“Long story. Let’s just say that life has a way of steering you in places you never expected.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” I replied, thinking of my own situation. “I’m Sara, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sara. My name’s Judy.”
We fell into an easy conversation after that, discussing our shared southern roots and love of small-town life. As it turned out, Judy was on her own, having lost her mother a couple ofyears earlier to cancer. She’d been left this restaurant and had chosen to keep it running as a way to honor her mother.
“What brings you to Kitty Hawk, Sara?”
The smile ran away from my face. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone the real reason, least of all a complete stranger. “Just needed a fresh start,” I said, hoping that my vague answer would suffice.
She gave me a long, thoughtful look but didn’t push any further. “In that case, let me be the first to welcome you here. Are you planning on staying or are you just passing through?”
“I don’t know. I think I might stay. I like the quietness here,” I said, my gaze drifting toward the window again. The ships were now mere specks, washed away in the brightening morning light. “But I’ll need to find a job and a place to stay. You don’t know who I might talk to about those things, do you?”
“That depends.” Judy leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and interlacing her fingers. “What kind of work are you looking for?”
“I was a teacher back home… High school math. So, something in education would be ideal.”
“So you’re educated?”
I nodded in response.
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about teaching jobs. You’d have to talk to someone at the school board about that. But if you’re interested in working here, I might be able to help. How are your waitressing skills?”
“I’ve never worked in a restaurant before, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’ve poured more cups of coffee and sweet tea than I can count…and I’ve taken orders, too…lots of them. Besides that, I’m a hard worker, and I learn quickly.”
She seemed to be pondering this, her brows furrowing slightly as she looked me over. “To be honest, I was hoping for someone with a bit more experience, but I guess beggars can’t bechoosers, can they? The truth is, I’m in a bit of a pickle. I happen to be one waitress short right now, and it’s all Rosie and I can do to keep up. That’s her, over there.” She pointed to a young woman about our age—early thirties—with dark hair pulled back tightly into a bun, balancing a full tray of breakfast plates. “So, if you want it, the job’s yours.”
“You mean it?”
Judy tipped her head in a nod. “Once the breakfast rush dies down, I’ll have Rosie show you around.”
“Thank you,” I said, hardly believing my luck. “Now, I just need to find a place to stay.”
Judy's eyebrows rose slightly, as though she had been expecting this. “This is your lucky day. I have a room upstairs that just happens to be vacant. It’s not much, but the rent is cheap, and it would give you a place to stay until you find something more permanent.”
I wanted to hug her right then and there, but I figured that might be pushing it. So instead, I extended my hand across the table. “I’ll take it.”
“Wonderful. Welcome aboard.” Judy stood and dusted the crumbs from her apron. “Tell you what, why don’t I let you finish your breakfast in peace, then we can discuss next steps.”
I was so excited I could hardly eat, but I managed to finish my meal, my mind spinning with the sudden turn of events. As I sipped the last of my coffee, I looked around the bustling restaurant. The clattering of dishes, the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter that cut through it all. This was more than just a place to eat. It was a haven, a community hub.
When the crowd thinned, Rosie came over and introduced herself.
“So, Judy says you’re our new waitress. I’m Rosalie, but everybody calls me Rosie. You can too, if you like.” Rosie was every bit as friendly as Judy and had a smile that seemed to lightup the whole restaurant. And her accent was unlike anything I’d ever heard—a Southern drawl with a hint of Spanish, like she’d spent years in two vastly different places.
“Hi, Rosie. I’m Sara.”
With pleasantries out of the way, Rosie led me around the restaurant, pointing out where things were situated and explaining the routines. As we walked, she described the regular customers and their peculiar habits, which ranged from the old fisherman who took his coffee black with a dash of salt, to the eccentric painter who always ordered blueberry pie. There was a rhythm to this place, a certain harmony that resonated with the ebb and flow of the ocean.
Once I had familiarized myself with the restaurant, Rosie brought me back to Judy, who led me upstairs to the small room I would be renting. The space was cozy with a single bed, a wooden dresser, and a window that looked out onto the beach. The room smelled strongly of sea salt and old wood, which I found oddly comforting.
“This has been vacant for a while,” said Judy, leaning against the doorframe. “It’ll need a good cleaning, but it’s got a certain charm, don’t you think?”
I nodded, stepping toward the window and taking in the view. The ocean stretched on for miles with waves lazily lapping against the shore. The beach was almost deserted, save for a lone figure walking a dog along the water's edge. It was peaceful, serene. “It’s perfect.”
Judy grinned, pushing herself off the doorframe. “You’ve got your own private bathroom through there,” she said, pointing to a small door on the left. “And if you ever need anything, my room is just down the hall.”