4. Galena
GALENA
T he coffee was burned again.
I didn’t say anything. Just dumped it, scrubbed the pot, and started another batch with beans I’d ground myself that morning before my shift. They were cheap, but the only ones the owner would buy. I used a dash of cinnamon in the filter—a trick Dolores taught me to add a little something extra.
“You’re spoiling them,” Dolores said, eyeing me critically as she dried the last of the plates. “Making a fresh pot,” she clarified with a little chuckle. “That pot would have been fine for this crowd.”
She had her graying hair tucked under a bandana, a faded denim apron wrapped twice around her narrow waist. Tough old bird, people said.
However, people needed to look beyond that description when talking about Dolores.
She was kind, just in her own way that some people didn’t see.
Dolores wouldn’t put up with any nonsense, and I’d bet that wasn’t just here at the diner, but in her real life too.
We didn’t know each other well enough to talk personally, but I knew she saw a little too much about what was going on with me.
“It was a little past bitter.” I put the new pot on the burner and set it to warm. “No need to chase the customers away.”
“Maybe they need a little bitterness in their day,” she muttered. “Some of those old coots deserve it.”
I smiled and continued working. Dolores wasn’t wrong.
Some of them did deserve a touch of bitterness to start their day, but I guessed I wasn’t the one to judge who deserved it and who didn’t.
The last thing I wanted was for bad karma to come my way.
It seemed like I had enough on my plate as it was.
The diner was slow this morning. Only a few tables filled—a couple of construction workers bent over their eggs and ham, shoveling them in as if they were in a hurry, a mother and toddler quietly working through pancakes, and the usual loner by the window.
I liked the quiet. It made it easier to breathe. To listen for things that didn’t belong.
Arthur was one of our regulars, a man in his late seventies, if I had to guess.
Ever since I started working here, he had worn a brown wool coat no matter the weather and walked with a limp.
He said it was from a knee surgery that went wrong, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed him.
Today, he seemed more tired than usual as I brought him his order.
“Eggs over medium and toast, right?” I gave him a wink. He never had ordered anything different, even when he came at lunchtime.
He smiled. “You remember.”
“Of course I do. Want me to sneak you an extra jelly packet?” After every breakfast, there were a dozen empty grape jelly packets littering his table setting, which always cracked me up.
“I do like my jelly,” he conceded. “I’ll definitely take you up on that.
Looks like the customers before you might have taken all the grape.
” He gave the stacks of jelly a woeful poke next to the sugar.
Dolores liked to line them up in the little dishes that the diner had, but they ended up looking a bit sloppy.
“There’s only marmalade left. Who likes that? ”
I didn’t bother telling him that plenty of people liked marmalade.
My mother had. The thought sent a pang through me.
I gave him a cheerful smile anyway, even if it was a little forced.
“Grape is where it’s at. I have a special dish of just grape packets in the back just for you.
I’ll bring them.” I wrote out his ticket and smiled at him when he pulled out his crossword book.
I busied myself refilling coffee and delivering orders to other tables before Dolores caught my attention. “Order up!”
Getting Arthur’s plate of eggs and toast, I picked up the dish of grape jelly packets before heading back to his table.
“Here you are, piping hot.” He looked up with that same look he always gave me—a quiet gratitude that didn’t need words.
Returning to refill his coffee, I topped it off as he tucked into his breakfast.
When he left the diner, there were nine discarded jelly packets and his usual three-dollar tip, as he limped out with his worn smile.
“He’s a crappy tipper,” Dolores grumped as I cleared the table. “Not sure why you’re picking out jelly packets for a guy like that.”
Shrugging, I put the rest of the dishes into the bin. “He’s alone. Sometimes, we all need that one thing to remind us that we’re human. It doesn’t cost me anything to be kind.”
Some people thought kindness was a weakness or that it cost you something, but my mother had always said it was free.
She said that you never knew when your kindness made that little bit of difference for someone.
I’d never known that to be more true than since she’d died.
Every tiny act of kindness someone did for me hit a hundred times harder than it would have before.
Unloading the bin in the back, I was unnecessarily loud as I blinked back a few tears and turned back toward the counter, where Dolores was already watching me. Thinking about my mother was always hard. I just needed to remember that good memories were sprinkled in with the sharp thorns of grief.
“You okay?” she asked under her breath.
I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired. I was up reading way too late. I should have gone to bed on time.” There, I’d followed my rule—just enough truth in my answer, but not any fluff that would give me away.
I didn’t need to elaborate that behind my tiredness was grief and a little bit of fear.
I read into the night because I was trying to escape the reality of the shitty life I was living, then I’d gotten up and done some pushups to help with the stress I was feeling.
Dolores and I weren’t exactly friends or anything.
She didn’t believe me, but she let it go.
I was grabbing a stack of plates to set up the booth again when the door jingled.
The same two suits from yesterday. They had swagger.
That oily, slow kind that looked like confidence but smelled like danger.
One of them had a bruise on his jaw—Dolores had noticed that yesterday, too.
Said it looked fresh, probably from a fight.
They weren’t from this neighborhood. Too polished.
Too careful. The way they scanned the room before their eyes settled on me made my skin crawl.
