The change would be refreshing.
Like a sign from above, I get a text from Carlos right then. Two of the guys – the ones who fell sick first – want to work a half day. It’s great news and I send him a thumbs-up.
When I look up again, I see Luke coming down the street with some girl. He’s carrying a guitar case, dressed just the way he used to – jeans, boots, a leather jacket and sunglasses. All in black, looking very urban and cool. The girl is dressed similarly, though her hair is dyed purple. She stops in front of the restaurant and he pauses to talk to her. There’s a Subaru station wagon parked in front of the diner, one with faded red paint.
Even though she has her back to me, it’s clear that whatever he’s saying to her isn’t very welcome. She tosses her long hair over her shoulder.
Maybe his charm is wearing thin these days.
Luke doesn’t notice me. He’s too intent upon the girl, which just proves he hasn’t changed. He was the worst manwhore ever known in Empire and I feel a simmer that he even had to hit on my girlfriend back in the day. He never had any understanding of barriers, just like Dad always said.
Luke doesn’t look a lot different than I remember, even though I haven’t seen him in person in years. Maybe that’s because several of the women in the office followed his band and had his picture on their screensavers etc. He seems taller than I recall, and that’s about it.
I wait rather than step forward while he’s there. Truth is I’m not eager for a face-to-face. We had a reasonable chat about the properties in April, but it wasn’t overly friendly. It couldn’t have been, given past events. And in the end, it didn’t matter.
I feel stupid that I impulsively covered for him a couple of weeks ago and don’t want to talk about that either.
Good ol’ Mike.
So, I wait. It’s only when Luke crosses the street that I stepout from behind my parked truck. I don’t think he’s aware of me at all. He seems to be singing or humming to himself, maybe working out a song. His fingers of his free hand are moving as if he’s playing an air guitar. By the time I get to the diner, the girl has vanished.
The door is slightly ajar. One glance is enough to see that the place has been transformed, the fittings of the old diner having vanished from view. There’s a new brick wall with a fireplace in the middle of it, or maybe it was there all the time, hidden beneath the plaster. The counter is higher than I remember, or maybe it’s a new one. The hammered copper top sure wasn’t there before. There’s a woman with a ton of curly red hair in the kitchen, dressed in chef’s whites, and another woman with light brown hair setting tables. She’s straightened to consider the girl from the sidewalk, who is showing her something on her phone.
“I like this shirt, Mom,” the girl says to the woman closer to me. “Even though the sleeves are too short. They look okay rolled up, but I might need one that fits.”
“Big surprise,” the woman replies cheerfully.
I recognize her voice and my world stops cold.
It’s Sylvia.
Sylvia Kincaid.
The girl I never forgot, the girl who left town sixteen years ago and never came back, the girl I could never find again.
And she’s right here. Right now. My chest tightens and my feet freeze to the spot.
I can’t see her face yet but I don’t have to. She looks the same but not. Tiny and perfect. Delicate but tough. She always seemed mysterious, content in her own little world, maybe a little aloof. Once I noticed her in high school, she was the riddle I wanted to solve.
She’s slender still but has some new curves. Her hair is stillbrown and long with golden lights in it, and I can see that it’s wavy even pulled up in a ponytail. I feel more than recognition. There’s a rush of pure yearning.
It’s followed by the ache of betrayal. I’ve never been able to understand how she just walked away forever. Sure, we had a fight and I said some things I should never have said, but I’ve never had a chance to apologize.
I was so sure she was The One.
My entire body seems pretty convinced of that, just seeing her again. My heart is racing and I’m tingling, hard. Whatever charm I might possess has certainly abandoned me, along with all the words. I’m just standing and staring.
That’s when I realize that Sylvia’s not just here in Empire. She’s talking to a teenage girl who calls her ‘Mom’, a tall girl with long dark hair. She’s been having a life, wherever she went. I don’t like thinking of her being with somebody else, although that’s unreasonable.
But why is Sylvia back? How long is she staying? Who is she with now?
I’m not a smooth talker and I don’t think quickly about the right thing to say. That’s never felt like so much of a liability as it does right now.
Meanwhile, Sylvia remains unaware of me and keeps talking to the girl. Her daughter. She points toward the back. “Lipstick. Hair. Apron, then back here pronto, please.”
The girl rolls her eyes and starts to follow instruction under protest as Sylvia turns toward me, maybe to secure the door.
“Sylvia?” I manage to say, because a part of me is sure I’m wrong. She has to be a figment of my imagination, a vision prompted by exhaustion – and maybe years of longing. This just has to be some woman with a daughter, working in the new café.
