While the bar and restaurant owner was checking on his sole waitress Emily, Leta continued her conversation with Emily’s brash young fiancé. She had originally begun speaking to him to diffuse what she sensed might be a physical altercation, it as in speaking to the young man that got her dander up. He was proving himself to be an overbearing and potentially repressive husband, and while she had him to herself, she thought she could help out—gently. The young man had already been drinking quite a bit, so the first step had been to change his beverage from beer to root beer, and now she was addressing his incorrigible behavior. Leta hinted that she didn’t think he was treating Emily well.
“I do treat her right!” the young man exclaimed defensively.
“You do?” Leta asked skeptically. “You arranged beforehand to pick her up when she got off tonight?”
“No,” he answered sullenly.
“Then you at least brought her flowers to surprise her?”
“No.”
“You walked into the restaurant, smiled and made sure she wasn’t busy working before you started talking?”
“But that trucker was in there alone with her! I—“
“—You got all hot and bothered, didn’t you?”
The young man bowed his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t slouch,” Leta said firmly. “It doesn’t become you.”
He obeyed.
“Here’s my advice,” she said. “If you want to keep that girl, if you want to marry her, have babies with her and keep her from resenting you, then start treating her like she’s a person. Or you’re going to lose her.”
“But she loves me.”
“Listen to me,” Leta said sharply. “Sure, she’ll marry you. She’ll have kids with you, but she won’t keep loving you. And you will know the difference.”
In her mind, Leta heard herself add, Or she’ll divorce you and turn out like me. Very rarely did Leta get this flashes of insecurity and unhappiness. Her resolve, her own self-worth, her own instinct for survival most frequently rejected such thoughts before they formed. But sometimes a situation overwhelmed her. Without realizing it, she felt twinges of uncertainty and regret, and if she was in a very dark mood, even blame. Here she was, fifty-one years old, unmarried, with two grown children and four grandchildren, yet all alone in the world. In her current situation, she had little too do, barely enough money to keep her, but not enough activity. And that made her bored, listless and reckless.
However, her darker thoughts were quickly diverted when the owner came storming back into the bar, rolling a string of obscenities that she hadn’t heard from a man’s mouth in a long time.
The young man jumped up to protect his girl, should the need arise, and Leta immediately grabbed his arm.
“Charlie?” she asked loudly. “What is it?”
“A catastrophe is what it is,” he snarled. “I go in there for a simple cup of coffee and to check on Emily, and—“
The young man jumped up again. “—Is she all right?”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Leta said, pulling him back down into his seat.
They both looked at the owner expectantly.
“Four of ‘em, can you believe it?” he continued. “Hungry as wolves. What am I gonna do? All we got is soup, and all Emily can make is toast. I’m done. It’s all been shot to hell. How am I gonna get friend chicken?”
“Fried chicken?” Leta asked.
“Yeah, four starving men wanting fried chicken, mashed potatoes—the works. God Dammit all to hell!”
He pounded his fist onto the counter for emphasis.
Leta felt completely level-headed.
“First, do you have any chicken?”
“Four of ‘em.”
“Are they cleaned?”
“In the icebox.”
“You owe me, Charlie,” she said, as she finished off her root beer, gathered her things and stood. She turned to the young man. “As for you,” she directed, “finish your root beer, go home and come back in two hours—sober—with flowers, something, I don’t care what for your girl. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Now, Charlie,” show me where all this chicken is, so I can get to work.”
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