It wasn’t my first time there. It was a place I visited when I was in town, doing other things. It was one of those breakfast and lunch places you find if you don’t like to cook and like breakfast. I don’t and I do.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her. She was there every time I visited the place. There was something about her that always seemed to capture my attention. It wasn’t looks -- or not obviously, anyway. She was short, wide and thick -- fat, by just about anyone’s definition. She had a decent, but not huge, rack up top and a wide ass, not to mention the belly. The good news was that it didn’t sag. I’ve seen women whose belly roll sagged to the point that it bifurcated and started down the fronts of the legs of their stretch pants -- which is pretty unappetizing. She didn’t have that problem, though. The face wasn’t beautiful. She was working on a double chin, but hadn’t quite gotten there, yet. The nose was wide and somewhat flattened -- and by itself would have been an indicator that she was part black -- but the lily-white skin it and the rest of her was covered in said it was an unhappy accident of European genetics, rather than African. On this particular day, it was a little pinker than usual. The rest of her face was fairly unremarkable. She had a fairly strong jaw, which was the reason the double chin hadn’t totally manifested. There was a dimple on that chin. The hair was a classic mouse-brown, done up in a messy bun that left wisps protruding just about everywhere, including her delicate neck. You know, maybe that was it. In spite of her relative bulk, that neck, that spray of frizzies, said to me that she was fragile.

She looked tired. She always looked a little tired -- except when she was talking to somebody. When she dealt with a customer, she was all attention, upbeat and caring. When in conversation with another woman, she would be confident, animated. But her base expression said she was tired -- not physically, but spiritually. She was giving and giving -- and the well was running dry. She wasn’t drawing much, if anything, from anywhere else, and she was running out of resources.

On that day, she wasn’t even my waitress – but I watched her, anyway. The waitress I had was a narrow thing with an artificial smile, who was efficient enough, in spurts, but just not of any interest. There were four waitresses; one of them, I had pegged as ‘my’ waitress’ sister. The features, coloration and build were similar, although ‘my’ waitress was the older and heavier of the pair. The younger one was more animated – and my waitress matched that animation when engaged with her – but it was in bursts, not sustained.

I ate, mechanically, texting and looking up things on my phone off and on, and interspersing that with watching my waitress. It was going to be a normal day; things were going to proceed as they always did. I was going to eat, pay for my meal, and go off on my way, putting the issue of the waitress behind me until the next time.

But she was beyond her usual depths. She was haggard. Her face, which was usually calm in repose, even as she nerved herself to continue the daily fight, was drawn. I detected a sniffle. There was some pallor there. I sighed, feeling bad for her. She was either sick or sad – or both. ‘Well, there’s nothing I can do about it,’ went through my head, and I went back to my eggs and coffee.

I paid my check, left the narrow waitress a tip, and rose to leave. My waitress was tending the cash register – or leaning on the counter there, at least. As I prepared to pass it, headed outside, something happened. A circuit breaker in reality popped, or a breeze suddenly swept the boom of the ship of reality across the deck, altering its heading. A switch was thrown and the train I was riding through time switched tracks...

Why, I’ll never know. We shrug off these things daily, passing up opportunities – usually because something about the situation would be inconvenient to follow up on. But for some strange reason, I stopped, turned to her and said, “You look like Hell.”

“Thanks!” she snarled, having had me trigger a flash of irritation.

“When do you get off?”

“Three. Why?”

“No reason. Where’s the old man, anyway?”

“What old man?”

“The one you don’t have, I guess. You should take something for that cold.”

She sighed, relaxing. “I have.”

I nodded. “Pills don’t cure everything.” There was nothing left to say, so I turned and left. As I hit the door, I heard the sister behind me, asking her, “What was that all about?”

“My health, I guess,” my waitress replied.

The closing of the door behind me cut off further conversation.

I went on and ran my errands, went home and cleaned up the place. Then I got in my car and drove to the restaurant, pulling into the parking lot and driving around back to park. At a few minutes of three, I got out and moved to a spot near the back door – not on top of it or anything, just nearby.

A few minutes later, she emerged, looking even more haggard than she had earlier in the day. Looking up, she discovered me, “You!”

“Me.”

“What do you want? I don’t have any...”

