Chapter 40 Present
The plastic bag sat on the passenger seat, mocking me in its quiet stillness.
That yellow dress—still folded, still muddy—like time hadn’t dared to touch it.
Like it had just been waiting.
Waiting for someone to remember.
A lot happened that summer—especially since the last time I wore that uniform.
The faint scent of flavored syrups and sugar cones drifted through my memory, uninvited.
I couldn’t tell if it was the weight of the past or everything that had happened today,
but my stomach twisted. Nausea crept in.
I needed air.
I drove to the boat ramp.
The rain had eased to a mist, light and cold against my skin as I stepped out.
At the water’s edge, I kicked off my shoes and stood still, letting the lake wrap around my ankles.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
I wished my thoughts would follow suit.
I walked slowly along the rocky shoreline, letting my feet sink into the soft red clay.
Everything felt tangled—
The article, the deadline, the memories, the things I still hadn’t said out loud.
But here, just for a moment, the noise faded.
The sun was trying to set behind a wall of clouds, casting everything in a dim, gray light.
The mosquitoes started to find me, and I took that as my sign to go.
I hadn’t gotten through everything I needed today—
but tomorrow was coming. Whether I was ready or not.
The roads were still damp, but thankfully not as slick as they had been.
My stomach let out a low rumble—reminding me I hadn’t eaten since those tiny tea sandwiches with Mrs. Betty.
I figured I’d try to end this mess of a day on a somewhat positive note, so I headed to Neal’s Diner.
The early birds had come and gone, leaving behind a modest dinner crowd.
I pulled into an empty spot off to the side of the building.
As I walked past, I let my hand drift across the mural painted along the wall—something about the cool, textured brick made me feel steady.
I pulled open the door and was immediately hit with the comforting scent of fried food and hot coffee.
For the first time all day, I felt something close to peace. Like I was safe.
I slid into a booth tucked in the back, the same sticky vinyl I remembered from years ago. My fingers traced it instinctively, welcoming its refusal to change.
A lot of Shay felt stuck in the past—but here, it didn’t feel like a bad thing.
I almost appreciated it.
Maybe even needed it.
Trying not to fall too deeply in my emotions, I pulled out my recorder and notebook and started thumbing through my notes. I wasn’t given them much thought, but it helped keep my mind focus on the article.
I felt my fingers linger over the page where the picture was tucked—hesitating—when Ben, Neal’s nephew, appeared at the table.
I figured he was there to take my order, but before I could say a word, I saw the way he was staring—like he was trying to work out the missing piece of a riddle he’d been stuck on for too long.
I cleared my throat, hoping to bring him back to reality—
Funny, that’s usually what I need someone to do for me.
He blinked, like shaking off a fog, and finally realized he’d been staring.
“Sorry, I—I thought…”
The words stuck somewhere he couldn’t seem to reach.
He let out a frustrated huff. “Sorry. Do you know what you want to eat?”
It was a strange moment—but I could tell it wasn’t intentional.
Like he’d just seen a ghost and didn’t know how to act.
Trying to lighten the mood, I smiled.
“Yeah, I’d like a chocolate milkshake, fries, and a burger with extra—”
“Extra mayo, hold the tomato,” he finished without missing a beat.
“Yeah—” I hesitated for a moment, “How’d you know?”
He looked nervous, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’re Bri… Bri Thompson, aren’t you?”
I didn’t answer right away. The name sat differently on me now. But finally, I nodded.
“Yeah. I am.”
Ben’s whole posture eased. “I thought so. You look… the same.”
He gave a small, almost apologetic breath. “My uncle used to talk about you a lot.”
I exhaled through my nose—finally remembering how to breathe again.
“I remember you too,” I said. “And I heard about Neal. “I wish I would have made it back to pay my respects.”
Ben looked more settled now. “Nah,” he said with a soft shake of his head.
“He wouldn’t want anyone—especially you—crying over him.”
We both let out a quiet laugh, the kind that only comes from remembering someone who made an impression.
Neal’s antics had a way of resurfacing at the exact moment you needed a smile.
“Remember how he used to yell ‘order up’ even when there wasn’t one—just to mess with the cooks?” Ben grinned.
I nodded. “Or when he’d change the jukebox mid-song just to watch people get mad.”
“That man had no shame,” Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “But somehow, he got away with all of it.”
