Rain poured down in droves, but for poor old Eleanor Finch, it didn't matter. Her career was over, and to her, that felt like the end of her life. Nothing mattered—except mending what was broken.
As she walked along the riverside, the smell of warm bread drifted through the air. It seemed impossible, cutting through the heavy scent of rain—yet it was there.
Following the scent, she found a small corner restaurant with iron trellises surrounding it like a fence. Wisteria climbed the iron as old fairy lights glowed in the dark.
Deciding to get out of the rain, she walked through the fence's opening and into a terrace underneath a pergola, which offered no sort of protection to the few tables out there. She opened the swinging door to the restaurant and walked inside, only finding an old woman behind an open kitchen and a dog lounging on a blanket near the heater.
"It's near closing. Order what you'd like and find a seat." Said the old woman without looking up from her stove, but pointing to a stack of menus on the table near the door.
Eleanor grabbed a menu without a word and sat near a wall that housed a few pictures, each containing a young woman and a different patron of the restaurant.
The old woman came over after a while and asked what she'd like, to which Eleanor quickly opened the menu after tearing her eyes from the photographs. "Could I just get a coffee, black please."
The old woman walked away without a word, coming back a little while later with a coffee and some soup.
"I didn't-" Eleanor was cut off, "You look thin, eat up. On the house."
And with that, the old woman walked back to her kitchen and began clearing away the extra food and cleaning up. "Excuse me! But, what might your name be?" Eleanor asked with curiosity.
"Lucille Willowstein, I run the Willow." That was all she said, very sharp and simple, straight to the point. Eleanor smiles and introduces herself with a smile, to which Lucille only nods, never looking up from the stove.
Eleanor looks down at her soup and notices a tear in the table cloth, she decides to bring it up after she finishes her soup and coffee.
The rest of her stay is quiet, she does not ask about the pictures, nor does she try to make small talk with Lucille. Finishing her meal, she set three pounds onto the table for the coffee, which was rather cheap, and stands.
"Could I possibly come back tomorrow morning with my mending kit and fix the tear in your table cloth?" Eleanor asked as she approached the door to leave, and before Lucille could answer, she added that she may be old, but she was still useful.
"If you'd like." Was the only response she got in return, but this time Lucille looked up at her. Eleanor smiled and without a word, departed the small restaurant that she had stumbled upon that night.
As Eleanor left, Lucille turned the stove off, its heat staying for a bit, as it should.
The next morning's sun came as early as Mr. Patel did. Mr. Patel arrived slowly, cane in hand. He made his way to his usual corner seat, by the picture wall, with a window to look out at the willow tree.
Lucille walked over with his usual tea and newspaper, which was outdated but he didn't mind. The tea was strong, not to most people's liking, but he enjoyed it, gave him a kick, he said.
"You're here earlier than usual," muttered Lucille as she walked away, not expecting—or not wanting—a response. Mr. Patel responded anyways.
"I like to arrive here before my thoughts do," he said, adjusting his glasses and smoothing the newspaper on the table. With that, he looked down at his paper and began to read the same stories for the third time.
Eleanor was the second to arrive, carrying a small bag of needles and sewing supplies. She walked straight to the torn tablecloth and got to work without even asking Lucille.
A coffee was placed beside her without a word and by the time Eleanor looked up, the one who gave her the coffee was already back behind the counter.
The stove came to life with two clicks, as it always does. Anyone who says otherwise is looking for trouble.
Next, she lined the pots by weight, with the heaviest going to the left. No need to think about it, thinking slowed a person down, and she ran on instinct.
Mr. Patel looked up from his paper and towards Eleanor at the table next to his. Her touch, honed through years of practice, was clear in every stitch.
"That tablecloth has been on my mind for a while now," he said with a tilt of his head, "Thank you for fixing it."
Eleanor turned around towards the man who addressed her."Oh! Yes, of course," she smiled. "It's my pleasure. I'm Eleanor, by the way."
"People around here call me Mr. Patel."
Eleanor nodded and got back to work. Strange how he never introduced his first name, but to each their own, she supposed. As she finished the final threads of the tablecloth, the old lady breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that her skills could still be of use somewhere.
She packed up her supplies and finally took a long sip of the black coffee waiting on her table. Maybe there was another thing she could fix up, another cloth needing attention, or a cushion that needed some stitching.
She looked around the small interior of the restaurant before settling her eyes on the door that led out back. Outside were more tables scattered around a large willow tree whose trunk slanted slightly to the right.
A small bench sat directly next to the trunk, with two cushions on it, and thankfully one happened to be slightly ripped. She got right to work, ignoring everything else in the world except for the torn cushion.
Small leaves fell around her every so often. The willow tree was old, older than the restaurant, and often its leaves would fall no matter what season, yet, they always grew back after a while.
Lucille walked out with a new coffee and carefully placed it beside Eleanor without a word, leaving her to her work.
Barely twenty minutes passed before Eleanor tied off the final stitch. Looking at the brand new cushion before her, she felt a sense of pride and joy, the same she felt after a day of work at her old theatre.
The theatre that she would never be able to work at again...
Shaking her head, Eleanor stood and walked back inside. Looking at Lucille, she smiled and thanked her for the coffee before leaving the restaurant. She had done all she had wanted to do and felt no more reason to stay longer than she had to.
Maybe she would return. Places like this had a way of calling people back.