The Diner 12

Well, after not being sure if I even had one holiday story in me, it turns out that I actually had two. As a warning, I wrote and submitted this story much more quickly than I normally would, to try and get it in under the wire for the

2024 Winter Holidays Contest

, so please excuse any grammatical or other errors—dyslexia + tight deadlines = trouble.

My normal caveat applies to this story: if it were a movie, it would be G-rated. As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you have a joyful and safe holidays.

******

Hooker, Oklahoma - The Monday Before Thanksgiving

Tolstoy once wrote, "All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Tolstoy may have been a hypocritical prick, but he sure had a nice turn of phrase every now and then. Over the past ten years, I had learned that his wisdom about families also applied to diners.

All good diners are alike; they offer bottomless coffee that's fresh and strong, an all-day breakfast that isn't saturated with grease, and service that is prompt and kind, making you think of a late Sunday lunch at your favorite aunt's house. Each bad diner is bad in its own way; whether through faux décor that tries too hard, menus that go on for pages filled with gimmicky meals and fads of the day, waitstaff who are underpaid and undermotivated, and the list goes on.

Today, I was sitting in the best diner I had eaten at in a long while, and I should know. I was a bit of a connoisseur. That's what happens when you spend the better part of a decade crisscrossing the country in your pickup truck. I made a mental note to stop here again if I ever made it back this way.

"Would you like a little more coffee, Hon?"

That was Stella, my waitress, who was standing behind the bar polishing some glassware. A couple of hours before, I am sure she would have been run off her feet, but now I was one of only three customers in the place, and the other two were an elderly couple sitting in a booth for two by the back wall. They didn't say much, but you could tell by the way that they looked at each other that their love was like a hedge tree—slow to grow, but then constant and unwavering in its shelter and support.

"Maybe just another half a cup, please. If you don't mind."

The waitress was pretty in that nondescript small-town America kind of way. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and you could see the permanent indents from her dimples when she smiled. She hadn't smiled much since I had come in, however, and there were deep bags under her eyes that spoke of long nights of worry and heartache. But she was friendly both to me and to the older couple, and she had an unusual gentleness to her manner that I found very appealing.

"So, what brings you to Hooker, Oklahoma, on Thanksgiving week?"

I was in town because my company owned a string of profitable businesses across the Midwest. My father died the year that I graduated from college with a double major in business and finance, leaving me his house, which was paid for free and clear, and a moderate life insurance policy. I loved my father, but he was never the same after my mom passed away in my sophomore year of high school. I think that he held on as long as he could to make sure that I got a good start in life, but a few weeks after I graduated, his spirit just let go of his body, to reunite with his one true love. The coroner ruled that he died of Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy, also known as 'Broken Heart Syndrome.'

I guess I could have taken my inheritance and invested it in an index fund of some kind and just let it passively grow, but that didn't hold much interest for me. Instead, I decided to take a shot at making my senior business project a reality.

Six months of in-depth market research suggested that there were folks across the country who owned profitable businesses of all kinds, who were looking to retire. To do so, however, they would first need to find someone to buy them out. My research also suggested that the market for small businesses, even the profitable kind, in small-town America just wasn't that robust. So, I created the Legacy Capital Corporation, or LCC for short, and went to work buying up profitable businesses, often through seller financing deals where the profits from the businesses I purchased paid for their financing costs over time.

That was just over a decade ago, now, and LCC now owned more than a hundred businesses across 11 states. I made a point to only buy places that had long-term employees who were happy with their jobs, strong and well-liked management teams, and loyal customer bases. I made as few changes as possible, letting the existing employees continue to work their magic, but I used the size and buying power of my company to offer enhanced benefits and, where possible, higher wages.

This approach worked for 19 out of every 20 businesses I acquired. About one time out of twenty, however, things would go off the rails. That was the case with the grocery store I owned on the main street of this town, which employed 38 people and normally turned an annual profit of just over $150,000. About two years ago, however, profits had started slipping to the tune of about $30,000 per year.

