|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It was just after two when Calvin reached the center of Adamsville. From the car he could see a few late lunchers at the counter. The place closed at three on Saturdays. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He parked the car and went in. Two people sat at the far end of the counter. Stacking cups behind it was an amiable-looking black woman wearing an apron over her dress. A Red Sox baseball cap sat on her head. She looked to be in her fifties. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Only if you want the meatloaf special." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"No way to sell a man a meal." A black man stuck his head out the service window. He was wearing a green A's hat |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dotty scowled. "Put your face away, Paul, nobody's asked your opinion." To Calvin: "Ain't nothin' wrong with it. Just that it's the last piece and I hate to see it wasted." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"No woman your size can be accused of wasting food," Paul chimed in. The customers at the other end of the counter chuckled. The Paul-and-Dotty act |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"You keep it up, and I'm gonna be wasting you." She winked at Calvin. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I'll take the meatloaf," Calvin said. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
In a few minutes Dotty was placing in front of him a large plate with meatloaf, mashed potatoes and asparagus spears. He had no appetite but forced himself to eat. Soon the other counter customers cleared out, but there was one couple at a front table. Paul was cleaning up in the kitchen, and Dotty was busying herself at the counter putting condiments into refrigerator jars. They were closing for the weekend. |
|
|
|
|
|