“Energy? Bandwidth?”

“What?”

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to. I have something you want.”

Her lip curled, “Cocky, aren’t you? I’ve been there...”

“ ... And it didn’t turn out well.”

“I don’t do black guys...” Yeah, I’m black. I didn’t mention that earlier, I guess.

“ ... Anymore,” I finished for her. “This isn’t about that.”

“It’s ALWAYS about that!”

“Okay, maybe – but that isn’t what you need now.”

“You’ve got THAT right!”

“Come here.”

“What for?”

“Come here and find out.”

“I’m gonna call the cops!”

“No, you’re not.” I stepped in and pulled her against me.

“Hey!” She started struggling.

“Stop,” I told her. “Feel. Beat me with your purse for a bit, if it makes you feel better.”

She stopped. “What the fuck?”

“What do you think I think you need?”

“A dick.” She struggled some more.

“Wrong.”

“What, then?”

“Comfort. Protection. That’s what you need. Now, stop. Quit talking. Quit thinking. Feel.”

She slowed to a stop, her purse the last thing to do so, swinging slowly into my ass and back. When she had relaxed some, I started rubbing her back with one hand while holding her against me with the other.

“What’s this about?” She was gazing up at me. There was fear there – but there was something else...

“You need this, bad. There is a balance to the universe. Did you really think there was no one out there who could provide it?”

“You’re slick – I’ll give you that.” Her tone said, ‘I’m not being taken in by this,’ but her body was slowly molding itself to mine.

“You take care of people,” I said quietly, “all day, every day. But it’s harder and harder, isn’t it? And every time you step up, there’s less of you left. Who’s taking care of you?”

“Becky?” The sister was standing there. “Who is this?”

“Some whack job.” She wasn’t looking at her sister, though – she was looking at me.

“I thought ... What does he want?”

“Sex.”

I looked up at the sister. “I want to ply her with cold remedies.”

“What?”

“She’s sick. She needs someone to take care of her. She needs more than that, actually.”

“Cold remedies?”

“Cold remedies. Over-the counter stuff, mixed with tried-and-true home remedies like chicken soup, I’m thinking. Warmth.” I looked down at Becky. “Your place or mine? You pick – I don’t want to seem to be pushing you toward one place or the other.” I looked up at the sister, “Why don’t you come along? That way you’ll know she’s safe.”

“I have to pick up the kids...” The sister stopped, blinking, realizing what she’d said, how she’d let an excuse tumble from her mouth even though she might have been putting her sister in danger.

I grunted. “Your place, I think,” I told Becky. “That way, she knows where to go to check on you after she picks up her kids.”

Becky popped her eyes and shook her head. “Okay.”

“Come on, then.” I stepped back and took her hand. She let me lead her forward, without resistance.

“You know where to find us,” I called over my shoulder to the sister.

“I might bring a cop!”

“You’ll embarrass a bunch of people, then,” I shot back, opening the passenger door of my Audi. Becky got in, moving automatically to fasten her seatbelt as I closed the door. I circled around and got in. “Where?”

She provided the address, gazing at me in perplexity. “When does the knife come out?”

“I keep an axe in the trunk,” I replied blandly. “It’s messier, more satisfying.”

“Oh.” She settled back. “You’re a smart motherfucker, I’ll say THAT for you!”

“Thanks. So, what do you have at home for this cold?”

“I’ve got some cough stuff and that decongestant crap – the twelve-hour pills.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Three days.”

“Do you HAVE any chicken soup?”

“No.”

“Do you like the boxed stuff, or the canned?”

“Either one.”

“Do you have tea bags?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have honey?”

“Maybe.”

“Lemon?”

“A bottle of the juice.”

“What about brandy?”

“No.”

“We’ve got a couple of stops to go, then.”

“Who ARE you?”

“It doesn’t matter at this point, does it? You’ve already indicated that we’re not going to have a relationship. I’m the guy that’s here to help you get over your cold, among other things.”

“What other things?”

“You need a recharge, Becky. You need for someone to give back.”

She sat there, looking at me, frowning slightly. I knew that I was a puzzle to her. Frankly, at that point, I was a puzzle to ME! I wasn’t exactly your average do-gooder. The answers to her questions came to me as she asked them.