It took about a year to notice the decline, and then another full year to ascertain its likely source—one Michael Schneider, the store's general manager. Once our forensic accountant looked at the store's books, they found that someone, almost certainly Mr. Schneider, had begun embezzling funds almost two years before, and that the fraudulent activities were ongoing. They said that he wasn't even trying that hard to cover his tracks—it was almost like he wanted to get caught.

Normally, one of my vice-presidents or regional managers would look into an issue like this and report back to me, but since it was Thanksgiving week, I decided I would take care of it myself. It was never pleasant to fire someone at the best of times, and I wanted my staff to be able to enjoy the holidays at home with their families. That is what had brought me to Hooker.

"Just here on business, ma'am, but I won't be here long. I would like to get everything wrapped up before Thanksgiving."

"Just enough time to get home to your family," she said with a smile.

"Something like that, ma'am."

I didn't want to admit to her that I didn't have any family to spend the holidays with, at least nobody close. I had an aunt and uncle who lived near Galveston, Texas, but I hadn't seen them since my dad's funeral, and I was on the road so much, that I hadn't really had time to date, let alone get married. My holidays were spent on the road, making sure that as many of my team got to be with their families as possible. Or I spent them in my depressing condominium in Oklahoma City, as the loneliness slowly seeped its way into my soul.

"You can call me Stella, if you'd like, Hon. I don't feel much like a ma'am these days."

"Nice to meet you, Stella. I'm Jeremy."

"Well, welcome to Hooker, Jeremy. I hope you enjoy our hospitality while you're here."

I had to revise my assessment of Stella, as she bustled off to clear the older couple's plates. She was a very pretty woman, and when she smiled, she was beautiful. She was the kind of woman, though, who had a husband to go home to, or at least a doting boyfriend.

I was almost finished with my lunch when a fourth customer came into the diner, a bear of a man, easily over six feet tall, with a shaggy mustache and a paunch that spoke of too many greasy breakfasts and burgers for lunch, likely consumed at this very diner. Stella smiled as he came in.

"Hey, Uncle Mike. What can I get you today?"

"I will just have a coffee, Stella. And a bit of privacy to speak with Mr. Olson, if you would be so kind."

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage," I said as the man sat down on the stool beside me, although I knew who he was. Michael Schneider, beloved general manager of McGrath's Grocery Store. The kind of man who personally helped older ladies load their groceries into their cars. The kind of man who encouraged his employees to further their education and better themselves. The kind of man who turned down a raise in favour of the butcher who had a newborn son to support. In other words, the kind of man whose employees would run through a brick wall for him. And the kind of man who would steal $60,000 from my company.

He had the look of a man on his way to the gallows, resigned to his fate. He remained silent while Stella brought him a coffee and then waited for her to move a polite distance away before he began.

"My name is Mike Schneider, and I am the man who has been stealing from your grocery store."

Well, that was unexpected. I looked at Mike appraisingly and waited for him to continue.

"I know that what I have done is inexcusable, that I deserve to be thrown in jail, and that I have no right to ask this, but I am here to plead with you to let me continue working for just one more week before you fire me or have me arrested. After that, you can do what you need to do."

That seemed like a bold request coming from an admitted felon, but I decided to hear him out.

"To be clear, you just admitted that you are stealing from me, and have been for two years, but you would like me to let you continue to steal from me for another week? Is that correct?"

Mike looked ashamed of himself, and his eyes sunk down to the counter in front of us. But he said in a low voice, "Yes, sir, that is correct."

I like to think that I am pretty good at reading people, and nothing about Mike said "career criminal" to me. In fact, he had much more of a "favorite uncle who takes you fishing" kind of vibe. I was pissed off, but I was also curious.

"Tell me, Mr. Schneider. How does a man who has worked for a business for 23 years, the last 17 as general manager, suddenly turn to a life of crime? Was it gambling debts? Addiction?"

"No, sir. It was nothing like that," he said as he glanced over at Stella.

