From Beyond the Hill

"They act like this one is supposed to be pretty bad," Marge said, as the four of them entered the diner.

George motioned to a table near the middle. "How about here?"

The ladies went in first, shuffling along each of the faded red leathers toward the window. The men slid in after. They all looked out of the big glass windows. It was a clear view of the hills and the bright orange wall of wildfire consuming them.

A fidgety young blonde came over and welcomed them, her apron stinking of sap and smoke.

"Hey there, darling. We'll do four coffees with cream and sugar." George said, raising a hand with only 4 fingers, including the thumb—instead of a chubby pinky, he wiggled a chubby puckered stump—and grinned.

"God, how I hate that stupid joke," said Marge, lighting a cigarette, "Real nice and real gross."

"Come on. That always gets a laugh."

"Downright grotesque, George. And I'll tell you what. You ought to lose you another one because I'll be having a hot tea tonight," she said, turning to the waitress. "Green. If you got it."

The attention shifted to the other side of the table.

"Just a black coffee for me," John said, then looked at Tanya.

"Cream and sugar is fine," Tanya said.

The girl nodded and walked back toward the kitchen. The diner was empty except for them. An old Wurlitzer clicked in the corner as it switched to a new record. After a minute, the waitress returned holding a pot of coffee and a tray with cream, sugar packets, and four ceramic mugs. She had been looking out the window, watching the sky, when she set the tray down unevenly and spilled Marge's cup. Hot water splashed on the tray, soaking the unopened sleeve of black tea.

"Oops! But that's alright," Marge said. "Here, let me take that."

"I'm sorry," the girl said and quickly began filling the rest of the cups with coffee. After each cup, she was sure to glance out the window and toward the amber-lit hills.

"First big one?" George asked, ripping four sugar packets and turning them over into his cup. When the waitress didn't answer, he squinted at her name tag. "First big one, Bridgette?"

"Huh? Oh, yes."

"There's nothing to fear, sweetie," Marge said. "We have all seen much worse than this. Not to mention the wind is pushing west."

"Winds are pushing west, yes," George said. "But winds can change."

"Oh, hush," Marge said, pulling free the soaked tea bag with a napkin. "And our friends here, their son is a firefighter. Out there on the front lines. Firsthand. They've got it all under control. Don't they? Tell her."

"Well," John said. He looked up from his menu." As long as it remains beyond the hill, I think we have little to worry about."

Tanya only nodded as she pulled the warm cup of coffee closer. Without adding cream or sugar, she brought it up to her lips and blew on it.

"If you ask me," George said, "People worry too much about these things. Plus, there's always insurance if it ever got real bad." He placed his readers and eyed the menu.

"That's why I could never have children," Marge said. "Too many things to worry about."

"I think I'll do the eggs," said George. "Half sunny, half scrambled. And a side of toast. Strawberry jelly. Go ahead and add a side of potatoes. Crispy. Did you get all that, darling?"

Bridgette had, but only about halfway through, and so had him repeat it after she fished out the pen and yellow pad.

"Anybody else filling up?" George asked, looking around. "John, what about you? I see you eyeing that menu. They've got great burgers too… Sheesh. You know what? Actually, darling, I think I'll do an egg burger with fries instead. No mayo. No Tomato. No Pickle. No Onion."

Marge leaned forward. "And I'll do a—

"—Wait. No," George said. "I had better not. I'll stick to my original order. With the eggs."

"Christ, George, make up your mind for the poor girl, would ya? You done, yet? Huh?"

"Yeah—yeah."

"Great, okay. Because the rest of us would like to order now, for God's sake."

"Alright—alright. Order then."

Marge grimaced at him and shook her head. "So sorry about that, sweetie," she said, looking to the girl, "We're still working on our manners, apparently... You do a Cobb salad? Yeah? Okay, I'll try the Cobb salad."

Bridgette was writing notes on the pad before deciding to flip to a new page and start over. After a moment of scribbling and clarifying, she asked, "And for you two?"

"Hmm," said John. "Can you give me a couple of minutes and come back to me. Would that be okay?"

"Of course. And for you? Miss?"

Tanya had been staring out the window until John tapped her wrist. She looked back toward the girl.

"No," she said." Nothing, I mean. Thank you."

The waitress nodded, forced a smile, and left. There was a long silence.

"I sure hope I don't regret that," George said.

"Regret what?" Marge asked.

"I hope I don't regret sticking it out with the eggs instead of going with the burger."

"You know," John said, "I think I will have the burger. I'll chase her down."

John got up to tell the girl his order. Ten minutes later, the girl returned with a tray including George's four plates and Marge's salad.

"It'll be just a minute on the burger."

"Of course," John said.

As she walked back toward the kitchen, George began combining his eggs.

"I don't know why they always separate them," he said, scraping the sunny-side-up egg off the plate until it slid off, falling sunny-side-down and splatting on the scrambled eggs below. The amber yolk oozed and filled the plate.

"Oh, Hell," George said. "I forgot the hot sauce. Wave her back over, would ya?"

"George, you're gonna get a damn ulcer again if you keep pushing it with the hot sauce. Or you're gonna give me one, if you keep torturing that poor girl."

"The heat hasn't killed me yet."

With a fork, Marge scooped up her salad and teased it at Tonya. "I'll bet John doesn't worry you to death like George does me."

"Oh, I give her plenty scares," John said. "Don't I, honey? Say, where is that burger?"

George had nearly finished with his plates when Bridgette came with the burger, her eyes puffy and red.

"Could we get some hot sauce?" George asked. "I don't need it, but John, you'll love it with that burger."

A tepid smile, and the waitress was gone again.

John cut his burger in half. "Oh. It's not well done. I forgot to ask."

"Shoot. She'll be back," Marge said. "We'll have her toss it back on the grill for a few minutes."

"No, no. That's alright. It's not the way I like it, but I don't want to be a burden."

"Nonsense!" Marge said. "It's their job, after all."

The diner was closing soon. Tanya heard the scraping and cleaning of the grill, as well as a radio broadcast that sounded like news, but she couldn't be sure.

Bridgette came back a minute later. "Here's that hot sauce."

"Thank you, dear. By the way, my Cobb salad was absolutely amazing—the bacon bits were wonderful. And don't get me started on the eggs—unforgettable. But one problem. His burger is all wrong. You see that pink? Could you be a doll and throw that back on the heat for a few minutes? Thank you so much."

Tanya pulled the coffee that had long gone cold to her lips and sipped. She looked out of the large diner window, watching as the amber glow grew brighter.