “Then don’t be so cold to him.”

“I’m not trying to be.” She leans forward and puts a hand on top of mine. “I want you to have fun while you’re here, but you can’t do that if the guy’s carrying more baggage than a jumbo jet.”

The door slides open and Caleb walks out with a small pad and pencil. He stops beside us.

“Are you hiring?” Heather asks.

Caleb puts down his writing tools. “Are you looking?”

“No, but Devon needs a job,” she says. “He refuses to look for one himself, but I know it would spice up his life a little.”

“You’re his girlfriend,” I say with a laugh. “Isn’t that your job?”

Heather kicks me under the table.

“Or are you trying to get rid of him?” Caleb asks.

“I didn’t say that,” Heather says a little too fast.

Caleb laughs. “The less I know, the better. But I’ll ask my manager when he gets here.”

“Thank you,” Heather says.

He turns to me. “If you’re hoping for hot chocolate, you should know we don’t have any candy canes. It might not meet your standards.”

“Coffee’s fine,” I say. “But with tons of cream and sugar.”

“I’ll take the hot chocolate,” Heather says. “Can you add extra marshmallows?”

Caleb nods. “Be right back.”

Once he’s out of earshot, Heather leans forward. “Did you hear that? He wants to meet your standards.”

I lean right back at her. “He’s a waiter,” I say. “That’s his job.”

When Caleb returns he’s carrying one ceramic mug topped off with an exaggerated pile of marshmallows. He sets it on the table and a few of them spill out.

“Don’t worry, I’m brewing more coffee,” he tells me.

The door at the other end of the diner opens. When Caleb looks over to see who walked in, a mix of surprise and happiness appears in his eyes. I turn and see a mom with twin girls—maybe six years old—smiling at Caleb. The girls are thin and both wear hooded sweatshirts, tattered at the cuffs and a size too big. One of the girls holds up a crayon drawing of a decorated Christmas tree high enough for Caleb to see.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers to us. He walks over to the girls and is presented with the drawing. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“It’s like the tree you gave us,” one of the girls says.

“It’s all decorated now,” the other one tells him. “It looks just like this.”

Caleb looks closely at the picture.

“They don’t remember the last time they had a tree,” the mom says. She adjusts the purse strap on her shoulder. “I barely remember getting one myself. And when they got home from school, their faces… they just…”