Robert B. Parker by Love, Glory

grill. He did eggs or pancakes with bacon, ham, or sausage, and home fries on the grill along with English muffins and toast, which he did eight slices at a time in a big old silver pop-up toaster. The coffee he drew from a big silver urn. Fruit juice was canned. After nine the breakfast rush dwindled and I caught up on the dishes in time for lunch. At 11:15 I took ten minutes and had a ham and cheese sandwich on rye bread and two glasses of milk. Lunch was mostly sandwiches plus hamburgers or grilled cheese. The dishes were easier to clean. Tom closed at three o’clock in the afternoon. I finished washing up at 4:30.
    “I only pay you for the hours I’m open,” Tom said. “Otherwise you could stall around till midnight.”
    I nodded. He gave me a ten and two ones. My legs ached with exhaustion.
    “There’s some sandwiches made up and left over in the icebox,” Tom said. “Where you sleeping tonight?”
    “On the beach.”
    Tom said, “Wait a minute.” He went out through the back door and came back in two minutes with one of those folding plastic mattresses that fit in the back of station wagons. He put it on the floor in the kichen in front of the sink. “You want to sleep here?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “I’d appreciate it.”
    “If you go out, make sure the door’s locked. Key’s on a nail behind the shutter on the left.” He showed me.
    “What size shoes you take?” Tom said.
    “Nine.”
    “I’m nine and a half, but maybe I got some old sneakers you could have. Board of health would shit if they seen you in here barefoot.”
    I nodded. My head was woozy and I was so tired I couldn’t focus on Tom.
    “I took the cash with me,” Tom said. “No point looking for any.”
    “I wouldn’t,” I said.
    “Anyone would,” Tom said. “I’ll be in around six to get ready for breakfast.”
    I put the twelve dollars in my pocket. Enough for three cases of beer, twenty bottles of Pastene port. I could imagine the beer going in and seeping through me, washing clear and clean into all the parched cells. In my imagination my body tautened and enlarged like a watered plant, revitalizing like a dried sponge dipped into a spring. I could get a couple of six-packs and put them in the freezer to get really chilled and I could lie on the mattress here and drink them and be whole again. Itseemed a long walk to the store. I was head-swimming tired. I could rest a little, then get up and get the beer. I lay down on the mattress, and fell asleep with the late afternoon sun shining on the wall above my head.

CHAPTER TWENTY
    I woke up soaked with sweat in the small hot kitchen. The sun still shone in through the window, but it was on the opposite wall. I looked at the clock above the counter in the front of the shop: 5:40. Another day without a drink or a smoke. Two days? Three? I couldn’t quite be sure. I got up and got some bar soap from the lavatory and walked down to the beach. I stripped off my clothes and waded in and washed with the soap. It didn’t lather much in the salt water, but it got the sweat off. I put my stolen jeans back on over my damp body and walked back up to the coffee shop. I got the key from behind the shutter and let myself in. I ate a leftover tuna sandwich and drank milk. Then I opened up the front door to let the air in and found the mop and a bucket and washed down the floor. Tom arrived while I was at it. He gave me a pair of white Keds and a clean white T-shirt. The sneakers were a little big and the T-shirt, one of Tom’s, was very big, but at least I was covered. Tom showed me how to get the big coffee urn ready and started for theday. He showed me how to turn on the grill and how to get the deep fryer going. I had two cups of coffee before the first customers arrived at seven and I started washing dishes.
    After that I had everything ready to go in the morning by the time Tom got to the shop and after three days he took to coming a little later. After five days I had sixty