Vanilla

Ten

Past the Victorian gates of Evergreen Kindergarten and down the winding street of the hill was a humble diner settled perfectly between a hair salon and a florist, the buttery fragrance of spices wafting out of the entrance and the old wooden sign creaking at every gust of the wind.

But what was once quietly bustling and full—complete with the soft chattering of guests and the gentle clinking of glasses for a toast—was now left in the dust. Shivering in the wind just like the sign on the door. 'Closed.'

A man stopped by. His briefcase was heavy and so was the load upon his shoulders at present. He reached for the door, holding still. In bated breath and iron steps; the back of his mind shaking in the thunderstorm, the critic knocked once before sliding the door open.

"Hi. Hello," he greeted upon entering the diner that had half their lights on, surprised to see someone behind the counter already. The lady looked just as surprised to see him. "I... I'm Vanille's Uncle. Alfred Dempsey. My fiancée, Julie, picks him up most of the time. I'm sorry for the... I should have said something before coming but picking up the phone was difficult. You must be Leroy's mother. Mrs. Cox."

The owner of the store wiped the back of her hands on her apron, a genuine smile on her face.

"Yes! Julie talks about you all the time. I'm sorry I couldn't welcome you properly with food and drinks—or maybe I can now, if you don't mind. Please, have a seat." She came forth, out from behind the counter to usher the customer to a seat. "I'm Annie. Leroy's mother."

He raised a hand. "Oh no. No that's quite alright. In fact, I don't think this is the first time we've met, um... I believe." The critic sighed. "You served a table of eight last Thursday evening. I was one of them."

The smile on Annie's face seemed to falter. She averted her gaze all of a sudden, as though afraid that he'd see the embarrassment in her eyes.

"Oh that was a long time ago now. I wouldn't remember that."

"Terrible things stay the longest in our minds, Annie," the older man shook his head, eyes weary. "I... that incident was nothing pleasant. When I heard that they'd got the health inspectors to come and that they'd somehow, believe it or not, failed your diner, I. Well, I... I felt terrible, to say the least.

"While I'm known for not dwelling on matters outside of my expertise—cakes, pastries, the like—I just want you to know that those fools from before... whatever they did, I wholly disagreed with. And I am only sorry that I didn't try to stop them from taking this to the authorities. It was a silly, petty thing and despite that all happening on a smaller scale I... I let it come to this," his gaze swept the half-lit store, tables and chairs stacked up and pushed to the side to make space for the many cardboard boxes in the middle of it all.

Dust particles simmered in the light of dusk. Falling. Floating.

Annie listened. She could hear the ringing in her ears and the beat in her chest; the remnants of his words leaving an odd taste in her mouth. "We were meant to move. It has nothing to do with what happened last week, Alfred. I was never cut out for this."

"That is not true and both you and your son know that," Dempsey snapped at once, placing his briefcase on the counter before producing a folder of documents. "These are contacts to a lawyer I know. They've drawn up statements that only need your signature and you have all the right to—"

"But what if they were telling the truth?" Her eyes were weak, gaze darting from corner to corner of the room as she watched the rest of the world spin. "Isn't that what critics do? I mean, I never expected them to come but that's the entire purpose, isn't it? Perhaps there really was something I could do to improve the décor or the glassware and they were right!"