The Christmas Secret by Donna VanLiere Page A

warmer days her husband drove her to work on the back of his Harley-Davidson. Cliff had a surly beard, a gut out to here, and a laugh that could dismantle a truck engine. He liked to pat her butt as she climbed off the back of his bike and she’d plant a kiss on lips lost somewhere in the middle of his whiskers.“When your order’s up the guys in the back will yell your name,” Karen said. I looked at her: I was used to scrambling to a kitchen to check on orders. “Betty started that years ago when it was just her and a couple of employees. It’s actually a lot better than running back to the kitchen every couple of minutes. It’s become part of the vibe here over the years.”
    Karen helped me input an order for a family of four. A husband and wife sat at a table with their two small children and I watched the father play tic-tac-toe on a napkin with his young son. Every time I saw a family like that my heart hurt. “We still need milk for her,” the woman said, pointing to her toddler daughter.
    â€œI forgot. I’m sorry,” I said, rushing to the waitress station. I filled a Styrofoam cup and put a lid on it. “There you go,” I said, setting it down in front of the girl. “Sorry,” I said to her parents.
    â€œWe come in here once a week,” the mother said. “So we know you’re new.” She cut her daughter’s French toast. “You won’t remember our names yet but I’m Julie. This is Clayton and these two belong to us: Ava and Adam.” She looked up at me and smiled. “Don’t let the jerks get you down.”
    A man at a table with six other men lifted his coffee cup and I headed toward them. “Those are the mechanics from City Auto Service,” Karen said, handing me a fresh pot ofcoffee. “Jack Andrews and that crew have been coming in here for years so you’ll see them a lot.” I filled their cups and carried away the empty plates.
    I noticed two older women sitting at a booth and jumped, not knowing how long they had been sitting there. I grabbed two ice waters and smiled as I approached them. They were opening a stack of mail sitting on the table. “Good morning,” I said, setting the waters in front of them.
    â€œWell, who are you?” the first woman said. She was wearing a red sweatshirt with a mouse dressed like an elf on the front of it. “I know everyone in here but I don’t know you. Where’s your name tag?”
    â€œAs you can see, Gloria excels in proper etiquette,” the second woman said. “She should write the manners column for the newspaper.”
    The first woman laughed and tiny, loose salt-and-pepper curls bounced around her face. “I’m Gloria Bailey,” she said, picking up a strand of curls and pinning them on top of her head.
    â€œI’m Miriam,” the second woman said in an accent I couldn’t pinpoint yet. Her hair hung in a sleek, honey-colored bob and a large diamond ring sparkled on her right hand.
    â€œI’m Christine. I don’t have a name tag yet.”
    â€œAre you from here, Christine?” Gloria asked.
    â€œPlease, Gloria, must you put this poor woman through your twenty questions? Let her learn her job without being subjected to you so early in the morning.”
    â€œI am taking the time to know her,” Gloria said. “You could learn to do the same.”
    â€œI know all the people I want and most of them I don’t like.”
    â€œMiriam looks good on the outside,” Gloria said, “but inside she’s nothing but tacky.”
    I wasn’t sure if they were angry at each other or if this was normal banter between the two of them. “Where are you from?” I asked.
    They answered Georgia and England in unison.
    Gloria looked up at me. “I would like bacon, egg, and cheese on an onion bagel with a cup of coffee. Miriam here will have a boiled egg, medium yolk, a