A smaller man at the next stool nodded, lifting his coffee mug. "About
so high."
About so high, Will repeated to himself.
"Made it for my daughter."
"For your daughter."
Made it for his daughter. Will joined the chorus. He couldn't see the
box, but he could hear it.
"Took me some shiplap--nice and dry. Made her tight. No cracks."
"No sir."
No way.
It was four o'clock in the morning. Fluorescent lights cast a bluish
glow over wooden booths, plastic covered stools, the grill, and a
double doored refrigerator. A waitress leaned against the wall by a
kitchen door and lit a cigarette.
The man's voice rose and fell. There was a question of hinging. To
hinge or not. Maybe a plain top with a handle? A hinge, but--you didn't
want the top just flopping around. "I got me some light brass chain,
put about fifteen inches on each side, inside, running to the underside
of the top. Little screw in each end. Not going to pull out _those_
hinges."
The other man shook his head.
"I sanded her up good--you know--finished it nice."
The waitress bent forward and tapped her cigarette on an ashtray hidden
behind the counter. "You want more coffee, Herbert?"
"Don't believe I will." Herbert turned to his friend. "What do you say?"
"Don't get paid for sitting."
They left and the waitress cleared their places, sweeping a tip into
her pocket. She turned toward Will. "More coffee?"
He pushed his mug forward. "Thanks." He could see the box now. It was
solid. It had a quiet glow.
"Long night?"
"Yes." It hurt to think about it. He was still disoriented. The diner
had appeared in the night like a miracle. "We all got troubles, I
guess," he said to break the silence.
"What's her name?"
"Heidi," he said, surprised. The name tore through him.
"Heidi, huh." The waitress took a drag from her cigarette. "You're a
good looking guy. She good looking?"
He could have said, not like you, but he didn't have it in him. He
nodded.
"It's hard sometimes," she said. "I don't mean to be telling you what
to do, but you might feel better if you cleaned up a little, got those
pieces of leaf or whatever out of your hair." Will reached up and felt
the back of his head.
"I slept in the woods a couple of hours."
"You look it. Your mother'd give you hell."
"Don't have a mother."
"Oh. I _am_ a nosy bitch."
"You're not a bitch," Will said. It was important to get something
right. "You're not a bitch. I was at a concert. We were."
"You and Heidi."
"And a bunch of her friends. It was at Cornell. String quartet. I had
to wear a tie."
"Guess you got rid of the tie."
"It's in the car--with the rest of the uniform. I'm in the service, the
Air Force. Only dress up clothes I had."
"My brother was in the Navy twenty years. Gets a check now, every
month."
"I won't make twenty."
"I've never been to a quartet," she said. "Cornell is big bucks."
"The music was great. Haydn. But her friends were laughing at me.
What's Heidi doing with an airman? They don't see too many airmen at
Cornell. We've been together since we were fifteen--high school."
"Oh, Jesus," the waitress said, "first time's the worst."
"She didn't say anything, but I saw it in her eyes--just like I saw she
was going to be mine when I asked her in the hallway to go roller
skating." Will shook his head. "I didn't even know _how_ to roller
skate. She looked down and then she looked up and her eyes said yes and
then she said, yes. And that was that. Five years ago."
The waitress took a last drag and stubbed out her cigarette. "You want
something to eat?"
"I don't think so."
"You sure? Piece of toast?"
"Well--toast, maybe." Heidi's friends surrounded him. Their faces were
soft and excited, sure of themselves. They wore expensive sweaters and
sports jackets. They seemed to belong to a club where everything was
taken care of.
The waitress set a plate of toast in front of him. He took one bite and
then another. "Tastes good."
"You gotta eat," she said.
"I drank a lot of beer, after. Heidi had to go back to her dorm. I was
on this path near where the car was parked, and I just lay down in the
path. When I woke up, there was a roaring and a weird light in the
trees. It was a power plant or something that fired up in the middle of
the night. I couldn't sleep, so I found the car. I just wanted to get
out of there."
"Get moving," she said. "I know it's easy to say--but it might be it's
for the best. People do go in different directions."
"Maybe," Will said. "Maybe she'll marry one of those rich guys and live
happily ever after."
The sky outside the window had turned from black to light gray.
"Getting light." He left a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Thanks for
the company."
"You stop in next time by, you hear?"
"O.K. What's your name?"
"Lee."
"O.K., Lee. I'll do that. I'm Will. Take it easy."
The car started right up, that was one good thing. He drove off,
adjusting the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of the diner before
he went around a curve. He and Heidi had made a whole, and now she was
gone. He drove, and, as the daylight grew stronger, he thought about
the diner--that little room of light in the dark, Lee, and the man
talking about his box. That was something you could hang on to.