Rosewood and Regret
Katherine slid back into her burgundy vinyl booth, the three artifacts pressed tightly beneath her coat. The old waitress, Betty, finally appeared, sliding a mug of black coffee and a plate of lukewarm toast onto the Formica.
"You look like you need that," Betty said, her voice gravelly, but her eyes sharp. "Bad road out there."
"It is," Katherine agreed, trying to appear only like a weary traveler. She didn't want to risk asking about the man who might be hovering just out of sight. Betty drifted back behind the counter, disappearing into the kitchen's metallic clatter.
With the cover of the vast booth and the noise from the kitchen, Katherine finally pulled out the diary. It was heavy, bound in dark, cracked leather. She carefully opened it to the very first page, dated nearly a year before the tragic final entry.
The handwriting inside was nothing like the despairing scrawl of the last page. This was bold, loop-filled, and full of restless energy.
April 14th.
"Another morning, another mountain of scrambled eggs. I hate the smell of this place before 6 AM, but God, I love the chrome. It shines like a promise I haven't kept yet. I'm saving every dollar from Eddie's to get out of this town. I have a script to finish, a life to start, and nothing but the endless stretch of Highway 66 to remind me I'm still stuck here, pouring coffee for truckers and dreaming up plots where the hero gets the girl.
I've never been good at waiting. Waiting for the coffee to drip, waiting for the bus, waiting for my name to be called. But today, something shifted. I wasn't waiting anymore. She just… arrived.
She walked in right at the lunchtime rush. Not local. Her coat was the colour of wet plums and her hair, blonde and bright, was tied back with a simple ribbon. She asked for a slice of cherry pie and the quietest booth. She had eyes the color of sea glass, you know, that soft, worn-out green that's been polished by the waves. When I brought her water, she didn't look up right away, but when she did, she offered a smile that felt like the first warm day of spring after a brutal winter.
Her name is Sarah. I only heard her say it once when she paid. It's perfect. It feels like the name you give the hero's girl. I didn't talk to her beyond the order, but I watched her write in a little notebook for a solid hour.
I don't know why, but I feel like everything I thought I was waiting for just walked into Eddie's Eats and ordered pie. I don't think I want to leave this town anymore, not if she's here. I'm going to find a way to talk to her tomorrow, even if it costs me my job. I'm going to write her into my story."
Katherine finished the page, a breath catching in her throat. The confidence, the instant, reckless devotion, it was intoxicating. She looked up and across the booth, instinctively searching for a tall shadow, but only the flicker of the neon sign reflected in the dark window. She picked up the photo of the smiling couple, now understanding the fierce joy in Kent's eyes.