I pulled into the grocery parking lot and parked. “Stay in the car.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Becky, you can sit here and relax and not go spreading germs around, or you can be a little fool, get out and take off, headed who knows where – the restaurant, your place, wherever. I would prefer that you sit here in the car, because if you take off, I’m going to spank your butt when I find you!”

“I KNEW you were a pervert!”

“You know no such thing. At this point, I’m being more of a parent. Your nose is running.” I opened the center console and fished a tissue out of a packet there.

“Are you a doctor or something?”

“No. I’m a bank robber. Be here when I get back.”

“You are not!”

I grinned, slamming my door closed.

She was there when I got back – and she stayed in the car while I hit the liquor store for some cognac. Then I drove her to her place, an apartment in an old house on a residential street nearby. It was small – an efficiency – carved out of the second floor; the bathroom was an obvious retrofit. I pointed at the couch. “Park. Take your shoes off. Wrap that afghan around yourself, turn on the TV, and relax. How long has it been since you took medication?”

“Too long.”

“I’ll get it.”

“I know where it is.”

“I’ll get it!”

“Okay!” She turned on the TV, her expression rebellious. I grinned at her a little and she glanced up at me, shook her head and rubbed her face. I collected her cold remedies and returned to the living room with them, not opening anything until I was in plain sight. The pills are always a pain in the ass, packed in plastic and supposedly peelable foil. I fished out my pocket knife and cut one free, which got me, “I thought you didn’t have a knife?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t HAVE a knife – I said I didn’t USE a knife to kill people.”

“Why not?”

“We already covered that. Not enough blood and gore. Besides, using the axe is better exercise – it’s heavier.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

I cocked my head, gazing at her. “Would you be surprised to discover that I don’t know where they are coming from in some cases any better than you do?”

She sat there, gazing at me for a moment. “You’re not getting any sex.”

“No? I have this knife you’re all worried about...” I closed it and stuck it in my pocket. “I’ll be back with some water for the pills. Do you have bottled water?”

“In the fridge. Why?”

“I don’t want you worrying about me doctoring anything. When I bring in the axe, I want you wide awake, you know? We can run around the couch a few times. Do you have any cough drops? You can’t scream bloody murder with a sore throat.”

“You’re insane – do you know that?”

“Nope, just an axe murderer.”

“I thought you were a bank robber.”

“I can’t have two jobs?” Grinning, I headed off to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, she was sipping soup. A cup of tea, with honey, lemon, and a dollop of brandy, was on the coffee table in front of her.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now, you relax. You watch a little TV. We wait for your sister to arrive.” I looked around. “I half-expected a child.”

“Why?”

“Every good axe-murderer needs a witness.” I cocked my head. “Seriously...”

“I gave him up. I couldn’t take care of him. My folks won’t talk to me as it is...”

“He was black.”

“Who?”

“The boyfriend. I figure he never made it to husband.”

“He didn’t try. It lasted a week, but the consequences go on and on...”

“You’re not on the market...”

“I’m on the shelf. Nobody’s looking for white bitch in XXL.” She grimaced. “There’s a lot of that out there. Overstock.com can’t clear their inventory. For a while, being a slut for black cock got me some interest, but everybody was looking for free samples.” She rubbed her face. “I was a slut before that, though...” She frowned at me. ‘Why did I say all that?’ was there in her expression.

“Must’ve been the drugs,” I supplied in answer to her unspoken question. “Maybe you’re better off with booze.” I waved at the tea.

“There isn’t much in there.”

“Just a suggestion.”

She put down the soup and picked up the tea, anyway. “What are we doing again?”

“Waiting for your sister.”

“She can’t stay – she’s got a husband, kids...”

“But she needs to see you alive and well. In the meantime, what’s on TV?”

It took her sister two hours to show up. “Becky?” came with a knock on the door.

“Come on in, Deb.”

Deb let herself in. “Are you okay? What was up with that guy?”

“I still haven’t figured it out.” Becky shot a glance at me, and Deb did a double-take. I’d been sitting in an armchair with my back to her, so she hadn’t seen me.

“Who are you?” Deb asked.

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

“If I gave you a name, would you believe me?”

“Maybe not. Why are you here?”

