Two from the Heart(8)

I laughed. “In fairness to Mr. Scharf, whoever he is, that story sounds more disgusting than boring.”

“True,” she admitted.

“So what’s your story?” I asked.

She looked quizzically at me. “What do you mean?”

“Like, what would you tell your therapist-waitress?” I asked.

She smiled then, and it just lit up her whole face. “Okay, I’ll tell you something,” she said. “Ten years ago I was a knockout. Hell, even five years ago I was still pretty hot.” She held up a warning hand. “Don’t bother telling me I still look great.”

“I was going to,” I admitted.

“So one day I won a makeover contest—you know, you mail in your picture, and the TV producers pick you to be on their show. So here I am, Kate Prior, the small-town waitress, getting flown to Los Angeles. They gave me hand-painted blond highlights and put so much makeup on my face it felt like spackling paste. When I walked out on stage, the women in the audience clapped and screamed. Suddenly I looked like Miss America! It was wild.” She shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Later they took me to a really fancy party. I had agents in expensive suits on either side of me, pouring me Champagne and trying to sign me. They said they could build my brand, make me a household name. And I’m like, ‘Brand? What does that mean? I’m not a laundry detergent!’ But at the same time it was wonderful. You should have seen the shoes they gave me—they cost more than my car.”

“Mine, too, no doubt,” I said, and I felt a pang of sorrow for Beatrice.

Kate reached into a case and got us each a croissant. I’d never been in a restaurant where people just handed you things.

“So later I’m chatting with this great lady—she’s a movie producer—and some hot guy she’s with,” Kate went on. “And she says to him, ‘I want to get a picture with Kate.’ So I go to put my arm around her, and I’m smiling all big and proud, but then she gives me the camera. This was before selfies, so I’m really confused—until I turn around, and I see Kate Winslet right behind me. The producer doesn’t want a picture of me! She wants a picture of herself with Kate Winslet. And Kate Winslet knows this, and she’s laughing her British ass off. But I roll with it. I go, ‘One Kate at a time—get in line behind me, Limey.’ Even though, inside, I was dying.”

My mouth had fallen open. “And then what?” I asked.

Kate shrugged. “I went back to my hotel room, and my daughter was so freaked out by my new look that she hid under the bed.” She started laughing. “She wouldn’t come out until I washed off all my makeup and changed into my ratty old pj’s.”

“And then what happened,” I said.

“And then I flew home and came back to work at Zelda’s,” she said, shrugging. “By the way, do you want to hear about today’s specials?”

Later, when I asked if I could take her picture, Kate posed with one hand on her hip and the other on the handle of a coffee pot. Her smile was dazzling.

“Do you ever wish—,” I began.

Kate cut me off. “I wish a lot of things,” she said. She gazed out the diner window at the flat fields stretching far away. “But girl, I don’t wish I’d tried to become a brand. I’d rather be a real person, and a good mother. Like I believe I am.” Then she turned to me and grinned. “I do wish I still had those shoes, though.”





Chapter 9


I FELT a little better walking back to the gas station, and when Josh the mechanic came out to meet me with a smile on his face, I felt my spirits lift even higher.

“How’s Beatrice?” I asked eagerly.

“I can fix her in half a day,” he said.

“That’s amazing,” I cried.

“But the parts are going to take two weeks to get here,” he said, “and they’re going to cost an arm, a leg, and a kidney.”

The balloon of my happiness instantly popped. “You’re supposed to tell me that first,” I said. “To not get my hopes up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I try to focus on the positive.”

We walked into the service station waiting area and I sat down on one of the vinyl chairs. Despite all the coffee, I felt exhausted.

Josh took a seat across from me. “I’m guessing you don’t want to wait. And that maybe you don’t need to spend a few thousand dollars on a car that”—he looked out the window at her—“that probably has two tires in the junkyard already.”

“Be gentle,” I cried. “That’s my life companion you’re talking about.”

“I’m not telling you to junk her. I’m just saying…”

“That I need a new car?”

Josh leaned forward and clasped his hands together, his expression earnest. “I get the sense you’re trying to go somewhere kind of far away. And I just don’t think she’ll be the lady to take you.”

I paused to let this sad news sink in. “So you’ve got a sweet ride you want to sell me?” I asked eventually—and skeptically.

He smiled. “I don’t know if I’d go that far. But I do have something that’ll get you where you’re going. Do you want to take a look?”