Free Bittersweet Homecoming by Eliza Lentzski

I’ll never have the magic words to make Emily better. I keep telling people that I’m here for Emily, but in reality, we’ve barely said two words to each other since the firemen’s picnic.
     
    SETTING:                                          A roadside diner in the middle                                                                       of nowhere. 
    AT RISE:                                          A woman sits on a stool at the                                                                       counter. Behind the counter, a                                                                       waitress tops off coffee cups                                                                       around the U-shaped bar.
     
    A friendly, familiar voice pulls me away from the pages of my notebook: “Back again?”
    I manage to nod despite the urge for my eyes to linger on body parts where they don’t belong. Charlotte’s altered her uniform t-shirt so it’s rolled up her thin, muscled arms and cut into an even lower v-cut, dipping dangerously between the twin swell of her breasts. Tonight she sports an attractive shade of red lipstick. It’s new, and I discover that I like it a lot.
    “I’m afraid to go back to my dad’s house and see what else Emily has dissected.”
    She arches a questioning eyebrow at me.
    “Long story,” I dismiss.
    She wipes her hands, strong and capable from opening so many bottles, on a small towel that’s flipped over one shoulder. “You look glum,” she observes, cocking her head to the side. “Well, glummer than usual.”
    “It’s nothing: family stuff.” I let out a long exhale. “I can’t remember—do you have any siblings?”
    “Yeah. One. My brother Max is a few years younger than me.”
    “Does he live in town?”
    “No. He lives in St. Paul. Stayed there after college.”
    The bar is mostly empty, but a slump-shouldered man with stringy white hair pulled back in a ponytail sits in the vacant chair beside me. He wears a thick canvas jacket too warm for the muggy summer night. When he smiles at me, I notice he’s missing a few teeth in the front.
    “Buy an old man a drink?”
    “Tom,” Charlotte chastises from behind the bar. “You know how I feel about that.”
    He holds up his hands to retreat. “Sorry, Charley. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
    Her lips purse and she fills a glass with ice and a dark soda from the soda gun. She sets the glass on the bar and slides it in front of the man. “Don’t mind Tom. He’s harmless, but he can’t resist sniffing around for a free drink.”
    “Especially when pretty young ladies are buying,” he cackles.
    I try to smile, but it feels like a grimace.
    Charlotte notices my expression and chuckles. “I won’t be offended if you leave right now and never come back.”
    “On the contrary, I was going to ask how you manage to resist all these fine specimens, night after night.”
    “Willpower,” she winks.
    When her back is turned away from me to fill a drink order, I allow my eyes to settle on her finely crafted backside. The denim of her cutoff shorts hugs her slight curves. She has narrow shoulders not much wider than her hips, a tapered waist, and the longest legs I’ve ever seen. Damn, girl. Do those legs go all the way up?
    “You’re working late tonight,” I observe without thinking. “Don’t you normally work first shift?”
    She arches an eyebrow. “Keeping tabs on me?”
    I duck my head and focus on my hands clenching the bar top. “No. Just a comment.”
    I take a quick breath and look up. She’s still staring at me with a slightly amused look on her