“Becky needs someone to look after her.”

“I...”

“ ... Can’t, or you’d have been doing it already.”

Deb flinched. “So, you’re a visiting nurse?”

“He’s a bank robber – or an axe murderer – or both,” Becky supplied.

“Right.” Deb eyed me. I shrugged.

“So, what’s he done?”

“Well, he’s made sure I took my meds. He’s made me soup, and tea with honey, lemon, and a little brandy. We’ve talked a little, and watched TV...”

“You forgot the four bouts of wild sex,” I offered.

Becky grinned a little. “Was it four? I must’ve fallen asleep.”

Deb looked back and forth at us. “Well, he’s funny, I guess.” She licked her lips. “I just came to check...”

“You can’t stay, though,” I finished for her. “I can.”

“Mister...”

“She’s perfectly safe. You can call or text, any time of the day or night. Take it easy, though – she should get her rest.” I cocked my head. “I know I haven’t been helpful. Tell you what – why don’t you take a picture of me to show the cops when they show up at the crime scene?”

“What crime scene?”

“The one you think is going to end up here.”

“I’m just concerned...” Deb said defensively.

“I know. I’m trying to provide bona fides. Nobody trusts anybody who shows up unannounced offering a helping hand these days – too many bad things have happened.”

“Why won’t you tell me your name?”

I sat there, thinking about it. “Okay. This is what I’ll do. I’ll show you my driver’s license. Take a picture with your phone. But you have to promise not to show it to your sister.”

“Why?”

“Because if this never goes any further than tonight, I don’t want her to feel obligated to me. That isn’t what I’m looking for.”

“How would this go any further?”

“That’s totally up to your sister. Thus far, she’s indicated that it won’t – multiple times. I’m not in the business of twisting arms, so it probably won’t. I’m already aware of the fact that she’s had dealings with black men before – and it didn’t go well. It wouldn’t be smart for me to have any expectations. I may be a bank robber and an axe murderer, but I draw the line at being a rapist.”

Deb looked troubled. “Forgive me, but...”

“Get out your phone.” I fished out my wallet and extracted my driver’s license from it. “You promise... ?”

Deb shot a look at her sister. “I promise.” I held it up and she photographed it.

“Go home to your husband and kids,” I told her. “Becky is fine.” I waited until the door had closed behind her and the sound of her footfalls on the stairs had faded away, then asked, “How much of an asshole is her husband?”

“He’s the jealous type,” Becky replied, “and being a slut kind of runs in the family. Momma, well, she got lucky, I guess. Dad has always been able to provide. Roger knows how Deb was when he met her. He seems to think some guy could just walk into the restaurant and sweep her off her feet.”

“Is he violent about it?”

“He wasn’t. Lately, I’m not sure.”

There was a heavier tread on the stair. It came up the hallway rapidly, and ended when the door flew open. The guy was white, husky, balding, and sharp-featured. He took me in and turned to Becky. “I thought you’d learned.”

“I did. He’s my nurse.”

Roger turned to me. “What’s your claim to fame?”

I showed my fangs a little. “I’m infamous.”

“Stay away from my wife.”

“That should be easy – I’m not EVEN interested.”

Roger’s eyes swept to Becky. “Huh.” The tone said, more or less, ‘There’s no accounting for taste... ‘

Was Deb younger, smaller, better looking? All of the above. Did it matter? Nope. No chemistry. Roger gave me a glance that accused me of being a bottom-feeder. “As long as it stays that way.”

“It will. She has nothing I want – including contact with you.”

“What was that, asshole?”

I flowed up out of my chair. “I said it would improve the décor of this room no end if you weren’t in it.”

Roger glared at me and clenched his fists.

“We both know who the asshole is,” I went on. “I’ll be checking Deb in the morning for bumps and bruises. You look like the type who gets confused over who his enemies are.”

“I ought to kick your ass!”

“ ... But you won’t,” I replied. “You need to go into counseling before that temper gets you killed.”

“By who? You?’ he sneered.

“I’d prefer not to,” I replied blandly, “The paperwork is a pain in the ass.”

“Grrrrr!” He spun, though, and his departure was punctuated by a slam of the door that threatened to remove it from its hinges.

“She’s got trouble, all right,” I mused.

