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An exasperated huff leaves John’s lips before he drops his gaze to the job details on the clipboard. He scans the page a moment before meeting our waiting stares and getting down to business.
“Materials will be delivered tonight. Today, I want everyone to walk the site. Get familiar with the terrain. Review the project one last time.” He passes us each a copy of the construction plan. “Go inside the current library and get a feel for the structure. The building is over a hundred years old and a Stone Bay landmark. We were hired to erect walls, build a stairwell, and roof the structure. Make the new wing look like it’s been here the entire time.”
He tucks the clipboard under his arm and rubs his hands together.
“Expect cold days and dress accordingly. If all goes as planned, the foundation gets poured tomorrow and the exterior walls should be completed by the end of week three. The roof done by the end of week four. Then we can move inside. It won’t have power, but we’ll be able to run extension cords or run the generator and plug-in heaters.”
John walks toward the sidewalk lining the grass and we follow in his wake. The grass where the addition is being built has already been removed and leveled. String connects a series of stakes and creates a perimeter. Several colored flags are stabbed into the ground to mark utilities, while capped pipes for plumbing shoot up. Borders and welded wire mesh are in place for the concrete pour. John steps over the string and into the construction space, all of us on his heels.
“We may not be building today, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t working. I want everyone on the same page before we leave today.” He removes his hat, scratches his head, then puts it back on. “We’ll hit the diner for a late lunch, then head to the inn.” Gaze moving from one crew member to the next, he asks, “Questions?”
We remain silent.
“Good. Let’s get to work.”
From the outside, RJ’s Diner and Dive looks similar to every other storefront in Stone Bay. Two stories, large windows, the base color a soft wheat and the trim a bold papaya orange, brightly colored flowers near the door, and a large sign displaying the business name. The only noticeable difference is the lack of a fabric awning. In place of an awning is a pillar-supported metal and wood canopy shading several two-top tables, all of which are taken.
We step inside and I have to blink a few times. Because this is definitelynotwhat I expected.
Throughout the dining room, the same wheat color on the exterior coats the top half of the walls, black grouted white subway tiles take up the bottom half, and a six inch plank of stained wood separates the tile and painted wall. Two-top wood tables and chairs line the front windows. One long bench flanks the left and right walls, tables for two or four available with individual chairs opposite the bench. At the heart of the diner is a U-shaped service counter with backless stools, the counter’s base tiled with small teal, papaya, and white hexagonal tiles. Between the service counter and tables lining the walls are several two- and four-top tables. At one end of the service counter is a place to order and pick up takeout.
What stands out most… the place ispacked.
Is this because of early bird specials? Or is RJ’stheplace to eat in Stone Bay?
“This is a diner?” Jake, our newest crew member, asks. “Fanciest diner I’ve ever seen.”
We all nod in silence as we take in the place. Itsmellslike a diner—fried potatoes, bacon grease, brewed coffee, chili spices, burgers, and breaded chicken. But that’s where the diner vibes end. For me, at least. Everything is so bright and vibrant and chic.
A server pushes two tables together and seats us not far from the window. He hands us menus, relays the specials today, then takes our drink orders.
“I’ll be back in a moment.”
After perusing the menu and receiving our drinks, we place our orders. While the rest of the crew sparks conversation, I lean back in my chair and watch the people beyond the window.
Bundled in coats, scarves, and gloves, residents stroll the sidewalks without care. In a sharp suit, a woman with a wide smile opens the door to the accountant’s office across the street and gestures for an elderly couple to step inside. When the door closes, she hugs them. Next door to the accountant and directly across from the diner, Bean and Leaf has a line out the door. I squint to see people purchasing bulk coffee and tea, as well as fresh-brewed beverages. On the opposite side of the accountant’s office is A Touch Crafty. Without further detail, I surmise the store sells all things hobby-related.
Carolyn loved—loves—crafts. So many times, I drove over an hour to take her to the craft stores in Olympia. Sometimes to browse. Other times to stockpile her candle and soap making supplies. She could have ordered them online, but I knew how much she loved to see and smell and touch the actual products, especially if they were new.
When we broke up, I gave back all the candles and unused soaps she’d made and gifted me. Felt like the right thing to do. A clean break.
My gaze drifts down the sidewalk, closer to the diner, and I stop breathing. I sit up straighter in my chair, lean closer to the window, and narrow my eyes as my head inches forward.
On the sidewalk across the street, a blonde woman shuffles into line at Bean and Leaf. She lifts her clasped hands to her lips, blows on them, then rubs them together. I catch a brief glimpse of her profile and this odd twist in my gut hits. An old yet familiar ache. As if Iknowher.
I’ve never been to Stone Bay, but… a memory from long ago smacks me in the chest and steals my breath.
“Mom says we have to move.” She reaches for the small, rose gold crescent moon on her necklace and slides it back and forth on the chain. “I don’t want to move,” she says, loud enough for her mom to hear.
Carrying boxes into the moving trailer, her mom ignores her harsh tone. There’s been a lot of harsh words and tears since she found out they were moving.
“I don’t want you to move either, sparkles. I’ll miss you. Who else am I going to beat at UNO?” It’s a long-standing joke between us. I said it to make her smile. For a second, it works.
“You’ve never beat me at UNO,” she says with absolute surety.
And I don’t disagree. I can’t. Because she is right. I suck at UNO. If “Undefeated Loser” was a title, I’d earn it playing UNO with her.
“I know,” I say, reaching for her hand and pulling her in for a hug. “And I’ll miss losing to you.”
