Chapter 6
There were three social hubs in town: the church, The Shamrock—a bar that had no visible links to Ireland, so far as Anna could tell—and Jeannie’s Diner.
Of the three, Jeannie’s was the most consistently busy.
The pay was shit and the hours erratic, but at least the job didn’t involve getting a bus into Kearney, which would add an hour each way, and the time drifted by quickly enough with a steady stream of customers to serve.
Jeannie and her husband, Miles, had opened the place thirty years before when they were young—as framed photographs on the walls attested—and while Miles, who spent his time in the kitchen or doing the books, had happily spread to fat and gone bald, Jeannie’s hair was the same harsh red as back then, and she kept it in the same fifties style that had been retro in the nineties, let alone now.
Her figure was trim and her lipstick still a crimson that didn’t suit her hair, but Anna doubted anyone had ever been brave enough to tell her. Jeannie was a bless your heart kind of woman. Sugar on the surface but sour and salt underneath, every compliment wrapped in a barb.
“Jeannie.” A well-dressed ruddy-faced man who’d been eating with his family came to the counter from their booth. “I’ll settle up.” He nodded over to the corner. “And give me the Millers’ check too.”
Anna knew the Millers were the foursome in the far corner where the parents had the smallest items on the menu so their kids could have burgers and fries. She’d worked here three Saturdays so far and they’d come in on each one, the event maybe a family treat that the parents didn’t want to give up.
“That’s very kind of you, William McArthur.” Jeannie’s painted fingernails flew across the keys of the old register, ringing up the items and getting his change.
“They’re hardworking folks. Won’t find a better farmer in the state. Their luck will turn soon.”
“I’ll be praying for it.” Jeannie nodded her head sagely.
“Amen to that.” McArthur slapped his large hand down on the counter hard, as if making a judgment, before picking up his hat and tipping it at the waitresses, and ushering his wife and children out.
“Take some ice cream sundaes over to those kids, will you, Suzy?” Miles said through the hatch. “Oh hell, for the parents too.”
“Really?” Jeannie turned to face her husband. One of her thin penciled-in brows rose to a sharp arch. “No wonder we’ll never retire rich, Miles Brannigan.”
“You’re a real pushover, Uncle Miles.” Suzy leaned through the hatch and kissed him on the cheek before starting at the ice cream station.
Suzy, dressed in the same Jeannie’s uniform as Anna, albeit one that stopped mid-thigh, was around the same age as Anna but Anna wasn’t sure she liked her much.
She was pretty, and her short uniform clung in all the right places, but like her aunt Jeannie, sometimes there was a streak of meanness under her soft exterior.
“Their farm struggling?” Anna asked Miles, watching the Mil-lers’ surprise and relief at their check being paid. “Nice that people are looking out for them.”
Miles snorted. “Some fancy city company out of Omaha is buying up a lot of the land around here. All across the state. If the bank forecloses on that farm, we have no control who they sell to. Better to keep the Millers afloat ourselves than get eaten up by soulless corporations that don’t understand us. ”
“Mormons are buying land too. I saw a crazy documentary about them on Netflix.” Suzy squirted cream high on top of the sundaes before adding cherries and sprinkles.
“One woman had fifty brothers, turned out. And they were all killing each other to take charge. Blood atonement, they called it. Like these people had to be sacrificed to God or whatever for their sins. They caught them, though. Locked them up, and the women, who hadn’t been allowed to do anything but marry old men and have children, ran away. Don’t want that craziness here either.”
“Something tells me that’s not all Mormons, Suzy.” Miles looked at her, amused, and she shrugged, taking the tray of desserts.
“Better safe than sorry.”
Anna watched her wiggle over to the Millers, the small, thin kids’ eyes wide with delight as she put the ice cream down.
That was people all over, she thought, thinking about the fuss being made over the Millers while making a note to find the documentary and see if there was a podcast of it. Even kindness was invariably selfish.