While still fairly new to the job, Ally had been there long enough to determine that there was no “Bert.” The place was called “Bert’s Diner” because the original owner thought it clever to name the place after his dog, Bert. She stayed because the tips were pretty good, the customers were OK, and the current-owner/manager-not-named-Bert wasn’t a complete asshole.

Ally had noticed the woman camped in a booth by the window, slowly eating a sandwich and watching her as she worked. The woman, with brown shoulder-length hair and unassuming clothing, sat quietly, as if wanting to blend into the background. Ally wondered, is this a local having a light meal after work? Or perhaps she was dining alone after having been stood up on a blind date? At a diner? Dressed like that? Some date! Or maybe she was a tourist escaping the heat of the day. Regardless, the table wasn’t in Ally’s section, and she found it easy to dismiss the woman’s gaze and focus on the rhythm of her employment.

It was about 5:30 in the afternoon on a typical hot July day, the peak of senior special time, and Ally was paying special attention to all the retired guys, who were happily paying special attention to her. The tight chinos she had picked up at Gap last week were paying off. She found the senior men here flirtier than she had expected, and their wives either didn’t mind or were passively encouraging the behavior. She wondered how that played out when they got home, but was too busy to dwell on it for long.

Nina the hostess sat another senior two-top in Ally’s section with waters and menus. As Ally approached, she could see they looked hungry and weren’t bothering to look at their menus. They knew what they wanted. She knew what they wanted. The “Early Bird Special.” Today it was the always-popular hot roast beef sandwich (with mashed potatoes, veggies, salad bar and dessert!). Folks showed up hungry for the specials, probably skipping lunch to “save room” and justify at least two visits to the salad bar. Ally didn’t understand why anyone would order such a large, hot, swimming-in-gravy meal on a 105 degrees-in-the-shade day in the middle of summer, but that’s what they did. Two more, please, one with broccoli and one with macaroni salad. Oh my god, macaroni salad as a “veggie” with a hot roast beef sandwich and mashed potatoes, plus dessert, no wonder Medicare costs are soaring. “Sure, coming right up!” She smiled and did a quick spin as she turned to place the order.

Ally found it increasingly difficult to ignore the woman in the booth, noticing how she carefully watched her take the dinner order and pass it through the window to the kitchen. She grabbed two slices of pie from the retro-style pie display case (one cherry, one apple crumb, made fresh daily here!), and delivered them to another happy couple.

Defenses up, Ally walked over to the booth. “What do you want?” Not a question really, more like an accusation.

The booth woman smiled while holding Ally’s gaze. “Have a seat. Don’t protest, I can see you’re caught up for the moment. Take a load off your feet.” Adding as an afterthought, “Bert won’t mind, will he?

“It’s Mack, there’s no Bert. Sure, I can take my break now.”  Sitting across from the woman, Ally asked brusquely, “Why are you watching me?”

“That pie looks really good. What do you recommend?”

“Cut the crap, lady, I’ve got tables waiting.”

“Sure, Ally.” The woman didn’t skip a beat. “I wanted to see how you were fairing. Looks like you’re holding up pretty good.”

Ally was momentarily startled to be called by her name, but then remembered she was wearing a nametag. Normally she had a reliable sense of a person’s potential to do her harm. In this case the woman’s signals were decidedly and uniquely mixed; she sensed a great potential for harm but in the same moment a calming sense of safety. But the “holding up pretty good” comment sounded like a dig; what was this bitch up to? The woman, who at first glance looked to be not much older than Ally, shifted in her seat and took on a more serious tone, a tightened jaw line replacing the smile. “I think you know why I’m here, don’t you? I’ve been looking for you for a while now.”

“You sent me those letters, didn’t you.”

The woman displayed what looked to be genuine puzzlement. “No, no letters came from me. They may have come from your father.” 

“My father?”

“Yes, we’re both looking for you while trying our best to avoid each other. It’s been tricky. But I seem to have found you first.”

Ally stared at the woman, speechless. The woman sighed quietly and her posture softened. Her face revealed nothing at first, but then slowly transformed into a half-smile.

“You can just call me Mom.”

– Mark Ifanson