Sometime between the day she started working at the Denny's on the corner to the first day the three of them came in, the waitress' nametag had been scraped up and scratched and peeled away so that the only letter left was E. She remembered that first day. He came in with a big smile and a cut on his forehead two inches long with some stitches through it. Bruises littered his exposed neck and he walked with a modest limp. She came in behind him. Her smile was tight, probably because of her split lip. She too was bruised and she cradled her arm tight to her body. They were followed by a tired looking middle-aged fellow in a suit. She seated them at a circular table by the window. The young man and woman sat next to each other, he put his foot up on her chair next to her hip. The older man positioned himself on the other side. "Can I get the three of you anything today?"
"Good evening," the young man said.
"Morning," the older man corrected, tapping at his watch without looking up.
The young man frowned, looked down at his watch, and shrugged. "What do you know?"
"I'll take a water," the red haired woman said.
"Coffee," the older man said.
"Hot chocolate?" the young man trailed off like a question.
E nodded. "I can get you some hot chocolate."
"Great. Sounds great," he said.
She went behind the counter and watched them. She watched him, the young man, lean over and whisper something into her ear. The red head cracked a small smile and elbowed him in the side. She watched the pained expression. She watched the older man shake his head. He said nothing to them, just smiled a small smile they couldn't see behind his menu.
E carried the tray out with their drinks. A glass in front of the woman, a much each in front of the men, and took out her notepad. "Food for anyone?"
"Do you do breakfast this early in the morning?" the redhead asked.
"It's Denny's, honey. We do breakfast all the time," E replied.
Another small smile. "I'll have a short stack of pancakes."
"Anything else?" the waitress asked.
"Not for me," she replied.
E remembered that night that the young man ordered the biggest breakfast they had and then ordered another side of hash browns. The older man got an egg white omelet with vegetables inside. The young man and the woman teased him endlessly about it. They sat there for two hours, just until the first early birds started streaming into the restaurant and then they stood up, paid their check and left.
They were hardly regulars. Sometime they'd go two days before another visit, sometimes two weeks, sometimes two months. They always came back together, the three of them. They came back bruised and beaten. They came back with smiles and elbow nudges and whispered jokes. He always put his foot on the back of her chair. The older man smiled behind a menu.
And then, one day, things changed.
The roof leaked, still being repaired after the recent damage. E was tired. Her feet ached. She leaned on the counter she was supposed to be cleaning and toyed with a broken, empty pen one of the daytime waitresses had abandoned. The door opened. He came in first. He was still bruised but the cuts were healing, the bruises faded. He wobbled in on a pair of crutches. He wasn't smiling. She followed him. Her arm was in a sling. She had dark circles under her eyes. She wasn't smiling either, but she didn't have a split lip. The older man wasn't trailing behind them.
E showed them to a table in the back, a circular one by the window. "Can I get you something today?"
"Coffee," the young man said.
The young woman nodded. "Make that two coffees, please."
"Sure thing," E said. She scratched out where she'd written water and hot chocolate. "I'll bring those out for you."
They still sat on the same side and he still put his foot on the back of her chair. She hunched over the table, looked straight down at the menu. He didn't bother with a menu. He just stared at the empty space across the table where the older man usually sat.
She brought out their drinks, set the two mugs in front of them. "Food today?"
"Just a short stack," the woman said.
The young man shook his head. "No, thanks."
"You have to eat something, Clint," the redhead said.
He made a face and sighed. "A short stack, please."
E nodded. "Not a problem."
The woman grabbed his hand and squeezed. He put his other hand over hers. They didn't make any more movements but E found the whole thing to be incredibly intimate. The man broke away and pushed his menu to the other side of the table.
They picked at their food over the course of two hours. The woman finished hers and pushed the plate aside. The man finished one pancake and started at a second when the first patron walked through the door at five and they stood up to pay their bill and leave.
E met them at the register. The man pulled out a wallet, gave her a twenty and told her to keep the change. She said quietly, "I'm…well, I'm sorry."
He nodded solemnly and walked away. The woman stayed for a moment and said, "Thanks. It's been hard on him."
E watched the woman leave. It was the last time the two of them ever came in.