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Bridget stirred her coffee absentmindedly,the spoon clinking against the mug in a slow, rhythmic pattern. The diner, once a beacon along the highway, now looked like a relic from a bygone era. Its walls looked greasy and dirty. The stainless-steel counter must have once gleamed with fresh paint but was now dulled and sapped of vibrancy. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an unflattering glow over the handful of patrons scattered across peeling vinyl booths.
When Bridget lived on the streets, having a meal in a diner like this would have seemed like heaven. She’d adjusted to her new life already. But there was one good thing about the diner—Jo wouldn’t see her in here. Not that she was hiding, but the fewer reasons Jo had to worry, the better.
Even though Bridget hadn’t seen anyone following her, she’d figured that it was better to be safe than sorry, so she’d reached out to Carl Denozi, one of her friends from her past life, to see if he knew anything. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep in touch in case she ever needed his vast array of not-so-legal services.
Her sandwich lay half-eaten, the bread slightly stale. Carl’s burger was a mess of grease and condiments, but he seemed to like it. They spoke of old times, of people who had been mere whispers on the street. Some names brought a faint smile to Bridget’s lips, others a shadow of concern.
Carl took a deliberate bite of his burger, the juiciness of the patty seeping into the bun as he chewed thoughtfully. Bridget sipped her coffee, watching the steam curl upward before dissipating into the stale air of the diner.
“You heard anything about Annie?” Bridget asked. Annie had been a sweet girl, way too young for a life on the streets.
Carl wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. “Annie’s just… vanished, you know?” He sighed. “It’s a rough life out there. Not everyone’s cut out for the long haul.”
Bridget’s gaze dropped. “And Sheila?” she inquired, the name tasting bittersweet on her lips.
“Heard she’s trying to patch things up with her folks,” Carl replied, a hint of respect in his tone. “Went back home to clear her head. Maybe she’ll make it out.”
She nodded, a small smile flickering. “Good for her,” Bridget murmured. “Everyone deserves a shot at a second act.”
They fell into a contemplative quiet, mulling over the fragility of the paths they’d each taken. The silence was comfortable, filled with shared understanding and the ghosts of friends who’d slipped through the cracks.
Carl took a swig of his drink, peering over the rim of his cup at her. “Why bring them up, Bridget? You thinking of heading back… to that life?”
Bridget shook her head quickly, her fingers tight around her mug. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… knowing where people end up, it helps. Keeps you grounded, you know?”
Bridget studied Carl. He was different now, more cautious. But Bridget wondered if beneath that veneer of change, the old connections lingered.
“Are you still… you know, connected?” she ventured, her voice low.
Surprise flickered across Carl’s face. He leaned back, appraising her with a new level of scrutiny. “You looking for a piece of the action?” he asked, the question hanging in the air like smoke.
“Not like that,” Bridget rushed to clarify. “It’s just… up here, in the woods, a girl’s gotta fend for herself.”
Carl’s eyes narrowed into slits, the easygoing façade slipping. “Into something, Bridget?” he prodded. There was a hardness in his voice, a hint of the street sharpness that could cut through lies.
She shook her head, her fingers wrapped tightly around her coffee mug. “Nothing like that,” she repeated. “Just… making sure I can protect myself if the past comes back to haunt me.”
A silence settled between them, loaded and tense. Carl’s gaze didn’t waver, as if he was trying to decipher a hidden message in her words. Bridget held his stare, her own resolve steeling.
Finally Carl nodded. “Yeah, I’m connected. What do you need?”
“Nothing too big. Just something small. Personal protection.” Life on the street had taught Bridget a few things, and one of those was how to handle guns. She wouldn’t be able to get one through legal channels so didn’t have much of a choice. She didn’t need anything big, didn’t want anything conspicuous. Hopefully, she’d never have to use it anyway.
“Okay. It might take a while, but I’ll see what I can find for you.”
The bell over the diner’s door jingled, cutting through the static atmosphere. Bridget looked up, momentarily startled by a police uniform. Not Jo, thankfully. It was Kevin.
Kevin ambled to the counter. “Coffee, please,” Kevin said, nodding toward the pot with a faint smile.
As Doris poured the dark brew into a thick, white mug, Kevin’s eyes wandered over to Bridget. Their gazes met, and she lifted her hand in a small wave.
“Hey there,” Kevin greeted, walking over to her booth. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
A hint of suspicion colored his tone as his eyes flicked to Carl. Carl was already on his feet, tossing a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
“Nice to catch up with you, Bridget,” Carl said, a hint of haste in his voice. “Gotta run.” With a nod that didn’t quite seem directed at either Bridget or Kevin, he brushed past Kevin and out the door.