“He used to be a nice guy,” Becky muttered.

“He wanted her because she was an easy piece. Now, he’s paying for it. He’s worried that if she would spread for him, she might spread for someone else. Forgive the raw language. The fact that he doesn’t think much of himself doesn’t help. He figures it would be easy for her to move up.”

Becky cocked her head. “What are you, really? A psychiatrist?”

I shrugged. “Amateur student of human nature, maybe.”

“Now what?”

“Now we settle in for the night.” I walked over to the couch. “More soup?”

“No.”

“Tea?”

“Maybe.”

I snagged the cup and headed for the kitchen. When I came back, it was with two cups. “Pick one,” I said as I settled to the couch beside her.

“Why?”

“Another exercise in proving I’m harmless. Whichever one you don’t pick is mine. Or I’ll sip from both, if you’re not worried about my cooties.”

“Why do I get the feeling that while you’re proving you aren’t going to drug me you’ll be up to something else?”

I nodded, thinking about it. “That’s entirely possible.”

“So, what now?”

“Do you remember the parking lot?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like more of that?”

“Here it comes...”

“No, here it doesn’t. My clothes will stay on, and my hands will stay in places that don’t have ‘erogenous zone’ tattooed on them. We won’t be kissing – I don’t want your cold – I’m just offering a little comfort and support.”

“Seriously, where is this headed?”

“I’m doing what any good salesman does – I’m demonstrating the product. Once you’re interested, we’ll talk price.”

“You’re joking.”

“It’s what I’m offering – what I’ve been doing. Taking care of you.”

“I don’t need...”

“You’re a liar – and you know it.”

“Seriously, what brought this on?”

“Seeing you with that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one you wear when you think nobody is looking.” I gathered myself. “Today wasn’t my first visit to the restaurant.”

“I know. I thought about it. I’ve seen you before. Not often, but ... I’ve served you a couple of times.”

“Yes, you have. For me, it’s been one of those things. A passing interest, maybe. Every time, I would find my eyes drawn to you. Can I describe why? No. But every time I ate in that restaurant, you were what I focused on. It was like there was something there – an event, an opportunity – some kind of nexus. But you know how it is – I had things to do, and I didn’t need to embarrass us both. You could be married. Maybe I was dating. These things come and go. I wasn’t stalking. I wasn’t obsessing over you when I was elsewhere. I didn’t come to the restaurant to see you – I came for breakfast. But when I was there, something about you drew me.”

“What was it?”

“It’s hard to explain. I got the sense that underneath, you were frail, delicate – but that you kept on, moving forward, giving, even though you were running out of resources. You’re tired – not physically, maybe, but emotionally. You’re holding it together, but it takes more every day.”

She gazed at me in surprise. “You’re scary!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You need to work at it – that wasn’t believable.” It wasn’t, either.

“So, what happened today?”

“You were haggard, sick. I couldn’t dismiss you. I couldn’t mind my own business. Something told me that if I just walked out, the next time, you wouldn’t be there.”

Her eyes got big. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying. Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Whatever you were going to use.”

She looked away. “I hadn’t decided on anything.”

“You’re lying. Maybe I should check the medicine cabinet.”

“They’re not there,” she sighed. “They’re in my nightstand.” She looked up. “I was really telegraphing all that?”

“You were to me.”

“So...”

“So, you need to be taken care of. You need to be able to lean on someone. You need comfort. You need protection. In short, you need me.”

“My parents...”

“I can’t fix them. But I CAN fix YOU! When I do, maybe it will fix them.”

“Why would you... ?”

“I could say something flip, like I have nothing better to do. There might even be some truth to it, which is somewhat ironic. But it’s more like what I said in the parking lot. You have needs. Do you REALLY think there is NOBODY out there who is capable – who even NEEDS, maybe – to provide them?”

“There hasn’t been,” she choked out.

“So, you’re overdue. I was all that was available, and I’m not perfect, but I have that need...”

“This is just weird. I feel like I’ve been in the Twilight Zone since this afternoon...”

“Would it help if I told you I had the same feeling? If I was to describe my type of woman, you wouldn’t be it – but you are. It transcends looks. It transcends race. It just is.”

“You’re not married...”

