The storm came sooner than we thought it would. By late afternoon, the sky had turned dark, and by nightfall, snow was falling quickly and heavily, sideways. I didn’t plan to open the diner that night because no one in their right mind would be out in that weather.
I nevertheless pulled into the lot, even though the wipers on my old pickup weren’t working right.
By the time I parked, the world around me was already a white blur. I sat there for a minute with the engine running and watched the wind hit the glass.
I wanted to go home, lock the door, and wait it out with a blanket and tea. But then I saw them: headlights gleaming through the snow.
There was a line of eighteen-wheelers parked on the side of the road with their engines running and their tail lights scarcely visible.
There had to be at least a dozen, and maybe more that we couldn’t see. The roads were closing fast. These people didn’t have anywhere to go.
One of them trudged through the snow with his coat covered in white grit and ice in his beard.
He knocked softly on the glass door, his face stiff but polite. He asked, “Is there any chance we could get a cup of coffee?” The glass made his voice quieter.
“Roads are closed.”
I gazed at him for a second, then went back to the empty diner behind me. No lights.
There was no coffee made.
There were just rows of booths and no noise. I wasn’t sure. These past few years have been hard enough for me to run this firm on my own, and since George died, it’s been considerably harder.
The loneliness crept in like rust.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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