“Yeah, he was a mess.”
The laughter faded into a comfortable silence.
Ben tilted his head toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna go put your order in—before people start thinking that storm’s rolling back through.”
He nodded toward my stomach, which had let out another untimely growl.
I smiled sheepishly and placed a hand over my midsection. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s been a long day.”
“Long days deserve good burgers,” he said, backing toward the counter. “Be right back.”
Ben returned a few minutes later, carefully balancing the tray like he’d done it a hundred times. Which, given Neal’s legacy, he probably had.
“Burger, extra mayo, hold the tomato,” he said with a small grin, sliding the plate in front of me. “Fries, and the chocolate milkshake that might as well have your name on it.”
“Thanks,” I said, genuinely grateful.
He hovered for a second. “Mind if I sit?”
I shook my head. “No, go ahead.”
He slid into the booth across from me.
He glanced down at the open notebook beside me. “You working on something?”
“It’s a story,” I said, tapping the page lightly. “More of a fluff piece, really. Hometown heroes. Shay’s finest kind of thing.”
Ben nodded like he was trying to picture the headline. “That’s cool. We could use more of that.”
“You writing about anyone I know?” he asked.
I hesitated, pressing my thumb into the corner of the page. “Maybe. Remember the Newsomes?”
The name landed heavier than I expected. Ben sat back a little, eyes narrowing.
“Paul and Nick?” he asked, curiosity creeping into his voice.
I gave a small nod.
He went quiet for a moment, then glanced toward the back of the diner, past the register.
“Hang on. I’ll be right back.”
Confusion painted my face, “Huh?”
“Just… stay here,” he said, already on the move.
I expected him to grab a clipping off The Wall or maybe an old photo, but instead, he ducked behind the counter and disappeared out of sight.
A few moments later, he reappeared—carrying what looked like a white shoebox.
His expression was unreadable as he walked toward me, the box steady in his hands.
He set it down on the table between us.
It was sealed with layers of packaging tape.
My name was written in black ink across the top corner—faded, but unmistakable.
He broke the silence. “I can’t believe I almost forgot about it. When you mentioned the Newsomes… it just kind of flashed in my mind.”
I looked from the box to Ben, unsure what to make of it.
“What is it?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly. It was already back there when I took over the diner from Neal.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“No one gave it to me,” he said, raising both hands slightly. “It was just there. My uncle told me to keep it safe—and to make sure you got it if you ever came back.”
“That’s it? No note? No explanation?”
Ben shook his head. “Just your name. Neal didn’t say much—only that it mattered and it had to go to you.”
I looked back at the faded writing.
“And you never opened it?”—now holding the box between my hands.
“It wasn’t mine to open.” Ben glanced at the box, then back at me.
“You want to open it?” he asked gently.
I stared at it for a long second.
“I’m… not sure,” I said, barely above a whisper.
Ben didn’t push.
“No rush. It’s waited this long.”
I ran my fingers along the edge of the tape, my stomach turning more than it had all day.
“I think I’m going to wait,” I said finally, pulling my hands back into my lap. “It’s already been a long day, and I’m not sure I can handle any more surprises.”
Ben gave a quiet nod, not offended, not impatient.
“If it’s anything worth talking about,” I added with a small, tired smile, “you’ll be the first to know.”
He didn’t say anything, he just smiles as he stood up.
“I’ll box up your food,” he said, already heading toward the counter. “You look like you’ve had enough for one night.”
And he was right. I had.
He came back a minute later, carrying a paper bag with my food inside.
“Here you go,” he said, setting it down gently next to the box. “And it’s on the house.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with a look.
“My uncle would’ve wanted it that way.”
That shut me up.
“Thanks,” and picked up the bag.
I hesitated, eyeing the box one more time.
“Let me know what you find,” he said softly. “When you’re ready.”
I didn’t say anything—just offered a faint smile and walked towards the door.
I stepped out into the night, the cool air hitting my face like a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I slid into the driver’s seat and set the bag of food in my lap.
The box sat quietly on the passenger seat, right next to the plastic bag—
two pieces of the past, sitting side by side.
When I pulled into the driveway, I just sat there—staring at the weight of everything sitting in the passenger seat.
Whatever was in that box—it had waited this long—it could wait one more night.
I left the box and the muddy uniform where they were and walked inside.