"Working at McGrath's Grocery has been a privilege and an honor, sir, both when old Mr. McGrath still ran it and now under your company, sir. You have been more than fair as an owner, sir, and I am ashamed of what I have done. But you see, it's my niece, Grace, sir. Stella's daughter.

"About three years ago, now, she started losing weight and stopped wanting to play or do much of anything. Soon she just wanted to sleep all day. At first, we just thought she had the flu or something, but the doctors did some tests and said that it was cancer. The only good news was that it was treatable, and we caught it early. But Stella doesn't have any insurance, and her deadbeat boyfriend ran off before Grace was born, so she barely has enough money for the day-to-day. There was just no way she could afford the treatment.

"Me and my wife, Grace, little Grace's namesake, God rest her soul, have looked after Stella since she was just a little girl. I mortgaged my house and sold my truck, but I knew it wasn't going to be enough. The town did some fundraisers, and the church has been holding bingos every month, and folks have been as generous as they can be, but the treatments are just so dang expensive. I would never have taken the money from the store, sir, if there was any other way.

"But Grace has fought so hard, and she only has one more treatment left to go, then she is done. I will get down on my knees and beg if it will help, sir, that you give me one more week to pay for Grace's treatments. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but if I can pay for that final treatment, then I will sign the remaining equity in my house over to you and resign. Or you can have me arrested, and I will happily go to jail."

I sat in silence for a few minutes, occasionally glancing across at Mike or over at Stella with her dimples and her grief. Eventually, I broke the silence as I had a few questions I needed answered.

"How did you know who I was?"

"I knew you were a smart man and that you would eventually find out what I had done, so I have been keeping an eye out for you. I did some research on the Legacy Capital Corporation and found an old picture of you from the very first business that you purchased, so I knew what you looked like. I half wished I would get caught, so I could stop with my sinning, but then I thought of Grace, and I kept going.

"If it makes any difference, I planned to turn myself in as soon as Grace was done with her treatment. For the past two years, I have lived in fear that you would come for me before she was cured. I saw you yesterday after you arrived in town, and I knew what it meant."

"What did you think would happen when I found out?"

"I figured you would have me thrown in jail, sir. It's what I deserve for what I did; for what I am still doing. But I prayed every night that I would make it long enough for Grace to finish her treatment and be alright. There is a bell at the entrance to the Oncology ward at the hospital that the children ring on the day that they are declared to be cancer-free. Just one more treatment and she might get to ring that bell before Christmas."

Again, we sat in silence for a little while.

"I don't know what to say, Mike. Why don't you go back to work and let me think for a while?"

Mike got up and left, his untouched cup of coffee still sitting on the counter.

I closed my eyes and thought back to the last year of my mother's life. Stage 4 metastatic breast cancer took everything from her. Her hair, then her body, then her dignity, then her mind, and, finally, her life. She had been a professor of French Literature, and I can still hear her weeping when she could no longer remember the words to her favorite poem,

Le Lac

(The Lake) by Alphonse de Lamartine.

Ainsi, toujours poussés vers de nouveaux rivages,

Dans la nuit éternelle emportés sans retour,

Ne pourrons-nous jamais sur l'océan des âges

Jeter l'ancre un seul jour?

Thus, always driven toward new shores,

Swept into eternal night without return,

Can we never on the ocean of time

Cast anchor for a single day?

In her last days, my father would sit by her side and read to her, his Midwestern accent so thick that the French words were barely intelligible.

I got up and walked to the door before pausing and looking back at Stella.

"Tell your uncle he can have his week."

Oklahoma Children's Hospital, Oklahoma City - December 23rd

I couldn't remember the last time that I had cried that hard. Actually, that's a lie. It was at my mother's funeral when I looked over at my father, at the look of unfathomable loss that was etched into his face. I had cried for her, and I had cried for him, and I had cried for me, and everything that we had been and that was now gone.

