embarrassed that’s not so nice.”
The waitress stood, holding her dustpan full of sugar-coated glass as if she were about to toss it in Nat’s face. “Pride keeps people from acting stupid,” she said, into the middle distance.
“How about kindness?” Nat snapped.
The cowboy soldiered on, ignoring them. “I’m twenty-five now,” he was telling Sam, “which probably seems old to you, but I
still
do things that make me embarrassed. It’s a bad feeling, but it always goes away.”
Sam nodded. She smiled quickly, then jammed her head above Nat’s knees again.
The cowboy got to his feet, his eyes darting between Nat and the waitress and finally settling on the waitress. “A mistake’s a mistake. No use punishing people for them.”
Nat beamed at him. How good of this chivalrous man to come over and side with them against that surly woman. She felt vindicated.
But the waitress watched him with a knowing expression in her dark eyes. “Too bad we can’t all have someone like Esrom to come to our rescue,” she said.
Nat’s face grew hot: So they knew each other. She did not know why this embarrassed her, or maybe it just made her feel like more of an outsider.
He said, “You don’t need anyone to come to your rescue, Corrie.”
The waitress leaned on her broom for a moment and watched him. Her eyes changed from flinty to almost sad; deep lines framed the sides of her mouth. How old was she, Nat wondered—thirty? And why did Nat feel that she had somehow stepped into a situation of greater significance, that she had done something worse to this woman than spill sugar on her floor? The quietness of the diner resounded in her ears; its perch at the base of this remote mountain made her feel like she was at the edge of the world. She’d stopped so glibly, so trustingly in this little town, forgetting that it was a gritty place, like all such places that clung to survival; it did not exist to make her day happier. She had a tiny glimmer of insight into why, whenever she set out anywhere, Paul reminded her to be careful. He was used to people and places like these. She was not.
Corrie, now plainly avoiding Nat’s gaze, turned and headed for the kitchen. “See you later, Ez,” she said.
“Yep,” he said, stepping back to allow a few people to pass: the bearded man and the two long-haired women who squeezed by without speaking, the bells on the door jingling behind them. Now the place was deserted. There was no sound other than the electrical hum of appliances, and no people but themselves. The cowboy headed to the kitchen—for a minute Nat thought he was following Corrie—and came back with a mop, which he swirled once over the sugary spot. It left a shiny circle on the scuffed floor.
“Thank you,” Nat said. “I can’t believe that was such a big deal.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. I expected Corrie would get testy. People are worked hard around here. This job is just the tip of the iceberg for her.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to make things harder. It was really just a little sugar,” and then, feeling her defiance flare up again and remembering it was probably Sam’s rude gesture that had been the real problem, she stopped herself.
Let it go, Ms. Righteous Indignation
.
“So, y’all aren’t from around here?” he asked.
“No, no. We’re from Idaho Falls.”
He smiled at her sincere reply, as if there were any chance he actually thought she was from there. “Well, hey, me, too. Just out here for the day fishing with some buddies. How long you lived in Idaho Falls?”
“Since June.”
“Let me guess—military.”
“Exactly! My husband works at the reactor testing station.”
“One of those fancy scientists?”
“No, an operator.” Nat bent to scoop up Liddie, whose head sagged instantly to her shoulder. “It’s the opposite of fancy, I think.”
He chuckled. “There were jobs less fancy before you-all got there.”
“How
was
that, the town
The waitress stood, holding her dustpan full of sugar-coated glass as if she were about to toss it in Nat’s face. “Pride keeps people from acting stupid,” she said, into the middle distance.
“How about kindness?” Nat snapped.
The cowboy soldiered on, ignoring them. “I’m twenty-five now,” he was telling Sam, “which probably seems old to you, but I
still
do things that make me embarrassed. It’s a bad feeling, but it always goes away.”
Sam nodded. She smiled quickly, then jammed her head above Nat’s knees again.
The cowboy got to his feet, his eyes darting between Nat and the waitress and finally settling on the waitress. “A mistake’s a mistake. No use punishing people for them.”
Nat beamed at him. How good of this chivalrous man to come over and side with them against that surly woman. She felt vindicated.
But the waitress watched him with a knowing expression in her dark eyes. “Too bad we can’t all have someone like Esrom to come to our rescue,” she said.
Nat’s face grew hot: So they knew each other. She did not know why this embarrassed her, or maybe it just made her feel like more of an outsider.
He said, “You don’t need anyone to come to your rescue, Corrie.”
The waitress leaned on her broom for a moment and watched him. Her eyes changed from flinty to almost sad; deep lines framed the sides of her mouth. How old was she, Nat wondered—thirty? And why did Nat feel that she had somehow stepped into a situation of greater significance, that she had done something worse to this woman than spill sugar on her floor? The quietness of the diner resounded in her ears; its perch at the base of this remote mountain made her feel like she was at the edge of the world. She’d stopped so glibly, so trustingly in this little town, forgetting that it was a gritty place, like all such places that clung to survival; it did not exist to make her day happier. She had a tiny glimmer of insight into why, whenever she set out anywhere, Paul reminded her to be careful. He was used to people and places like these. She was not.
Corrie, now plainly avoiding Nat’s gaze, turned and headed for the kitchen. “See you later, Ez,” she said.
“Yep,” he said, stepping back to allow a few people to pass: the bearded man and the two long-haired women who squeezed by without speaking, the bells on the door jingling behind them. Now the place was deserted. There was no sound other than the electrical hum of appliances, and no people but themselves. The cowboy headed to the kitchen—for a minute Nat thought he was following Corrie—and came back with a mop, which he swirled once over the sugary spot. It left a shiny circle on the scuffed floor.
“Thank you,” Nat said. “I can’t believe that was such a big deal.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. I expected Corrie would get testy. People are worked hard around here. This job is just the tip of the iceberg for her.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to make things harder. It was really just a little sugar,” and then, feeling her defiance flare up again and remembering it was probably Sam’s rude gesture that had been the real problem, she stopped herself.
Let it go, Ms. Righteous Indignation
.
“So, y’all aren’t from around here?” he asked.
“No, no. We’re from Idaho Falls.”
He smiled at her sincere reply, as if there were any chance he actually thought she was from there. “Well, hey, me, too. Just out here for the day fishing with some buddies. How long you lived in Idaho Falls?”
“Since June.”
“Let me guess—military.”
“Exactly! My husband works at the reactor testing station.”
“One of those fancy scientists?”
“No, an operator.” Nat bent to scoop up Liddie, whose head sagged instantly to her shoulder. “It’s the opposite of fancy, I think.”
He chuckled. “There were jobs less fancy before you-all got there.”
“How
was
that, the town
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