Dolores saw it too. She shifted behind the counter, not grabbing anything, just moving slowly and deliberately. Her hand drifted toward the bat we kept under the register, just in case.
I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped out front. My heart thumped wildly behind my ribs, and sweat broke out in a sheen. I tried to breathe evenly as they sat at the corner booth. “Back again,” I said, forcing a neutral smile.
“Best hash browns in the city,” he said smoothly, voice like oil. “Wanted to see if they were the same as yesterday.”
“Glad to hear it,” I responded, keeping the game alive as if we both didn’t know that they hadn’t even ordered food yesterday. “Coffee to start?” They both nodded. “Be right back with that.”
Dolores’s eyes followed me as I moved back to the counter. My hand shook a little as I went to pick up the coffee pot. Setting it down on the counter, I gripped the edge and willed myself to calm down. Don’t be a Negative Nancy, I told myself. They aren’t here for you.
“You want me to handle them?” Dolores asked as she came to my side, letting me take comfort in her steady presence for a moment.
I shook my head. “Nah, I’m fine. It’s just coffee.
” If she thought I was too freaked out to serve, maybe I’d lose my job, and that was something I couldn’t let happen.
This was solid cash, although I worried that this identity might be burned.
I was genuinely concerned in the back of my mind that it was the second day these guys had shown up.
That wasn’t good. It was suspicious. My eyes found the corner booth again, only to find the guy with the scar looking over.
“Ok, doll, but I’m here if you need me.” Her pencil-drawn eyebrows had pulled together in a frown before she passed me the dish of little creamer pods. “You know, when I was a girl, I used to drink these. My dad would get so mad, but I loved them.” She gave me a small smile.
“Now’s your chance, Dolores. Endless supply. You can drink all the creamer pods you want.” I leaned forward, brushing her cheek with a quick kiss.
Carrying the coffee to the table, I poured each mug carefully.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” The question was deceptively casual, but I knew it was anything but.
“Sally,” I lied. There was a reason that my name tag wasn’t on my uniform.
The guy obviously knew it wasn’t the truth because he gave me a once-over from my curly light blond hair, lingering on my chest and down to my toes before going back up.
What a creep. “Did you want to order any other food?” I was specific in my phrasing since it appeared he wanted something not on the menu. My skin was already crawling.
He chuckled. His friend shifted in his seat, and I saw the outline of something beneath his jacket. Not big, but heavy. Tucked into his waistband. He was armed.
Panic pressed against my ribs. I shoved it down.
There was no reason to freak out. I was fine.
Grinding my teeth, I focused on the moment and the pen in my hand while they ordered breakfast without looking at the menu, and I tried to keep the riot of emotions down before I moved away from the table as calmly as possible.
In the kitchen, I passed the order over to the cook, then I stood by the sink and took a few deep breaths, practicing my 3-3-3 rule.
Three things I could see, three things I could hear, and three parts of my body I could move.
Cook, Dolores, tables. Fan, spatula, talking. Fingers, toes, tongue. I’d taken two more breaths before Dolores came up beside me.
“Do you know them?” Her brows pinched together.
“No,” I whispered.
“You don’t get a couple of suits like that sniffing hash browns unless they’re after something. Or someone. This was Oliveto territory before, but those are still made men. I’d bet on it.” She looked through the pass-through at them with a speculative gaze.
I closed my eyes. Made men. I knew all about those sorts of men now, and she was undoubtedly right.
I didn’t know who had sent them, but I had my suspicions.
Maybe they were here to see if I was keeping my mouth shut.
Sternly, I reminded myself that there had been no indication they were here for me.
They hadn’t hurt me. Stay calm , I told myself.
I was strong and smart. Don’t be negative, Galena.
When the bell rang for their order, I plastered on a fake smile, took the plates, and walked them to the table. Fuck these guys. It was a public place. Dolores would call the cops if anything happened.
They looked up expectantly as I placed their plates down. “Smells amazing. You got a gift, sweetheart.”
“Enjoy.” It wasn’t as if I had anything to do with cooking, so I barely held back an eye-roll at their hollow compliment.
They didn’t eat fast. They were killing time drinking their coffee and speaking quietly, but every once in a while, they would shoot a glance my way. Not that they wanted a refill, but rather that they were checking to see if I was still here.
Dolores reached under the counter and pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Calling someone who can make them go away.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Cops?” It would have surprised me if she had called them for something like this. She didn’t seem the type unless it was a dire emergency.
She shook her head. “No cops, but someone who knows people, if you catch my drift. My brother, Johnny. He handles shit like this. He works for good people. Not like these putzes. Not sure which boss they work for.” She squinted over at their table again.
I wanted to say no. The last thing I wanted was more men like this around, but I would be a fool to turn Dolores down.
She wasn’t exactly a woman who took ‘no’ for an answer anyway.
Worst case scenario, I had burned my ID at the diner, and I’d have to leave Queens altogether.
Leaving home, losing everything I’d ever known had been a blow to absorb.
I was still trying to process everything, but I wasn’t ready to move on yet.
Dolores was already in action pressing the call button while she winked at me, but there was a sinking feeling in my stomach that I tried to ignore.