The Last Days of Summer by Vanessa Ronan Read Free Book Online

others. In the paper a few weeks back. They all looked so nice. So happy.’ And then her eyes fall again to hide behind long shadowed lashes.
    Lizzie draws herself up tall, arms crossed. Remembered newspaper faces flash in her eyes. Faces that don’t know trouble’s coming. ‘Don’t believe everything you read. That jury was far from unbiased, ’n’ there’s as many lies printed as truths.’
    ‘What ’bout Eddie Saunders?’
    Lizzie stiffens, surprised. ‘What about him?’
    ‘Word is he ain’t too happy ’bout Jasper comin’ home.’
    She opens her mouth to speak. The faint smell of cigarettes and sweat stops her. The creak of a floorboard in the doorway. ‘Thought I smelt coffee.’ That same Coca-Cola T-shirt. Jeans unbuttoned. Mousy hair in all directions, sunlight catching on the patches of grey. He crosses to the kettle, grabs himself a mug and pours himself a cup.
    Lizzie unfolds her arms, leans her hip now against the sink and can feel the coolness even through the fabric of her nightshirt, heartbeat quickened. ‘You standin’ there long?’
    He drinks down to the dregs, then pours another cup. Smacks his lips as he finishes the second and lets out a sigh. And as silently as he appeared, Jasper pads barefoot out of the room and into the quiet of the still sleeping house. The smell of cigarettes lingers.
    The a/c in the diner doesn’t make much difference. Every time the door opens what little cool air there is seeps right out. Old fans still spin up on the ceiling, gathering dust as they try to aid the a/c in circulating the stagnant air, but the a/c just makes the room stuffy and traps in the stench of greasy food and the fans merely circulate the sour odour of customers’ sweat. Mostly truckers stop out this way, exiting I-10 as they drive cargos from New Mexico and El Paso back east, or sometimes the drivers are heading out the other way, across the prairie and into desert country. A man tells Katie he is heading all the
way out to California. Truck full of Hoovers from a factory in Detroit. ‘I’ve seen most of the country in that eighteen-wheeler. Yep, that’s right,’ he says, ‘I don’t think there’s a road I ain’t driven.’ Grease stains on his hands. Beard stubble grown past two days. He looks Katie up and down real slow as she refills his coffee. Places his toast, well buttered, back on his plate. ‘You ever seen the ocean?’
    ‘Me? No.’ She blushes. Laughs slightly. ‘I ain’t seen anywhere, Mister.’ And she turns to walk back behind the counter, coffee-pot heavy in her hands. She would like to see the ocean. Would like to head out on those open highways going beyond the known. And there’ve been plenty of truckers that summer who have offered to drive Katie somewhere. Anywhere. Even up the road. But she knows better than to trust them. She may not have been to a city. She may not have seen the ocean. But working nights in Penny’s Diner, Katie has come to recognize the hunger that clouds a man’s eyes. No food can fill that craving. She takes their orders. Refills their coffee cups. Listens to their stories on the slow nights. But there’s a line between hospitable and friendly, and Katie’s always careful not to cross it. And, anyway, for the most part, she’s happy here.
    ‘Miss.’
    She turns.
    ‘A slice of key lime pie when you’re ready.’ He’s got the non-food hunger in his eyes. A bit of ketchup smudges his lips.
    ‘Comin’ right up.’ She nods and places the coffee-pot back on its burner.
    Katie’s shift starts after the dinner rush when things are slow, and she’s usually the only girl working. Most nights it’s just her, and Tom in the kitchen. She sits, for hours sometimes, refilling the bottles of Heinz, topping up the salt and pepper shakers. Only a handful of truckers stops in at that late hour. Not fun work. But there’s something about the monotony of it that Katie secretly likes. She likes the way when the diner’s quiet and the