Free Afterthought: A Sententia Short Story (The Sententia) by Cara Bertrand

“I see those bikini straps around your neck, Elaine! This ain’t Mahoney’s—that’s not part of the uniform, here!”

    Mercy only called me Elaine, and said ain’t , when she was teasing.
    “I’d make better tips if I worked at Mahoney’s and I could wear my bikini,” I teased her back.
    Mahoney’s was only sort of what it sounded like. It was a car wash, and for many local girls, a coveted place for a summer job, one where you could get a great tan and, yes, make great tips. It was popular because the cars were hand-dried when they came off the belt. And technically their uniforms looked just like ours—polo shirts with the logo stitched on one side. Unofficially, however, as soon as the sun came out, the polos came off and revealed the girls’ bikinis underneath. On sunny days, there was a line of cars by late afternoon.
    But instead of shining truck wheels for the summer, I was slinging hash and eggs at the counter of Dad’s diner. We served breakfast “all day” (from 5:30AM to 1PM), and though the work wasn’t always, the company was great. The diner had character—the building and the people, both of which our patrons loved. The mismatched tables and booths were always full, and the aged tin walls echoed daily with laughter.
    Working here didn’t tip as well as Mahoney’s, but then again, my tips were more dependent on the cup size of the coffees I poured than, well, you know. My aunt much preferred my working this job. So did my boyfriend, not only because he was a regular. Speaking of…
    “That boy of yours coming soon?” Mercy called as she whipped by me with arms full of Sunday Special plates—steak, eggs, biscuits, and sausage gravy, all topped with Dad’s special hash. The Special Plus came with pancakes and bacon, too.
    “Sooner or later, for sure.” I followed her to the table with the pots of coffee I dutifully tended during my shifts. No cup was ever allowed to cool at Dad’s.
    I had Carter Penrose to thank for my part-time job here, weekend mornings and whenever they called me for extra help. He’d brought me to the diner on our first “date” last year. That wasn’t what we called it at the time, and it was a lot more complex than just a simple date, but it was how I liked to think of my inaugural trip to Dad’s. I was surprised they even gave me the job, since I was a Northbrook girl, not a local. But Carter was a popular regular customer, and Mercy was fond of me because of him, and maybe a little bit because of me too. Besides, not many high school kids, locals or not, wanted to get up at 5AM during the summer. Luckily for me, I was naturally an early riser. Not usually that early, but still, I liked my job.
    Being a waitress was surprisingly hard work, especially so early in the morning, and I only worked the counter and filled coffee cups. It was tiring and more stressful than you think when you’re the one being served. But Sundays, especially sunny ones, I didn’t care how tired I was or how many people we had waiting for tables. Penrose Books was closed on summer Sundays, and Carter always met me at the restaurant. After his enormous breakfast, we’d spend the afternoon at a nearby lake with enough of a beach and a swimming area for me to pretend. It wasn’t the ocean, but it was warm sun and sand. I’d take it.
    Today, I was looking forward to it so much, I’d worn my suit under my uniform. It was August, nearly summer’s end, and hot . The perfect beach day. I couldn’t wait. When at about ten o’clock I turned around from the coffee machine to find Carter smiling at me from the last seat at the counter, I wondered if maybe he couldn’t wait either. He didn’t usually show up for at least another hour, and that was on days he’d have a leisurely meal while waiting for me to finish my shift. It was a show of my skills that I didn’t spill any coffee as I slid him a mug of regular, black along with a smile.
    “You’re early,” I said, leaning over