Free Bobby's Diner by Susan Wingate Page A

from the highway and the bustle around the building
usually kept them away for the most part.
    Within a matter of a few weeks we
started producing annuals—flowers and, of course, vegetables. Lettuce sprung up
like weeds, so did the broccoli and green onions. Within three months of
building our garden we were using most everything we grew in our restaurant.
    People loved it. We loved it.
José loved it.
    Bobby almost changed the name of
the diner to Jardin de Jose. I talked him out of it. Thinking back I might’ve
been wrong. But, at the time Bobby’s seemed the best even with the new garden.
Bobby’s is what people knew the restaurant to be. Changing the name would
change the customer base, I thought. We never told José. I wish we had.
    People started to hear about our
beautiful garden in the back. José would sneak people outside and around so
Bobby didn’t know. Not that he would-a cared, but he thought he   might. José would sell tomatoes and lettuce
to some of our customers. He’d say, “Mr. Carlisle, someone   gives you money for veggies!” He’d shove the
cash in Bobby’s hand and walk away like a new father—beaming and all.
    One day José called very early
and woke us. He’d learned his mother had died and had to get to her funeral. We
did all we could to assist him in his time of need. That’s when we found out
José had been selling vegetables on   Sundays when we were closed. Every Monday we’d come to work to find a
pile of cash in the tip jar. Everyone loved Monday’s because the waiters and
busboys not only had the regular tips but also the already-filled tip jar at
the   cashier’s counter. No one would ever
fess up to it. We didn’t put it together until José was out of the picture for
a few days.
    Arnie, one of our regulars had
heard about José’s mother   and asked what
we were going to do about Sunday.
    “Sunday?” Bobby said to Arnie.
“We’re closed on Sundays.”
    “So, we don’t get our weekly
veggies?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Out of the garden, you know,
José’s been selling vegetables and flowers. It’s a real farmer’s market, by
god! We   think it’s a great idea, Bobby.”
Arnie was talking like it was Bobby’s idea. Then, it all dawned on us, the
three of us, right then and there. Everything fell into place. How we never
seemed to have any wasted vegetables, how the money appeared like a   coin left under a pillow by the tooth fairy
after losing a tooth, how everyone loved to talk to José, how we kept getting
new plants even when we didn’t remember ordering any. We were so busy with the
diner, you see, to keep track of something that   seemed   to be thriving. We weren’t
missing cash, we were getting it. No inventory was stolen, things seemed off,
but fun. Not bad, like we had a dishonest employee or nothing’. So, we looked
away.
    Well, after José got back the jig
was up. When we confronted him he looked like a beaten puppy. He started taking
off his apron like we were firing him.
    “That’s right, José!” Bobby said
it real mean. “You get off that apron and…” He paused for a second. “Put your
garden gloves on and get to work! We have a busy Sunday ahead of us in a couple
of days and we can’t have our little market in a shambles!” José’s face looked
like one   big question mark. When Bobby
broke into laughter José realized he was happy about everything. But, kept
saying, like a forgiven sinner, “Thank you, Mr. Carlisle, thank you.”
    “Jesus Christ, José. You’re the
best. Get out and have fun in your garden. Now go!”
    He’d returned the day before from
the funeral and Bobby wanted to make sure he had something to live for again. I
know how you feel when you lose your mother, like you’ve lost half your body.
    We’ve kept up José’s tradition.
Any money he makes from vegetables sales that aren’t reinvested in new plants,
we put in the tip jar. And, I’ll bet you any amount that we have the