Quinn’s son, Garret, and daughter-in-law, Lynda, stood beside him at the counter. Garret said “Dad, let me pay for breakfast,” but Quinn, always the patriarch, responded with “Not this time.” Sharon, Quinn’s wife, gave Quinn an exasperated stare; she wished he would let Garret pay sometimes. Garret’s job paid well; neither Quinn nor Sharon worked, relying solely on social security and savings.
Sharon was the first one, aside from Quinn, to notice how the eyes of the woman behind the counter seemed to be locked on her husband. And she noticed his odd behavior, his refusal even to look up at the waitress.
Quinn knew he couldn’t risk looking into the eyes of the woman behind the counter. He sensed that, if their eyes met, anyone who witnessed their exchange of glances would know of their relationship.
You just can’t hide the intimacy of eye contact between illicit lovers, even in the dim light of pre-dawn breakfast in ancient, desolate diners. She, though, followed his every move, as if processing his face in preparation for painting a portrait. Sharon had seen that kind of behavior before, as had Garret, but it had been years earlier. Quinn begged his family’s forgiveness, on three separate occasions, for his affairs, swearing each time there would be no others.
The age difference between the waitress and Quinn was greater than the age difference involved in Quinn’s other dalliances. She looked to be a good fifteen years younger; she looked to be in her early to middle forties. The name tag on her starched black shirt identified her as Caryn. Her short walnut brown hair, streaked with tiny ribbons of dark red and grey, appeared to be her natural color; if not for the grey strands, the red streaks might have suggested her hair had been professionally colored, but, no, it must have been natural. A perpetual Mona Lisa smile adorned her smooth and pale face, a face that rejected the need for makeup, though it accepted deep red lipstick to accentuate her mouth. Tiny laugh lines at the outer corner of Caryn’s deep green eyes told the story of a woman who laughed when she could. She seemed unable to laugh as she watched Quinn across the counter, though.
Your comments are thought-provoking and entertaining, while rich with questions and ponderables, Juan! I appreciate your reading what I write; even more, I appreciate your comments. They make my day!
Favorite Pithy Quotes:
Whether intended or not, there’s always the interpretation. Today, for example, random pointed to a sentence from any story my book had split on, and then deduced a dozen interpretations from the class. Don’t we do the same for Cervantes?
“Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open” says the farmer, beating his servant.
And, in one of the first scenes of Quixote’s aggressive action, he demands merchants accept Dulcinea de Tabasco — unseen — as the most “beautious.” The meaning can go in different directions, though Quixote’s reality is non negotiable; his attempts at nobility cause problems for others. I was told that Nietzsche read Quixote every year, because he so feared his writings were nothing more than some mad, personal reality — Quixote, Sancho…a carnival.
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Great scene! I love these lines:
And she noticed his odd behavior, his refusal even to look up at the waitress.
Sharon had seen that kind of behavior before, as had Garret, but it had been years earlier.
A perpetual Mona Lisa smile adorned her smooth and pale face, a face that rejected the need for makeup, though it accepted deep red lipstick to accentuate her mouth.