Chasing Emma

Chapter Two - The Cafe

The bells on the back of the door jingled so intrusively as I enter that I throw my hands up and jump sideways, and this draws the attention of the patrons. The place smells of fried things and coffee. My stomach growls. I sort of smile and do an awkward, waist-level half wave as if I'm on stage in a small-town play. Obviously, these folks are locals and recognize that I'm not. Most go back to their business, but I can still feel eyes on me as I walk to the counter.

"May I — speak with the owner?" I ask.

"That's me. What can I do for you? "The man behind the counter smiles, revealing extremely white teeth. He looks to be in his mid to late thirties and is handsome in a rugged sort of way. Maybe it's because he's wearing a dark green flannel shirt, but I could imagine him hunting deer or chopping down trees for firewood.

"Oh, I thought the owner was a woman."

"Polly was my mom. She's gone now, but I named the place after her. Kind of gives it a homey feel, at least I'd like to think it does."

"I'm sorry about your mom..."

He shrugs, and I can't help thinking about my own mom again, and how much I miss her. "It's okay, it's been years now. So, what is it I can do for you?" He busied himself wiping the counter.

I clear my throat. "I was wondering if you are hiring?" I try not to fidget, but absently twist the ring on my index finger. The café was just small enough that I knew every person in the room could hear me. He pauses, taking me in. I notice a slight smile forms on his lips before he calls out,

"Juney, did Kate call out again?" The waitress taking an order for a family seated near the door nodded and casually returned her attention to her table.

"You have any experience waitressing?"

"I do." I didn't dare elaborate, because there was no way in hell I could provide any references. I held my breath and absently twisted my ring. I needed this.

"When can you start?" I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"I can start right now actually."

"Okay, great! You'll work one to eight, Monday through Friday. I pay in cash, so don't expect any benefits. Your tips are yours." I exhaled heavily, running a hand through my hair. I enjoyed the small victory and reveled in the feeling of deep relief for the first time in more days than I could remember.

"My name's Dale, that's Juney, and that's Martini's back there behind the grill. The man behind the grill raised a hand to wave but didn't turn around. "Welcome to Polly's, don't let the weirdo's scare you away," he said loud enough for me to hear over the kitchen noises.

"Sounds like my kind of place," I called back with a laugh.

What's your name?" asked Dale.

I paused, and noticed his left eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

"It's —it's...uhm...you can call me, Emma." I'd given my real name, which I hadn't done since I'd been on the run. I'd been Linda, Rose, April, Nancy, and at least a dozen others that I spat out without much thought. This time, I didn't feel right not giving my real name, though why I couldn't say.

"Emma it is." He tossed me an apron and said, "follow me," as he lifted the counter hinge so that I could pass through. I hated that I had no choice but to do exactly that. Over the next hour, he gave me a tour of the kitchen, explained the rules and expectations (which weren't many), and told me that most of the customers are locals who order the same things and expect that they are treated like family. Polly's served three kinds of beer on tap, was known for their pulled pork sandwiches, homemade pickles (fresh or fried), carrot cake, and baked beans. The pickles and cake were his mom's recipes, the beans came from a can and he added some barbeque sauce and honey to them. Apparently, it was Martini that did all the meat smoking in the back, and he was very private about his recipes. However, Dale did share with me that brown sugar and bourbon were definitely factors. Martini overheard this and made sure to tell us both that it was all in the measurements of both, and that these two ingredients were not enough to replicate his secret recipe.