I snorted. “Not now, not ever. It’s a little early to say that I expect to, now – but it’s certainly more possible than it was this morning.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”

“Then I’ll shut up – it sounds foolish, anyway.” I settled back. “Pick a cup – it’s getting cold.” She eyed me sidelong and picked up a cup. I sat up, collected the other one and settled back, sipping. “So, what are we watching?” I asked as I pulled her against my side.

“I don’t know – any preferences?” We settled on a cop show.

Later, I went out for subs; we had them with more soup. I did what I said I was going to do – nothing aggressive. Bedtime came, and she went to bed – after handing me the bottle of sleeping pills in her drawer to dispose of. “I have to get up at four,” she related.

“Fine. Yell if you need anything.” I kissed her on the forehead and settled on the couch with the afghan. It wasn’t great, but I KNEW she expected me to sneak into her bed, so it wasn’t happening.

In the morning – very early – I waited until she emerged from her bedroom, dressed for work.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be going, then.”

She popped her eyes. “Was I supposed to come get you or something?”

“No, you were supposed to sleep. I’m thinking that now you need to get your head around the idea of crazy guys from the Twilight Zone who wander into your life uninvited. I’m going to get out of your hair. Tomorrow, I’ll come to the restaurant for breakfast, and you can tell me where your head is at.”

She blinked. “Okay.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you to work, since your car is undoubtedly still parked there.”

We didn’t talk on the way. I parked, she and I both got out. I came around to stand before her.

“Thanks for an interesting evening.”

“Thank you for your help!”

“I was happy to provide it.” With that, I stepped in for a quick hug, then left her standing there, getting into my car and leaving. I ate breakfast in my usual restaurant, in my town, a few miles away, then got on with my usual weekend chores.

Monday, I went to breakfast at the place where Becky worked. She was there, tending tables. She spoke to another waitress, clearly letting her know that she needed to serve me, then came over with the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

While she filled the cup, she said, “About night before last...”

“What about it?”

“It was ... very nice. But...”

“But?”

“We shouldn’t do it again.”

“Okay.”

My response rocked her. “Somehow, I expected...”

“Becky...”

“It’s Rebecca. Only Deb calls me Becky.”

I shrugged. “Rebecca, then. I’ve gone as far as I can. I can’t stalk you. I can’t make you do something you don’t feel comfortable with. I’ve made an offer. You can accept it, or you can turn it down. You need to meet me halfway – or the belief that I coerced you somehow will always be there between us. I know it isn’t as simple as ‘you want me or you don’t,’ but it’s up to you to decide.” I cocked my head. “Tell you what. I’m going to order, and I’m going to eat. When I’m done, you write ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on the back of the check. Either way, it’s no harm, no foul. I’m going to continue coming in here, once in a while – and the offer might still be there when I do. On the other hand, I can’t predict – this thing, whatever it is, might fade away. Maybe you’ll banish it. Maybe time will. But I put it way out there. It’s up to you to balance things.”

She sucked in a breath. “All right then. What do you want to eat?”

I ordered breakfast.

The back of the check said ‘no.’ I wasn’t surprised – I wasn’t EVEN surprised. The whole thing was a little weird, wasn’t it? More than a little maybe. I paid, left a nice tip, and left, unsurprised that Becky – Rebecca – had found a reason to be elsewhere, out of sight. Was I happy about the whole thing? FUCK NO! But there were rules, and I had to play by them. I’d taken my shot, and at the very least, I’d slowed her descent. With any luck, her chute would open and she wouldn’t crater the drop zone, now. As for me, I’d reached out – and gotten my hand cut off. I had to sew it back on – and I was going to think twice about doing THAT again! But, frankly, there was nothing out there, anyway. When you KNOW who you’re supposed to be with, pursuing someone else is frivolous.

I continued to go to the restaurant, every couple of weeks. It was still there – that pregnant feeling in the air, that aura of possibility. But it wasn’t something I could manipulate. I would come and eat. Someone would take my order, sometimes Rebecca, sometimes Deb, sometimes another waitress. We might not speak, but we would watch one another, Rebecca and I. I did nothing, said nothing – it wasn’t my place. If we spoke, we were guardedly friendly – acquaintances who could and did acknowledge one another. But we went no further.