She watched her husband across the table fidget with his greasy hamburger. Next he twisted his napkin into a rope. Their children devoured their food without noticing anything. Her husband stood up.

“I’ll drive down the street,” he said abruptly, “and find some cheap gas. The stations by the interstate hike up the prices.”

“Sit down for now and after we—”

“On my way back I’ll pick you up; that’s easiest.”

“It’s raining hard again,” she said. Outside the large window of the diner, the wind-driven downpour streaked copious amounts of water against the glass. “We don’t know this city. What do we do if you get lost?”

“I’ll stay on the street out there.” And in a more reassuring tone, he said, “I won’t be long, so everyone finish your lunches.” He tried a smile.

Even with the blurry view through the window, it was noticeable that the diner’s parking lot was flooding. He crept the station wagon out of the parking space, and the water rolled out from underneath the tires in small waves. A lumbering ocean liner unmoored from its dock.

“Where’d Dad go?” Emily wanted to know.

“Where’d Dad go?” Lauren wanted to know because these two sisters parroted each other.

“He’ll be back soon,” she said to her girls. “Eat up; we aren’t stopping for dinner.”

She picked fries off of her youngest child’s plate. The boy scolded her.

“I’m not ordering my own food,” she said to her son. “I’m not hungry.”

Some time later, the heavy rain turned into a drizzle, the wind settling down. The wet parking lot was half-empty. Large sedans and pick-up trucks splashed along the street, sending brownish wakes up onto the sidewalk.

The waitress picked up the children’s empty plates and brought back a doggie bag for her husband’s untouched food. Then the waitress asked, “Y’all have room for hot fudge sundaes?”

All five of her children yelled yes together and then begged their mom.

“Sure, but bring only three and we’ll share,” she said to the waitress.

“I’m not sharing,” Mindy said, glaring at her siblings.

The girls bickered.

“You’ll share with Charlotte,” she told Mindy, “or don’t have any.” 

She let her son eat most of the sundae, and then the bill came.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the waitress, “but my husband has the money and went out to fill up our car and should be back any minute now.”

“Well, stay put here,” the waitress said in a good-naturedly way. “The lunch crowd’s skedaddled and it’s not like I need new customers right this minute.”

“He’ll be here very soon.”

She watched her children squirm and mess with each other.

“I can’t take you all making a scene,” she said.

The waitress milled about behind the counter nearby, glancing at the booth. The children started whining, and Billy had to use the restroom.

“Take him Charlotte,” she said to her eldest daughter, just turned twelve. She stood up so her son could slide out. “The rest of you go, too.”

The sisters nudged at each other to get out.

She sat down again and stared out the window. Then she stared at the doggie bag, at the cartoon image of an upright dog on one side of the sack. Little squiggle lines surrounded its hind legs, connoting the dog’s ecstatic dancing.

“Scooch over,” Billy said.

She blinked at her son.

“After dating your dad for seven months,” she said, “he broke up with me. He was nineteen and I thought I was doing a pretty good job of learning his sudden mood changes, chalking it up as immaturity. But that night after we returned from dancing, there in the front seat of his dad’s 1959 LaSabre, he rambled out these lame excuses: he needed to travel to Europe before settling down, he might be drafted, he wanted to finish college, he didn’t want kids after all. I wasn’t going to cry in front of him, so I got out and he sped away. Leaving me standing alone in—”

“Scooch over.” Billy pursed up his shiny lips.

A car’s horn sounded off several times in the parking lot.

“What was that about, Mom?” Charlotte appeared directly behind her brother. “Are you saying Dad left us, like he left you?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just tired of being stuck in this grease pit.”

The waitress folded her arms and frowned.

“Dad left you,” Charlotte shouted. “He hasn’t left his kids.”

A few remaining customers looked over at the booth.

“Can I eat Dad’s hamburger?” Billy wanted to know. “You ate all my food.”

“How about I leave, too,” she told her son, “and you can figure it out?”

“So can I eat Dad’s hamburger?”

She placed her elbows on the table and cradled her head in her hands. She said finally, “Obviously your dad came back, Charlotte. All of you prove—”

“I’ve solved the gas problem,” her husband said, sitting down across from her, his long hair dripping. He dug into the doggie bag and bit into the hamburger.

“Mom said you left,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t believe her.”

The other girls came up to the booth.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, sweets,” he said to everyone. “But when I saw a used car lot next to a gas station, I went over and started talking to the owner about gas prices. Next he showed me that Duster. Didn’t you hear me honking?” He pointed at a green car parked near the swamped roadway. “We exchanged titles. I didn’t pay a cent.”

“Our stuff won’t fit,” Charlotte said.

“Everything’s in the spacious trunk,” he said. “It’s older than the LTD, but, honey, wait till you see the savings in gas, and how low the mile—”

“I want the LTD,” Emily said.

“I want the LTD,” Lauren said.

She watched her husband devour his food. “How much more can I take?” she wanted to know.

# # #

Dan Crawley’s stories have appeared or are forthcoming in a number of journals and anthologies, including New World Writing, Spelk, Jellyfish Review, and New Flash Fiction Review. Along with teaching creative writing and literature courses in Arizona, he reads fiction for Little Patuxent Review. Read more here: https://dancrawleywrites.wordpress.com

Photo:  Marc Schiele