The girl pointed across the street to the squat two-story home, where an old woman sat on her porch, just staring at them and rocking. The empty rocking chair next to her was a mute testament to her long dead husband.
It always made Kyara a little sad to see her sitting there all alone.
“Not polite to point,” corrected Kyara quietly. “And besides, I’m not sure Mrs. Waite would tell me if something actually went wrong. She doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
Crystal shook her head, following Kyara into the restaurant. “Oh, that AC is awesome. Anyway, don’t mind Mrs. Waite. That’s just the way she is. I’m sure she likes you fine. People in this town are pretty friendly.”
Then why is the closest thing I have to a friend here my seventeen year old waitress? wondered Kyara, trying not to despair. She was trying hard not to think the whole town was racist, but if they really were friendly to everyone else, it was hard not to think about the obvious difference.
“Anyway,” Crystal continued to bubble, “I handed out all those flier invitation things like you asked me to. Anything else you want from me today?”
Kyara held up the postcards.
“The walls are pretty empty,” Kyara said. “I was thinking of getting these blown up into posters and hanging them.”
Crystal perked up even more.
“There’s a Kinkos over in Bradford. Want me to take it?” Crystal always volunteered to drive the twenty-five minutes into the nearest “big” town. Getting out of town was still
something of a novelty, apparently.
“No, thanks,” replied Kyara. “This may be the last break I get once the restaurant opens. I think I’m gonna treat myself and get my hair did.”
Crystal hesitated a bit.
“Ummmmm,” said the teenager. “You might want to go over to Lebanon and Hanover for that. With Dartmouth there, you might have a better chance of, uh, actually finding someone who, uh...”
“Knows how to deal with Black people hair?” Kyara finished for her.
“Thank you for not making me say it,” Crystal giggled, biting her lip a little.
Kyara sighed. This is what you wanted, she reminded herself. You wanted a town where Black would stick out. That way you’ll know if any of them get close. It was hard sometimes, though. She was getting really tired of not fitting in.
“Alright. Go home for the night, Crystal. I’ll see you tomorrow. It’ll be a busy night, so come ready to work.”
“OK. Have a great night, Ms. B. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Me, too, prayed Kyara. God, forgive me, but me, too.
Kyara peaked out of the service window at her grand opening and tried not to cry. The dining area, small as it was, was still basically empty. Oh, it wasn’t totally abandoned. The local minister, Father “Just call me Eddie” Brinklet sat near the window, sharing a club sandwich “just the meat, none of that other fancy stuff,” with the woman Kyara figured had to be his wife.
The couple was actually pretty perfectly matched – their beady little eyes taking in the room so they could gossip about it later. Kyara missed gossiping with a man after going out somewhere new.
Not like that’ll be me anytime soon, Kyara reflected.
Across the room sat Ms. Waite with a man Kyara didn’t know. She’d had the Caesar salad, he’d ordered the chicken cutlets.
At least there’s one new face, Kyara reflected sadly. The man was facing away from her, but from the look of his strong shoulders, straight back, and nicely tight jeans, he might be young enough to be part of a successful set. He was young and good looking, at least from the back. Maybe he’ll tell his friends to come in.
Nearby, Crystal was standing near a table of her friends, all of whom were sharing a basket of fries between them, the bill counted out in change. Kyara felt like she should scold Crystal back to work, but what was there to do? No one new had come in in an hour. These weren’t her only customers of the night, but it was pretty close.
Honestly, she was probably just jealous watching the teens laugh and flirt with each other. It had been a while since she felt carefree enough with someone to perch on their lap.
It will be OK Kyara told herself. Word will get around, and business will pick up.
It has to, another traitorous part of her mind whispered. Papa’s life insurance money won’t hold out forever. Not that there was much of it in the first place.
It will, she told herself firmly. After all, she’d always been a good cook. True, she’d gone with a menu she figured rural Vermont types and tourists would like, rather than her usual. She knew she was amazing with soul food. She had the ribbons from enough cooking competitions to prove that. It didn’t seem likely to appeal up here, though. She hadn’t even seen okra in the store when she went shopping for herself.