Queenie's Cafe by SUE FINEMAN

coming back to West Palm Beach. If you’re ever up this way, stop by Queenie’s Café. Bye.”
    That should be enough to end it between them. It wasn’t as if they saw each other that often anyway.
    She started the dough for the cinnamon rolls she planned to serve when the café opened in the morning. They could rise slowly in the refrigerator overnight and she’d bake them first thing in the morning, so the café would smell like coffee and cinnamon.
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    Tuesday morning, Laura was up at five and in the café at five-thirty. She’d opened many times for Queenie, but this time she was doing it for herself. She looked around at her café. Her business. The furniture looked shabby, the chairs patched with duck tape, the tables scratched and stained with cigarette burns, but it was clean. Everything was clean. She was immensely proud of what she and her friends had accomplished. With the new carpet and fresh paint, the place had never looked better. It smelled better, too. The cigarette smoke and grease smell was gone. When Laura was a little girl, a haze of smoke hung in the air all the time, but Florida had a no-smoking law now. People smoked in their cars or outside the door, not inside the restaurants.
    She started the coffee and put a pan of cinnamon rolls in the oven. Before long, the whole place smelled like cinnamon and fresh coffee. She turned on the big electric OPEN sign in the window at six and unlocked the front door.
    Marv Walker appeared just after she opened. He was a small man with thick glasses and thinning hair, a nice man she’d known most of her life. He seemed a little lost since his wife died nearly two years ago.
    “Am I the first one here?”
    “You sure are. Your breakfast is free. I really appreciate all the work you did for me, Marv. If I could afford it, I’d feed you free for a month.”
    “You don’t have to do that, Laura. I’m just glad you’re open. I hate to eat my own cooking.” He inhaled. “Do I smell cinnamon rolls?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You make ’em yourself?”
    She smiled. “Just for you, Marv.”
    Luke came in a few minutes later with a basket of multi-colored flowers. “These are for you. Whatever happens with a partnership, I want you to succeed, Laura. I hope everything goes well today.”
    She knew he meant it. He’d been generous with his time and money.
    By seven, there were eight people in the café, all talking and laughing over breakfast. Laura greeted each one and thanked them for coming. Everyone commented how good the place looked, with the fresh paint and new carpet. Two ordered extra cinnamon rolls to take home.
    She put a coffee pot in the dining area. “Help yourselves to coffee.”
    “You mean you ain’t gonna charge us for a refill like Queenie?” asked Charley.
    “No, sir. Help yourself.”
    Some of these people hadn’t been in the café in years. They were all locals, people who knew how strained things had been here before Laura left. One person mentioned the place closing down, but no one said anything about Queenie.
    Every customer said they were glad to have Laura back and to have the café open again. It was exactly what she needed to hear.
    Laura couldn’t stop smiling. Eight people. Queenie never had more than four or five for breakfast, sometimes none at all.
    She served lunch to thirteen people that day. Carmen Messina, the local real estate broker, said, “Laura, this place looks nice. I really like the new carpet. You’ve changed the menu, too.”
    “I thought I’d try something different. What do you think?”
    “I like it. It’s not all fried stuff like before. Hot chicken salad? That sounds good.”
    “Would you like to try that? If you don’t like it, there’s no charge.”
    “Well, then, how can I refuse?”
    “How’s the real estate business these days?”
    “Slow. Are you interested in selling?”
    Laura shook her head. “I can’t sell without at least trying to make a go of it here.”
    “If you