I knew that Stella and Grace would be getting the results from her last round of treatments today. I really wasn't supposed to be privy to that kind of information, but sometimes the rules can be bent when one of your top donors makes the request. I guessed that they would have driven up the night before, after work, before crashing at the hotel for the night, where Grace would have sunk into a deep, exhausted sleep and Stella would have stayed up all night praying. Mike would have come with them and would have been praying just as hard.

I didn't want to intrude on their privacy at the hospital, but I had to know. I had never met Grace, but still, I had to know. A few minutes after they went inside, I had gone in as well and gotten myself a large coffee that sat cold and untouched in my hand. If I waited in the reception area, then they would definitely have seen me, and questions would have been asked. So, I stayed out of sight, around the corner and down the hall from the Oncology Ward. From the bell.

As I leaned against the wall and waited, I remembered the days spent visiting my mom in a hospital very much like this one. The sounds and smells familiar, like an intrusive dream from the past.

I had been waiting for over an hour, unsure whether the long delay was a positive sign or not, when I heard it. Everyone stopped as the peel of the bell carried down the corridor and into the atrium, and then they started clapping and shouting. Like me, most of the people cheering had never met Grace—but the bell meant that another child had beaten cancer and that was reason enough to celebrate.

I made it out to my truck before I fell apart. I have no idea how long I sat there weeping as waves of relief and grief swept over me, before I heard a sharp tapping sound. I opened my eyes and saw Mike standing beside my truck, an unreadable expression on his face. I quickly pulled myself together and rolled down my window.

"I guess you heard the good news," he said, a quirk of a smile on his face.

"Yeah, I'm sorry to intrude, but I just needed to know she was going to be alright."

Mike looked at me again with a look that spoke of understanding and compassion.

"You could have come and watched her ring the bell, you know. She looked so happy. Stella just cried and looked relieved."

"I didn't want to get in the way. And I ... I wasn't sure I could be strong enough if the news wasn't good."

"I hear you on that one, I wasn't sure that I could be strong enough either. But thank the good lord I didn't need to find out."

"Where are Stella and Grace now?"

"They will be along any minute now. Grace needed to stop at the washroom. Her stomach still isn't very strong, and the excitement must have gotten to her."

"I guess I should get going then, I don't want to take away from their day."

As I said that, Mike reached up and put his hand on mine and looked me dead in the eyes.

"Jeremy, none of this would have been possible without you."

"I didn't do anything, I ..."

"Really? I have yet to see any police at the store, at least that aren't buying groceries. My paychecks keep arriving bi-weekly, just like clockwork. And someone decided to give the whole team an early Christmas bonus this year, $500 each in cash and $500 each for a charitable cause of our choice, matched five to one by corporate. Five. To. One.

"And what did I get as an extra bonus, for my hard work this year? A voucher for two nights at a nice hotel that is less than a mile from this here hospital, another voucher for gas, and some gift certificates for nearby restaurants. Last, but certainly not least, I got a call from corporate authorizing me to hire a new Assistant Manager in early January, just after the new enhanced health benefits package becomes available.

"So, you're telling me that all of that was just standard corporate procedure? I should just go about my regular daily business, nothing to see here.

"Well, maybe not," I replied with a slight smile. "But some of those funds will need to go to fill a $60,000 hole in the store's revenues from the past couple of years. But the rest, well, I hope that Grace never needs the rest, and that you can use them for her college fund or something."

Mike laughed in agreement.

"Thank you, Jeremy, from the bottom of my heart. Em, not to seem ungrateful, but I don't think that that money can just be put back like that. I don't think that's how accounting works."

Now it was my turn to laugh.

"I don't really know how accounting works, Mike. But my company provides over half the business for a mid-sized accounting firm here in town, so I am confident that they will figure it out when I tell them how important it is to me."

"You're a good man, Jeremy Olson."

He paused for a minute as if considering something before continuing.

"Do you have plans for Christmas, Jeremy? If not, you would be more than welcome to join our family. I am sure Grace would love to meet you, and Stella couldn't stop asking me about the handsome man that I was speaking with at the diner last month."