Saving Noah

Chapter One

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A sudden sharp pain courses through my shoulder blades. I nearly drop the mug and pot of coffee I’m holding, but manage to grit my teeth and hold tight until the pain subsides.

Yet moments later, despite my efforts, a coffee cup shatters at my feet and hot liquid splashes up to scald my ankle. Turning away from the boy who made the mess at my feet, I swallow a swear word and splatter a grin across my face. I place the mug I’ve filled with coffee in front of a regular customer.

“Here you go, ma’am. Two sunny-side-up eggs, bacon, and whole wheat toast.” I slide a salt and pepper shaker across the counter with the back of my hand. To the man at her right I say, “Travis here,” I don’t throw a glare Travis’s way when I spit out his name, “will get you an unbroken, steaming cup of coffee in a minute.”

Mr. Thomas, a regular, grunts and doesn’t look up from his morning paper. He’s wearing a cap with his company logo on it and work clothes still covered in grease and grime from working the day before.

I step around Travis’s crash site, that he is hurriedly sweeping away, and head to the kitchen in back. Everyone is served…for the moment. I take a minute to reach around to massage my aching back. I never had back pain up until two weeks ago. Since then, it comes and goes. Usually it’s more a dull pressure than full-on pain, but lately, shooting bursts of pain have taken my breath away. Having rubbed the memory of the latest episode away, I lean against a counter.

The kitchen is dated: stained gray cement beneath my feet, stainless steel island in the center of the less-than-expansive room, with a grill, sinks, and doors to a refrigerator/freezer unit lining the cracked and peeling white walls. Mom is taking her own sip of coffee. Her long, pale hair is pulled back into a low bun. She’s wearing the apron my brother and I got for her last birthday. It’s black, lined with silver, and across her chest in silver letters it reads Melissa’s in the sophisticated style matching her diner’s logo.

“How’s it going, Mom?” I pull out a bag of trash, tie a knot in the top, and load a fresh bag into the large bin.

She smiles and nods. “I’m keeping up.” Her eyes are tired, but the lines around them show years of happiness. She’s content with life, though Dad walked out on us ages ago. She’s the only chef and she prefers to keep it that way, even though business is booming and she rarely takes any time away from her work.

She steps forward to wrap an arm around my waist. “Leave the trash. I’ll take it out in a bit.” She squeezes me and presses her forehead to mine. “Today’s the big day, huh?”

“Please.” I pull back a smidgen so she can see my eye roll. “Don’t remind me.”

As I lean against her, dreading the day ahead, a groggy-eyed, tousle-haired ten-year old steps around the corner, school bag in hand.

“Good morning, muffin!” I say. “Come down for your morning cuddle session with your big sister?”